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The soft curve of Mingi's chin is between Seonghwa's fingers, carefully, meticulously, and lovingly placed at the base between his index finger and thumb. The loving glow that adorns his gaze, that kisses every feature of Mingi like the most precious thing, is as remarkable as one of the stars outside.
The thick, spicy smell of the stew on the stove melts into the air and is gone with the breeze that comes in from the open balcony. There is a chill so mild moving the curtains embroidered with gardenias that it cannot even be felt between them; Seonghwa's heavy breathing prevails and Mingi swallows the image of his concentration heavy as the spicy broth that boils right next to him.
Looking up, staring and melting under the meticulous attention poured over every part of him; the man believes that there is a part - if not all - of him, that could melt into the sofa and live off the zeal laid before him in soft socks and hair tucked behind his ears.
Seonghwa means well—he always does—he gives himself to Mingi in his entirety, moves his hands to him at every turn, his body and his efforts seeking the comfort of someone else for the sake of his own relief. He’s strangely dependent, nurturing if he can realistically say it. Something lives there, in the gap between his standing body and the pouting boy sitting on the couch with the tip of his nose slightly and adorably red.
The tissues are still on the coffee table, the skin beneath his fingers is warm as the summer heat and a few dark strands soak into the light sweat on Mingi's forehead. Maybe the clothes are too much, maybe sweatpants aren't exactly the best even if the thin t-shirt is cool and maybe — most likely — he needs more medicine.
Making a mental note of all this, Seonghwa's thumb moves against his heated skin, travels to enjoy the soft prickling of the growing hairs on his chin and dies when he hooks his lower lip carefully with the tip of his nail.
Shuddering softly, Mingi feels the sting of discomfort slide from his mouth straight to the pit of his stomach, tying it in a knot before fizzing in every corner of his skin. He swallows hard for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly as he pushes his glasses up his nose again.
Seonghwa smiles sweetly, so sweet and devoted that the knot in his stomach turns into a silky, heated bow, sending butterflies flaring under his ribs and painting the tops of his cheeks with blushing dust. Mingi thinks he can — and should — melt under the aroma of pepper, beef broth and cooked vegetables, delicately surrounded by the eyes set on him and sunk into the pillow that still carries the fresh and discordant scent of the man's shampoo in front of him.
“We're going to eat and take some more medicine, okay?” Seonghwa's voice is low and gentle, surrounded by a gentle tone that belongs only to him.
Mingi swallows and shakes his head, a little lethargic, so in love that it makes him dizzy. He would like to bring Seonghwa closer, slip under his soft sweater and tell him that he'll accept anything he wants to give him. Only a quiet nod is present, however, because perhaps it's already embarrassing enough that his gaze strays every two seconds to every single piece of the man in front of him as if the sight of him really should be appreciated.
“I'm sleepy.” That's what Mingi answers, his tone dusty and noisy like on a sand floor. His head still hurts a little, there's a latent discomfort in all his limbs and he feels too weak for anything other than being under the care of a certain someone.
Snorting a giggle, Seonghwa palms his cheek and lovingly rubs the side of his face. Mingi lies down on the affection, drinking him in like fresh water and moving his hands to finally grab the other's waist and pull him into the space where he belongs between his knees.
"You look like a baby, love." The smile on his face remains, tiny and adorable, just a curve of his lips.
Mingi nods shamelessly, pressing his fingers against the softness of the other's clothes and watching him inhale softly.
Seonghwa feels every corner of his skin tingle, tingling happily against the unquestionable possession in the man's hands on his couch. With a soft laugh, he shivers ticklishly as he feels himself being pulled closer and closer to the warm body before him.
"Are we complaining?" That's what Mingi asks after a moment, quickly licking his dry lips and allowing himself to lean his head back against the sofa.
Wrinkling his nose, Seonghwa shakes his head. With one knee between Mingi's, gently pressing against the pillow, he leans in close enough to brush the damp strands away from the boy's forehead. In response, Mingi closes his eyes for a moment and slides his hands under his sweater to press skin to skin against Seonghwa's waist.
"But it's still just a flu," he says simply, thumbs rubbing against the tips of the other's ears and sighing heavily in response to the touch on his skin.
"Hm." Mingi rolls his eyes playfully, a small smile curving his mouth in the cutest way before he says, "Okay, sir, let's go to the pharmacy, I'll take you to my place, make you some stew and get your mind off work. "
Laughing, Seonghwa feels his own cheeks flush.
"Yes, yes, you're the one complaining now." He's all sweetness as he says it, slowly leaning in to inhale too close to Mingi's face.
The boy's smile widens even more, wide and undeniably adoring. In a quick movement, he pulls Seonghwa with enough strength and skill to sit him on his thigh. Seonghwa's hands remain on the sides of his face and his long, dark hair has now moved enough to lick the sides of Mingi's face with the most delicate tickle.
"I'm calculating how many times a year I can get sick, just to stay healthy." He laughs softly. His eyes move slowly, lazy and sleepy, but he still has the strength to wrap his arm around Seonghwa's waist and keep them glued body to body.
Seonghwa laughs back, all heated and flushed. Suddenly, he nuzzles the captivating spot on Mingi's cheek with the tip of his nose and leaves there the most tender of kisses. He slides another kiss of his lips against the growing beard on his chin, another on the warm curve of his neck and, finally, one on the unplanned display of his collarbone. Mingi delights in each one of them, shivers and then liquefies and allows himself to be a puddle under their care, flooded with adoration and terribly in love.
“I love you,” he murmurs hoarsely, almost choked, all warm and comfortable.
His hands remain on the waist of the man in his lap, leaving there a heavy and affectionate caress that at some point will make all of Seonghwa’s sanity crumble.
“Me too, Mingi-ah” he says with a sigh, his gaze hidden under Mingi's chin, where his lips still brush the base of his neck and he inhales the natural scent of his skin. “But let me see that soup, okay? The medicine too.” Seonghwa swallows against the urge to kiss him everywhere, to mark him with his mouth and take care of him in every way he can.
Mingi groans slightly, his palm moving to tangle his fingers in Seonghwa's hair and pull him away just enough to meet his gaze. He looks a little embarrassed, blushing on his ears and cheeks like the loveliest thing he's ever seen, and the man believes he loves him a little more this way.
“Whatever you want” he says reluctantly, leaning down enough to kiss the palm on his face before his eyelids fall heavily. “As long as we can go to bed soon, or I'll sleep on the sofa.”
Seonghwa nods with a smile, caresses Mingi’s face one last time, and stands on shaky legs. When the other’s hands slip away from his body, he feels weak and cold; it’s dizzying to move away, check the soup, grab some more medicine, and realize that he’s the one who’s really sick.