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Seungmin is used to this. He thinks he has developed some sort of immunity everytime Minho fervently rejects him. Ironically finds comfort in that sharp tongue even if it meant bruising him.
Seungmin likes it when Minho spares him an ounce of his time with those silly arguments. Disputes everything Seungmin says for the sake of contradicting.
And even if their banters would tend to sting, borderline cruel– it’s fine, he thinks, because he would rather have it than none at all.
So why did his stomach drop when Minho didn’t spare him a glance and settled on someone else instead? Whose name slipped recklessly on the older’s tongue that was far from the syllable he ought to hear?
It was cruel— in a way that Seungmin was not a mere afterthought afterall. That Minho deliberately chose someone.
Someone who he isn’t well-acquainted with over him.
It would make perfect sense actually, if Minho picked Jisung over him, his soulmate. Would have understood if it were Jeongin and Felix because no one can resist them. Changbin on a particular flirty after gym sesh with Chan. And Hyunjin if it doesn't warrant the need to air fry him.
It's always them but none for him. And he thinks that will stay the same with how Minho, not even missing a single beat, chose Park Seungjin as his pair for the assessment.
The bitterness sits heavy on his tongue, acrid in its taste. Seungmin tries to clear his throat in an attempt to dislodge the heavy lump that's making it hard to breathe. He failed to notice that he was actively holding his breath the whole time.
However, a scratchy painful feeling burned at the back of his throat when he swallowed, making Seungmin choke back a cough.
It sounded weak yet loud in the almost empty space that it faltered Minho’s steps towards Seungjin.
He watches as Minho stills before he promptly shifts to turn back at Seungmin.
In a loop of treading the blurry lines, their gazes locked in it. It lasted for a second before Seungmin lost it when Minho’s eyes momentarily dilated, lips frowning imperceptibly as a flash of something washes over his features.
Seungmin could owe it to the trick of light. But, it is impossible, not when Minho’s expression turns grim.
The horror dawns in Seungmin. His face must have given away everything he wishes to conceal. Like a coffee on the edge of tipping as it keeps on filling the cup to the brim before it slips.
However futile, Seungmin still opts to avert his gaze away from Minho. He ignores it. And ignores. And ignores. Even as he senses Minho’s purposeful calculated steps on the tiled floor.
Each clank hunts him. Envisages the telltale sign of pity that Minho will wear once he sees Seungmin getting upset over the most trivial thing. And he doesn't have the heart to witness it today. Not when he feels as if he is about seconds away from fainting. His body turned cold.
He should have known that the foreboding ache in his lower limbs when he woke up that morning was a sign. Seungmin mistook it as a mere fatigue that will just go away if he stretches enough because that’s usually how it is. Even as his throat was parched no matter the swallowing he does, he chalks it up to warm water. Hoping it would alleviate the pain, except, it never did.
As if on cue, Seungmin’s skin suddenly burns with the need to scream. The coldness from the ac feels like splinters prodding on the fissures of his skull, splitting it open. Tearing him apart. And it doesn’t help the way he could still make out Minho’s silhouette approaching him despite the blurriness.
When did everything became a fucking blur? He laughs at himself. It was never about his vision.
Fuck, he just want to go home.
With a pained groan, Seungmin manages to grip the edge of his table with sheer difficulty. Its smooth edged surface had been indented with a half crescent moon with how hard he pressed his nails on it. Seungmin just wants to collapse and scream in agony.
It has been proven an impossible feat tho. To keep a straight face in front of Lee Minho— whose brown depths narrowed into slits when Seungmin’s body stumbled weakly as if it couldn’t take its weight after heaving himself up like a dried leaf wilting.
In a second, a hand shoots up— drawing the back of Minho’s palms to Seungmin’s forehead, checking. The coldness over his feverish ones makes Seungmin flinch. Minho darkens.
“You are sick. And you’re probably not gonna even tell me.” Minho admonished, upset written all over his face. Minho declares it like it's an absolute truth, like he knows what goes on inside Seungmin’s mind.
He knows, right? So why can’t he notice the hurt that’s been eating Seungmin alive?
Minho’s hand scorches more than the hurt he is feeling right now. And maybe, for once, Seungmin wants to see it mirroring Minho.
He peels off Minho’s hand. “No I’m not. I’m fine.”
“Kim Seungmin.”
“Lee Minho.”
Minho wearily sighs, frustrated. “Don’t be stubborn. You need to go home.” Minho makes a hold for his wrist but Seungmin dodges it.
“I don't want to!”
“Then I’m gonna take you ho—”
“Save it, hyung,” voice laced with malice, intending to hurt. It needs to hurt. “You don’t have to. I don’t need you.”
Minho froze.
It feels like Seungmin ran a marathon, the adrenaline long gone in his system— rendering him breathless and panting. Along those heaved breaths were an ounce of clarity coming back to his senses.
Fuck
He said those to Minho. He hurted his precious hyung because of his stupid feelings and foolish insecurities. Fucking blamed him for being someone who can’t satisfy Seungmin’s desires. It’s so selfish. And it makes him sick that he can’t breathe.
Somewhere along the way, he thinks he tries to run away. Swears his body giving out like a puppet whose strings have been cut. And at that moment, Seungmin does nothing but anticipates the harsh cold tile.
