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It’s not a pattern. It can’t be a pattern. If it’s a pattern then it means Minho’s doing it on purpose and Chan doesn’t have enough brain processing power to deal with that.
Except it is a pattern and Minho is doing it on purpose, trying to bait a fool ass idiot into falling into his trap. And Chan is nothing if not a fool ass idiot.
It started out tame enough. Minho pulled Chan to the side after practice. They’d done a few music shows and the members spent more time going over the recordings and fixing their visuals on stage than going over the choreography they knew by heart. Chan had heard Felix in the bathroom last night, presumably in front of mirror, mumbling his lines and working on his glare. Minho was no different. His parts were smaller, so he wanted them to stick. The managers had no problem with Minho flaunting himself on stage, so Chan allowed it. He wanted to do a sexier concept, he said, lips curling up at the ends. How does this look, hyung?
How does sliding his hand down his neck in time with a body roll look?
It looks fine, Chan said, nodding a few more times than necessary.
Then he did it in rehearsal, holding Chan’s eyes and thrusting his hips a couple times, tongue between his teeth. Jisung and Hyunjin doubled over laughing and Chan joined them, a beat too late. Minho snickered and wrapped his arms around their shoulders, nose crinkling, but when he looked up, he only had eyes for Chan.
It’s okay, Chan thought. He won’t do it on camera, and we’re promoting so much that we’ll have photographers in our face most of the day and sleeping for the rest.
He’s pacing outside their waiting room while one of the videographers films the first episode of their behind show for VLive. Changbin throws up a couple V’s and play acts cute (although it’s never truly ‘acting’ when it’s Changbin) while Jisung laughs at Felix fucking up one of the posters in the hallway off-camera. Chan crosses in front of the camera. Seungmin is playing with Jeongin’s bangs, trying to shape them in a certain way while Jeongin swats at him for messing with the stylist noonas' hard work. There’s one more act before their performance. Chan paces back towards the stage, in front of the camera again, and runs headlong into Minho.
Or Minho steps in his way. Chan prefers to think it’s the former.
He grabs Minho by the arms to steady him. They lock eyes and Chan holds his gaze. It’s automatic. Alpha male pissing contest or whatever, Chan used to do it with Mark and Bambam all the time back in the day. Except Minho isn’t playful and smiling like Bambam. He has leopard eyes and a personality to match. He meets Chan’s eyes coolly and doesn’t flinch at the prolonged eye contact. It lasts two beats too long and Chan almost breaks for the sake of their behind-the-scenes show, but Minho moves first, leaning to the side off-camera and kissing Chan’s neck.
It’s quick, nothing more than a peck. Minho moves away immediately, like he hadn’t done anything. Chan’s head swims and he plays flustered to the camera, covering his mouth and smacking Minho’s arm lightly. Minho grins and smacks him back five times as hard. Chan chokes in surprise and grabs at his arm, laughing. Minho laughs too, a soft hum that can barely be heard on camera. The videographer moves on from them and Chan opens his mouth to complain about Minho’s swing, but when he meets Minho’s eyes again, all the humor is gone. He smiles with dark eyes and tilts his chin up. The words die in Chan’s throat and Minho laughs through his nose, turning and walking away.
(He won’t do it on camera, Chan had thought.)
Except, when he films Minho for another behind-the-scenes episode, Minho huffs lightly and looks up at him with bedroom eyes, blinking slowly. He lets his eyes slide over Chan’s body until Chan is hot all over and fumbles with some excuse about Minho being boring before he slips away. Except, at the end of a VLive, Minho wraps his arms around Chan and squeezes him, pressing the whole front of his body against Chan’s back and laughing in his ear.
Minho proves very, very quickly that he’s not afraid of skinship on or off camera. He clings to Jisung at fansigns and pulls Hyunjin into his lap for Instagram updates. He wraps Jeongin in a headlock to kiss his cheek at the dorm and grabs Seungmin’s hand when they walk to the company building. He tussles with Felix and drapes an arm around Changbin’s shoulder before shooting. And Chan? Chan he watches.
(It doesn’t bother me, Chan tells himself.)
