Chapter Text
By the time Minghao entered the apartment, Junhui was already halfway across the living room.
“Where are you going?”
Junhui glanced back at him. The split in his lower lip had begun bleeding again, and the bruise along his jaw had darkened during the walk home. “My room.”
“No, you’re not.”
Junhui stopped.
Minghao shut the door behind them and pointed toward the kitchen island. “Sit.”
For a moment, Junhui merely stared at him. He looked like he was deciding whether disobedience was worth the argument that would follow, which was insulting in its own right because Minghao was nowhere near finished yelling at him.
Junhui sighed and crossed the kitchen and lowered himself onto one of the stools.
Minghao stood by the door for another second, unsettled by how easily that had worked.
It was the third time tonight Junhui had listened to him.
He tried not to think too hard about the first two.
“You’re being dramatic,” Junhui said as Minghao retrieved the first-aid kit from beneath the bathroom sink.
“You have blood on your face.”
“It’s barely blood.”
“Blood is blood.”
“Very scientific.”
“Shut up.”
Junhui did.
That alone should have told Minghao something was wrong.
He placed the kit on the counter and opened it, taking out gauze, antiseptic, and several bandages. Junhui watched without comment, elbows resting loosely beside him.
Minghao moved closer to examine his injuries, only becoming aware of the position when Junhui’s knees fell open to accommodate him.
They bracketed Minghao’s hips without quite touching and suddenly, the space between them felt much smaller.
Sitting down did little to diminish Junhui’s height. Minghao still had to tilt his chin slightly to inspect the cut, and the position placed Junhui’s face much closer to his than Minghao had anticipated.
He focused on the antiseptic.
“Look at me.”
Minghao immediately regretted phrasing it that way.
Junhui lifted his head and their eyes met. Junhui’s were darker up close, his pupils still slightly widened from the adrenaline, and for several seconds neither of them spoke.
Minghao cleared his throat. “Your lip.”
“What about it?”
“Hold still.”
He wet a piece of gauze with antiseptic and raised it toward Junhui’s mouth. Junhui’s gaze followed the movement before returning to Minghao’s face.
“This is going to sting.”
“I’ve survived worse.”
“I don’t care.”
Minghao pressed the gauze against the cut.
Junhui hissed and pulled back. “Fuck.”
“Oh, shut up.” Minghao caught his chin and turned his face back toward the light. “I warned you.”
“You did that on purpose.”
“You think I made antiseptic hurt through force of will?”
“I think you enjoyed it.”
“Maybe.” Minghao smiled despite himself. “Now we’re even.”
“For what?”
“For making me run halfway across campus.”
“I saved you from security.”
“You were the reason security was chasing us.”
“Whatever.”
Minghao rolled his eyes and cleaned the cut again. Junhui didn’t flinch this time, though his jaw tightened beneath Minghao’s fingers.
Being this close made it harder for Minghao to ignore how badly Junhui had gotten hurt. Some of his anger faded, replaced by a worry he didn’t want to think about.
“You’re an idiot.”
“So you’ve mentioned.”
“No, I mean genuinely. Clinically.”
“I gathered that.”
Minghao dabbed carefully at the scrape near his cheek. “You stopped.”
Junhui’s expression shifted.
“Before the fight,” Minghao continued. “You were walking away.”
“Yeah.”
“I told you not to do anything, and you listened.”
“I remember.”
“Then you turned around anyway.”
Junhui looked directly at him. “He shouldn’t have said that about you.”
Minghao’s hand paused. “People say stupid shit to me all the time.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that you can’t punch everyone who says something disgusting to me.”
Junhui shrugged. “Why not?”
“Because there are laws.”
“Annoying.”
“Junhui.”
His mouth twitched. Minghao tried not to smile. He failed.
Junhui noticed immediately. “There it is.”
“What?”
“You think I’m funny.”
“I think you have brain damage.”
“Still counts.”
Minghao tossed the used gauze aside and reached for a clean piece. “You could’ve gotten really hurt.”
The words escaped before he could reconsider them.
Junhui’s smile faded.
Minghao lowered his eyes to the first-aid kit. He didn’t know why admitting that felt more revealing than anything else he had said tonight. Junhui had attacked someone in the middle of campus, jeopardized both his enrollment and Minghao’s stipend, and forced Minghao to flee from security like a criminal. Concern should have been the last thing Minghao felt.
