Work Text:
若我一字一句唱着这首歌
能不能坐在我身旁
能不能守护在你身旁
“10 minutes to stage!” One of the stage directors yells, not even bothering to stick his head into their waiting room. Jisung cannot blame him – the whole backstage scene is chaos manifested and the overhead lights are so dizzying Jisung feels like he is already on stage.
Beside him, Changbin is nervously going over the lyrics for one of their later songs while Chan is getting the finishing touches on his makeup done. To be fair, Jisung himself should be going over lyrics as well, since he seems to be the most prone to forgetting lyrics – “It is because I am distracted by the fans!” – but rather than doing so, he’s staring at his phone.
[21:04] good luck on your show!
[21:04] I’m sure you’ll do great ( ´ ▽ ` )b
[21:04] I’ll call you after the show~
Minho’s messages are displayed brightly as he reads them again and again, and the little dot next to his display picture indicates Minho is online. Probably looking at his phone as well, waiting for Jisung to reply.
Jisung has to smile a little at that, thinking about Minho.
[21:05] thank youuuu
[21:05] it’s a pity you couldn’t come tho
[21:05] I have to go in 10 but I’ll talk to you after
Jisung looks up momentarily when the stage director actually walks in to remind them that they need to start heading out, and when he looks down again Minho has already replied. Waiting, just like Jisung had known he was.
[21:05] then why are you still talking to me????
[21:06] go!!!
[21:06] I know you’ll burn the whole stage
[21:06] have a fun time on stage Jisungie~~~~
“You’re smiling like an idiot,” Changbin informs him helpfully as Jisung puts his phone away and they start to make their way on stage. “What’s got you like that? Surely you haven’t memorised all of your lyrics?”
“Minho texted,” Jisung says, and then frowns a half second later when he processes all of Changbin’s sentence. Before he can rebut, however, they’re given the signal that their microphones are turned on and they have to go on stage in the next couple minutes.
It’s dark where they’re standing and it’s hot and Jisung can already feel sweat starting to form under his collar and there’s this noisy silence of the crowd, breath held in anticipation and Jisung’s heart is going thump-thump-thumpthump.
Just for one second, before the lights all turn on and while it’s still dim, Jisung’s mind flashes full of Minho. Just for one second, it is the thought of Minho’s smile that lights up the dim stage and not the stage lights. Just for one second, Jisung hears his voice, feels his hand in his own and the sweetness of his encouragement.
“You’ll do so well, I know it. I’ve seen you performing before, it’s incredible. This time, do the same – the size of the stage has never mattered to you, so a bigger audience shouldn’t matter as well.” The same words, whispered into his ear when their bodies were pressed close to each other, sharing their heat. Eyes, wide and trusting looking into his and a hand pressed to his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.
“I will be here, no matter what happens after.”
Promise, inked in words and Jisung remembers looking at the pretty bloom of dark over Minho’s neck, collarbones. He had kissed Minho then, soft and sweet and everything that was an hour to midnight.
The stage lights flash on, the audience roars, and Jisung’s feet automatically take him up, onto the stage that’s larger than anything he ever remembers and he looks at the audience and he sees, right there, in the front row, banners with his face and his name and slogans and there are posters of their group and –
The adrenaline surges.
It only continues to climb. Somewhere to his left, he hears Chan shout into the microphone, responding to the crowd and Jisung feeds off this energy. The intro for their first song starts to filter into his earpiece, and he too begins talking, greeting the audience and as soon as he finishes Changbin starts the song, spitting into the microphone and the audience screams.
Stage doesn’t matter, he had told Minho two weeks ago, but – but god, the audience did.
These are their fans, not just them rapping to some half-interested audience in a bar they happened to have a gig at, and they’re singing along and chanting their names and responding to them, and Jisung doesn’t think it can get any better than this.
Sometime after their third song, they pause the music for the scheduled break and Chan starts talking to the crowd properly, asking how they are. Jisung takes this chance to take a gulp of water, eyes coasting over the crowd and the way they respond to Chan and Changbin.
“Having a great night so far?”
The crowd screams unintelligibly, but Jisung can make out a fairly audible yes! resounding through the space.
“Let’s keep this up then, shall we?” Jisung asks, glancing sideways briefly and giving a discreet thumbs up to the stage director, who nods and goes away to give the okay to the rest of the crew.