They’re on one of their last promotions for ‘District 9’ at Inkigayo and Chan is just tired. They’re blessed not to have any injuries with such aggressive choreography, but Jeongin had a slip and after the rain on Show Champion he had to call off the stunt mid-performance. He had been sure he would get scolded by their managers, but they only offered tight nods and a pat on the back. Chan can’t help himself; he saw in his mind’s eye Changbin slipping on the landing, twisting his ankle, limping through the performance and having to be rushed to the hospital. Chan will never risk his members for the sake of entertainment.
That being said, they’re all bone-weary, Felix has the beginnings of a cold, and Chan is seriously considering investing in child leashes to keep his kids all in one place and not milling around and wreaking havoc, just until they take a break and move onto ‘Mirror’ promotions. He needs a venti black coffee and fifteen hours of sleep. Not necessarily in that order.
Warm arms slide around his stomach and Chan jumps a foot, nearly knocking free the member clinging to him. Minho grunts at the knee-jerk reaction and tucks his chin over Chan’s shoulder, securing his grip on Chan.
“Jesus,” Chan sighs. “You scared me.”
“Mm,” Minho says. “Sorry.”
Minho is warm and soft and for a moment Chan forgets that he needs to be on guard around Minho and lets himself relax in Minho’s arms. His hair tickles Chan’s jaw and his cheek presses warm against the cold skin of Chan’s neck. Chan tilts his head back into the circle of Minho’s shoulder and Minho hums, satisfied.
“You’ve been avoiding me, hyung,” he says.
Chan tenses, but resists the urge to flee from Minho immediately. Not that he could—Minho isn’t the tallest of their members and doesn’t talk much, but he’s as solid as a tank and one does not escape his grasp easily, as Jisung can attest. Chan pretends not to understand what Minho is talking about.
“I’ve been given the run around,” Chan says. “We’re all busy, but we’ll find time to cuddle soon, yeah?”
“It’s lonely, though,” Minho says. “When you watch everyone in practice but me.”
Chan swallows and hopes Minho can’t hear or feel it. “You’re one of our main dancers,” Chan says. “I have to worry about Seungmin and Jeongin, not you.”
“That so?” Minho says. He sighs. “I’ll have to get your attention, then.”
He lets Chan go and Chan spins around. “Oi,” he says. “Don’t cause trouble, alright? I don’t have time to play with you right now.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Minho says. “I always have time to play with you.”
“Minho—”
“Bye,” Minho says, spinning on his heel and strutting back to the waiting room.
Chan wants to snap at him to get back here, not to stir up any more trouble for him god dammit, but of course they’re wearing the white outfits today and the white jeans that are size too small for all of them, but especially Minho. And even this must be calculated, because as Minho walks away from Chan, head held high, Chan gets a perfect picture of his thighs straining against the confines of his jeans and Chan’s mouth goes dry before he can say anything.
Minho slaps Jisung’s ass on the way into the waiting room with a Cheshire grin and Chan closes his eyes and counts to ten.
Logically, there’s nothing Minho can do on the show to provoke Chan. Even if he’s playing some game Chan doesn’t understand, he would never jeopardize Stray Kids. Chan can trust his dedication to their team. He’s quiet and obedient during rehearsals, even keeping the play onstage before and after their run through tame, letting Hyunjin and Jeongin take the lead on antics, dancing along to the choreography to Pentagon’s ‘Shine’ before they take their places for rehearsal. He says something to them after that makes them laugh and nod, but he’s mellow, for a top predator. Maybe he took Chan’s words to heart.
Of course he didn’t.
Chan knows something is off at the very start of their performance, when Minho’s lines start and he doesn’t jump around and snarl into the mic like past performances. Instead, he stalks forward with purpose, growling his rap rough and low. Chan’s adrenaline spikes for a moment, images of sore throats and emotional breakdowns flashing through his mind, but then he hears the crowd absolutely lose it and he catches sight of Minho slipping his jacket off one shoulder, looking straight into the camera, and rolling his body like a snake through sand. Chan can hear the smirk in his voice as he drops his last line and smacks the top of his thigh hard, loud enough for his mic to catch it.
