Work Text:
“Y’know,” Soonyoung begins, in that not-so-fun-and-entirely-too-observant-way he occasionally gets at three in the morning. “You never talk about Mingyu being in your studio.”
“Huh?” Jihoon squints at him over his shoulder, blinks out the haze and the grit from staring at the computer screen for fuck-knows-many hours. The turn cracks his neck, and automatically straightens his old-man back with a click-click-click. “What d’ya mean?”
Soonyoung snickers at the sound, but sobers again, “I was just thinking. In interviews, or talks, it never really comes up. We talk about each other here, in your space, but never about the big lump who lives on your couch.”
“You just answered yourself,” Jihoon glances quickly at the curled up man in question, clutching onto a throw pillow like another body. He stays sleeping, “It never really comes up.”
Soonyoung looks over too, and tilts his head. It’s clear he’s thinking, but whatever it is, Jihoon isn’t on the same wavelength for once. At least not this early in the morning. Jihoon groans at the supposed assumptions, but mostly at the pain in his ass from sitting for so long. Over a decade of doing this to himself, and he’s still not used to it. Hopefully that’s a good thing?
The studio lights seep aurora-borealis-blue into Jihoon’s dry, closed eyes, and his ears ring with the mellow tings of symbols and chimes. The composition is coming together beautifully, but the lyrics are remaining elusive. Soonyoung’s phone had been dinging softly throughout their brainstorming, and it had been so pervasive, Jihoon had started editing with those notifications in sync. Jihoon’s dreading what the track will sound like come tomorrow night and those precise notes are missing, “Let’s call it a night.”
They each rise in unison, zipping backpacks slowly, stepping lite along the plush carpet and powering off all of Jihoon’s noise-making machines. Mingyu continues to sleep throughout it all, pressing his pouty lips to the pillow in a mimic of kiss, and Jihoon whips out his phone, on reflex, unthinking, to take a photo.
“Another creep shot for the sleepy Mingyu collection?” Soonyoung whispers straight into his ear.
Jihoon does not shriek, but he does drop his phone.
Straight onto Mingyu’s unprotected face.
“Ah!” Their poor dongsaeng shoots up, pillow partner and black phone both sent tumbling to the floor, along with a cackling Soonyoung. “Hyung? Hyung, why?”
“Ah– ah, I’m sorry Mingoo,” Jihoon butterflies his hands above Mingyu’s cheeks, flustered by the warm red blooming along his skin. “It wasn’t on purpose, I swear, I swear!”
Soonyoung is no help assuaging Mingyu’s hurt feelings, clutching his stomach and remaining a bright, neon blight against the white rug. Mingyu looks to him, then back to Jihoon, rubbing his own cheeks and blinking away his haze of sleep. His eyes are purple against tan, gold invisible in the dark of Jihoon’s universe, and to make it up to him, Jihoon wordlessly vows to take him out tomorrow. Right now, they need sleep.
Soonyoung snorts, and huffs like Latte, and Jihoon also vows to lock him out for the next session, regardless of his helpful ringtone.
Mingyu is mumbling and sad-eyeing Jihoon’s phone, and fussing with his purse, but he’s also seamlessly grabbed ahold of Jihoon’s right hand, the team ring warm from being curled against his smooth skin.
“Let’s go home, hyung.”
“Will you come tomorrow?”
“If you throw your phone at me again, it’ll be the last time,” he threatens like a kid. Jihoon smiles and intertwines their fingers.
“That’ll only happen if my aim misses Soonyoung-ah.”
“What? Does that mean you’ve been taking pictures of me while I sleep too?”
Mingyu tilts his head, “What?”
Soonyoung screams like a girl when Jihoon’s phone nails him in the shin.
***
“Uhm, Woozi-hyung,” Vernon sounds awkward. Quiet and embarrassed as he can only be when confronted by strangers. Which is weird, because it’s only the three of them here, in the studio, tucked away and safely wrapped in a bubble of creative sound.
