Work Text:
Jisung hated chores. Monotonous, repetitive chores. Even worse were the ones that had no real benefit to being done - why fold laundry when it was only going to be worn or used again within a couple of days anyway? Why dust the high shelves or corners of rooms that nobody was going to see? Why go to all the effort of cooking dinner when the option of ordering in - or even better, his far more skilled roommate Minho offering to make something instead - was there and saved on so much effort and decision making and dishes?
(Ugh, always the fucking dishes.)
Jisung hated chores, but even more than he hated chores, he liked Minho. He liked Minho, quite frankly, an embarrassing amount, and not even just for his cooking.
They’d been living together a while now after being introduced by a mutual friend, and while Jisung had initially been apprehensive about Changbin’s Hot Gym Buddy, they’d quickly come to embrace each other’s strange little quirks and habits and became a unit, a dream team of sorts. No longer Jisung and Minho but Jisung-and-Minho, inseparably woven into every aspect of each other’s lives, and Jisung couldn’t imagine being without him at this point.
And well, call it a roommate’s intuition, or perhaps Jisung just caring about Minho a little too much these days, but he’d noticed the way Minho would sigh heavily, exhausted as he took off his shoes on arriving home from work. Noticed how he’d hover in the hall just a little bit longer than before, how he’d lean back against the wall and look so tired for just a moment before putting on his usual playful, Up-To-Something expression and entering the apartment to, typically, find and bother Jisung.
Minho was tired. So, so tired.
Jisung hated chores so, so much.
But he liked Minho a whole lot more.
So much so it had led him to where he was now, humming tunelessly at the kitchen sink while he washed whatever vegetables had looked like they were almost (but not quite) about to go bad in the fridge. Did he know what he was doing? Hell no. But the vegetables could probably be chopped up and fried into something at least edible with some rice or eggs or something - wasn’t the secret to cooking putting your heart into it, anyway? That’s what all the food bloggers seemed to say when Jisung asked the all-knowing internet if the particular combo of vegetables he had to work with would turn out gross or not, even if Changbin had just laughed (via text) at both this and his original predicament.
Whatever - Changbin wouldn’t be eating it anyway. It wasn’t about Changbin. It was about Minho.
The actual ‘cooking’ stage still felt a long way off, with all these damn vegetables left to wash thoroughly before anything else could be done. And there was no half-assing it - Jisung would quite honestly die if Minho got sick or something the one time he cooked dinner.
This sucks, and I hate it. He grumbled internally, spacing out a little as the splashing of running water over produce mingled with the only-mildly-concerningly-loud humming of the fridge. He was being a baby and he knew it, but ugh, it really did suck. How did Minho do this for the two of them practically every day? Was there some kind of Functioning Adult Switch that never got flipped for Jisung? The only thing keeping him from ordering pizza right now was the embarrassing warm feeling that fluttered in his chest at the thought of shouldering some of Minho’s burden, for a change.
Was Minho motivated by the same feeling?
Jisung wasn’t sure if his heart could handle that possibility.
Jisung’s heart wasn’t quite able to handle the sudden feeling of arms looping around his waist, either, and it was only the familiar weight pressing against his back that stopped him from physically hitting the ceiling in surprise, dropping a carrot into the sink. “Oh fuck- shit- hey?”
Minho laughed, squeezing his arms a little tighter around Jisung’s middle and nuzzling his face into the back of Jisung’s hoodie. Over the running of the water and the humming of the fridge, Jisung could just about hear him muffling a yawn in the fabric. “You don’t sound happy to see me~?” He hummed.
“I didn’t hear you come in, is all. Dinner’s nowhere near ready yet.”
“Dinner?” Minho rested his chin on Jisung’s shoulder to get a better look at the contents of the sink, fingertips fiddling with the hem of Jisung’s hoodie. His movements slowed somewhat, as if catching on the gears turning in his head. “...for us?”
Jisung didn’t know what to do with his hands, all of a sudden, and picked up the dropped carrot to idly run it under the water in an imitation of progress. “Yeah? I can make food sometimes too, you know.”
“I cook dinner, though.” Minho sounded genuinely baffled, and it made Jisung feel kind of bad that the idea of him taking over, even for one night, was so unthinkable. “I always do.”