After that, the energy of the performance changes. ‘District 9’ has always been a tough, no-nonsense kind of show, but with Minho’s intro, their choreography takes on a confident, prouder air. Hyunjin snaps his hips during the body wave in his choreography. Seungmin curls his lip. Felix’s gravel gets rougher. Jisung plays with his lines and catches his tongue between his teeth.
The energy changes, but the nine members react like one organism. This darker, sexier concept isn’t one they’ve talked about. It feels like they might be breaking a rule, like they might get in trouble, but they’re all in it together and their fans are howling their praises, so they push it a little more with each passing second. Chan is wired, all his senses in overdrive, trying to track the movements of his members while his body runs on autopilot. He can feel the undercurrent of their excitement with every inch they jump higher and every note they hit clear as a bell.
Then it’s over, then they’re offstage, and the ‘00 line are jumping around each other and launching off each other’s shoulders and laughing. Their voices mingle together until it’s just a cacophony of oh my god, did you see and we really and I can’t believe and but they loved it!
“What…the hell just happened?” Changbin asks, speaking for Chan as well.
Jisung, god bless his big mouth, blurts out: “Minho-hyung was talking about trying a new routine with his part of the choreography and we decided to try it out, too!”
Changbin snorts and ruffles Jisung’s head. “You’re like twelve. Your time for sexy concepts will come, young one.”
Jisung pouts, but Changbin doesn’t let him speak. “All of you are trying so hard to grow up fast,” he says, addressing the younger members. “It was nice to give the fans a little service after they’ve supported us through the first part of our promotion period, but remember you only get to be young and cute once. When you get old and ugly like me, it doesn’t work so well.”
“You’re not ugly, hyung,” Hyunjin says, weaseling his way through Felix and Seungmin to get to Changbin, wrapping himself around him.
“Did I say ugly like me?” Changbin says. “Sorry, I meant just when you get ugly. I’ll always be Stray Kids’ visual.”
He gets a chorus of groans from that and subtly herds the younger members back to their waiting room to get cooled off and rehydrated. Changbin gives Chan a significant look over his shoulder.
Chan could kiss him. He doesn’t like reprimanding members in front of one another because it’s uncalled for humiliation, but he had been moments away from snapping at Minho before Changbin stepped in. Even now, he can feel his temper searing under his skin. He’s completely tense and a muscle moves in his jaw. Jeongin and Minho, who aren’t idiots, quietly skulk after the other kids.
“Minho,” Chan says, voice clipped. “Stay back a minute.”
Minho stops. Changbin glances between them and then ducks his head and continues on. Minho turns and meets Chan’s eyes coolly.
Chan feels all the fight go out of him. Minho’s expression is so guarded that he clearly expects this to turn into a shouting match. And maybe it would, but Chan knows shouting doesn’t solve anything and Minho’s problem is with him, not anyone else. Chan doesn’t want to shout at Minho; he just wants—for once in his life—to understand what’s going through Minho’s mind.
“Come on,” Chan sighs. “I’m not going to yell at you. I just want to talk.”
“Do you,” Minho says.
“Yeah,” Chan says. “We can use the changing room. I just want to know what your problem with me is.”
“My problem with you,” Minho repeats.
Chan gestures for Minho to follow and Minho tilts his head but follows. Knowing Changbin, Chan will have twenty minutes or so before their managers come looking for him and Minho. He hopes they can talk it out in that time, because Chan really does not want their members snooping on them in the dorm.
Chan opens the door to their changing room and Minho slips past him. Chan closes the door behind them and then it’s quiet, aside from the distant roar of the crowd as the next group takes to the stage and the pound of bass through the walls.
Chan drags a hand through his hair and sighs. “This has got to stop.”
“What does?”
“Come on, man,” Chan says. “Please don’t play dumb.”
“No, I mean it,” Minho says. “I want to know what you think is going on.”
“You’ve been getting in my face for the past few weeks,” Chan says. “I don’t know if it’s something I did that’s irritated you, or whatever, but you’ve been going out of your way to fluster me and after tonight’s performance I need it to stop.”
“Something that’s irritated me,” Minho repeats.
“Yeah,” Chan says. “Was I too harsh criticizing you or something? Was it that I’ve been ignoring you? I just want to put this feud behind us, at least for the sake of our members.”