“What’s up?” Jihoon hums in response, but keeps his nose down, gaze fixed to the laptop open on the right side table of his couch where he lounges and types. Vernon’s sitting at his desk tonight, helping with transitions while Bumzu nods his tiny head via facetime at the corner of the computer screen. He’s back in his LA home for the month composing his own tracks, but Woozi’s got him on screen to run through ideas when the mood strikes.
When Vernon doesn’t answer, that’s Jihoon’s cue to look up, and he sees Vernon calmly waving at a still-unseeing Bumzu, who’s got his headphones in and facing away from their screen. Jihoon almost asks him if something’s wrong, but Vernon beats him to the punch, and mutes their audio before spinning around asking, nonsensically, “Do you want some privacy?”
“What’re you talking about? I asked you here to help me out, you know?”
“Yeah, but… ” Vernon trails off, and his eyes drop down to Jihoon’s left side, where Mingyu is fast asleep, like usual. “I thought Mingyu was here to work with us too, when you said he was coming over.”
“Uhm, no? Sorry?” Jihoon doesn’t know how to answer that. He supposes he should’ve clarified that Mingyu likes to come over and nap after his midnight gym sessions, but them all hanging out hadn’t bothered anyone before; at least, not to Jihoon’s knowledge. “He doesn’t like to wake up Wonu at this time of night when their schedules clash. If I’m here, I just tell him to come over whenever.”
“But you’re, uhm,” Vernon coughs, clearly uncomfortable. “I feel like I’m intruding?”
Jihoon squints his eyes, completely baffled at this point.
“I guess I just haven’t seen you cuddle someone like that in a few years, is all. Sorry.”
Vernon swishes back around, and Jihoon stiffens in surprise.
Cuddle?
His right hand stills above his glowing keyboard, and, suddenly aware, his left hand twitches in-between the strands of Mingyu’s fluffy hair.
Jihoon had been finger-combing and massaging Mingyu’s scalp idly for, he doesn’t know how long. Jihoon had been sitting at the couch when Mingyu came in around twelve, collapsed dramatically into his lap, and almost immediately conked out after laying his freshly showered hair on Jihoon's bare thigh. He remembers scolding Mingyu in a whisper as a greeting, but getting right back to work, utterly unphased by their routine, but memory serves a befuddled-faced Vernon upon the unannounced entrance, and quick collapse. Maybe Bumzu laughed tinny through the speakers, but they all got back to work. A look to the time at the top of his screen shows they hadn’t gotten past an hour when Vernon brought attention to the obvious.
“I’m not…” But that’s a blatant lie, even Jihoon can see. Vernon’s ears are tipped red, even beneath the cool purple, pink lights, and he fixedly stares at the screen. Bumzu still hasn’t realized they muted him, and Woozi can see his own reflection in both of their screens. He’s big-eyed and way too seen.
Mingyu makes a pathetic noise, and Jihoon thoughtlessly continues to pet his hair, gentle ‘shushes,’ and a high hum easily lulling him back to sleep.
Jihoon loses his breath on the next honest coo, and he looks back up to find Vernon packing up his backup and avoiding all eye-contact. He’s making a coward’s retreat to the soundtrack of Bumzu’s muffled laughter. The man is moving his mouse in a diagonal line at lightning speed, and from his position on the couch, even Jihoon can hear the ‘click-shutter’ of a screenshot.
“I’ve just won the bet!” Bumzu whisper-sings gleefully.
Vernon drops a heavy hand down to Jihoon’s shoulder and cautions sagely, “You should put your phone on silent for the next few hours, hyung. The group-chat’s gonna be blowin’ up.
“You don’t wanna wake up Mingyu-hyung, yeah?”
Jihoon stays seated, uncomprehending of this entire reveal, and even Bumzu logs off after bidding a sadistic good night.
He manages to mute his phone just in time.
But he, naturally, forgot about Mingyu’s.
Everyone learns about Jihoon’s ‘Creep-shots of Mingyu Sleeping,’ album.
But Mingyu continues sleeping in Jihoon’s Universe Factory.