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Don't run, they're not supposed to run—but they're kids for god's sake, it's in the name. And Jisung's fingers are long, they're quick, and Minho made the mistake of crowning Jisung his best friend. He let down the drawbridge and showed Jisung around his body—his temple—all the good places to scratch or massage when he's been hunched over all day; the patches of skin on his shoulders that got pimply and needed squeezing; his cool scars and his less-cool scars (that he of course invented cool stories for). Pointed out the weaknesses in the crook of his neck and along his ribs, leading towards his stomach, soft flesh that even the slightest disturbance had him scrunching up like an accordion and giggling.
Minho crowned Jisung king of his secrets, and Jisung betrayed him with wiggling fingers and firecracker eyes.
His foot-thumps are so much faster than Minho's—the pounding of dirty grey socks on laminate flooring the battle cry of his hunter. Minho clears the couch with one hand bracing himself as he leaps over it. He spins to face Jisung, halted on the other side, fingers claw-like and a ferocious grin splitting his face. A giggle bubbles out of Minho. Nervous. Fearful. Excited.
He fakes to the left, Jisung follows. Hops to the right then sprints for the left, but Jisung is fast enough to catch up to him. Minho squeaks and circles away, panicked, Jisung following. Minho breaks for the safety of his room, his bunk, a solid surface at his back. Cornered? Maybe. But this way he was only facing Jisung on one front.
Minho vaults into the bottom bunk, rolling onto his back and legs lifted, bicycle-style, to prepare for kicking defenses. Jisung is aggressive but dumb, running tum-first into the kicking machine that Minho has become. He pulls back with an audible oof, but recovers in a few moments to better angle himself. He climbs on the edge of the bed, and when Minho lashes out, he catches a black-socked foot with an iron grip. Minho squeals and tries to get loose. He kicks the trapped foot wildly but, grunting, Jisung manages to get his entire calf wedged under his torso while also batting away Minho's other flailing leg. Minho arches his back, groaning, and the pause in his kicking defenses is one pause too many.
Jisung pounces, abandoning the leg-trapping strategy in favor of simply suffocating Minho like a beached whale across his torso. Minho squeals much louder this time, using both hands and bucking of hips to attempt to throw off the stowaway, but Jisung is relentless in his pursuit of blood. His wicked fingers find Minho's soft, defenseless sides and he plays Minho like an instrument, tickling him until Minho is giggling, laughing, and then screeching, writhing under Jisung in an attempt to wiggle away—to where? Minho had trapped himself here.
He lets out a particularly ghoulish shriek and grabs Jisung's wrists in his own crushing grip. Jisung winces but does not protest—such was the price of a pyrrhic victory. He attempts to free himself and go for Minho's sides again, and this time Minho straight up screams in his face: a short, piercing blast.
They are brought to a halt by pounding on the adjacent wall of the room. Through the wall, Chan calls, "Yo, shut the fuck up!"
Minho and Jisung are still. Momentarily.
Jisung tries to move his wrists but Minho is stronger than him. Tries to squirm into a better position but Minho has hooked his legs around Jisung, trapping him in an unfavorable-to-tickling situation. Jisung then attempts to use his hair to tickle the crook of Minho's neck and Minho shoots forward and licks a long, slobbery stripe from Jisung's jaw to temple.
Jisung rears back, freeing himself to wipe at his face and climb off Minho. "Dude, nasty!" he protests, wiping his cheek on the sleeve of shirt. "You're so gross."
Minho shrugs and doesn't reply.
After ensuring that he'd removed all the offending spit from his face, Jisung attempts to slink close to Minho again, shimmying down the wall to slot himself in between it and Minho and along the length of Minho's body. Minho pushes him away with a bent knee.
"I just," Jisung says, "want to cuddle."
"Uh-huh," Minho says. "Nice try."
"I just want to cuddle!" Jisung insists.
"Yeah, I've heard that one before."
"Hyung, you never cuddle with me anymore."
"Hmm, wonder why?"
"I thought we were friends."
"Back, demon."
"Hyung," Jisung whines, bouncing up on down on his folded legs. "Hyungie. Lee Know-hyungie. Minho-hyungie. Dancing jewel, whisker prince, king of all things with cute toepads—"
"What," Minho says.