“A feud,” Minho repeats again, and then laughs through his nose. “Okay, deal. What do you need me to stop doing?”
Chan blinks. He didn’t expect it to be this easy. “Uh, okay. For starters, can you stop trying to give me a heart attack every five seconds?”
“Sure,” Minho says. “So no more skinship.”
“I—uh, well,” Chan says. “It would look weird if we never touched each other like, ever. So, um. I don’t know. Just don’t, uh, breathe in my ear or like…you know.”
Minho tilts his head.
“Just,” Chan drags his hands through his hair again. Why the fuck can’t he find the words for what he wants to say? “I don’t mind skinship; it kind of comes with the whole idol gig. Just stuff that’s kind of…I don’t know, use your best judgment.”
“Okay,” Minho says. “Is there anything else?”
“Yeah, the uh,” Chan says. “The whole ‘sexy’ concept. Changbin’s right—our group is pretty young overall so we don’t need to do that stuff for a while. Just ditch the whole ‘sexy’ concept. I…sorry, I know you like it. I think.”
“So you want me to stop flaunting my ass all the time,” Minho says.
“Uh,” Chan says. “Yes.”
“Then what are you going to look at during practice?” Minho asks innocently.
Chan’s ears burn. This…is not where he expected the conversation to go.
He beats his jumbled, alphabet stew of a brain for something, anything to say that isn’t utterly moronic. “The other members? I don’t—”
“You don’t look at my ass?” Minho asks. “Hm.”
Chan has never been claustrophobic, but suddenly the changing room feels much, much too small for him and Minho. Minho is looking at him like that again, the way that reminds Chan that Minho is a carnivore and that he is a single sheep that has foolishly, foolishly separated himself from his flock.
“I don’t,” Chan whispers.
“Except you do,” Minho says, taking a step closer to Chan. “I watch you in the mirror when we practice. You would notice, maybe, if you could tear your eyes away from my thighs for even a moment. I’m not stupid, hyung.”
“It’s not like that,” Chan says.
“Not like what?” Minho says. “You’re not into me? I doubt that. I don’t even have to touch you. You get hot when I so much as look at you. So I want to ask you, Chris, do you want me to stop showing off? Or do you maybe only want me to stop showing off to everyone else?”
Chan fumbles for the doorknob. “We really should get back—”
Minho slams his hand against the wall by Chan’s head and Chan jumps, looking at Minho with wide eyes. Minho leans in closer, his bangs brushing Chan’s forehead.
“If you tell me to stop now,” Minho says, “I will never bother you with this again. We can rejoin the others and I will stop riling you up. Tell me to stop.”
Chan should. For the sake of their members, for the company, for their reputation, for his sanity, he should tell Minho to stop and never speak of this again. No more feeling Minho arch his back into Chan, no more bedroom eyes, no more flirtations disguised as fanservice. Chan can be free.
Chan doesn’t say anything.
Minho gives him a long moment to think it over, but when Chan keeps his mouth shut, Minho exhales and his body relaxes. “Good,” he says. “I don’t like giving up my toys.”
Minho’s hands cup Chan’s jaw and he gasps at how soft Minho’s hands are, then again when he holds Chan in place to brush their lips together, exhaling softly. He doesn’t kiss Chan, just lets him get the idea of what his mouth might feel like against him. Chan’s tongue flickers between his lips and Minho laughs through his nose.
“Oh, you really want me,” Minho says. Chan’s knees go weak. “I’m pleasantly surprised. From the way you kept rebuffing me I thought maybe you only wanted to get your hands on me, but you want to kiss me, don’t you?”
“I—” Chan says.
“It’s cute,” Minho says. “You fight me so hard in front of everyone else but the moment we’re alone you just melt.” He runs his thumb over Chan’s bottom lip. “I thought we might have a problem, honestly. I thought you wanted to fuck me, but you’d rather I bend you over, hm?”
“No,” Chan chokes out. “No, I never—”
“Hush,” Minho says. “You’re going to tell me how badly you want me. Not yet, but you will.” He lets Chan go.
Chan starts to tremble. His throat is dry and he’s sweating through his clothes. He prays to God that Minho won’t notice, but it’s pointless. Minho’s eyes are so dark. He’d waited three weeks to get the jump on Chan and Chan had handed himself over on a silver platter. He wasn’t going to miss anything now.
