Chapter Text
Han Jisung is the most optimistic realist ever.
On the planet?
Perhaps.
In all of Stray Kids?
Absolutely.
(“Hashtag confirmed, hashtag life facts?”
“Hashtag fact, Lixie.”)
Jisung believes in the Possibility of most things.
Just about everything you can think of…if you can think it, it’s possible.
It could happen.
Some things maybe aren’t probable, maybe not likely.
But they could happen.
They could.
He’s a man with a scientific heart, okay?
Empirical evidence, experimentation…that stuff fuels him, sparks something in him.
If he's passionate about understanding a topic, he’ll explore it to the very last detail. He’ll let his curiosity lead the way all the way down, down, down the winding road ahead.
Until he reaches the end of it...
Or, sometimes, until the interest fades off on its own.
So...yes, of course he believes in superstitions in bits and pieces, just like he holds reasonable fear for the destructive power of the worst natural disasters - the ones where all the elements and variables have to be present.
Yes, of course he believes in the power of hopes, dreams, and aspirations - especially when they’re matched with the right motivations and with the right amount of emotional & financial support.
Yes, of course, Han Jisung - the most optimistic realist ever - even believes in Love At First Sight.
(What Han Jisung doesn’t believe in is Love At First Sight ever working out for people like him.)
“Knock, knock~”
Jisung shifts slightly, head peering out from beneath the covers.
“Mmrhhmhhgh.”
“...Can you translate that to human language for us, Mister Quokka?”
“Ughhhhhh. You—” If he had the energy and wasn’t groggy from that spectacular nap, Jisung would have chucked one of his pillows at the door. “Listennnnnn. M’not gettin’ up, don’t wanna— hyuuuung. Jus’…go on in… ‘n…let yourself in…? Door’s open ‘nyway…”
Burrowing back underneath his blanket, Jisung can hear what’s going on outside of his safe haven.
First, the low creak of the door opening.
Then, muted footsteps making their way toward his bedside.
And then, after what sounds like a shopping bag with something small and light dropped on the nearby dresser—
“Brought you something food-like,” Minho tells him, and then makes Jisung bounce with Minho’s unceremonious weight dropping onto the mattress beside him. “I figured you might be hungry when you got up...since you weren’t up to eating this morning and all.”
Jisung…doesn’t leave the blanket entirely, hearing this.
He considers it.
But he does move aside far enough to leave space for Minho to join, if he wants.
Minho kicks off his borrowed house slippers (Jisung hears them rather than sees them land somewhere far off) to crawl in underneath and burrow himself into Jisung’s side.
“How are your hands ‘n feet so damn cold,” Jisung grouses while Minho’s arms wind around his waist, “but the rest of you is so warm?”
“If my cuddling services aren’t needed,” Minho retorts, digging his toes into Jisung’s ankle one more time - for emphasis, “then I can always see myself out.”
“Shhhhhh. Bunnies are quiet creatures! Besides, Bunny Charging Base Number 2 isn’t supposed to talk.” Even with eyes closed, he can picture Minho scowling at this. “C’mon, you’re smart, you should know this!”
“Number 2? Since when did I get demoted to Number 2?” Minho huffs, so indignant that Jisung snorts. “Hmph. Fine. Guess I’ll have to assert my dominance as Head Bunny On Campus to one Seo Changbin…when he gets back to the dorm.”
“Or maybe... maybe you could go back to your Cool Cat Butler roots?” Jisung flops over and presses forward into Minho’s (pleasantly) warm chest. If his chin digs in by accident, Minho doesn’t seem to mind; if anything, Jisung gets his head patted by - thankfully - a hand that’s much warmer now. “That’s a title you're always gonna keep. Yep. No one can match your Cool Cat Butler energy.”
“I guess,” deadpans Minho. “Anyway. What if I don’t want to be a cat or a rabbit? What if I want to be - I don’t know, a chicken for the day?”
“Are you kidding? There can only be one Lee who’s a Yongbok, hyung!” Jisung pretends to be scandalized and Minho snorts, pulling the blanket tighter around their huddled forms. “That’s a sacred title, hyung, it’s Felix we’re talking about here. Taking things from our angel Lix should be, like. Illegal in most countries. Or at least immoral in the SKZ dorms…”
And then – because Jisung can never fully predict Minho’s next move – the older man pinches Jisung’s nose, inspiring their next cold staredown.
Jisung’s eyes go wide, though, when he shifts out from the blanket enough to see Minho in the light for the first time since waking up.
Messy bangs, some strands more wayward than others, poke out from underneath his hoodie.
A sharp catlike stare, usually impassive or alight with challenge, seems more lethargic than usual.
Best (worst) of all, his lips are drawn into (the cutest) pout and reflecting on that and the narrowed distance between them, Jisung is—
“Speak for yourself,” Minho gives him a gentle tap to his forehead (“Ow,” Jisung hisses, then squeaks when his attempt to elbow Minho’s side in retaliation ends in the older man squeezing both his cheeks), “because…”
Minho trails off then, expression—
Blank?
No, not entirely.
Jisung can read him better than that.
Confusion, chagrin, followed by the fading ghost of a self-depreciating grin, and—
“…Anyway…so. Do you want your tiramisu chocolate now,” Minho asks, reaching over him to rustle through the plastic bag, “or later?”
Did those pauses read more like…awkwardness?
Or…
Avoidance?
That change in tone was subtle but it was there, and Jisung is suddenly…annoyed.
He’s annoyed at himself, really, for not being able to read between the lines.
Even after several years of this, Jisung struggles to understand Minho.
It’s frustrating - especially at times like these when Jisung remembers that Love At First Sight is a concept that he struggles to understand, too.
“Hmm…now’s good! But only if you feed it to me. Piece by piece.” Jisung turns on the theatrics: fluttering lashes, faux coquettishness, and the rising pitch of his voice is enough to dissolve the earlier not-tension and get a laugh out of Minho. “And if you’re nice about it, Mister Cat-Rabbit, I might let you have a piece, too.”
“Two pieces,” Minho shoots back while unwrapping the chocolate bar for Jisung, “and full rights to not washing dishes after I finish making us dinner. Deal?”
“Excuse me? You had me - and half the chocolate, if you want - at ‘making us dinner’!”
(Minho throws his head back and cackles, and if Jisung stares at the line of his throat for a few seconds longer than necessary, then—
Well.
If he’s getting chocolate before dinner, Jisung can be satisfied with that…and whatever else comes next.)