aorisaor
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Summary
he takes minho's words into consideration and keeps quiet, but not out of concern for the person sleeping in the other room, like minho wants him to.
rather because he sets himself a mission right then and there. to make minho moan louder than he ever has. out of spite.
Bookmarked by aorisaor
04 Feb 2026
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“Hi, pretty boy.” The words had melted out of Jisung like honey, and Minho submerged into the sweetness like the greediest bee in the hive.
Maybe it was because he was exhausted, maybe it was the sight of a teddy bear the size of Jisung on the bed, or maybe it was the way Jisung beckoned him closer with those lean fingers and flourished his hand over the bunny jacket like a treat, a prize, one that Minho didn’t know if he earned–but that he wanted so very bad.
Whatever it was, Minho blacked out. Sank. Deep and immediate.
Or: Minho is learning to want.
Bookmarked by aorisaor
04 Feb 2026
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The three of them eat in silence for a few minutes, too busy savoring the food to talk. Then Chan finally asks, “How was everyone’s day?”
Jaeyoon grunts into his dish, which Chan has come to understand means fine. Minho, however, suddenly looks cagey. It’s a subtle change, but his mouth tightens ever so slightly. “Pretty good,” is all he says. “Yours?”
Chan shrugs. “Not bad. Mostly just spent it preparing for my presentation tomorrow. Did anything interesting happen?”
Minho’s practice takes all kinds of animals, meaning he’s treated everything from horses to birds to lizards. Usually he has at least one or two crazy cases to share, but today he merely says, “Uh, no. Not really.”
Jaeyoon’s head snaps up at that. “That’s not true,” he says. Chan blinks.
“What does that mean?”
“One of hyung’s patients asked him on a date,” Jaeyoon says matter-of-factly.
And that’s . . . huh.
(or: Minho gets asked on a date. It makes things finally click for Chan)
Bookmarked by aorisaor
04 Feb 2026
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Sometimes Minho doesn't want to say much, and that's okay with Chan.
Bookmarked by aorisaor
03 Feb 2026
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Surrounding Minho, in an almost perfect semi-circle around his crossed legs, are a litany of small paper strips, all tinted a pale pink. Minho picks one up, holds it out in front of him like it offends him, “what do you think this is?”
“I—” Chan huffs, leans back fully against the wall and crosses his arms, “I don’t know, baby. Tell me? Please?”
Minho scoffs, “dumb alpha.” He drops the strip back with the others—Chan watches as it flutters to the floor. “They’re ovulation tests, yeobo. You were right. I’m in pre-heat.”
Or: 42-year-old Minho goes into heat for the first time in almost a decade.
Bookmarked by aorisaor
21 Jan 2026