“You’re shaking,” Minho says, blinking. “I scare you?”
Chan tries to make words happen and fails.
“Talk to me, Chris,” Minho orders.
“I,” Chan says. “It’s not—yeah, I—but also—you’re really—”
Minho nods. “You can do it. Come on, talk to me.”
“You’re really hot,” Chan chokes out in a whisper. “It’s fucking terrifying.”
“Mm,” Minho purrs. He leans in and kisses Chan below his ear. “Thank you, baby.”
Chan lets his head fall back against the wall.
“You’re doing a good job listening to me,” Minho says, tracing a finger along the line of Chan’s neck. “I need you to me a favor, okay, baby? It’s not hard.”
Chan nods.
“I need you to take off your jacket,” Minho says. “I want to see how badly you shiver for me. Can you do that?”
“Yeah,” Chan croaks. “Okay. Yeah.” Minho steps back and Chan fumbles with the zipper on his jacket. His hands shake so bad he can barely grab it and he curses under his breath, pulling the zipper down and rolling it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground. He’s wearing a T-shirt underneath but he feels like he’s stripped naked. He wraps his arms around himself and Minho makes a noise in the back of his throat.
“No,” he says. “I want to look at you.”
Chan curls his hands into fists and holds them against the wall. He tilts his head back so he doesn’t have to look at Minho, but Minho huffs.
“No,” he says, laughing lightly. “You know it’s not going to be that easy. All those days at practice when you stared at me in front of everyone and you can’t handle a taste of your own medicine? For shame.” His eyes narrow. “Watch me fuck you with my eyes, Chris.”
“Fuck,” Chan blurts out, forcing himself to meet Minho’s eyes.
“There’s a good boy,” Minho says.
He doesn’t say anything after that. He stands with his hands held behind his back and he takes his time raking Chan with his gaze. His lips twitch up at Chan’s curly hair, the slope of his nose, the broadness of his shoulders. He pauses for a long, long moment on Chan’s mouth and Chan swallows hard, which only makes Minho’s eyes dart to his Adam’s apple. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip when he looks over Chan’s arms and his chest, down to his waist and his hands, and then Minho meets Chan’s eyes with a smile before he looks at Chan’s thighs with an expression perfectly mirroring how Chan looked when he caught himself staring too hard at Minho’s ass.
Chan squirms, his cheeks burning. “Please,” he says faintly.
Minho snaps his eyes up at that word. “Please what?” he asks.
“It’s too embarrassing,” Chan says. “Please don’t.”
“Then make a deal with me,” Minho says. “I’ll stop looking at you like that if you tell me how you fantasize about me.”
Chan’s stomach swoops. “Wh-what?”
Minho clicks his tongue. “When you’re jerking off. What is it about me that turns you on? Do you want to blow me? Knead my thighs? Ride my fingers? Tell me.”
“I can’t!” Chan cries. “That’s so—I can’t—”
Minho crowds him against the wall again. “You can,” he says. “You can, and you will. You’ll tell me exactly how you’ve dreamed about me fucking you. Then you’ll ask me real nice to fuck you like that. And then, when we get back to the dorms, I will.”
“F-fuck,” Chan whispers.
“Start talking, baby,” Minho says. “I’ll help you out. Start with my legs.”
“I—” Chan says. His teeth chatter. “When you—when we’re practicing and—” He lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again he finds Minho’s warm, dark eyes and continues. “When we’re practicing…the days you—you wear jeans instead of sweats and I can see—see the shape of your legs clearly I—” He swallows. “I can’t focus because I want to get my hands on them.”
“Good, good,” Minho says. “You will, don’t worry. I’ll let you touch, so what do you want to do once you can?”
“Squeeze them,” Chan breathes. “I want to wrap my hands around your thighs and squeeze them.”
“Leave the imprints of your fingers on my skin?”
“Yeah,” Chan says. “Fuck, yeah.”
“My ass?”
“Yeah, that too,” Chan says. “When you’re not expecting it. When you’re focused and I just come up behind you and—” He breaks off with a choked gasp as Minho grabs Chan’s ass and kneads it, leaving Chan sputtering for breath.