The familiar, punching beat of Runner’s High starts to pump through the speakers, and the crowd goes wild again, cheering excitedly as they start moving around the stage, and Chan starts it off, bending down at the edge of the stage and interacting with the crowd from his perch.
The rest of the night seems to be a blur to Jisung – everything is hot and loud and nownownow but he wouldn’t have changed it for the world. His throat is scratchy and his cheeks hurt from smiling too hard and his clothes are disgusting but he’s got the heat of the stage lights burning the crown of his head and he simply would not have it any other way.
The fact that they just had their first mini-concert still hasn’t quite sunken in yet, not until when they finish and they’re backstage and Jisung looks at a banner a fan had reached out to give him. It’s simple, just a picture of him photoshopped onto a blue background with his name printed boldly down the banner, but – a fan had made this and taken it to their mini-concert and – Jisung thinks he may start crying.
“You big baby,” Changbin says when he sees Jisung’s eyes watering up. The hypocrite, Jisung thinks, because Changbin’s voice is thick and he’s looking at a banner he’d pilfered from the fans as well. That one is red, and it has the three of them on it, with their group name plastered over their bodies. Looking at it only makes Jisung want to cry even more.
“We did it,” Chan exhales, and he’s looking at both of them. Not the banners, not the posters, not the crew that’s rushing around them to clean up. “We did it,” He repeats again, in a lower voice, and Jisung’s had enough.
Hauling himself off his seat, he makes a grab for Chan and Changbin, pulling both of them in for a group hug. There are no protests like any other day when he would try to do this; Changbin pulls him tighter against himself and Chan brings an arm each around them. Jisung’s got his arm around Changbin’s shoulders and another around Chan’s waist, face buried in what he thinks is Changbin’s shirt, and if he shakes with his sobs, he can’t tell because they’re all shaking.
“We did it,” Changbin repeats roughly, voice marred by tears. Grateful, happy tears. Tears the three of them will never forget.
“Together,” Jisung adds, and amidst his happiness, he thinks there is maybe only one more person he wants to share this happiness with.
By the time they have actually finished clearing up and are free to go home, it is almost one in the morning. Jisung powers his phone up – it had run out of battery because he forgot to charge it before he went on stage, typical him – and waits in the chilly night air with Changbin as Chan bids his final goodbyes and thanks to the directors.
“I can drive you guys home,” Chan offers when he joins them, “since it’s not too far away. We really lucked out with this venue, huh?” He says, and looks back at the building wistfully. Their first concert… mini-concert, but concert nonetheless.
“Thank you, hyung,” Changbin says, and it looks like he’s ready to fall asleep at any moment.
Jisung is about to say yes, to agree and let Chan drop him home, but then his phone comes on and he’s got quite a few unread messages and two missed calls.
[23:11] 1 missed call from Minho-hyungie <3
[23:11] jisungieeeee~~~
[23:12] 1 missed call from Minho-hyungie <3
[23:12] im sure it went well!!!
[23:12] there are already previews of your concert online hahaha
[23:14] Minho-hyungie <3 shared three tweets with you
[23:15] oh
[23:15] and
[23:17] my door’s open
[23:17] ♡♡♡
Jisung doesn’t even need to think about it. “Hyung, can you drop me at the station? I have somewhere to go.”
(and going to see minho at one a.m. will be completely worth it, he is sure, even with chan and Changbin teasing him to no end. this, he can endure for minho.)
Chan ends up driving him straight to Minho’s place after extracting Minho’s address from Jisung with the added backup that, “It’s so late at night, you shouldn’t be going around alone at this time!” Jisung doesn’t dare to think what Chan might do with this much information.
Instead, he makes a hasty goodbye to them, squeezing them both in hugs and attempting to kiss their cheeks before he exits the car, waving and promising that he’ll be at the studio by at least late afternoon tomorrow.
Minho lives on the fourth floor, and goddamn, Jisung has no patience to wait for the old, slow lifts to open. He books it to the staircase instead, taking the steps two at a time, then one at a time because he is tired, and he is old, give him a break, please.
The light under Minho’s front door glows a warm, welcoming orange and Jisung only knocks on his door softly twice before the door swings open and Minho stands in the doorway, backed by the artificial sunset glow with an equally bright smile on his face.
“You came!” Minho says, and pulls Jisung into his apartment, into warmth and light.
