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You Can Bet On It

Summary:

During a night of drinking and games, Seungmin and Bang Chan make a bet about which Stray Kids' ship was going to crack and get together first. And, well...the rest is history.

Notes:

Hello! Thank you for choosing my fic! This is just a short fluff piece to go along with my other two stories, "7 Ways to Say I Love You" and "Eyes Full of Sunshine." You don't have to have read them to understand this story, but I'd definitely recommend it since this kind of falls in as a prequel/sequel. I hope you enjoy! Please feel free to leave comments at the end and I'll do my best to respond!!

Also, I recently made a twitter for my fanfics - I'll be posting links there for future stories and my DMs are always open. Find me @Sunshine_Rayne3

Special thanks to @jnproch for being my beta reader and making sure I don't make a fool of myself. <3

Work Text:

Bang Chan expected a lot of things when Stray Kids debuted. He expected there to be obstacles in their way – trials and tribulations they would have to overcome together to make a name for themselves. He expected there to be hard nights, tears, and countless moments of doubt. He expected love and joy and excitement, but also a certain amount of frustration and sadness, too.

He even expected some fighting – with a house full of 8 boys, there was bound to be disagreements and yelling and maybe even a few punches here and there if things became too intense.

There were plenty of things Bang Chan expected during the group’s journey to fame and notoriety. What he did not expect, however, was to have to listen to the two other hyungs of the band drunkenly yell at one another about who had the cuter boyfriend.

“Oh my GOD, Changbin, you’re so fucking wrong,” Minho yells, his words slurred and incredibly loud. “Felix can’t hold a damn candle to Jisung. I mean, shit, he’s nice to look at yeah, but have you seen Jisungie’s cheeks? They’re so fucking squishable.”

As if to emphasize his point, Minho turns to face his boyfriend – who’s sitting next to him on the couch with an amused grin pulling at the corners of his mouth – and pinches his round cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. Minho’s eyes crinkle into half-moons as he smiles, cooing about how cute Jisung is. Meanwhile, Changbin is rolling his eyes and reaching over to smack Minho in the arm and grab his attention again.

“You’re the fucking wrong one, hyung,” he says once Minho turns back to him with a loud yelp. Changbin waves his hands in the air wildly like he’s trying to spread his truth through the air. “Yeah, Jisung’s got some cute little squirrel cheeks, but Felix has fucking freckles. Fucking FRECKLES. That shit’s so cute it’s illegal.”

Much like Jisung, Felix is sitting beside his boyfriend and watching the drunken interaction with unbridled amusement, laughing as Changbin starts smacking Minho’s arm while screaming “FRECKLES.” Felix reaches his arms around Changbin’s broad shoulders to try and pull him back, securing him in a firm hold to keep him from knocking Minho around too much.

Chan watches the whole scene from the safety of the kitchen table, shaking his head in exasperation as Minho starts yelling at Changbin about Jisung’s biceps and abs. Chan wishes someone would take the drink out of Minho’s hand – he’s been watching it slosh around dangerously for the last few minutes as Minho uses his limb movements to prove his point. Chan would do it himself, but he’s vaguely terrified of entering what can only be described as a ravenous lions’ den surrounded by an audience of laughing bunnies – except, instead of trying to eat the bunnies, the lions are grossly gushing about how adorable they are.

The chair beside Chan scrapes across the floor, and he glances over to see Seungmin settling in at the table next to him. The younger boy leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches the four boys on the couch in their weird back and forth.

“God, honestly I expected this from Changbin – but Minho? Come on,” Seungmin says, shaking his head in disappointment. “He’s so gross when he gets all lovey dovey like that.”

Chan laughs, leaning slightly in his chair so he can be closer to Seungmin as they talk. He feels like they’ve become the narrators in some kind of romantic nature documentary. Here we see the sloshed gay in the wild, marking his territory and establishing his dominance over the other drunken gays. Beside him is a tiny gay, ready to hold his over-served boyfriend back if emotions become too heightened. You’ll never imagine what happens next.