“Well, not tonight you don’t - I’m not gonna let you, so don’t try anything. I’m armed and dangerous!” He held the carrot up higher at that, brandishing it like a weapon, and maybe his insides turned to goo as Minho chuckled into his shoulder. He felt so warm and soft and stupid, like he so often did when Minho was close to him, when Minho was comfortable with him. “You seem kinda burnt out lately,” he murmured, lowering his voice a little, and while he felt Minho tense just a bit, he chose not to acknowledge it as he continued washing the vegetables.
He could feel Minho’s eyes on him too, the older boy drawing back just a bit to, presumably, look at Jisung’s face while still keeping his arms wrapped around him. Jisung didn’t acknowledge that either, tongue poking out in concentration as he worked. Minho liked to look at him, and Jisung never did know what he saw, but apparently he liked it enough to do it Extremely Often.
Whatever Minho saw in Jisung’s face today, it seemed to be what he wanted, and he once again pressed close against Jisung’s back, squeezing him around the waist firmly, intently before dipping his hands into the sink to grab at whatever vegetable was within reach. “Make it a team effort, at least?”
Jisung couldn’t really say no to that, especially if it meant more of this - more of Minho so so close to him. And he didn’t, the pair of them working together to wash the remaining vegetables. Minho’s contribution was...debatable, really, unable to reach very much from his position behind Jisung but also seemingly unwilling to move from it, and mostly serving to distract Jisung with every touch of their hands under the water, every breath against Jisung’s neck as Minho told Jisung about his day with his voice barely above a whisper, a hum almost.
Though he may not have been much help, it was fine, more than fine. Minho could have been actively sabotaging Jisung’s efforts and throwing things out of the sink, for all he cared, and he still wouldn’t have wanted anything more than Minho’s arms around his waist and his heartbeat, steady and comforting, against his back.
The world ended at Minho, at Jisung, at the kitchen sink, and maybe that had been the case for longer than Jisung really cared to admit. He found himself slowing down as the vegetables in the sink depleted, not wanting the moment to end. This moment where he couldn’t be sure where he ended and Minho began.
But there were only so many vegetables, and as Jisung set one last carrot aside, he waited for Minho to make a move.
“So,” Minho murmured, bringing his wet hands up to wipe them dry on the front of Jisung’s hoodie and cracking a smile at Jisung’s indignant little squeak, “what’s the plan?”
Jisung wondered if Minho was asking about the vegetables, or something else.
He wasn’t sure if he could risk it.
“I dunno, I was thinking about just cutting them up and frying them? It can’t taste that bad with some rice or eggs or whatever, I figured.”
Minho smiled ever wider at Jisung’s response - Jisung could feel it, the older boy’s lips brushing lightly against his neck before moving up to his ear. His voice was low, so low Jisung could barely hear over the humming of the fridge on the other side of the kitchen. “Can it wait?”
Before Jisung could process the words, Minho let his hands drop to Jisung’s hips and turned him around on the spot to face him, Jisung following the motion without resistance as his mind completely short-circuited. Oh. Shit. Fuck. If he’d thought Minho was close before, it felt like there was scarcely room to breathe now, his entire field of vision completely narrowed in on Minho, Minho’s face, Minho’s lips.
WHY IS HE SO CLOSE, Jisung’s train of thought stuttered and buzzed, drowned out by his heart screeching WHY ISN’T HE CLOSER
Minho’s hands moved again - slower and somewhat unsure, he rested his fingertips on the very edge of the countertop, caging Jisung against it in the very loosest sense of the word. Jisung could have easily put more distance between them if he wanted to.
(If.)
“Can it, ‘Sungie?” When Jisung was able to tear his gaze away from Minho’s mouth for even a second, the sheer overwhelming affection in the other boy’s eyes hit him like a truck. The uncertain wavering in his pupils like he was fighting a war within himself to stay where he was, at least until he could gauge Jisung’s reaction.
The questions Minho was asking with his words and with his heart didn’t quite match up, but the answer was the same, as finally, letting his eyes drop to Minho’s lips again, Jisung regained his composure enough to barely exhale a yeah .
For all Jisung had imagined a situation like this before, he found himself entirely unsure of what to do with his hands in the moment. He settled on bringing them up to rest ever so lightly against Minho’s neck, warm to the touch and flushed a pretty shade of red all the way up to the tops of his ears before Minho had even fully closed the gap between them. It was cute, far too cute, and the swell of adoration in Jisung’s chest had him breaking into a broad smile that Minho immediately made to kiss right off his face.