It wasn’t.
“I didn’t,” Junhui said.
“You got punched in the face.”
“I’ve been punched in the face before.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
Junhui fell quiet.
When Minghao looked up again, Junhui was already watching him. There was something unreadable in his expression, something that made the narrow space between his knees feel smaller.
“What?” Minghao asked.
Junhui shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Saying nothing when it’s obviously something.”
“You do that constantly.”
“This isn’t about me.”
“It usually is.”
Minghao narrowed his eyes. Junhui smiled, and just like that, the strange tension between them broke. This was the Junhui he knew how to handle—smug, irritating, and impossible to take seriously.
“Give me your hand.”
Junhui lifted an eyebrow. “Bossy.”
“Your knuckles are bleeding.”
He held it out.
Minghao took Junhui’s hand in both of his, momentarily distracted by the difference in size. Junhui’s palm was broad and warm, his fingers long enough that Minghao’s looked almost delicate wrapped around them. The observation arrived unwanted and refused to leave.
He bent over the scraped knuckles instead.
Junhui went unusually still as Minghao wiped away the dried blood. His gaze remained fixed on their joined hands, following each careful movement of Minghao’s fingers.
“Why did you do it?” Minghao asked.
“I told you.”
“No.” He dabbed antiseptic over the first scrape. Junhui hissed but didn’t pull away. “You told me Jiho deserved it.”
“He did.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
Junhui said nothing.
Minghao lifted his gaze. “Why did what he said make you that angry?”
Junhui looked back at him for a long moment. “Because it was about you.”
The answer came so simply that Minghao forgot what he was doing.
Junhui seemed to realize what he had admitted a second later. His eyes shifted away, but Minghao had already heard it. His pulse stumbled, then began beating faster.
“That doesn’t explain anything,” he said.
“Explains enough.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Minghao.”
“What?”
“Drop it.”
A couple nights ago, Minghao would have pushed until Junhui either answered or snapped. Tonight, he remembered what happened the last time he'd ignored a warning to stop.
So he didn't push.
Minghao looked down at Junhui’s hand. “Fine.”
Junhui’s attention returned to him.
Minghao felt it without looking up.
He wrapped the worst of the knuckles, smoothed the tape into place, and reluctantly released his hand. “There.”
Junhui flexed his fingers. “You’re terrible at this.”
Minghao stared at him. “I will reopen every wound on your body.”
Junhui laughed. The sound loosened something in Minghao’s chest. He reached for a small bandage and peeled away the backing.
“One more.”
“Where?”
“Your face.”
Junhui frowned but remained still as Minghao moved closer. The side of Minghao’s thighs brushed Junhui’s knees this time. The contact was slight, almost nothing, yet awareness shot through him so abruptly that his fingers nearly folded the bandage in half.
Neither of them moved away.
“Hold still,” Minghao murmured.
Junhui did.
Minghao placed the bandage over the scrape near his cheekbone and smoothed down one edge, then the other. His fingertips brushed warm skin. Junhui went still beneath his touch, his teasing expression disappearing.
Minghao should have lowered his hand. But he didn’t.
His palm settled more fully against Junhui’s cheek, thumb resting beside the bandage. The apartment seemed to quiet around them until Minghao could hear the soft rhythm of Junhui’s breathing and his own pulse beating far too loudly in his ears.
Cedar curled through the sharp smell of antiseptic.
Junhui stared at him and Minghao stared back.
Neither of them appeared capable of remembering how they had reached this point or how to retreat from it without acknowledging that something had changed.
Minghao’s thumb moved once across the edge of the bandage.
Junhui’s gaze dropped to his mouth.
Heat gathered low in Minghao’s stomach.
Oh.
Junhui leaned forward. It was barely a movement, nothing more than a subtle shift of his weight, but Minghao noticed. The air between them narrowed. Junhui’s knees pressed more firmly against the side of his thighs, and Minghao’s fingers flexed against his cheek.
He should move. He should just get away and—
Junhui lifted his gaze again. His voice, when he spoke, was lower than before.
“You done?”
Minghao swallowed. “Yeah.”
“Then why are you still touching me?”
