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It was quiet when Jisung stepped into the dorm, his keys the only sound as he dropped them into the small cup by the door. He slid off his shoes and stepped into his slippers, tilting his head as he listened, trying to figure out where Minho might be.
Minho had just gotten back from a solo trip, gone the entire week. They’d video called and texted every single day, multiple times a day, but it still hadn’t been enough. Jisung had felt like something vital was missing the whole time. Like moving through the world with a part of himself just… gone.
He’d always been like that when separated from the members for too long. The dorms felt off balance when even one of them was missing. But with Minho, it was different. Sharper. Quieter. Like the absence echoed.
Hyunjin had teased him about it once, after Jisung had spent yet another string of nights at his and Changbin’s dorm, doing nothing more than watching movies and messing around.
“Have the chopsticks been separated?” Hyunjin had asked, grinning.
Jisung had pouted immediately, bottom lip pushed out without even thinking about it, and Changbin had laughed, tugging him into a side hug.
“Leave him alone,” Changbin had said fondly. “You know he doesn’t work right without his other half.”
Jisung hadn’t argued. He never did.
Chan had done his best to keep him busy, inviting him over to work on music, dragging him out to eat, even taking him to the movies with him and Jeongin. It hadn’t fixed the ache, not really, but it had helped.
Jisung appreciated his brothers more than he ever said out loud. They always did this for him when he and Minho had to be apart, letting him crash in their beds when the dorm felt too quiet, too empty, or making sure he was never left behind when they went out.
But Minho was back now.
He’d texted Jisung the moment his plane landed. Jisung had nearly buzzed out of his skin knowing he couldn’t be there to greet him, stuck in a producer meeting that dragged on far longer than it had any right to. By the time he finally escaped, the only thing he wanted was to get home.
He moved quietly from the entryway into the living room, already halfway toward their bedroom before he noticed the shape on the couch.
He almost walked right past him.
Minho was sprawled on his stomach, fast asleep. One arm dangled off the edge of the couch, fingers relaxed, while his face was completely smooshed into the cushion. His hair was a mess, dark strands falling over his eyes, mouth parted just slightly as he breathed.
Jisung stopped short.
He didn’t know why it always surprised him, how Minho could look so effortlessly beautiful when he wasn’t trying at all. No sharp stage presence, no practiced expressions. Just this. Soft. Unguarded. Real.
The lines of his face were relaxed in sleep, all the intensity stripped away, leaving something gentle underneath. His lashes rested against his cheeks, longer than they had any right to be. Even the faint crease between his brows, usually so familiar, had smoothed out.
Jisung’s chest tightened.
He stood there for a moment longer than necessary, just watching. Like if he memorized this version of Minho, sleepy and warm and waiting right where he’d left him, he could keep the feeling forever.
Jisung let out a soft breath and brushed the hair from Minho’s eyes, fingers lingering for just a second too long. He had to physically stop himself from leaning down and pressing a kiss to Minho’s lips.
God, he’d missed him.
He knew Minho’s schedule had been brutal while he’d been gone, late nights, early mornings, barely any rest in between. Their video calls happened whenever they could steal the time, while Minho sat in a makeup chair, during rushed dinner breaks, and late at night when exhaustion made his voice soft and slow. Some nights, it hadn’t been until nearly three in the morning.
It never mattered. Not to either of them.
They always found the time. Always had something to say, even after more than eight years together, years of shared dorms, shared stages, shared lives. Distance hadn’t dulled it. If anything, it had only made the quiet moments like this feel heavier. More precious.
Jisung straightened slowly, forcing himself to step back before he accidentally woke him. His gaze drifted to the clock. It was close to dinner time, and if he knew Minho, and he did, he hadn’t eaten all day. He never did on travel days.
Jisung could have ordered food. It would’ve been easier. Faster. Reliable.
But he wanted to do something nice for his boyfriend, the one who always took such quiet, careful care of him. The one who noticed when he skipped meals, who pulled him to bed when he worked too late, who made sure he was never alone when his thoughts got loud.
So Jisung made up his mind.
He wasn’t a great cook, everyone knew that, but he could manage something simple. Something warm. He tiptoed into the kitchen, careful not to make any noise, and tied an apron around his waist with more confidence than experience.
Rice first. That he could handle.
He decided on a basic dish, nothing fancy, nothing that could go too wrong. Something comforting. Something that felt like home. He moved slowly, double checking each step, muttering under his breath as he worked.
It didn’t have to be perfect.
It just had to be made with care.
And tonight, that felt like more than enough.
He was standing at the stove when he felt a presence behind him. Before he could turn, arms wrapped around his waist, a warm body pressing close, a chin hooking over his shoulder.
“And what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Minho’s voice rumbled near his ear.
Jisung shivered. He’d always loved Minho’s voice when he’d just woken up, lower than usual, rough around the edges. He felt it vibrate through Minho’s chest and into his back, and he practically melted where he stood.
“I’m making you dinner,” Jisung said, carefully turning within Minho’s arms and looping his own around Minho’s neck, mindful of the spoon still clutched in his hand. “You’re awake.”
Minho hummed, gaze drifting past him to the pot on the stove. Then he looked back at Jisung, and Jisung could practically see him soften.
He leaned in without thinking, pressing his mouth to Minho’s, relief and longing tangling together as he finally kissed him after so long apart.
When Jisung pulled back, just a little, he grinned. “Hi.”
Minho stole another brief kiss. “Hi, baby. Missed you.”
Jisung sighed, his whole body relaxing at once. He rested his forehead against Minho’s collarbone. “God, I missed you, hyung. Can we tell the company we need a new contract clause that says we’re never allowed to be separated?”
“Never?” Minho teased.
Jisung lifted his head, meeting Minho’s eyes. They were soft, always softer when they were on him. Minho never looked at anyone else like this, and Jisung felt it settle deep in his chest.
“Never.”
Minho shrugged easily. “Sounds good to me.” Then, amused, “Now… what about this dinner?”
“Oh!” Jisung’s eyes widened as he spun back toward the stove. Minho didn’t let go, only pulled him closer, arms tightening around his waist. “You distracted me, hyung. I hope it’s not burned.”
Minho peered over his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
It wasn’t.
And Jisung only let Minho pretend otherwise for a few bites before snatching the plate away and declaring, “Absolutely not,” while reaching for his phone.
Takeout had never tasted so much like success.