How Jisung had wasted so much of his life not kissing Minho, he really didn’t know. Not now he knew how it felt. Warm. Soft. Comfortable. Right . Minho was hesitant at first - they both were. A little shaky, a little unsure. But with each touch of lips came more confidence, excitement even, fizzing and bubbling under Jisung’s very skin as Minho kissed him with ever more conviction.
A soft peck to his bottom lip, followed by a teasing sweep of Minho’s tongue had Jisung all but melting against him, into the sink and down the drain.
Jisung would never be able to look at their kitchen in quite the same way again - sure they needed to get some lightbulbs replaced here and there, and the fridge probably needed looking at because of the noise it made all the time, and there was definitely a colony of dust bunnies witnessing the whole affair from the corners they never remembered to sweep properly, but none of that mattered because it was theirs and theirs alone and they were so warm and so comfortable and so kissing.
Kissing. Minho kissing Jisung. Jisung kissing Minho. It wasn’t going to get old any time soon.
It was an impatient growl from Jisung’s stomach that finally broke the spell over them, and Minho pulled away ever so slightly, chuckling as Jisung leaned forward a little as if to chase after his lips. “Maybe we should make a start on dinner.”
On one hand, with Minho pressing him against the counter like this, Jisung couldn’t bring himself to think about dinner (or indeed, anything except kissing Minho again and again and again and again ) if he tried. On the other hand, his stomach protested with another, louder growl, and he was forced to concede. “You mean I should - I’m cooking tonight, remember?”
Minho hummed, leaning in close again but stopping just short of pressing his lips to Jisung’s like he so desperately wanted Minho to. “Hm, I dunno. I like the sound of we . I like the sound of us .”
“Just say what you mean ,” Jisung pouted.
Minho brought his hands up to ruffle Jisung’s hair affectionately, pressing their foreheads together. “Aw, but ‘Sungie~ why should I do that when you always understand me anyway?” And Jisung had to admit - with a flush and a grumble as Minho planted a kiss on the tip of his nose - he wasn’t wrong. It would just be nice to hear it from Minho himself. “How about we get dinner out of the way and talk it out in front of one of those documentaries you like?”
“I’ve got one about wood geckos queued up on the TV-” he blurted, promptly hiding his face in Minho’s shoulder in embarrassment because wow way to kill the moment Jisung-
“You’re so cute~” Minho grinned, laughing out loud when Jisung pawed feebly at his chest in protest. “What? Didn’t you just say you wanted me to say what I meant? Ah, you’re lucky I love you so much, Han Jisung~”
A beat of pause.
Another.
Jisung could feel Minho’s heartbeat kick into overdrive, an echo of his own as his pulse sped up. Maybe Jisung wasn’t the only one who was embarrassing.
“I guess I really am lucky, huh?” He mustered the courage to meet Minho’s eyes again, Minho’s bewilderment at his own words written all over his face. He could feel the smile spreading across his own face as he watched Minho’s expression shift from embarrassment to nerves to something a little like questioning, a little like he already had the answer he wanted. “Really damn lucky.”
“Say it back, Jisung,” it was Minho’s turn to whine.
“Oh, you’ll hear it loud and clear through my cooking, don’t worry.” That should have been it. It really should have been. But when Jisung made to move away, Minho’s arms wrapped around him tightly, like the older boy would fall apart if he let go. (and well, maybe Jisung would fall apart too, his legs turning to jelly as he found himself pulled against Minho’s chest with a little oof .)
“ Our cooking. We’re making dinner together, so you’re going to have to find another way to tell me.” Minho’s voice was low, dangerous, lips brushing against the corner of Jisung’s mouth far too decisively for it to be merely a suggestion.
And well, maybe dinner could wait just a little while longer, at least until another demanding growl from maybe Jisung’s stomach, maybe Minho’s finally had them pulling apart with hushed giggles and damp fingerprints pressed tellingly into the fronts of their shirts.
Cooking dinner took twice as long as it normally would.
(“Isn’t there something you were going to say?” Minho asked a while later, squeezing Jisung lightly around the middle under the blanket they shared on the couch.
Tipping his head backwards with a hum, Jisung thought about it for a while. “Did you know that gecko eyes are over three hundred times more sensitive to light than human eyes?”
“Jisung.”
“Oh, and I’m madly in love with you, I guess~”)