“Of course I did,” Jisung says, and it comes out of him like a breath he’s been holding for too long, all of a sudden and deep from his chest at the same time. Without even taking his shoes off, he takes Minho into his arms, presses the fragrance Minho carries on him into his nose, his softness into his senses, lets his warmth seep into his bones.
“Had a good night?” Minho asks quietly. His arms are awkward, one trapped between their bodies and the other slung around Jisung’s neck, but he doesn’t mind, lets Jisung do what he wants. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the space behind Jisung’s ear, knows this is where Jisung plans on getting his next tattoo.
“Really, really good,” Jisung says, words muffled into Minho’s neck. “But I’m tired.”
“You can rest here,” Minho reminds him, starts stroking through his hair, feeling the remnants of gel sticking in between the strands. “You can always rest here, Sungie, always.”
“I know.” A pause, then Jisung kisses the lobe of Minho’s ear, lets go a little to reach for Minho’s right hand, the one trapped between their bodies. Lifts it until he can face Minho’s wrist to kiss the delicate blue rose tattooed on there, and moves until they’re really pressed against each other, Minho’s right hand coming to cup Jisung’s face. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” Minho says.
Jisung’s arms tighten around Minho’s waist. “I have every reason to thank you. I would spend the rest of my life thanking you, if you would let me.” It’s simple, Jisung thinks.
“I’d rather you spend the rest of your life loving,” Is all Minho says. They are close enough that Jisung could just lean in to press their lips together, to taste the chapstick on Minho’s mouth, to hear the soft gasp Minho makes when Jisung parts his mouth, to feel Minho melt against him and kiss back just as much.
But he doesn’t.
Jisung is lost in the amber of Minho’s eyes, wide even for the time of the night, lashes devastatingly long and framing the roundness. There is gold and brown to the amber, and Jisung thinks there is no gemstone that can compare to Minho’s eyes.
“Jisung?”
“Minho,” Jisung responds, and watches the way Minho’s lashes flutter against the highs of his cheeks when he blinks. The intervals between his blinks are getting shorter, and he’s closing his eyes for longer, taking longer to open them again. “Baby, you need to sleep.”
“And so do you,” Minho says. “Go shower. I’ll wait for you.”
It’s really just that simple.
Jisung has stayed over often enough that he’s left a lot of his wardrobe here. Half of that is what he brought over, but the other half is just Minho stealing his clothes and pretending he hasn’t, and then insisting he hasn’t when Jisung asks him about him. Still, Jisung likes to indulge Minho, and so Minho gets away with it.
By the time Jisung has finished with his too-hot shower and his hair is dripping wet, there is a bundle of clean clothes sitting on the bathroom counter and the door is left slightly ajar, exactly how Minho always leaves it when he showers. The shirt is Minho’s but the sweatpants are his own; the shirt is more than a little big and threatens to slip off his shoulder, and the only reason he has to wear his own sweatpants because Minho’s hips are wider and his thighs thicker. They wouldn’t fit Jisung, but god, Jisung would worship Minho’s legs if Minho ever let him.
Jisung enters Minho’s bedroom as he dries his hair with a towel, and Minho’s sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed underneath each other. He’s wearing one of Jisung’s hoodies and too big shorts that come down to his knees. He’s dozing off a little, hugging one of the pillows. In the dim bedside lamp, Jisung is almost sure his heart skips a beat as he watches the shadows Minho’s eyelashes cast, the slope of his nose and the gorgeous red of his mouth.
“Oh, you’re out,” Minho says, yawning at the end of his sentence. He covers his mouth, but it’s with a hand that has the sleeves pulled to the tips of his fingers, and Jisung is going to die. Minho’s got sweater paws! his mind screams, and it is both too late and him too tired to tamp these thoughts down. They rise to the surface like warm bubbles and there is affection so close to spilling out of his lips. It does.
“And you’re too cute,” Jisung says, tossing the towel into the laundry hamper and going to sit next to Minho. “Is that my hoodie?”
“I found it in my closet,” Minho says, completely avoiding the question.
Jisung just smiles, takes Minho’s hand in his, stroking over his knuckles, then turns his arm over. His left wrist has a white lily tattooed on it, and Jisung raises this arm, kisses it like how he did with the other wrist a while ago.