“Hm,” Minho says with a catlike smile. “I see the appeal.”
“That’s not fair—”
“Life’s not fair,” Minho says. “And you’re not calling the shots right now. Tell me what you fantasize about.”
“Y-you fucking me,” Chan says.
“Obviously,” Minho says. “I want the scenario. The setting. The gory details. How do you want me to fuck you, Chris?”
“I can’t,” Chan whispers.
“Do you want me to help you some more?” Minho asks.
Chan gives him a tiny nod.
“Spread your legs,” Minho says, and brushes a hand through Chan’s hair. “I’ll give you a little encouragement, okay?”
Chan nods again.
Minho’s thigh settles warm and solid between Chan’s legs, pressing up against his painfully hard dick. “Oh, God,” Chan chokes out.
“See?” Minho says, shifting his thigh slightly. “You can talk. I know you can.”
“I—holy fuck,” Chan swears. “I always think of the—the practice rooms.” Minho hums in acknowledgement. “It’s—shit—it’s late, after everyone else has gone home, but—but we’re there still. You wanted to—to help me with a part of the choreography I’m not getting.”
“Chris, not getting the choreography?” Minho says. “There’s a first.”
“That’s the thing,” Chan whispers. “I lied—god, fuck.”
Minho grinds his thigh up against Chan’s crotch and laughs. “You lied to get me alone with you? And I thought I was the only schemer in our band. I like it, baby. I like it a lot.”
“You’re—hrk—you’re helping me with one of the dance moves, but you—fuck—you know I’m lying to you, so you just—just—” Chan bites his lip and shakes his head.
“Oh, no,” Minho sighs. “You were doing so well.”
“It’s too much—I can’t—”
“Then I can’t help you,” Minho says, pulling his leg from between Chan’s.
Chan doesn’t even register moving. He loses the pressure of Minho’s thigh against his crotch and he panics. His arms shoot out and he grabs Minho’s ass and pulls Minho into him. His thigh presses hard against Chan’s dick and Chan gasps in relief, but he’s not alone. Minho’s hands fly to his shoulders and he lets out a tiny, sweet cry when Chan digs his fingers into him, and Chan quickly becomes aware that he’s not the only one turned on by the play.
“You—” Minho starts.
“Please,” Chan rasps. “Please, please, please.”
“Talk,” Minho snarls into his ear.
“Fuck, fine!” Chan snaps. “I think about you—you palming me through my sweats while you show me how to move in slow motion, and—fuck—fucking grinding against my ass until I’m p-panting.” His chest heaves in time with Minho’s and they lock eyes, foreheads pressed together.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” Minho growls, arching his back and grinding against Chan. “You’re going to have to crawl to practice tomorrow.”
Chan grits his teeth to hold back a pathetic noise, his whole body shaking. “I fucking dream about you pressing me into the m-mirrors,” he says. “I want you to f-finger me and make me watch myself fall apart—god—don’t even touch my dick—just—just—”
Chan moves his hand upwards and feels the muscles of Minho’s lower back curve in time with the slide of his thigh up Chan’s dick, and Chan’s fragile composure snaps. He bursts into tears, gasps turning into shuddering sobs. He clutches at Minho, shoving his face into Minho’s neck, and just cries.
“Please,” he wails. “Please, I can’t—I can’t wait until we get back to the dorms, please, hyung.”
Minho’s breath catches. “What did you call me?”
“Hyung,” Chan sobs. “Fuck me, hyung. I don’t care if—if someone sees or if they find out. I don’t care.”
“Shit,” Minho says. “Shit, are you crying?”
Minho pushes him back and Chan lets him, tears gathering on his eyelashes and tracking down his cheeks. Minho’s eyes are wide but still so, so dark. Chan tries to get his breathing under control, hiccupping weakly.
“Shh,” Minho says. “Shh, baby.”
He thumbs away Chan’s tears and Chan turns his head into Minho’s hand. “You said you’d help me if I told you,” Chan mumbles between hiccups. “You said.”
“You’re so hot,” Minho says. “Whatever you want, when we get home. Hyungie will give you whatever you want when we get home.”
