Work Text:
By the time Seungmin’s alarm goes off, the other side of the bed is losing its warmth.
This in itself is not particularly surprising—Seungmin himself is an early riser, but Minho gets up so early it borders on night-owl territory. He likes to take his time stretching, eating breakfast, showering. Sometimes he even goes for a run, which is a level of dedication Seungmin will literally never understand. He’ll laze around a little longer on the days Seungmin stays over, but not by much. The only time he really lets himself stay in bed is when they’re at Seungmin’s apartment—
Which is where the confusing part comes in, considering that’s where they currently are.
Seungmin is not left to wonder for long. Less than thirty seconds after he hits snooze, the bedroom door creaks open, the padding of Minho’s feet pillow-soft as he tip-toes closer.
“Hey.” A poke to the forehead. “Kim Seungmin. Up.”
“M’not a dog,” Seungmin grumbles, pulling the covers up over his head with an annoyed sigh.
A light shove at his shoulder—not enough to hurt, but more than enough to irritate. “If you were, maybe you’d listen better.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Seungmin mutters, doing his best to scooch away from the greatest annoyance of his life—his boyfriend.
A heavy sigh. “Suit yourself,” Minho says, before promptly launching himself on top of Seungmin like a goddamned aerial bomb. Seungmin groans as all the fleshiest parts of him absorb the impact while Minho wiggles happily, nuzzling aggressively into Seungmin’s bedhead for the sheer purpose of tangling it.
“Hyung,” Seungmin whines, kicking out wildly. It does absolutely nothing to dislodge the feral boy attached to him. “Hyung, get off—”
“Seungminie,” Minho sings in pout, “Why won’t you accept hyung’s love?”
At that, Seungmin stops squirming. He goes limp, horribly endeared by the delighted cackles Minho lets out once he thinks he’s won. He plays the part, sighing and grumbling, until Minho finally relaxes on top of him—and then uses all of his weight to flip them over until Minho is flat on his back, trapped in a tangle of sheets with Seungmin grinning above him.
“Morning, hyung,” he says, positively thrilled to see the way Minho’s ears immediately go fire-truck red.
“I hate you,” he says—which, in Minho-language, means he’s exactly where he wants to be.
After a careful detangling that ends with Seungmin getting kicked and elbowed in the shin and gut respectively, Minho drags him out into the kitchen. He pushes Seungmin down into a seat by the shoulders and immediately sets a cup of coffee in front of him. With a kiss to Seungmin’s cheek, so quick it might as well be a headbutt, Minho hands him a plate of eggs and announces, very helpfully, “Food. Eat.”
In the time it takes Seungmin to blink, Minho’s already at the door, tugging on his jacket. “Have to feed the babies,” he says, because yes, of course, his cats are on a strict schedule that they cannot stray from. It’s as adorable as it is diminishing to Seungmin’s Minho-time. “There’s coffee leftover in the pot if you want a second cup. I already washed out the pan, so all you need to do is clean your bowl.”
Seungmin is warm. So, so warm. All the way down to the tips of his toes.
“You don’t want any before you go?”
Minho shakes his head, brows furrowed like he can’t possibly fathom why Seungmin would ask such a stupid question. “No, that’s for you. I’ll grab something at home.” He’s back at the table for a goodbye kiss in the span of a heartbeat. “Good luck on your exam. Try not to let the library eat you, okay?”
“Yes, hyung,” Seungmin murmurs, tilting his chin up expectantly for another kiss. Minho rolls his eyes but indulges him all the same.
And then Minho’s gone, and Seungmin’s alone—he huffs out a soft laugh, feeling an embarrassingly disproportionate amount of fondness for the food in front of him. He takes a sip of his coffee, unsurprised to find it perfect.
“Gross,” he whispers to himself, smiling as he shovels an egg in his mouth.
They don’t see each other for a few days, which is unfortunate for a multitude of reasons. If Seungmin were the sentimental type, he’d say he misses just—holding Minho. The moments where they settle, when the silly bickering quiets into a comfortable kind of silence and Minho allows himself to be soft.
But Seungmin is not the sentimental type, no matter how many times Hyunjin tries to gaslight him into believing he’s a hopeless romantic.
(Buying flowers for a dance showcase is the literal bare minimum, okay, and it was hilarious to see Minho so flustered. So what if he sat on the edge of his seat the entire time, breathless as Minho moved across the stage with the fluidity of water and the power of an earthquake? Minho is objectively very attractive. It has nothing to do with romance.)
What Seungmin truly misses is Minho’s cooking. His stomach rumbles at the thought—truthfully, he’s been doing a shit job of taking care of himself. Exams week will do that to you. It’s so easy to fall into the trap of hyperfocusing on his studies, stumbling home from the library at insane hours of the night, falling into bed for a few hours just to wake up and do it all again, surviving solely off of gimbap and instant noodles and the smushed honey butter chips at the bottom of his school bag. He would do anything for a home cooked meal at this point—except muster up the energy to make something himself.
Right now, he has a short break in his schedule that he plans to fill with a corndog from the corner market and some much needed laundry. It’s the closest thing he’s gotten to a breather since the week began.
