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“i saw a dead pigeon earlier.”
it’s a whisper that breaks through the heavy silence - merely a sound but, in the studio, it feels like a howl. quiet follows, chan and changbin taking in jisung’s words; he, on the other hand, bites his nails and lets a choked laugh out of his constricted throat.
“i shouldn’t be that upset about it, should i?”
and yet, he is. it’s all he can think about: the soft-looking bird, bend in such an unnatural angle that the memory itself makes him want to puke. it lingers in the air, the insecurity dripping from his every fiber - a chair scrapes against the floor, then an other, and the coldness of being alone fades away.
jisung is not crying; it takes a bit more to make him cry. but he lets himself melt in changbin’s embrace, purrs at chan’s peppered kisses on his tender face. his limbs shake, anxiety threatening to break through his entire being. they should have noticed it - jisung was so out of it all day, barely registering their words and moping around like a lonely ghost.
they didn’t, and guilt claws at changbin’s guts; while jisung is the sensitive one, he’s always been the one to carry the most unnecessary responsibilities on his narrow back. he felt terrible when minho got eliminated - still feels like it was mainly his fault for not allowing him to shine.
there’s chan’s hand on his shoulder, soothing and shooing each and every fear away; chan is and always has been their prop, strong and steady. even his caress is stable, coaxing peace of mind and casting out the wordless insecurities.
there’s a dynamic that steadies them in all this mess; jisung may be the first to break down, but he’s always there when it’s changbin’s turn, as well as chan. frustration pools at the bottom of their stomach and sometimes it’s overwhelming - yet there’s always someone to ground them. it’s the youngest’s turn, tonight.
changbin slowly arises, his hands under jisung’s thighs; he silently invites him to drape his arms around his neck and carries him to the couch, while chan is bringing some blankets and water bottles. it’s all soft and slow and it lulls jisung but he doesn’t want to sleep just yet - so he sits up on changbin’s lap and thanks their leader for the water; downs it without a word then makes grabby hands at chan, demanding that he joined them.
“aw, hannie, you want some hugs?” it’s teasing it’s tender and jisung nods eagerly, his lips already pouting. chan is the first to capture them, a hand cupping the squirrel’s face to angle it more comfortably - chan has always been a great kisser. he takes his time and maps jisung’s mouth with his own and it’s like flowers are blooming between them; jisung feels his ribcage being ripped open and two hearts filling the gaps and he willingly cuts himself on the boys’ edges. chan kisses like there’s no tomorrow and it burns hard as a scorching summer sun but soothes as much as a light spring waft; he kisses sugar and strawberry and his tongue tastes of first love and pinky promises when it slips inside jisung’s mouth.
“i can leave, if you want.” it could’ve been percieved as agressive, or even inappropriate - it could’ve killed the mood but it doesn’t, it just lightens it. changbin’s pouting cutely and in his eyes flash faked hurt, but his hands are still firmly holding jisung’s hips and they’re maping random shapes on heated skin, spelling secrets of love on his tender flesh.
so they just laugh against each other’s lips and it gets a little bit messy but they don’t care; jisung feels like flying when he nuzzles changbin’s neck and breathes in his musky scent. changbin smells of salty sweat and petrichor, yet his kisses are far more agressive. that’s what jisung always noticed when he kissed them - chan felt like the sun while changbin was kind of like the moon.
chan was steady, teasing but following a pre-made path. he started with soft pecks and nips and kitten-ish licks, then he shone hard and took over control in some kind of heated battle - but always soft and warm like morning sunlight on one’s skin. changbin, on the other hand, was unpredictable. he followed his instincts and, right now, they’re guiding him towards something a little more feral.
his hand fists jisung’s hair and forces him to face him; there’s a tiny smirk dancing on his face and it makes jisung’s breath hitch in his throat (he swears he hears chan gasp next to him). his thumb slides on his bottom lip and soothes it - he licks his own and seems to be counting the younger’s eyelashes before diving in, building tension like electricity on the tip of their tongue. jisung gets impatient but doesn’t dare to move, so he just whines, frustrated.
“what’re you waiting for, changbin?” it’s whispered just above his lips and it makes changbin laugh, then mutter. “for the timing. don’t you feel it? it’s rising, princess. it’s like music,” he adjusts jisung on his lap and his fingers threading through his locks are softer, slower. that’s when jisung starts to feel it - the rhythm of their hearts pulses on his skin, then there’s changbin’s sweet humming; his hands on either side of jisung’s side, and, finally, lips over lips.
it should’ve been slow and gentle, like a dance on the moonlight; instead it’s a hunt and it’s wild, the desire burning in the dead of night. changbin bites his lip and it sends his nerves on fire, tearing a throaty moan from him - even chan seems a little breathless when his hands draw random shapes on the small of his back. changbin kisses like he wants jisung to be his and he fights to earn control; jisung gives it up so willingly it makes him smile against his mouth, some kind of gentle power kink washing over him.
this time it feels like an eclipse - it’s blinding and dark at the same time, overwhelming and jisung feels dizzy, high on the sensation. then there’s a set of fingers on his hair and changbin pulls hard and there’s just enough amount of pain to keep jisung grounded.
he doesn’t know when the shift took him over, yet they both seem to feel it even more than him. it’s hidden in the soft whimpers gracing his lips when changbin lets him breathe and in between the clumsy grinding of his hips on the latter’s lap - it’s in the way he arches in chan’s touch and seems overwhelmed with the undying attention. jisung himself doesn’t notice it, but it’s there.
“baby, you okay there?” chan’s voice feel like hot cocoa dripping directly in his mouth and the image in itself makes him want to laugh - he presses one last peck on changbin’s lips, his own swollen and bitten and angry red. he nods gently but it’s a second too late for them to believe it. so chan closes the space between them and starts to pepper butterfly kisses on his neck and it forces giggles out of jisung’s throat, changbin working his way up under his shirt - there’s a lingering tension in their touches and they try to ignore it but it’s there, so obvious that even jisung, in his soft and dizzy state, can witness it.
“i want you to kiss.” they wait for something else - a me that doesn’t come and then the realization hits them and it’s wild, moon and sun colliding with such force it almost knocks jisung off changbin’s lap. there’s a kind of balance in their chaotic dance, pieces of an unknown puzzle gathered and filling the gaps they didn’t even notice. two of them couldn’t work well, there’d be something missing - that’s why they never feel left out, even when a pair makes out and the third just watches.
they’re quick to give back their attention to the youngest, making him chuckle and draping his arms over them. fire licks at his skin but tonight is not for steamy sessions; tonight is for sweet touches and light brushes of fingers on burning flesh - tonight is for soothing words whispered in ears and gentle promises written on bones.
jisung silently waits for more cuddles and soon enough they’re curled up on the couch, protected by the blankets - he feels safe between the two boys, changbin’s hand on his hips sending yet another wave of tingles on his spine and chan’s soft breath against his neck only making it worse. but he’s okay, he’s protected.
the next morning is a blur of stretched limbs and stolen kisses; jisung seems to be doing better and it makes chan’s and changbin’s hearts flutter with waves of relief - and when jisung purrs a greeting and sweetly pinches their noses, changbin knit his eyebrows with a question lingering on the tip of his tongue.
“so, a dead pigeon, huh? sensitive much, hannie?” it’s teasing and laced with so much fondness that chan feels almost bad for changbin, when jisung lunges at him with a pillow and hits him until he begs for mercy.