“I want you now, though,” Chan whines softly. He mouths at Minho’s fingers and looks up at him through teary eyelashes. “I’ll let you come in me.”
Chan sees and feels the shudder that travels through Minho.
“Fuck,” Minho says softly. “You know we can’t.”
Chan sniffles. “I know,” he says. He scrubs at his eyes. “God.”
Minho smiles. “There, there. Soon.”
“Not soon enough.”
“And to think you were going to walk out on me.”
Chan glares blearily at him. “You’re scary.”
“Can I make you cry again?” Minho asks.
“No!” Chan snaps. At Minho’s pout, he wilts. “Fine.”
“It’s so cute,” Minho says.
There’s a pause, and then, quietly: “Minho?”
“Yes, hyung?” Minho says.
Chan fiddles with the hem at the bottom of his shirt. “It’s not a joke, right?” His ears are red. “You really will…?”
“Chris,” Minho says. “Look at me.”
Chan looks up and Minho leans in, tilting his head a little to press his lips warm against Chan’s. Chan’s eyes flutter closed as they hold the kiss, and then Minho exhales through his nose and pulls away. Chan opens his eyes again and Minho’s lips turn up at the edges.
“I want to kiss you, too,” he says.
“Oh,” Chan says, and his heart flutters for a new reason. “Okay. Cool.”
“We should probably get going.”
“Shit,” Chan hisses. “Yeah. Ah, shit, Seunghoon-ssi is going to kill me…”
“Why?” Minho says. “You were sorting out an issue with one of the members away from the rest of the group. A mature decision on your part, if you ask me.”
Chan feels a smile start to spread across his face. “You’re right. We just had a few frustrations with each other to air out, and now we have. For the most part.”
“Some tears were shed, but.”
“In the end we can confidently say that we are back to being the best of friends.”
“The tightest of squads.”
“The closest of bros.”
“Like peas in a pod.”
“Like cats and cream.”
“Like my dick in your ass—ah, wait.”
“Shut up,” Chan laughs, swatting at Minho. Minho breaks out into a sweet smile that reaches his eyes and Chan knows he’s laughing hard enough for his dimples to show. He wants to hold Minho’s hand—just a little—but his heart is full enough with this: the brush of their shoulders together and the exchange of glances that can mean something more than longing now.
--- XXX ---
“Damn, what’s taking them so long?” Felix asks. Jeongin, halfway to asleep on his shoulder, grumbles at the noise.
“Channie-hyung and Minho-hyung aren’t back yet?” Seungmin asks, popping his head up from the row in front of Felix. “It’s been like half an hour.”
They’re in a van big enough for all of them tonight, their managers hovering outside with Changbin relaying—once again—where and why their hyungs had gone.
Felix frowns. “I hope Channie-hyung isn’t being too hard on him. He shouldn’t have switched up the choreography without talking to hyung first, but nothing went wrong. I was expecting a light scolding at worst.”
“Minho-hyung can handle himself,” Seungmin says.
“I know,” Felix says, sighing. “But they’ve been so on-edge around each other lately, I’m worried.”
Hyunjin hums sympathetically. He turns to Jisung. “Jisungie, do you have any idea where Channie-hyung and Minho-hyung went?”
“Oh, them?” Jisung says, not looking up from his phone. “They’re fucking.”
The entire van goes silent and stares at Jisung. Even Jeongin’s eyes pop open.
“I beg your pardon?” Felix chokes.
Jisung glances up from his phone and his eyes widen at the frozen expressions on his member’s faces. “Wait, you didn’t know?”
“Know what, exactly?” Hyunjin asks, voice strained.
“Are you kidding me?” Jisung says. “This is literally all a setup. Minho-hyung has been trying to get Channie-hyung alone since promotions started. He keeps setting him off, trying to get him to scold him. This was the last straw. But don’t feel bad for Channie-hyung because it’s all his fault anyway. He keeps staring at Minho-hyung’s ass and not doing anything about it, so Minho-hyung had to take matters into his own hands. They’re probably fucking in…one of the changing rooms, because it’s louder closer to the stage.”
Jisung rolls his eyes and goes back to texting. “Seriously, do you guys pay attention to anything?”