Work Text:
It’s almost a routine at this point. Minho punches in the four-digit code on Jisung’s front door and enters as a matter of course. He wrote him a message that he would come over nonetheless, knowing that Jisung likes to be informed, but he hasn’t read it yet. Jisung hasn’t really responded to any messages this evening, he just sent a picture of his laptop screen with the caption i be buzyy.
After all, that’s why Minho is here. He knows how Jisung can get. Focused, wrapped-up, totally immersed in his work, he tends to forget everything else when it’s not right in front of him and when that thing is work – well, he tends to forget his basic human needs.
Minho takes off his shoes and jacket and carefully opens the door to Jisung’s bedroom. He’s sitting in his chair like a shrimp, or a banana, but definitely not in a way his chiropractor would approve of. Headphones on and face only focused on the screen in front of him, he hasn’t noticed Minho yet. He slowly moves into his periphery.
Jisung jumps a little. ‘Fuck,’ he mutters and takes off his headphones. ‘Don’t scare me like that.’
‘Not my fault you don’t read messages and are ready to fall victim to the next best robber.’ Minho stands next to him and presses a kiss to his forehead. Jisung closes his eyes for a second. He leans against his belly.
Minho softly runs his hands through his hair, it’s a bit greasy and sticks out in every direction and he wonders when Jisung showered the last time. He leans down to kiss the top of his head; he smells so much like himself. Minho loves it.
‘What did you eat today?’
‘Ugh…’ Jisung huffs out a soft laugh. ‘Uhm… breakfast?’
‘Morning-breakfast or noon-breakfast?’
Jisung closes his eyes and buries his face in Minho’s belly. ‘Like, three p.m.?’
‘Oh baby,’ Minho coos. ‘It’s ten p.m.’
Jisung looks up with wide eyes. ‘For real?’
Minho nods and gently pokes the tip of his nose.
‘Last time I checked it was six,’ Jisung whines and closes his eyes in fake-crying.
‘Figured as much. I’m gonna make you something.’
Jisung turns around in his swivel chair and grabs the other’s hips, pulling him closer. ‘No. My kitchen is a mess.’
Minho puts one hand on the backrest and the other on his boyfriend’s cheek, leaning in close to his face. With his sternest voice he says, ‘As if I haven’t seen your place in worse conditions. I don’t fucking care.’
Jisung looks at him with his big round eyes and gulps. Then, crossing the few centimetres separating them, he kisses Minho. Lips on lips, tender and gentle. Relishing. Igniting a meek flame in Minho’s chest.
He moves away and guides a stray strand of hair out of Minho’s eyes. ‘I love you. Also I got pork belly in the fridge. Please use it because I overestimated my will to cook.’
Minho huffs a laugh. ‘I will. And I love you, too.’
With that, he leaves Jisung alone to his work duties. Or whatever exactly it is he is working on, it might be a personal project as well. He takes a mental note to ask him about it later.
First he cleans the piles of dishes and puts them all neatly back into the respective cabinets. Then he scavenges the fridge for anything edible. Pork belly, kimchi, green onions. Enough spices. Kimchi-jjigae it is. He washes, chops, marinates, boils, and seasons. Taste-tests and doesn’t notice anything spicy, so it should be just right for Jisung. Humming along to the tune in his earphones, he prepares two bowls and scoops the stew into them. There’s still at least two servings left, so Jisung should survive tomorrow as well.
Caring for Jisung comes easy to him, always has. When they became friends, hanging out at Minho’s place – him cooking and Jisung sitting on the counter or a chair or the table or the floor while keeping him entertained – became a regular occurence. Jisung would stop by anytime he felt like it, which was more or less all the time, and Minho would indulge him. Sometimes he’d commission Jisung to bring food from the store and Jisung, ever so obedient, would bring all he asked for and then some. Sometimes he would even help cooking, taking Minho’s instructions and cutting up vegetables, stirring eggs, or trying to roll the perfect gimbap. They made a journey through several different dumplings and wrote elaborate ratings (for example: very sexy dumpling or so good it cured my trust issues). Minho discovered his love for pierogi while Jisung is still a fan of good old gyoza.
When they got together, not much changed. They still hung out most of the time, but this time with way more kissing and cuddling less timid. It felt natural, like no matter what they would have done in their lives, they would have ended up together either way. Destiny, one might call it. Minho doesn’t believe in that. Having Jisung in his life feels like a kid that's learned to walk. Once you do, there’s no way you can live without it voluntarily. Minho learned to speak, learned to walk, learned to dance, learned about Jisung. That’s the way his life goes, no matter what.
He puts the bowls on the small kitchen table. Loving Jisung is easy. His second nature. He prepares herbal tea in their favourite cups. Then he peeks inside Jisung’s room again.
‘Jagi,’ he says and Jisung turns around. He looks so adorable Minho wants to eat him whole.
‘Food is ready.’
Jisung’s eyes light up and he puts his headphones away to follow Minho into the kitchen. When he sees the table, he promptly hugs Minho from behind. Tight around his waist, hands flat on his stomach.
‘You’re so sweet,’ he whispers. Minho chuckles and gently caresses Jisung’s fingers.
‘This is nothing.’
‘For you maybe.’
‘I’ve done this a thousand times already.’
‘But it still means a lot to me. That won’t change.’ Jisung nestles his face between Minho’s shoulder blades.