He enters his apartment and kicks off his shoes, nodding tiredly at his roommate, who is bent over a plastic container of chocolate chip cookies. Seungmin tilts his head in question.
“Your weirdo boyfriend was here,” Jeongin says in explanation, unhinging his jaw to shove a cookie down his throat.
Seungmin blinks. “Why?”
Jeongin shrugs, unphased.
“And you just…let him in? Even though I wasn’t home?”
“He had cookies,” Jeongin says, like that explains everything.
“We need to go over stranger danger again,” Seungmin mutters, dropping his bag on the couch with a sigh.
“You’ve been dating for six months?”
“Which is exactly how I know he’s dangerous.”
Jeongin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, he looked like a real monster sitting on the floor and carefully matching your socks. I was terrified.”
“My—what?”
It’s then that he sees the laundry baskets lined up along the wall outside his bedroom. There’s three in total, all separated by color, clothes folded and organized to Seungmin’s meticulous standards. His ever-growing pile of dirty clothes—always on his mind, itching in the back of every thought, there’d just been no time—is gone.
Seungmin stands and stares, unable to process the fact that he might actually get a break today. He might get to sit on his own couch. The thought alone has him tearing up, or maybe his eyes have finally decided to give out after days of staring at tiny print and blue-tinted screens.
Before he can lose it entirely, Seungmin’s phone goes off.
Good afternoon, Loathe of my Life, the text reads, and Seungmin laughs wetly. He can’t even begin to think of an appropriate response, but that’s okay, because his phone pings again.
Check the fridge before you leave for work or I’ll be under your bed tonight. Second shelf.
Seungmin smiles. What if I want you in my bed instead, he shoots back. Minho sends him a throwing-up emoji.
Dutifully, Seungmin pads his way into the kitchen, doing his damndest to ignore Jeongin’s loud chewing. He opens the fridge to find two neatly packed dosirak with fucked up little faces scribbled on the lid, filled to the brim with rice and veggies, kimchi and spam, fried eggs placed neatly on top.
If Seungmin’s got this right—and, admittedly, his brain is a little broken, so he might not—
Minho broke into his house for the express purpose of doing his laundry, and then left him enough food to get through at least the rest of the day without having to worry. He even bribed Jeongin with cookies to ensure his success, like the sexy evil genius he is.
Seungmin scrambles for his phone. He would call, but he’s pretty sure Minho is in class right now—which means he wasted an entire morning on Seungmin when he could have been relaxing or preparing for his own day.
Shit. He can’t go down that road right now. He does not have the time to spiral over Lee Minho, as much as Lee Minho deserves to be spiralled over.
Thank you, hyung, he sends, letting his head thunk uselessly against the side of the fridge. He is a puddle. He is exhausted and emotional. He is goop on the floor. I love you.
Texting bubbles appear, then disappear, then start again. Seungmin smiles and pictures Minho’s flustered response, the adorable one-two-three blink and the confused twist of his lips. After a solid thirty seconds, Minho writes, Someone has to make sure you don’t die. Then—
You too, I guess 🤢
It isn’t until the next day that they finally manage to make time to meet up.
An instant wave of relief washes over him the moment Minho opens the door, like just seeing him is enough to wash off days of exhaustion and stress. It’s a disgustingly cheesy thought, one Minho would probably smack him for if verbalized, but Seungmin can’t help that it’s true. For all that Minho makes his life difficult, he also makes it so much easier.
“Seungminie.” His name is held gently in Minho’s mouth, cradled in a quiet sort of delight. He tugs Seungmin inside before any of the cats can slip out, pulling him into a tight hug the second he’s through the door. “Hi.”
“Hi, hyung,” Seungmin murmurs, tightening his arms around Minho’s waist, “It’s really good to see you.”
Minho hums, pulling back just enough to take a good look. He tilts his head, considering. “You look dead on your feet,” he murmurs, smoothing Seungmin’s bangs off his forehead, “Go take a nap.”
Seungmin leans into the touch, eyes shuttering. Minho’s hands are so nice, soft and gentle to contrast the barbed-wire he so often wraps around his words. “I can’t. Too much to do. Besides, I came here to see you, not hog your bed.”
Minho raises both brows and widens his eyes. “Are you arguing with me?”
“Hyung,” Seungmin whines, “You know I have to study for my last exam. Please don’t start—”
“I’ve never started anything ever,” Minho tells him primly, turning Seungmin around by the shoulders, “Studying can wait. You can’t pass your test if you die of exhaustion first.” He gives Seungmin a light shove and swats his ass, sings, “Nap time for Seungminie, or hyung will hide all his underwear.”
“Evil hyung,” Seungmin mutters darkly. Minho knows how he feels about the organization of his underwear drawer.
All he gets in return is a blank stare. Seungmin grumbles a few random expletives under his breath and drags himself toward Minho’s bedroom. “Sweet dreams, baby,” Minho calls after him, delighted as always to be in charge of Seungmin’s every waking move. Seungmin flips him off without looking just to hear him cackle.