“Are you sure you’re not just angry that his love for Jisung means the divorce is finalized?” Chan jokes. He picks up his own drink and takes a sip, feeling the sweet sting as it slides down his throat. On the couch, Changbin has now taken on the mission of
loudly counting the freckles dotting Felix’s cheeks. Felix laughs at each number, his skin dusted a rosy pink and his eyes crinkled in the corners. Chan smiles despite his complaints, his body warm from the booze and the joy he can see in his members’ eyes.

Seungmin scoffs. “He wishes he could still marry me. Plus, if I’d known he was that gross, I never would have agreed to being married in the first place, imaginary or otherwise.”

Chan reaches his free arm over to pat Seungmin playfully on the shoulder, the younger boy flicking his hand out to shoo the motion away. Chan chuckles, bringing his arm back to run his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know,” he says, turning back to stare at the boys in the living room. “I kind of always expected this from him. He talks big and tough, but he’s a huge softie. And sometimes when no one else is around, he can be super sentimental. So, I’m not all that surprised that he’s a grossly doting boyfriend.”

“You would say that,” Seungmin says, reaching across the table to steal Chan’s drink from his hands. Chan doesn’t even try to fight it, just lets out a weak “hey” as Seungmin brings the cup to his mouth and downs the rest. He sets the drink back down and licks the dregs from his lips, glancing at Chan as he says, “You bet on him - and lost, in case you forgot.”

Chan laughs again, louder than he means to, and nods. “Yeah, yeah, I did.”

Seungmin chuckles, standing up slowly and walking into the kitchen to pour himself another drink. Left alone with his thoughts momentarily, Chan tunes back into the scene in the living room. Jisung is resting against the arm of the couch and Minho is leaning against him, his back flush against Jisung’s chest. Minho is facing Changbin, arguing with the rapper about who would win in an aegyo contest, Jisung vs. Felix. Changbin has laced his fingers with Felix’s, the younger boy’s legs stretched across his boyfriend’s as he watches Changbin argue on his behalf with starry eyes. Watching them gathered together in the other room, playful fighting about their now open and thriving relationships, Chan smiles so widely he’s afraid his cheeks will split.

And as far as the bet goes, Chan may have bet on Minho, but he isn’t surprised Changbin stepped up. Six months ago when Chan and Seungmin started their conversation on all the romantic tension in the group, Chan didn’t pick Minho because he thought Minho liked Jisung more or was more outgoing than Changbin. To Chan, Minho just seemed much more comfortable in his feelings, much more secure in his sexuality. Binnie, on the other hand, always seemed like he was grappling with every emotion he was feeling at once, torn between what he thought he was supposed to feel and what he did.

The night of the bet was a lot like this one – after their last performance for the month, the group decided to celebrate with some soju and pizza. One shot led into another drink, and before too long some of the older members were a little too tipsy for their own good. Actually, scratch that – by the end of the night, everyone was a little too tipsy for their own good. Even Jeongin was feeling the warmth, curling himself around Hyunjin voluntarily and letting the older boy coo at him and pet his hair while the maknae played Mario Kart with Jisung. And Jisung – well, his already awful video game coordination just became abysmally bad until he was simply aggressively button mashing while yelling obscenities at the television.

The rest of the group wasn’t much better off – Minho was lying across the floor with his head in Jisung’s lap, batting at the younger boy’s hands every once in a while to mess up his concentration and cause him to lose the game. On the other side of the room, Changbin was sitting on the ground in front of Felix, letting the dancer brush his fingers over his scalp and play with his hair. Chan, his belly warm and his brain a comfortable fuzzy, stood up from his seat on the couch and walked (read: stumbled) over to where Seungmin was sitting quietly in his armchair, watching the rest of the room with slightly drooping eyelids.

“You’re looking kinda sleepy, Seungie. Do you need to go to bed?” Chan asked, his concerned leader brain only slightly more pronounced than his drunk brain. Seungmin looked up at him with soft, sleepy eyes and shook his head. Chan fell into the chair beside him, squishing him against the side and wrapping his arms around the younger boy. Seungmin melted into the hug warmly – an uncharacteristic response for someone who usually squirmed away from Chan’s tight embrace.

Wow, he really must be drunk, Chan’s fuzzy brain thought. He hugged him tighter.

“I’m not tired,” Seungmin said, leaning into Chan’s arms just a little. “Just watching.”

