Work Text:
Minho stares up at the canopy, lazily lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight shining through the leaves.
His head is in Hyunjin’s lap, basking in the dappled shade of the afternoon. They skipped their lectures for this, an anniversary picnic and a well-deserved moment of rest together after months of endless work.
The quilt is soft under his back and the hand that Hyunjin doesn’t have a book in rests through his hair, massaging soft, slow circles into his scalp. Minho feels sleep tugging gently at him, feels his shutting eyelids tempting him, begging him to take the olive branch of slumber for just a second.
He doesn’t really want to, even though it’s so tempting with the hand tangled in his hair and the light dancing across his face. It’s not that he isn’t deserving of a nap, but the thought of missing out on his afternoon surrounded by easy breathing and saccharine voices holds his consciousness captive.
Hyunjin shifts under him. He places his dog-eared novel on the quilt and leans forward, lifting his now free hand to shade Minho’s eyes.
“Hi there,” he says, looking down at Minho with a certain adoration that makes his heart sing. “Sung should be back just now, don’t go dozing off on us.”
Jisung.
The completion of their trio and Minho’s personal sunshine. He’d gone to the market to get something sweet for their dessert, citing his own personal belief that “no meal is complete without a palate cleanser,” and rushing off before Hyunjin or Minho could stop him.
“He’s been gone for too long,” he mumbles, “Miss him.”
“He’ll be back soon, angel,” Hyunjin says, brushing the hair out of Minho’s face. “I miss him too.”
As if on cue, a twig snaps nearby. Minho perks up at the sound, lifting his head to find the source.
Jisung strolls lazily into the clearing with a grass basket hanging from the crook of his elbow. It’s covered in a white linen cloth, creating a protective barrier for its contents.
Minho sits up and adjusts himself so he’s sitting comfortably on his knees, legs folded under him.
“Was the market busy?” Hyunjin asks, leaning back onto his hands. “Our baby missed you.”
“Oh really?” Jisung asks, settling next to them on the quilt. He sits the basket down and reaches towards Minho, pulling him to lie back against his chest. “And you? Did you also miss me?”
“Always.” Hyunjin’s gaze on them doesn’t falter. It’s soft, eyes filling with love as Minho lets Jisung comb his fingers through his hair.
“I wouldn’t say it was busy,” Jisung says, drawing a sigh from Minho. He’s never understood Jisung’s need to be as cryptic as he is about something so arbitrary. “Some people are difficult, more so these days than they used to be.”
Minho understands that one, the reference to the war approaching. He doesn’t bring it up, doesn’t push and risk soiling the crisp air of the clearing.
No. Today is for them.
They bask in the silence. Jisung’s arms around Minho are enough to send him drifting towards the grasp of sleep once again. It’s a lot more tempting now that they’re all together and he almost considers giving in.
Almost.
He’s halted by Jisung’s voice.
“I can’t believe I forgot!” he exclaims. Minho’s eyes shoot open and he jumps away from him, frightened by the outburst.
He ends up half-in Hyunjin’s lap, hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt.
“Woah there, angel.” Hyunjin steadies him with hands on his waist. “Easy, Sungie just got excited.”
“Sorry flower.” Jisung’s eyes widen. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Minho inches out of Hyunjin’s hold, wrapping his slender fingers around his wrist for some sort of contact nonetheless. “‘s okay, Sung,” he says, “What did you want to say?”
Jisung lights up and reaches for the forgotten basket. “The merchant really didn’t want to part with these,” he says, flipping back the cloth, “But how could I leave after seeing them.”
The basket is filled with clementines, dark orange against the white fabric and the gold of Jisung’s hands. Minho gasps, eyes darting between the basket and the man responsible.
“My favourite!” he says, “You shouldn’t have, Sungie, these must have been so expensive…”
“It’s our anniversary, I’m allowed to spoil you.”
Hyunjin leans over and presses a kiss to the corner of Jisung’s mouth. “You’re so sentimental today, Jisungie.”
“And you love me for it.” Jisung caresses Hyunjin’s cheek. “Now, we should eat.”
He begins peeling one, fingers making light work of the skin. Minho and Hyunjin watch him eagerly, knowing the ritual after years and years of sharing the fruit between them.
When he’s finished, he passes them each a half, a soft smile gracing his features as they take it thankfully. “I love you,” he says -- as he always does when they share like this -- “I love you, and I want us all to eat well.”