He fumbles into a pair of Minho’s sweatpants in the dark and steals a t-shirt, making nonsense noises at the cat curled up on Seungmin’s usual pillow—which, upon closer inspection, is Dori.
“Hi, aegi-yah,” Seungmin coos, sliding under the covers on Minho’s side. Dori nudges into his waiting hand and purrs, seemingly content to share the bed despite Seungmin interrupting his own nap. “You can have my pillow. This one smells more like Minho anyway.” He stops, wrinkles his nose, adds, “Don’t tell him I said that.”
Dori blinks slowly up at Seungmin, still rumbling like a little engine. The noise is soothing and familiar, and he’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.
It’s always easiest to fall asleep at home.
Hours later, Seungmin emerges from Minho’s room with cat hair sticking to his shirt and a new lease on life. He feels well-rested for the first time in days, loose-limbed and light. Dori follows him down the hall, slinking through his legs before darting towards the living room to find his brothers. Seungmin heads in the opposite direction to find his boyfriend. He is, unsurprisingly, in the kitchen.
“Wow, hyung,” Seungmin says, fighting back a yawn. “Cooking again? You’re spoiling me.”
Minho snorts, dumping a cutting board of chopped veggies into the pot before him. “Consider it my application to be your future stay-at-home husband.”
“Aw, hyung,” Seungmin teases, doing his best to ignore the way Minho’s words send his heart racing, “You want to marry me?”
Minho freezes like he’s been caught. “For your money,” he scowls, and Seungmin can’t help it—he laughs. Minho is, of course, immediately outraged at this turn of events. “Yah, Kim Seungmin,” he demands, brandishing the soup ladle like a weapon. “Is something funny?”
“You are,” Seungmin giggles, zeroing in on the happy twitch of Minho’s lips, “You’re funny, hyung.”
Minho nods once, mollified. “Damn right.”
“Gonna be my trophy husband, hyung?”
“Why else would I risk spoiling you, brat?”
“I think you just like doing nice things for me,” Seungmin says, grinning as he steps closer. Minho’s eyes narrow and he turns pointedly away, busying himself with the food in front of him. Most people would see this as a clear dismissal, but Seungmin isn’t most people—if Minho wanted him to fuck off and drop it, he’d just say so. This non-denial is the closest thing he’ll get to a confirmation. “I think you like taking care of me, hyung.”
“Mm,” Minho hums, all noncommittal nonchalance, but Seungmin can see the way his ears start to tint a pretty pink. “Maybe you’re just stupid, then.”
Seungmin laughs, a giddy thing that pops in his chest like bubbles. “Maybe,” he agrees, sidling up behind Minho to wrap an arm around his waist. He tucks his chin over Minho’s shoulder, stomach flipping when Minho melts into his chest, just a little. Just enough. “Or maybe you just love me.”
“Blasphemy.” The comeback shoots out on a hair trigger, automatic, but Seungmin doesn’t miss the way Minho’s free hand comes up to cover his, “Lies and slander.”
“I think you love me a lot.” Seungmin continues like he was never interrupted, nosing at Minho’s temple. Everything is so warm, soup bubbling on the stove and chicken in the oven, two bodies pressed together in the dying sunlight of the evening. “I think you’d marry me right now if you could.”
“For your money.”
“For my money,” Seungmin agrees, poking Minho in the side and earning himself a smack, “Right. Absolutely. It’s pouring in from my tireless hours at the University cafe—”
“I’m playing the long game,” Minho tells him, “You’re just not smart enough to understand.”
“Which one of us is in law school?”
“Shhh,” Minho hushes, shoving half a bread roll in Seungmin’s mouth, “Credit cards don’t talk.”
(Later, much later, when they’ve eaten and cleaned up, tag-teamed feeding the cats, gotten into bed—
Seungmin gets his answer. The real one.
“You work hard,” Minho murmurs, so low Seungmin can barely hear in his half-asleep state.
“Hm?”
Minho shifts, pushing his forehead into Seungmin’s shoulder like a cat. A gentle kiss is placed on Seungmin’s bicep. “You have so much on your plate, and I—like to. Help you. Because. Yeah.”
It’s a grumbled, reluctant admission, like Minho is confessing to a crime. Seungmin is so, so in love. He pulls Minho tighter against his chest, earning a disgruntled umph sound that gets muffled in his sleep shirt. “You do help, hyung. Just by being there. You don’t need to do all the other stuff. You work hard, too.”
Silence falls over them like a blanket, and for a moment, Seungmin thinks Minho must have fallen asleep. But then there are fingers curling against his hip, a gentle huff warming against his sternum. “Let me,” Minho says, and even though it’s phrased like a demand it sounds like a plea. “I don’t always—it’s hard, for me. To tell you. So just…let me, okay?”
Sometimes, it hits Seungmin like a truck, the enormity of what he and Minho have together.
“Okay, hyung,” he whispers, pressing his face into the softness of Minho’s hair. “Whatever you want.”
The ghost of a smile brushes against Seungmin’s collarbone. “Now you’re getting it.”)