Chan turned his head to look at the rest of the room, staying tightly wrapped around the younger boy as he surveyed the scene before him. He watched Hyunjin softly stroking Jeongin’s hair while Minho curled himself up in Jisung’s lap and stared at him with what could only be described as starry eyes. On the other side of the room, Changbin had his eyes closed, looking completely blissed out as Felix ran his fingers through his hair. Everyone looked warm and happy and connected, and Chan’s chest felt full as he watched his team exist together so beautifully.

His thoughts were only broken when Seungmin said, ever so quietly, “How long do you think until one of them gets together?”

Chan turned away from the group to look at him, watching as Seungmin continued to stare at the team members with a soft, droopy gaze. The younger boy glanced at Chan from the corner of his eyes, raising an eyebrow slightly. Chan didn’t have to ask for clarification – he knew Seungmin was incredibly astute when it came to the other members and their feelings (almost as observant as Chan himself).

“I think the whole Hyunin situation still has a way to go,” Chan said, pulling one of his hands away from Seungmin’s body to rub his tired eyes, leaving the other draped across the younger boy’s shoulders. “And Changbin still doesn’t seem to really know what he feels. But I think Minho’s going to crack soon.”

As if on cue, Minho began poking at Jisung’s sides, causing him to drop his controller and squirm away from Minho’s attack while the older clung on and laughed.

“Really?” Seungmin said. “Cause I think Changbin’s going to break and ask out Felix first. He spent twenty minutes this morning just staring at him during warmups.”

Chan laughed quietly and shook his head, careful to keep his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “I mean, I could see how you’d reach that conclusion, but I still don’t think he has it in him quite yet. And Minho practically glared holes into my skull yesterday for hugging Jisung too long during rehearsals.”

Seungmin shifted slightly in the too small armchair so that he was leaning more into Chan’s side, making Chan feel that their conversation was incredibly secretive – two conspirators trying to map out the inner romantic workings of their group. “Yeah, but like, Minho won’t make a move until he gets what he thinks is a clear signal from Jisung – which is dumb because everything Jisung does is a clear signal – and he’ll wait for that to happen. Changbin is so deep down the rabbit hole that he’s not even concerned with getting a signal. His feelings are going to physically explode all over everything.”

Chan lifted his hand from around Seungmin’s shoulders to lightly flick him on the side of the head. Seungmin didn’t flinch, just flashed him a small grin as Chan laid his arm back down. “That’s such a weird way to say that.”

Seungmin shrugged. “I’m not wrong though.”

A thought flashed through Chan’s head, and the alcohol in his brain seemed to muddle the corners just enough that it felt like a good idea. “Alright, how about this: I’ll bet you ₩20,000 that Minho cracks first and asks out Jisung.”

Seungmin turned to face Chan now, the romantic scene in front of him forgotten at the mention of money. “I’m listening.”

Chan raised his hand and gestured to the room. “If Minho asks Jisung out first, you owe me. If Changbin mans up and goes for it, you win.”

“And if Jeongin decides to break first?”

Chan shook his head and sighed. “Then we’re both out of luck and the maknae really is on top. So, do we have a deal?” He held out his hand.

Seungmin didn’t even hesitate before taking the outstretched limb in his own and giving it one firm shake. “Deal.”

Ultimately, Chan had lost the bet. But he couldn’t really be mad about the money – watching his members now, comfortable and relaxed and happy, he knows there was no better outcome for them.

As he sits thinking about the past, Seungmin returns with two fresh drinks in his hand, setting one down in front of Chan. He takes his set again and raises his cup to his lips, taking a long drink before leaning back in his chair and looking at Chan.

“Do you think they’ll ever stop being gross?” He asks. Despite his complaints, a slight smile plays at the corners of his lips and Chan can hear the loving tone framing the edges of his words.

Chan laughs, taking a sip of the drink in front of him. It’s sweet and fruity, a sugary sting that slides down his throat and settles comfortably in his stomach. His eyes follow the sway and shift of the boys on the couch as they continue to yell at each other, their debate over the cuteness of their ever-amused boyfriends seemingly endless, and his chest is once again full of that warm, happy tightness.

“God, I hope not.”