Minho accepts the fruit, small beads of juice sticking to his fingers. When he lifts a segment to his lips, he finds that it’s sweet, much sweeter than the ones they get from the markets near the university.
“Thank you, Sungie, he says, pushing forward on the palms of his now empty, but still sticky hands to kiss Jisung gently. “Let me peel you one?”
Jisung pushes the basket towards him and watches him gently unravel the orange skin. He pries out the flesh and gathers the segments into his hand. “Come here,” he says, voice hushed. He only says it for the three of them.
Minho presses segment after segment to Jisung’s lips, humming happily each time he takes one delicately between his teeth. Before he realises, the clementine is finished and he’s just brushing the soft skin of Jisung’s cheek with the back of his hand.
“Jinnie,” he says, turning to him, “Your turn.”
Hyunjin always looks at him like he hung the stars, but it’s amplified when they’re centimetres apart and Minho is so focused on his task. Hyunjin can’t tear his eyes away.
“Open up.” he lets his lips part as Minho’s gentle hands reach him and takes the sweet fruit into his mouth. There’s something so tender, so intimate about moments like these, moments when the world stops for them.
“You two know I have to finish my reading,” Hyunjin says, “Distracting me like this really should be considered a crime.”
A brush of their lips, not quite as sweet as Jisung’s, but enough to make his head spin. Minho flicks his eyes lazily between Hyunjin’s abandoned book and his plush lips and really can’t be faulted for choosing the latter, not when he glances to Jisung and finds him looking at them as though they were handcrafted by the gods and placed on earth for his eyes only.
No, he can’t fault himself at all.
It’s all so slow, warm -- even when Jisung bridges the gap between them to press another piece of fruit to Minho’s lips, it’s unreal, peaceful.
He chews the clementine slowly and lifts Jisung’s hand to his lips, pressing kisses to his fingertips and savouring the sweetness gathered there even after he’s long since finished taking from him.
“Do you think the universe was made for us?” Hyunjin asks, twirling a lock of Jisung’s long, black hair around his finger.
“No, I don’t,” Jisung responds, “However, I believe that you two were made for me.”
Minho lets himself play Jisung’s game. “And who told you that?” he asks.
Hyunjin laughs. “Angel, please kiss me and tell me that you were made to do anything else.”
A challenge never goes unnoticed among them, and even though Minho forgets the initial objective after two seconds of being overwhelmed by Hyunjin, he considers it fulfilled.
“Relax.” Jisung places his hand on Hyunjin’s thigh. “We’re going to break the baby.”
Minho doesn’t mean to gasp, but when the sound is drawn from his lips, he finds himself playing with the soft lace on the cuffs of his shirt. “I’m the oldest here,” he says, trying to make his voice stern. “I’m not a baby.”
“Ah.” Jisung comes close. “But flower, you’re our baby, aren’t you?”
He knows what Jisung is doing. Hyunjin knows what Jisung is doing. Jisung knows what he’s doing.
Minho sighs shakily, avoiding their eyes but not trying to hide his blush. “Yeah,” he starts, giving up any guise of a fight he had painted over his usual atmosphere. “‘m your baby.”
“I’m glad you agree, angel,” Hyunjin says. Minho notices that he’s undone half of his shirt buttons, letting the afternoon sun hit his chest. It’s hard for him to tear his eyes away. “What on earth would we do if you didn’t?”
The question isn’t aimed at Minho, rather at Jisung, and possibly the air listening in on their makeshift date.
“Don’t know what I’d do without my pretty flower,” Jisung laments, throwing himself back onto the quilt. “Combust maybe? I can only see a future of loneliness and despair without him.”
“Must you pretend you’re dying every time I remind you of your age?” Minho asks, voice drifting towards teasing. His tone draws a laugh from Hyunjin, who’s found his head a place to rest in Jisung’s soft stomach.
Jisung scoffs and throws an arm over his face. “You’re both so lucky I love you.”
“Is that so?” Hyunjin asks. He brings Jisung’s hand to his mouth and places gentle kisses on his knuckles. “I think I need to hear you say again.”
He scoffs but doesn’t make any move to tug his hand free. “I’ve said it once, it’s Minho’s turn.”
“Oh, I think you’re well aware of how much I love you.” Minho pulls the cloth over the half-empty basket. “And I’ll continue to love you -- I will tell you I love you until my breathing stops.”