Minho’s lips turn into a gentle smile. God, he’s so embarrassingly much in love with this workaholic. ‘Okay. Now let’s sit down to eat.’
They do, and Jisung doesn’t stop complimenting the stew until Minho’s ears turn rosy. Rightfully so – it really is delicious. Minho asks about his project and Jisung starts ranting about his demo and compression and velocity and dynamic range and generally lots of things that Minho has no clue about. He talks so much he has to be periodically reminded of the bowl in front of him.
‘Let’s take a shower,’ Minho says as he fills their empty bowls with water in the sink.
Jisung perks up. ‘Together?’
‘Obviously, silly. As if I’d miss a chance seeing that marvellous body of yours.’ He slaps Jisung on the butt once, twice, thrice, shooing him towards the bathroom.
‘Yah!’ he yelps but obeys nonetheless, opening the bathroom door. ‘I have, like, only one clean towel right now. Laundry is overdue, I know.’
Minho moves to help Jisung out of his hoodie. ‘Sharing is caring.’
The other snorts, hands up in the air and wriggling out of his hoodie. ‘I don’t think this applies to towels.’
He yanks the hoodie into the nearest corner, followed by his tee. Minho has also stripped his top layers, leaving his torso bare, and steps closer to his boyfriend. He puts both his hands of either side of Jisung’s waist and gently rubs his palms up and down the smooth skin. They’re close enough to kiss, but Minho looks him into his eyes instead.
‘Let me do the thinking, baby. You’ve worked hard enough today.’
He means it half-teasingly, half-serious, but the way Jisung’s shoulders drop in relaxation is telling enough. Minho pulls him into a hug, one arm tight around his waist and the other stroking firmly over his back. He presses his nose against Jisung’s scalp. Inhales. Sandalwood. Something salty that reaches the centre of his heart. Fills it with contentment.
Jisung’s half-naked body is warm against his despite the goosebumps on his skin. He shivers when Minho gently scratches right next to where his left shoulder blade ends and buries his face in the crook of Minho’s neck. He can feel him nibbling his skin.
‘C’mon, jagi. Let’s get in the shower,’ Minho says. He tries to detach their bodies and Jisung starts whining, which makes Minho smile gently.
He keeps whispering while undressing first Jisung and then himself, ‘C’mon, baby, we can cuddle all night afterward, hm? Jagi. Yeah, just like that, baby, you’re doing well. Yes. All right. Let’s go, jagi.’
He steps in the shower, ‘C’mere, baby,’ and Jisung follows suit without ever losing touch of his body. They’re like magnets, always gravitating towards, always attached to each other.
Minho washes Jisung’s hair and massages his scalp, applies conditioner and rubs his body in shower oil. The other’s eyes are closed and Minho takes great care that no stray drop of water finds its way to his face. He gives his shoulders a short massage and Jisung can’t seem to stop sighing. It warms his heart. He looks at ease, all worries forgotten under the warm fog taking over his mind. That’s how Jisung described it once. The way it feels when Minho makes him feel so entirely safe and taken care of that he can let loose of everything that binds him to gravity.
When they’re done, the whole bathroom is filled with steam and they’re not able to see themselves in the fogged up mirror. He dries Jisung with the baby blue terry cloth, gently patting away the water.
‘But… you,’ Jisung quietly protests while pointing at Minho’s bare and wet body.
He smiles. ‘I’m all right,’ he reassures him. ‘Don’t worry about me, okay? Just enjoy it.’ Then he starts humming a tune that he can’t quite place, something from a forgotten recess of his brain. Jisung nods, eyes closed still.
When he’s done, he quickly towels himself off and instructs Jisung to sit on the toilet lid while he gets their pyjamas. Jisung helps a bit putting his on, lifting one leg, and the other, and then lifting both arms up high. Minho prepares their toothbrushes and Jisung keeps brushing until Minho finishes and tells him he’s done as well.
‘All right baby, now let me just put some moisturiser on your face and we’re good to go.’ He gently pats his face and Jisung’s mouth slowly stretches into a smile and Minho thinks, God, I love him so much I could swallow the earth whole and it wouldn’t even come close to everything I feel for him on a daily basis.
Later, when they’re all tangled up under warm sheets in bed, Jisung presses his cheek close to Minho’s chest. His breath is shallow. But Minho can tell he isn’t asleep yet by the way he plays with the collar of Minho’s linen tee. His hair is still slightly damp, he almost fell asleep when he blow-dried his hair, so Minho gauged it dry enough and shooed him to bed. It doesn’t smell like him anymore but instead of artificial pomegranate.
Minho strokes over his back firmly. His muscles are less tense than before, the warm shower surely helped, but he still might need a massage tomorrow morning. Minho is willing to give it. Willing to give so, so much more than Jisung would ever ask for. He would never ask for too much, barely asks for anything, but Minho would give him the world, the stars, and the whole universe, if he only could.
‘Hyung…’ Jisung murmurs into his chest.
Minho hums in response, showing he is still awake.
‘I’m so… so very lucky to have you in my life. So happy.’
Minho’s chest feels like caving in under the weight of his lover. Giving in, swallowing up Jisung. His lungs and ribcage expand when he breathes in and Jisung’s head moves with it. Part of his breathing. Part of his life. Part of his everything.
Minho hugs im tighter. ‘Me too, jagi. Me too.’