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Minho remembers the first time he met Jisung as clear as a sunny day. Lanky boy with round cheeks, volatile and rough at the edges. Minho could see the insecurity seeping out of him from between the cracks in his tough facade, leaking all over the floor. He lashed out at every small thing that could pose a threat to his ego, flashing his juvenile ivories.
Now he’s calmer, in a sense. In the sense that he doesn’t bite back at small comments or wrong glances, because he barely feels threatened by those anymore. Comfortable with himself. Secure. There’s no reason to take little things as an assault to his very being.
He’s calmer in the sense that he comes home to Minho and lets himself be held by him, hums against Minho’s neck when he plants little kisses on his hair and rubs his back. Content.
Minho feels content, too. When Jisung pokes his head in through the door asking Hyung, have you had dinner? and it just needs a grabby hand from Minho for Jisung to come over and present his butt for a nice little slap.
Jisung huffs. ‘That one was weak.’
‘Not the best position. Let me get up.’ He moves to sit at the edge of the bed, lunges out and hits with full forces. It jiggles nicely and Jisung yelps. Minho laughs, grabs him by the waist and pulls him into his lap. Jisung’s only wearing briefs, for fuck’s sake.
‘Ah, hyung.’ Jisungs sounds a little breathless.
Minho snakes his arms around his waist and presses his lips to Jisung’s bare shoulders, nibbles on the skin.
Jisung leans his head back. ‘Hyung, ah, I asked-˚
‘No, but I’m about to,’ Minho says and sinks his teeth into the tender skin. Gently, softly, not nearly hard enough to draw blood.
Jisung shivers under him and lets out a quiet gasp. He presses his body impossibly closer to Minho, melts into him like a stone in hot lava.
Minho lets go and kisses the sore spot. It’ll leave a nice mark, low enough to be covered up by most necklines.
‘Yummers,’ he whispers into Jisung’s neck, and the younger huffs a surprised laugh.
—
Minho isn’t sure what comes over him sometimes. Maybe it’s his inherent need to see Jisung flustered as often as possible, maybe just the cardinal desire to touch Jisung. Maybe it’s just the truth.
In between schedules, they’re taking an elevator to get from one location to the other, staff and the other members filling it to the brim. Jisung is wedged behind him in the corner. Minho feels the heat radiating off of him.
Minho turns his torso around, facing him. He looks cute, expectant. Big, brown eyes. Minho puts both of his hands to the side of his neck, gentle yet firm, feeling the soft exposed skin under his fingertips. They’re tingling just from the touch.
He stares into Jisung’s eyes and mouthes cute. He can’t help himself. Jisung is just- Jisung. Cute. The cutest. Everything about him.
Jisung’s eyes widen, suppressing a (surprised?) laugh, and his cheeks start reddening slowly. Oh, he hit a spot there, didn’t he?
Jisung looks scandalised, giving him the What the fuck, hyung? eyes, but doesn’t say anything. They are surrounded by staff, after all. He’s heating up under Minho’s hands, his neck must be turning red.
Minho smiles. He loves seeing Jisung flustered. Nothing has changed over the years. He turns around, pressing closer to Jisung.
Jisung, who in return grabs his belt loops and pulls him flush against his front.
—
Jisung is cute when he’s drunk. Everyone and their grandmother knows that.
It pulls at Minho’s heartstrings – Jisung in his bed, cuddled up in blankets, all red and giggly and eyes shining so bright one could mistake them for the moon. He has one hand on Minho’s thigh, leaning into him.
‘Hyung,’ he says, voice dipping to whiny from the alcohol. ‘Hyung, I love your voice so much. Like. You have such a nice voice. You’re taking vocal lessons and improving so much. You’re getting better and you keep getting better. You can do anything.’
Jisung looks at him in such earnest Minho doesn’t dare to make a joke out of it. His initial reaction always – a joke. A sarcastic comment. A Do you want to die? But this. This is drunk Jisung in full honesty, and he’s been going on for at least an hour.
So Minho just smiles and lets his fingers run through Jisung’s hair. It’s still stiff from the schedule they had until late evening today, full of hairspray and other products Minho can’t put a name to.
‘I really like you, hyung, your voice is so romantic. I love your voice so much,’ Jisung keeps going.
Minho scratches his scalp. ‘Ah, jagiya…’ he whispers, not sure if Jisung even hears him in his state. Minho is tipsy too, bordering on drunk, but not the way Jisung is. Jisung may put up a tough front most times, but internally he is nothing but soft. Sensitive. And he lets it all bleed out when he’s drunk, he becomes even more clingy than normally, whinier, softer, more genuine. Babbling nonsense for hours.
Now he’s crying, and he doesn’t even seem to notice. His eyes are glistening and the first drop makes its way down his cheek.
‘Jisung-ah?’ Minho asks, slightly surprised. Sometimes Jisung cries when he’s drunk, but it’s been a while.
Minho thumbs over his cheek, swiping away the tear. It leaves a wet streak.
‘I think I’m drunk,’ Jisung says. Then, ‘I’m crying.’
Minho laughs softly. ‘You are.’
‘It’s the song.’
Minho listens. Leo by Yuuri. They’ve been listening to one of Jisung’s playlists the entire evening, but it doesn’t make much of a difference. Their tastes overlap in that sense, like in any other.
‘Ah. It’s a good song.’
Jisung nods. ‘I really love your voice so much. It’s so romantic. I really like you. Your voice…’ And he’s onto it again, this time crying. He can’t seem to stop.
Minho listens, doesn’t know what else to do. He sits back and enjoys the show.
Jisung is calmer these days. More settled into himself, in tune with his emotions. He lets them out when they need to, punching a pillow or crying to an emotional song. He’s secure in himself, fine with his life. And if he ever stumbles, if he ever needs a pillar to lean his weight onto, Minho is happy to catch him and be his grounding rock.
When the first streaks of sunlight shine through his blinds, he drags Jisung into the shower, washes the care products off his hair and the sweat off his skin. Then he tucks him into bed and he’s not crying anymore. Eyes closed, murmuring something about Minho’s voice.