Fuck.
Minghao’s fingers twitched. “I—”
Junhui’s phone rang.
They sprang apart.
Minghao nearly knocked the first-aid kit off the counter. Junhui stood so quickly that the stool scraped loudly across the floor, the sound cutting through the room.
For several seconds, neither of them looked at the other.
The phone continued ringing.
Junhui cleared his throat and pulled it from his pocket. One glance at the screen made him frown. “That’s my mom.”
Minghao stared with unnecessary concentration at the gauze in his hand. “Okay.”
“I should take this.”
“Obviously.”
“Right.”
Junhui walked toward the hallway, then stopped and looked back.
Minghao made the mistake of looking up.
Their eyes met, and every inch of space that had just existed between them seemed to return all at once.
Junhui disappeared into his bedroom without another word.
Minghao stared after him before slowly looking down at his hand, the same hand that had been resting against Junhui’s cheek approximately ten seconds ago.
“What the fuck?”
He shoved the antiseptic into the kit harder than necessary.
------
Junhui shut his bedroom door and answered the phone.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Wen Junhui.”
He winced.
Not Junhui. Wen Junhui.
That meant bad news.
“Hi.”
“Would you like to explain why I just received a call from the university informing me that my son was involved in a physical altercation?”
That was fast.
Junhui sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“Then please explain how it sounds.”
“It was one fight.”
“One fight?”
“Technically.”
“Junhui.”
He rubbed his forehead. “You said you expected at least one.”
“I said I feared there would eventually be one. I did not give you permission to fulfill that expectation within your first two weeks.”
Despite himself, Junhui almost smiled. “So I exceeded expectations.”
“Do not joke with me right now.”
The smile disappeared. “Okay.”
His mother sighed, and somehow the exhaustion in that sound made him feel worse than her anger had.
“What happened?”
Junhui looked toward his closed bedroom door. “Some guy was bothering my roommate.”
There was a pause. “Your peer mentor?”
“Minghao.”
“What did this person do?”
“Minghao told him to leave him alone. He didn’t.”
“And?”
Junhui’s fingers curled against his knee. “He grabbed him.”
His mother’s voice changed. “Grabbed him how?”
“His wrist. He wouldn’t let go.”
Junhui could still see Jiho’s fingers around Minghao’s arm and the red marks left behind when he finally released him. Anger stirred again, quieter now but no less sharp.
“So you hit him?” his mother asked.
“Not then.”
Silence.
Junhui sighed. “That somehow makes this worse, doesn’t it?”
“A little.”
“I made him let go. Minghao told me not to do anything else, so I didn’t.”
“Then how did you end up fighting?”
Junhui stared at the floor. “He said something.”
“About Minghao?"
Junhui remained silent.
“What did he say?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It mattered enough for you to punch him.”
Junhui’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t repeating those words. Not to her. Not to anyone.
His mother released another breath. “Junhui, the person you’re living with is supposed to be helping you stay out of trouble.”
Something inside him hardened immediately. “He did.”
“Clearly not very successfully.”
“That isn’t his fault.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You said he was supposed to be helping me.”
“He is your peer mentor.”
“He told me to stop, and I stopped.”
“Then you started again.”
“Because I chose to.” Junhui stood, suddenly unable to remain seated. “Minghao didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Junhui—”
“He tried to stop me twice. He got me to walk away the first time. What happened after that was me, so don’t put it on him.”
His mother went quiet.
Junhui stared at the floor, his heartbeat thudding with the remnants of anger he didn’t fully understand.
When she spoke again, her voice was softer. “I wasn’t trying to blame him.”
Junhui exhaled. “I know.”
Another pause.
“You care about him.”
Junhui froze. “What?”
“Your roommate. You seem to care about him.”
“No.”
The answer came so quickly that his mother went silent.
Then she said, very carefully, “I didn’t mean it in a weird way.”
Junhui closed his eyes. Fuck.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“You became very defensive.”
“Because it wasn’t his fault.”
“I understand.”
Something in her voice made him suspicious. “Don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re doing something.”
“I’m sitting in my kitchen.”
“Mom.”
She laughed softly.
Junhui rubbed a hand down his face before remembering the fresh bandage and stopping. “This isn’t funny.”
