As long as Jihoon is by his side, Mingyu doesn’t let the nerves overpower him. The screaming of the crowd of fans before the group steps on stage used to make his heart beat too fast, his hands sweat too much, and worst of all, his voice shake too much. Now, it’s just a jittery feeling spreading all through his body until it reaches the tips of his fingers.
A light weight on his shoulder makes him look to his left. Jihoon is looking down at his own headset; the cord isn’t under his jacket.
“Turn around, hyung,” Mingyu tells him, taking the receiver of the microphone in his own hands. Without saying a word, Jihoon does as he’s told. Mingyu passes the receiver under the jacket with one hand and holds it with the other one once it reaches down. He then locks it on Jihoon’s pants. After he’s done, he places his full palm on Jihoon’s lower back, covered by the bright jacket, and walks away, letting slide to the side. From the corner of his eye, he sees Jihoon shiver.
Some of the staff come to hurry them up on stage. Mingyu stands right behind Minghao waiting for the moment to perform. Right before they step on stage, he feels a feather like touch on his hand and looks down to see Jihoon’s own moving away. Mingyu smiles.
your turn, softboys