When he lowers Minho’s arm again, Minho’s cheeks are washed with pink. He never fails to blush when Jisung kisses his tattoos like this, and Jisung never fails to feel completely smitten when he sees Minho blush. Maybe it’s one of the many reasons why he keeps continuing to do this, loves to see Minho’s reactions again and again.
“What time do you need to be at the studio tomorrow?” Minho asks, lacing their fingers together.
“Around noon,” Jisung says. Thinks about that, and then adds, “Do you wanna come with me?”
Minho makes a small, surprised sound. Jisung doesn’t know how Minho gets any cuter. “Are you sure I can? Wouldn’t I disturb you working if I’m there?”
“No, you won’t. And I might as well introduce you to Chan-hyung and Changbin-hyung. They’re sick of me talking about you.”
“Didn’t realise I was such a huge part of your daily conversations,” Minho teases, voice light.
“Now you do,” Jisung murmurs, squeezes Minho’s hand a little. Knows that if he had even a little bit more energy he would pull Minho into his arms and kiss him. But it is now two hours after midnight and Jisung will have to be content with what he can do.
“I’ll go. Now, sleep. I’m not going to deal with you being grumpy in the morning because you didn’t wanna sleep.” Minho turns, lets go of his hand to slip under the blanket and shift over to the left side of the bed. Or, as left side as a single bed can get.
For a few moments as Minho settles himself, Jisung watches him. Watches him pull the blankets up to his chin, and turn onto his side, how his hair splays against the pillowcase – and how his hair is getting long. Jisung wonders how long Minho will let it get. Long enough to tie up, or braid it, even?
“Your hair is getting long,” Jisung says, and he gets into bed as well, squeezing next to Minho.
“Go to sleep,” Minho says, but he sounds so small, so soft, comfortable where he’s tucked up in bed.
Jisung obliges, reaches over to turn the bedside lamp off and settle down as well. The bed is so small that they have to press up against each other to sleep comfortably, but Jisung doesn’t mind. He throws an arm around Minho’s waist and Minho hugs him back, making another soft, small sound like he’s melting into the bedsheets, into Jisung’s arms.
Jisung wants to take each of these sounds, keep them in a bottle and display it. Wants to remember these sounds, remember how happy Minho is.
“Hey, I said go to sleep,” Minho says again, but his voice is quiet with the time of the night and the lull of the dark. He is warm where they are pressed together, and the fragrance of his shampoo is just delicate enough for Jisung to make out that it smells like peaches.
“I heard you,” Jisung says, but is interrupted by a yawn.
“Checkmate.” Minho replies; his words are slurred with sleep.
Jisung wants to say something, just to have the last word because he likes to be obnoxious like that, but his eyelids are slipping shut, heavier than he anticipated. His tongue is slow to move and his mouth isn’t moving. His body has stopped trying to move and he feels himself sink into the mattress, Minho both warmth and love in his arms and near him.
From somewhere far, far away, he thinks he hears something that sounds a lot like Minho’s voice. “Goodnight,” The voice says, and it is small, but it is familiar and full of affection and Jisung thinks that maybe he falls asleep with a smile on his face.
“Isn’t having ice cream before noon like, unhealthy eating habits at its finest?” Minho asks, quirking an eyebrow.
“Yeah, but I deserve it,” Jisung argues. “I finished a concert yesterday, we can do that healthy eating, meal prep what-not tomorrow. In fact, how have you made me get into this healthy eating regime?”
“Because you’re a sucker for kisses and my eyes,” Minho says nonchalantly.
Jisung groans, pretends he’s disgusted, but it’s the truth.
They’re still in bed, and the only reason that they’re awake is because Minho had forgotten to turn the alarm on his phone off, and so they had woken up at eight in the morning to Lost playing loudly around the room. Minho had scrambled to turn it off, then tumbled back into Jisung’s arms, shivering a little in the cold morning air.
“Do you think we should get up?” Minho asks thoughtfully.
“Absolutely not.”
“Then how are we going to get your ice cream?”
“Aha! So you agree to get ice cream?”
Minho’s eyes widen at that implication, and then Jisung’s rushing to get out of bed before Minho can take his words back, dashing into the bathroom and laughing loudly, with much more energy than a couple hours of sleep would usually provide.
“Cheater,” Minho says, pouting a little when he enters the bathroom just moments after Jisung. He knocks his hip into Jisung’s side and reaches for toothpaste when Jisung passes him his toothbrush.