“No,” she agreed. “The fight isn’t funny.”
There was another pause.
“I’m glad someone was there to stop you.”
Junhui’s gaze moved toward the door. He remembered Minghao’s fingers curled into his sleeve and the quiet firmness with which he had said his name. Then he remembered those same fingers resting against his cheek, warm and reluctant to leave.
His stomach tightened.
“Yeah,” he said.
His mother sighed. “We’ll talk about the university tomorrow. I also sent you those finance programs.”
Junhui’s mood dropped instantly. “Mom.”
“Just look at them.”
“I told you I don’t know if I want to study finance.”
“You don’t know what you want to study at all.”
“I know.”
“And that’s okay for now, but you can’t avoid thinking about your future forever. You’re smart, Junhui. You have opportunities now that you didn’t have before, and I don’t want to watch you waste them because you’re afraid to choose.”
His jaw tightened. “I’m not afraid.”
“Then what are you?”
Junhui had no answer.
He pressed his fingers against his forehead. “Can we not do this tonight?”
His mother was quiet for a moment. “Okay.”
Guilt arrived immediately. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” Her voice softened. “I have high expectations because I know what you’re capable of, not because I expect you to become me.”
It didn’t always feel that way, but Junhui was too tired to argue. “Okay.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
“Please don’t punch anyone else while you're there.”
Junhui snorted. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Junhui.”
“Kidding.”
“Goodnight.”
“Night.”
The call ended.
Junhui stared at the darkened screen before letting his hand fall to his side. The room felt too small, his mother’s questions lingering inside it even after her voice was gone.
He needed a cigarette.
Badly.
------
Minghao was on the couch when Junhui emerged.
The first-aid kit had been put away, and his laptop was open across his thighs. He appeared to be reading, but his eyes remained fixed on one place on the screen.
Junhui headed toward the kitchen counter and reached for his cigarettes.
Minghao looked up. One glance at Junhui’s face made his expression change. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Minghao stared at him.
Junhui shoved the cigarettes into his pocket. “My mom yelled at me.”
“Good.”
Junhui turned.
Minghao attempted to hold his stern expression and failed. “A little good.”
“Traitor.”
Junhui took his jacket from the back of a chair. Minghao continued watching him, and the humor gradually disappeared from his face.
“Hey.”
Junhui looked over.
Minghao hesitated. “Are you okay?”
There it was again. That question.
Junhui didn’t understand why it bothered him so much when Minghao asked it. Maybe because Minghao never sounded as though he were asking from obligation. He looked like he genuinely wanted the answer, and Junhui had never been particularly good at giving people those.
“Yeah.”
Minghao raised an eyebrow.
Junhui sighed and let the jacket fall back over the chair. “She wants me to figure out what I’m doing with my life.”
“Tonight?”
“Apparently.”
“And you don’t know.”
Junhui’s fingers tightened around the cigarettes in his pocket. “No.”
Minghao nodded.
No lecture. No immediate advice. No reminder that everyone else their age had already selected majors and started constructing lives that appeared to lead somewhere.
Just, “Okay.”
Junhui stared at him.
Minghao frowned. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You keep saying that.”
“So do you.”
Junhui almost smiled. He pulled out the cigarettes and turned the box over in his hand.
“What does she want you to do?” Minghao asked.
“Finance.”
“Do you like finance?”
“No.”
The answer came so quickly that Minghao closed his laptop. “Then why does she want you to do it?”
“Because she works in finance. She thinks I’d be good at it, and it’s stable.” Junhui looked down at the box. “She has connections. She could probably get me an internship before I even finished school.”
“That sounds useful.”
“Yeah.”
“But you still don’t want it.”
Junhui’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know what I want.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
Junhui looked at him.
Minghao shifted to one side of the couch, leaving the opposite cushion open. He didn’t ask Junhui to join him. He simply waited.
After a moment, Junhui placed the cigarettes on the kitchen counter and walked over.
The couch dipped beneath his weight. Even with the room Minghao had made, Junhui’s thigh settled close to his. Neither of them moved farther away.
“What would you choose if your mom wasn’t involved?” Minghao asked.
“I just told you I don’t know.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
“There has to be something you’re interested in.”
Junhui leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Why do you care?”