"I just want to cuddle," Jisung says. "Just cuddling."
"Just cuddling?"
"Just cuddling."
"Hmm," Minho says, but he lowers his leg. Jisung worms his way into a five-inch space that should not be able to occupy another human being, draping half his body across Minho. Leg crossing both of Minho's and ankle hooking around his foot. Arm flung across Minho's chest and then curled around his neck in a lanky headlock. And Jisung's face, puffing hot, humid air against Minho's neck, too loud in his ear. Jisung runs even hotter than Minho and he's sweaty from chasing Minho around the dorm. Smelly from wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Suspiciously damp.
Minho's the type of person who won't marry unless his spouse agrees to two beds in the house. He can't sleep with another person's smell, movements, and juices in his personal space. Especially not when they belong to a teenage boy, arguably the smelliest, twitchiest, and moistest form of human. He's certainly not going to nap with Jisung cuddling him in a too-small bunk bed, even if Minho is worn out from the adrenaline and effort of being chased.
Besides, Jisung isn't slick. He's too tense to be intent on cuddling. He's waiting until Minho has his guard down to—ha!
Minho catches Jisung's hand as he goes to tickle Minho's neck. But instead of shoving him away, Minho pulls up both of Jisung's arms, throws them over his shoulders, and wraps Jisung in a bear hug around his middle, arms tucked beneath his underarms so his upper body is awkwardly scrunched together, hugging Minho's head. And then Minho wraps his legs around Jisung's, squeezing his toothpick thighs with Minho's much more substantial thighs and yeah—Jisung isn't going anywhere. Also Minho gets a weird body pillow to mash himself against and while he has his reservations, Minho's not gonna lie and say skin-on-skin contact feels bad.
Jisung squirms in Minho's octopus-like grasp, but the trapper has now become the trapped. Minho's not uncomfortable but Jisung is definitely cramping, his squirms accompanied by little growls rumbling in his throat when he can't escape. Minho ignores him. In fact, Minho pointedly resumes the act of cuddling, peacefully pretending to sleep while Jisung wiggles and pushes at him.
"Hyung," Jisung whines. "Lemme go."
Minho lets out a comically loud snore.
"Hyung!" Jisung says. "Not funny!"
Minho thinks it's pretty funny.
"I'll lick you," Jisung threatens. And then he does, licking Minho's forehead and sputtering at the taste of concealer. Minho weathers it. His own pyrrhic victory.
"Oh no, what's this?" Jisung says. "I have to pee. Better let me go hyung, or I'll pee my pants. I'll pee my pants, I'll pee your pants, and I'll wet your bed."
Minho calls his bluff with another loud snore.
"Minho-hyung," Jisung whines, dragging out the hyung. "Come on. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I tickled you. Lemme go."
Minho peeks up at him, smiling, eyes glittering. Jisung glances down at him from a particularly ugly three-chin angle.
"Please?" he tries.
Minho lets him go, leaning back so they're face-to-face.
Jisung sniffs. "I hope you break out from my spit on your face."
"I hope you get a UTI from holding in your pee."
"Ugh," Jisung says, shoving his face into Minho's chest. "I hate you."
"Hmm," Minho says. "I love you, though, Sungie."
"Don't be cute with me," Jisung grumbles. "My shoulders hurt."
Minho obliges the complaint, rubbing his thumbs into the dips of Jisung's back. Jisung's body relaxes against his, less of a body pillow and more of a warm, easily moldable blanket. He hums, content, for a few minutes, until he bristles again.
"Hey!" Jisung says. "I'm not finished with you yet! You're not forgiven just because you gave me a backrub."
"Uh-huh," Minho says, smiling.
"Yeah," Jisung says. "Evil must be punished."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Gross for gross. You licked me and made me almost pee myself so—"
"Oh, so your tiny bladder is my fault?"
"So," Jisung emphasizes, "I'm going to punish you by—" he pauses, "uh, kiss attack. Yeah."
"Alright," Minho sighs. "I guess this is one-hundred percent my fault and I should accept the weight of my crimes."