“Only for ice cream,” Jisung promises, and then throws a cheesy wink at Minho for good measure. Minho ends up accidentally squeezing toothpaste onto Jisung’s arm, and they squabble over it while brushing their teeth.
Jisung takes the opportunity to slap Minho’s butt when Minho is bent over to rinse his mouth out, and then giggles as Minho kicks him in the leg. They wash their faces like that, crowded next to each other in front of the small sink; Jisung leaves first to find some clothes to wear, leaving Minho to squint in the mirror at what he thinks is some imperfection in his skin or something.
(jisung thinks minho is overreacting. there is nothing on his skin.
“you are biased,” minho objects.
“no, i think you’re beautiful no matter what condition your skin is in.”
minho kicks him out of the bathroom. jisung doesn’t miss the blush on his cheeks.)
Jisung ends up settling with a creased shirt and some dark jeans, knowing that he’ll just throw a denim jacket over his shirt to hide the fact that it isn’t ironed. When Minho comes out, he looks at Jisung’s outfit, and sets out rummaging through his closet, eventually pulling out a long-sleeved white shirt and jeans that are almost the same colour as Jisung’s.
Just as Jisung is wondering if Minho is purposefully matching their clothes, Minho pulls out a dark blue flannel and compares it with Jisung’s denim jacket that’s left on his study chair. Seemingly satisfied, he ties it around his waist and goes to deal with his hair, unaware that Jisung is about to suffer a heart attack.
“You – are so cute,” Jisung says, and then traps Minho in a back hug in front of the full-length mirror.
“What – what?” Minho splutters, hands coming to rest on top of Jisung’s.
“You matched our clothes,” Jisung says, sweetly kissing the area behind Minho’s ear. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
“I have done nothing of the sort,” Minho objects. Still, he taps Jisung’s hands, and then when Jisung loosens his hold, he turns around to face Jisung properly. “Don’t let that get to your head,” He eventually says, and that is as best of an admittance as Jisung can get.
“Too late,” Jisung sings. “You should have said that months ago when we first met.”
“Hmm,” Minho says, and then he leans in to kiss Jisung. This time, there’s the remaining freshness of the toothpaste that Minho likes to buy, and beneath that, the same honey depth that Minho always carries in his mouth. Jisung can’t help himself, grips Minho tighter and backs him against the mirror to kiss him more deeply.
Minho’s hands scramble up his arms to settle, one cupping his face and the other on his shoulder. He kisses back just as deeply as Jisung does, but then he whimpers, a light sound that is barely there, when Jisung licks at the seam of his lips, and Jisung really can’t help himself.
With the thought that they have places to be, Jisung presses several more kisses to Minho’s plush mouth, then retreats, eyes immediately drawn to how teased red Minho’s lips are.
“You’re terrible,” Minho says, but there is no heat behind his words and he is still pressed close to Jisung.
“And this very terrible person is about to get you ice cream,” Jisung reminds him. His fingers run through the hair at the nape of Minho’s neck. “Maybe you should be a little more appreciative.”
“Ah yes, my personal ice cream provider. I thank you so much,” Minho says, laughter edging his words.
“Is that all I mean to you?” Jisung asks, pouting a little, his nose scrunching up.
“You’re also my personal coffee connoisseur,” Minho offers, then bursts into a peal of laughter at the scandalised look on Jisung’s face. “I’m joking, you know what you are to me,” Minho says when he’s done laughing, and this time there is a degree of affection to his words.
“Your personal barista, apparently,” Jisung snorts, but then his smile softens, and he dips in again to just kiss Minho for the sake of it. This time, he relishes the feeling of Minho’s lips against his, and when they pull apart, it’s to the soft look in each other’s eyes and the way that their hands are now intertwined together.
“C’mon,” Minho says, his voice barely a breath and spoken right against Jisung’s lips, eyes bright, “let’s get your ice cream.”
It had been by pure chance that they found this ice cream parlour just round the corner from Minho’s apartment. It was tucked away behind a row of shops, tiny but spanning three floors, and they’d only found it because Jisung was whining for ice cream months ago.
‘-12 Degrees’, the sign on the store reads, and every time someone enters, the bell would chime cheerfully. This time, it is no different and as they enter, the bell rings loudly, the tinkling sound resounding through the small shop. The entire ground floor is almost the whole serving bar, rows and rows of the most colourful ice cream they’ve ever seen, with whimsical names, most of which are based on puns.