“Because I’m apparently responsible for keeping you enrolled.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Minghao grew quiet. “Maybe I’m curious.”
“About me?”
The question carried the shape of a joke, but Junhui turned toward him as he said it, and suddenly there was nothing light about the way they regarded each other.
Minghao’s eyes flicked toward the bandage on his cheek.
Junhui noticed.
For one suspended second, they both remembered Minghao’s palm against his face and the silence that had opened between them. Minghao looked away first.
“Don’t make it weird.”
“You were the one touching my face.”
“I was treating your wound.”
“You finished treating it.”
Color climbed into the tips of Minghao’s ears. “Do you want me to take the bandage back?”
Junhui’s mouth curved. “You’d have to touch me again.”
“Finance,” Minghao said abruptly. “We were discussing finance.”
“Were we?”
“Yes.”
Junhui allowed him the escape. This time.
He looked down at his bandaged hand. “Maybe engineering.”
Minghao glanced at him. “Engineering?”
“Maybe.”
“What kind?”
Junhui shrugged. “Mechanical, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I used to take things apart when I was younger.”
“To learn how they worked?”
“To see whether I could put them back together.”
“Could you?”
“Most of the time.”
“And the rest?”
“My dad stopped letting me touch the appliances.”
A laugh escaped Minghao. “What did you break?”
“Nothing important.”
“Junhui.”
“The toaster.”
“That was it?”
“And a fan.”
Minghao waited.
Junhui sighed. “And half the washing machine.”
“You took apart half a washing machine?”
“It was already making a weird noise.”
“Did you fix it?”
“It stopped making the noise.”
“Because you fixed it?”
“Because it stopped working.”
Minghao laughed, louder this time. Junhui watched him, feeling some of the tension loosen inside his chest.
“That isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“I was twelve.”
“That makes it worse.”
“I eventually learned how to put things back together.”
Minghao’s laughter softened into a smile. “Then maybe engineering isn’t a ridiculous idea.”
“I didn’t say it was an idea.”
“You said you might be interested in it.”
“I said maybe.”
“That’s still more than nothing.”
Junhui turned the words over in his head. More than nothing.
His mother always made the future sound like a door slowly closing while he stood there refusing to decide whether to walk through it. Minghao made it sound smaller and less final, a thought Junhui was permitted to have without immediately shaping it into a plan for the rest of his life.
“What about you?” Junhui asked.
“What about me?”
“You interrogated me. Your turn.”
“You already know what I’m studying.”
“Art history.”
Minghao looked surprised. “You remembered?”
“You talk about it constantly.”
“I do not.”
“You do. On the second day we lived together, you made me move my coffee because it was sitting on one of your art books.”
“Because you left a ring on the cover.”
“Then you spent twenty minutes explaining how one of the paintings had been mislabeled by Western collectors.”
“It had been.”
“And last week, you complained the entire walk home because your professor discussed museum collections without mentioning how half the objects ended up there.”
Minghao stared at him.
Junhui lifted an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing.” Minghao’s expression softened. “I just didn’t think you were listening.”
Junhui looked away. Somewhere during the conversation, their thighs had come to rest against one another. He wasn’t certain when it had happened, only that neither of them seemed willing to correct it.
“I listen sometimes.”
“When it’s important?”
Junhui glanced at him. “When you’re loud enough.”
Minghao nudged his leg with one knee. “Asshole.”
Junhui nudged him back.
Minghao’s laptop remained forgotten beside him as the conversation drifted from majors to professors, then from professors to the increasingly terrible food served at the nearest dining hall. It should have felt strange. They had never spoken this long without an argument becoming sharp enough to drive one of them from the room.
Tonight, even their insults lacked their usual edges
Eventually, Minghao’s answers began arriving more slowly. His head rested against the back of the couch, and his eyelids remained closed for increasingly long stretches between blinks.
Junhui noticed the third time Minghao failed to insult him properly.
“Are you falling asleep?”
“No.”
Minghao’s eyes were already closed.
Junhui looked at him. “Convincing.”
“I’m resting them.”
“Go to bed.”
“I’m awake.”
“Then open your eyes.”
Minghao opened one, glared at him without any real force behind it, and closed it again.
Junhui snorted.
For another minute, Minghao managed to remain upright. Then his head began to tip sideways.