Jisung leans back and eyes him, weighing his sarcasm with pouted lips, but then he darts forward and peppers Minho's face with kisses. Eyebrows and eyelids; the bridge and button of his nose; the fullness of both his cheeks; his forehead, temples, chin; and the corners of his eyes that are folded with laughter lines from giggling at the tender tickling barrage of Jisung's kisses.
Jisung pauses only once, rethinking the jerk of his head towards Minho's mouth. He pulls back a centimeter, half a beat, before surging in and pecking Minho's mouth as well before burying his face back in Minho's chest. "There," he mumbles. "I hope you're grossed out."
Minho hadn't been grossed out by kisses since he was thirteen. But it was endearing to see Jisung, local kissing advocate, get so worked up about putting his mouth on Minho. The same Jisung who woke the members up with forehead kisses when he was on wake-up duty. The same Jisung who kissed his members nine times more than any other member on camera, and almost triple that off camera. The same Jisung whose lips had feathered every member's neck and ear and cheek countless times.
He hadn't successfully made mouth-to-mouth contact with any of them, but it wasn't for lack of trying. That he would panic and shy away once succeeding was endlessly fascinating to Minho. He can feel Jisung's heart pounding through his back.
"Not what you expected?" Minho laughs.
"Shut up," Jisung mumbles.
"That's not your first kiss."
"No," Jisung huffs. "You're so annoying."
"You're embarrassed."
"Duh."
"Why?" Minho grins. "Is it because you've never kissed anyone as handsome as me before?"
"Ugh," Jisung groans.
Minho waits.
"You're...stubbly," Jisung says.
This is true. Minho doesn't grow as much as Chan does, but he still has to shave like the rest of them, save for Jeongin and Seungmin. He's getting a bit scruffy now that promotions are over and he only has to wear a mask to procrastinate on shaving.
"You've kissed guys before, Sungie."
"Not—" Jisung sighs again. "Only...we were in middle school, okay?"
"Hm."
"Feels weird," Jisung mumbles.
"Hate it?"
"No," Jisung says. "No."
Minho waits. Waits for Jisung's heartbeat to slow. Waits for the tension to leave the lines of his back. Waits for the deep inhale, the quiet exhale. And the rabbit kicks of his heart as he leans back, looks up at Minho again. And Minho kisses him.
Jisung is young, so Minho presses his lips to Jisung's gentle. Jisung is older than he seems, so Minho kisses him full and warm. Minho does not hold back his affections, his own rabbit-kicking heart. He wets his lips before he seals their mouths so it is smooth and painless and soft. Touches a hand flat to Jisung's chest to feel properly how his heart soars when Minho kisses him and means it. Minho does not know how many people have kissed Jisung and meant it.
Maybe he's selfish, but it doesn't matter to him. Minho is a young tabby with shining fur, and Jisung is his choice spot of sun. Maybe it's in a pile of used fish and chips papers--a little smelly, a little greasy, suspiciously damp—but it's still the warmest patch of turf that Minho's amber eyes have ever caught sight of. Who cares who's sat there before? It's Minho's place now.
Their mouths make a sweet chirp when Minho pulls back. Jisung looks a bit like a car crash, but his eyes are still sparkling.
"Woah," he says.
"Mhmm," Minho says, smiling.
Jisung blinks a few times. Nods. "Okay," he says. "Okay, cool."
He leans his head back on Minho's chest, but Minho can feel his brain buzzing. He jerks back up again after not even five seconds. "Just to be clear," Jisung says. "We can—we can do that again, right?"
"Yes, Sungie," Minho says.
Jisung eyes him suspiciously. "Whenever we want?"
"Mhmm."
"However long we want? However many times we want?"
"Well," Minho says, smile showing teeth, "we do have a job, you know."
Jisung rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay, whatever mom." As if he doesn't believe Minho, he leans in hesitantly again, kisses Minho with eyes closed, tipping Minho's chin back just a little. Minho basks in it, his little patch of sun, lets Jisung draw the kiss out with soft pecks and longer presses of lips to lips. When Jisung pulls back, Minho is still smiling.
"Woah," Jisung says again, tucking himself back into Minho's chest, settling down for a sincere round of cuddle-dozing. "Awesome."
This is not the sound of a new man
Or a crispy realization
It's the sound of me unlocking and you lift away
Your love will be
Safe with me.