Jisung already knows what they’re going to get.
“Can we get two scoops of chocolate, one mint chocolate and one strawberry? In their different bowls please… thank you!” Minho says, talking to the server, and giggling at the names of the ice cream again even though he’s seen them at least half a dozen times.
“Still not tired of the names?” Jisung asks, as the server hefts a large scoop of ‘are you in a predica-mint?’ into a bowl.
“How can you ever get tired of the names?” Minho argues, smiling as the server turns to dealing with the ‘are you choco-late because of me?’ container.
“I know I never get tired of the names because it’s at sweet as you,” Jisung says cheesily, and adds a wink for good measure as the last scoop of ‘I like you berry berry much!’ is made and their ice cream is ready.
“You’re terrible,” Minho says, and then swipes his card on the reader before Jisung can even try to argue that he’ll pay. “No, you paid for us last time! Stop trying to pay for all our food. In case you haven’t forgotten, you have the struggling artist image to keep.”
“Fine, but I’m paying next time… and in case you’ve forgotten, this struggling artist just had a concert last night!”
They’re still squabbling as they take their ice cream up all the way to the second floor where the best booths are. Here, the sunlight of the late morning streams in through the large windows, and they settle into their usual corner, a booth tucked round the corner and mostly secluded from the rest of the booths.
Minho slips to sit inside and Jisung sits opposite him, sunlight shining down all around them, and their ice cream almost too cold to the touch.
“Happy breakfast,” Minho sighs, and they touch the backs of their spoons to each other before they start on the mint chocolate ice cream. This ice cream is not too sweet, just the right balance of sweet and fresh melting over their taste buds that Jisung lets out a little happy sound and immediately digs in for more.
“You’re cute,” Minho says, giggling. He reaches over for a napkin to wipe some of the ice cream that Jisung has already gotten on the corner of his mouth.
“And the ice cream is melting,” Jisung mumbles, mouth full of ice cream. “Hurry up!”
It’s one of the best Saturday mornings Jisung’s had yet, he thinks. Sunlight, bathing them and washing Minho’s skin the prettiest gold. Ice cream, cloying sweet but also refreshingly cold over their taste buds. Affection, long overflowed in his chest and spilling into his vision so it is tinted pink and all that is half an hour to noon.
And right then and there, as Minho hums in delight when he’s got a particularly large piece of chocolate in his spoonful, Jisung thinks he wants the rest of his Saturday mornings to be like this.
Not just the ice cream, not just the sunlight, not just the warmth and cold.
But Minho. Minho, sitting in front of him, or beside him, looking at him and talking and laughing and within hand-holding distance. He wants Minho like this, not just this Saturday, but next Saturday and the Saturday after that and all the remaining Saturdays and the rest of his days.
“Jisung?” Minho asks, interrupting his thoughts. “What are you thinking about?”
Jisung looks at him for a moment, watches the rapid blink of Minho’s eyes and the delicate part of his lips. Thinks back to months and months ago when they met in the bar and Lee Minho was nothing more than a name to him. Thinks back to the first night they spent together and thinks about this morning when they woke up together. Thinks about how Minho’s gone from being gorgeous to beautiful even though nothing has changed.
Thinks about how everything has changed and Minho’s been there by his side.
“Stay with me,” Jisung says, instead of everything that is on his mind. “Please?”
Maybe it’s a trick of the sunlight, the gold dazzling Jisung’s vision, but he thinks Minho’s smile softens, and more gold comes into his amber eyes.
“I’ll always be by your side.”
Jisung knows he will, and he will be there for Minho too. He knows this beyond anything else, beyond how he will pay his bills, or how he has ten minutes to being on time, or how he has to deal with the production deadlines their company has given them. Knows it beyond anything else that they will be by each other’s sides.
(as it turns out, minho gets on along very well with chan and changbin. it also turns out that minho was right, that he’d prove a distraction – not to jisung, though. chan and changbin are more interested in getting to know minho rather than paying attention to their work, and not even jisung whining can get them to turn away from minho.
an hour later, they’re dealing the dirty dishes on jisung to minho, who’s listening amusedly and laughing every now and then, but jisung, even as he sulks a little, doesn’t think he would have it any other way.)