Junhui watched it happen in slow motion.
Minghao’s temple landed against his shoulder.
Junhui tensed.
Minghao didn’t react. His breathing continued to deepen, his body warm where it leaned against Junhui’s side. The scent of him had softened with exhaustion, no longer held as tightly beneath his blockers, and something inside Junhui went unexpectedly quiet.
He looked down.
A few strands of dark hair had fallen across Minghao’s forehead. Without irritation sharpening his features or another insult waiting behind his mouth, he looked softer. Younger, almost.
Junhui considered poking his forehead until he moved. He even lifted one finger.
Before he could use it, Minghao shifted closer, his cheek sliding from Junhui’s shoulder to the upper part of his chest.
Junhui’s hand remained suspended uselessly in the air.
“You have your own room,” he muttered.
Minghao made a quiet sound that bore no resemblance to an answer.
Junhui should wake him. At the very least, he should push him toward the other end of the couch before his arm went numb.
Instead, he let his hand fall.
He was tired too. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving every bruise and aching muscle behind. His jaw throbbed where Jiho had struck him, his knuckles stung beneath their bandages, and the phone call with his mother had drained whatever energy the fight hadn’t already taken.
Closing his eyes for a minute wouldn’t hurt.
“Only because moving you sounds exhausting,” Junhui murmured.
Minghao remained asleep.
Junhui settled farther into the couch and closed his eyes.
The cigarettes remained untouched on the kitchen counter.
Sometime during the night, Minghao slipped lower against him. Sometime after that, Junhui’s arm found its way around Minghao’s waist.
Neither of them woke long enough to object.
------
The first thing Minghao noticed the next morning was warmth.
The second was that his pillow was unusually solid.
He burrowed closer before consciousness fully returned, seeking the heat beneath his cheek. Something heavy rested around his waist, holding him securely in place, and a slow breath stirred the hair near the top of his head.
Minghao frowned.
His pillow breathed again.
His eyes opened.
Gray fabric filled his vision.
This was not his pillow. This was a shirt.
Minghao remained perfectly still as his sleep-clouded mind began assembling the details one horrifying piece at a time.
His cheek was pressed against a chest and one of his hands was curled into the front of that shirt.
A muscular arm was wrapped around his waist and one of his legs had somehow become trapped between two much longer ones.
Minghao slowly lifted his head.
Junhui was asleep beneath him.
His head had fallen against the back of the couch, platinum-and-black hair disordered across his forehead. His lips were parted slightly, the small bandage still fixed near his cheekbone. Even asleep, his arm remained firm around Minghao’s waist, holding him against the length of his body as though Minghao belonged there.
No.
Absolutely not.
His eyes dropped to the arm around him and then returned to Junhui’s face.
Junhui was holding him.
Junhui was holding him while they slept.
“What the fuck?!”
Minghao shoved himself backward.
Junhui’s arm tightened instinctively.
Minghao panicked. “LET GO!”
Junhui startled awake just as Minghao managed to tear himself free. Unfortunately, Minghao had forgotten they were lying on a couch.
He rolled directly off it.
His shoulder struck the rug first, followed by the rest of him.
“Fuck!”
Junhui jerked upright, blinking down at him in complete confusion. His hair stuck out in several directions, and for once, he looked genuinely incapable of producing a sarcastic remark.
“Minghao?”
Minghao stared up at him from the floor. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
Junhui blinked, still visibly disoriented. “What?”
“You were holding me!”
Junhui looked at the empty space beside him and then down at his own arm, as though it had acted without his permission. “I was?”
“You had it wrapped around my waist!”
His expression slowly cleared. “You fell asleep on me.”
“I leaned against your shoulder. You were the one who turned it into, ”Minghao gestured furiously between them, “whatever the fuck that was.”
“Maybe you crawled on top of me.”
“I did not crawl anywhere!”
“You were using my chest as a pillow.”
“Because you were holding me there, you pervert!”
Junhui’s mouth fell open. “I’m the pervert? Your hand was gripping my shirt.”
“That proves nothing.”
“One of your legs was between mine.”
“That was entrapment.”
Junhui stared at him for a second before laughing.
Minghao scrambled to his feet, his humiliation immediately turning to fury. “This isn’t funny!”
