Work Text:
Minho stands in the doorway to their spare room, Jisung’s room, they’ve been informed to tell fans. And technically, it is his. They’d just converted it into a makeshift studio so Jisung had somewhere to work on nights he wasn’t working with Chan or Changbin.
He watched Jisung. His back was to Minho, a pencil caught between his teeth, one knee pulled to his chest. His fingers tapped out a quiet beat against the desk, restless and familiar. He’d been in there most of the day. Had skipped dinner. Looked exhausted in that quiet, worrying way Minho had learned to recognize long before Jisung ever said the words I’m tired out loud.
And yet, still, he was beautiful. Just as striking as he was under stage lights and full makeup, if not more.
There was something disarming about him like this. Barefaced, hair falling into his eyes no matter how many times he pushed it back. His lashes cast soft shadows when he looked down at the page, dark and thick enough to steal Minho’s breath with every slow blink. His mouth worried at the pencil absently, lips pink and slightly chapped, concentration etched into the faint crease between his brows.
Minho loved that crease. Loved the way Jisung always leaned too close to his work, like the words might run away if he didn’t hold them there with his whole body. Loved the gentle curve of his shoulders, the way his spine bowed when he hunched forward, completely unaware of how he was being watched.
Even tired, even worn thin, Jisung glowed with something soft and earnest. A quiet intensity. A kind of beauty that didn’t ask to be seen but was impossible to look away from.
Minho swallowed, chest tightening in that familiar way.
Sometimes it scared him, how effortless it was. How Jisung could just exist and undo him entirely.
Minho knocked lightly on the already open door before stepping inside. He rested his hands on Jisung’s shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze.
“Come to bed, baby. It’s late.”
Jisung hummed, pulling the pencil from between his lips and letting it drop onto the desk. He lowered his leg back to the floor and scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion finally catching up to him.
“I’m so close.”
“Maybe sleep will help?”
Minho’s hand slid up the back of Jisung’s neck, fingers threading into his hair. Jisung’s head tipped back automatically, eyes fluttering shut.
He let out a quiet breath, tension easing just a fraction. “You always say that.”
“And I’m usually right,” Minho murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to Jisung’s temple. “You’ve been working on these lyrics for hours.”
Jisung cracked one eye open, glancing back at the notebook like it might betray him. “It was making sense earlier.”
“Mm. Earlier you’d eaten,” Minho pointed out.
That earned him a weak smile. Minho took it as a win.
He nudged the chair back just enough to step between it and the desk. “Whatever it is, it’ll still be there tomorrow.”
Jisung scoffed softly but finally let Minho pull him up. He swayed for a second, catching himself on Minho’s chest. Minho’s arms came around him immediately, firm and steady.
“See?” Minho said quietly. “Tired.”
Jisung rested his forehead against Minho’s shoulder. “Carry me?”
Minho smiled, warm and fond, and kissed his hair again. “You’re lucky I love you.”
He didn’t wait for permission, just scooped Jisung up, notebook forgotten on the desk as they headed down the hall, the light clicking off behind them.
Once they stepped into their room, Minho lowered Jisung back onto his feet. Predictably, Jisung let out a small whine.
Minho chuckled under his breath. “I know, baby. But you need to get out of these clothes.”
Jisung answered with another protest, softer this time, before lifting his arms anyway.
Minho smiled and complied, catching the hem of Jisung’s shirt and pulling it up and over his head. He tossed it somewhere in the vague direction of the laundry basket, already deciding that was a problem for tomorrow.
Jisung swayed a little once his shirt was gone, blinking slowly like the movement alone had taken more energy than he wanted to admit. Minho steadied him automatically, hands warm and sure at his sides.
“Easy,” Minho murmured.
Jisung nodded faintly. Shorts came next, pushed down without ceremony and kicked aside to join the discarded shirt. He barely seemed aware of it, already running on fumes.
“Okay,” Minho murmured. “Sit.”
Jisung obeyed without argument, dropping onto the edge of the bed with a tired huff. He slouched forward, elbows resting on his knees, hair falling into his eyes again.
Minho grabbed a soft hoodie from the chair and handed it to him. “Arms up.”
Jisung looked at it, then at Minho, lips twitching. “You’re bossy.”
“You like me bossy,” Minho replied fondly.
Jisung slipped the hoodie on and immediately curled into himself, tugging the sleeves down over his hands. Minho watched as some of the tension finally eased from his shoulders.
“Better?” Minho asked.
Jisung nodded, already crawling toward his side of the bed. “Much.”
Minho followed, switching off the light and settling in beside him, instinctively pulling Jisung close. Jisung tucked himself in without thinking, face pressing into Minho’s chest.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, already halfway asleep.
Minho pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head, holding him steady as his breathing evened out.