“It’s a little funny.”
“You should have moved me!”
“I was asleep.”
“So was I!”
“Then how is this entirely my fault?”
“Because I woke up in your arms!”
“And I woke up to you screaming before throwing yourself onto the floor.”
“I did not throw myself.”
Junhui looked pointedly at the place on the rug where Minghao had landed.
“You shoved me,” Minghao insisted.
“I was unconscious.”
“You’re violent while you’re awake. Why would sleep be any different?”
Junhui laughed again and leaned back against the couch, looking far too pleased with himself. “Face it. You cuddled me.”
Minghao froze. “I did not cuddle you.”
“You seemed comfortable.”
“I hate you.”
“You were practically purring.”
Minghao’s eyes widened. “I was not!”
Junhui’s mouth twitched.
Minghao studied his face. “You’re lying.”
“Maybe.”
“You fucking—”
Minghao lunged for the nearest couch pillow, but Junhui reached it first and lifted it beyond his grasp.
“Give it to me!”
“You’re too violent in the morning.”
“You got into a fistfight yesterday!”
“And yet you still chose me as your pillow.”
“I DIDN’T CHOOSE ANYTHING!”
Minghao grabbed one end of the pillow and pulled. Junhui held on, laughing as he kept it easily out of reach.
“Let go!”
“You let go.”
“It’s my pillow!”
“I’m sitting on the couch. That makes it communal property.”
“Junhui!”
Minghao planted one knee on the couch and gave the pillow another hard yank. Junhui pulled back at the same time, and Minghao’s knee slipped between the cushions.
He fell forward.
Junhui released the pillow and caught him instinctively.
Minghao landed directly in his lap.
The pillow dropped forgotten to the floor.
Neither of them moved.
Minghao’s knees had fallen on either side of Junhui’s hips, leaving him straddling the alpha’s thighs. Junhui’s hands were locked around his waist beneath the hem of his shirt, his palms hot against bare skin.
There was barely any space between their bodies.
Minghao stopped breathing.
Junhui’s laughter disappeared.
For several seconds, they simply stared at one another. Junhui’s hair was still messy from sleep, the bandage near his cheekbone slightly crooked, and his eyes no longer held any trace of amusement.
His fingers tightened around Minghao’s waist. Barely. But it was enough.
Cedar and smoke thickened in the air between them, warmer than before. Minghao felt a matching heat climb beneath his skin as he became painfully aware of exactly where he was sitting.
Junhui’s gaze dropped to his mouth.
Again.
Minghao should get up.
Instead, his hands remained braced against Junhui’s shoulders. He could feel the solid muscle beneath his palms and the slow rise of Junhui’s chest between them.
Junhui tilted his head, eyes lifting back to Minghao’s.
“You keep ending up on top of me, kitten.”
The words were teasing, but his voice had dropped low enough to send heat curling through Minghao’s stomach.
“This was your fault,” Minghao said, the reply lacking its usual force.
Junhui noticed. His thumbs shifted against Minghao’s sides, the small movement nearly making Minghao forget what they were arguing about.
“Was it?”
Minghao swallowed.
The apartment had gone quiet again. Junhui’s face was close enough that Minghao could feel his breath, close enough that leaning forward even slightly would erase what little distance remained between them.
Then Junhui’s eyes flicked downward once more.
Minghao scrambled out of his lap so quickly that his hip struck the edge of the coffee table.
“I’m taking a shower.”
“You smell fine.”
Minghao slowly turned his head.
Junhui’s expression changed as he realized what he had said.
“Perv,” Minghao accused.
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“PERVERT.”
“Minghao—”
He fled down the hallway.
“I meant your scent!” Junhui called after him.
“That makes it WORSE!”
Minghao’s bedroom door slammed shut.
Silence returned to the apartment.
Junhui remained motionless on the couch, his hands still resting where Minghao’s waist had been. The warmth of his body lingered across Junhui’s lap, along with the memory of how perfectly he had fit there.
Only then did Junhui register the uncomfortable tightness beneath his sweatpants.
He slowly looked down.
A very obvious bulge strained against the front of his sweatpants
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Junhui grabbed the abandoned pillow and dropped it over his lap before leaning his head back against the couch.
He covered his face with both hands.
“Fuck.”