Instead, out of his daze, he feels the ghost of a warm palm holding his waist. Preventing him from falling. Bringing him closer into a warm embrace. It feels nice.
Seungmin shuts into the darkness.
—
“Cold,” a tiny whine escapes his lips. Shiver runs down his spine as the coolness from the damp washcloth stirs him from his slumber.
However, a soft warm fingertips languidly caresses his fluffy hair, doing tiny scritching at his scalp like a cat, lulling him back to the dreamland. Seungmin instinctively leans on to the warmth.
And if he’s delusional enough, he feels a feather-like touch of a warm plush softness lingering right in the corner of his lips. So light that he could almost mistake it as dust in the night.
For once, he doesn’t want to wake up from this dream.
—
When Seungmin was seventeen he bought his first ever hard earned money for a cat mug. It was for his hyung’s birthday and he wants to buy Minho something that will always remind him of his cats.
Because that’s what Minho likes. And the mere thought of Minho being happy is enough for Seungmin. He would probably do anything for Minho even at the expense of his own feelings.
That day, he got his first heartbreak in the peak of his seventeen. The mug he was holding was no longer tethering him to the ground. His insides wringing him dry at the sight of Minho smiling sheepishly at a gift that one of their seniors got for him.
And on that same day, he left the mug along with his hopes at Minho’s doorsteps.
—
Seungmin wakes up at an ungodly hour. In a mattress he’s not familiar with, in a room that’s clearly not his. He attempts to shift at his side but winces as his limbs were too stiff and aching. Nevertheless, he still did and the empty silhouette on the sheets brews disappointment at the pit of his stomach.
He heaved himself up, causing the blanket to pool on his waist. At the same time, the slightly damp washcloth drops from his forehead. Seungmin stares at it for a minute, becoming acutely aware why he was in here in the first place.
The disappointment. The argument. The nauseating feeling. The delusions. And the fact that he might be on Minho’s sheets.
Oh, he is beyond fucking mortified.
And worse, if he focuses enough, he could hear noises in the kitchen. Someone’s cooking. Minho cooked for him. Fucking ridiculous.
He wants to fix this. Fix his thoughts and emotions before it fucks him and their relationship. But he knows that with the added stress and migraine, he is but a walking ticking bomb. Needless to say, Seungmin steeled himself together and waded outside the room. The soles of his socked-feet did nothing but to amplify the frigid linoleum floor as he headed straight to the kitchen.
He anticipates it though— the scolding that he would get from the older, the disdain and disgust. But instead, Seungmin’s heart clenches with yearning and fondness when the sight greets him.
Minho, on his back, wearing a cat apron while stirring with what must have been a porridge. And it screams domestic. It takes every fiber of Seungmin’s being not to wrap his arms around his hyung’s waist and tuck his chin on Minho’s shoulders.
As if Minho had sixth senses, he always does, he turns around, greets Seungmin with an indecipherable look. Seungmin subconsciously licks his lips. And notes how Minho’s upper lids drop to it before he regards Seungmin with a carefully curated blank look.
A beat and a two with Minho suddenly crowding his personal space. The proximity makes it hard to breathe as he touches Seungmin’s neck to check his temperature. By the time Minho deems Seungmin okay, the younger one was a blushing mess.
“Eat.”
Minho gestures Seungmin to sit on one of the stools at the counter— in which the younger brings himself to the opposite of Minho. But before Seungmin could even land his butt on the stool, Minho’s hand firmly held his wrist to gently steer him away from it— beside where Minho was sitting.
“Sit beside me,” his voice tight, the tips of Minho’s ears turning red before he continued, “I don’t like how you chose to sit there when you can be close to me.” His tone is upset, with a slight edge to his voice as if it physically pains him to say those words.
Seungmin double takes.
“O-oh, sorry… That was out of habit.”
That was not the right response.
Minho’s brows furrowed deeply, his lips twitching as if he was about to question that but Seungmin beat him to it. Hastily, Seungmin swallows the hot porridge that was served without blowing it, burning his tongue in the process. Seungmin hisses in pain.
In a blink, his chin was lifted and a soothing wetness of the cold liquid filled his mouth— tranquilizing the sting, surprisingly mending the brokenness in him. A trickle of water went amiss as it slid down his chin. But Seungmin didn’t pay it any heed because he has Minho to wipe it away for him, wipe the uneven parts of him.
If this is what Minho is like when he loves, then Seungmin gladly wishes to be sick all over again.
The thought makes him laugh deliriously. Minho isn’t even aware of the heat prickling in the back of Seungmin’s eyes because he was too preoccupied in spooning the soup out of the bowl. Didn’t even notice the tremble of the younger’s lower lip because Minho was carefully drawing it up to his own lips before blowing away the heat.
It overwhelms Seungmin— to be on the receiving end of Minho’s affection. It has never been like this. Minho has never been this blatantly caring for him to the point that he can let go of his inhibitions and treat Seungmin like this. Treat him with so much care.
This has been the most attention Minho gave to him and the thought of it makes him cry. Out of happiness yet bitterness at the same time.
He suddenly wants to confess. But the “I love you” gets stuck in Seungmin’s throat and instead of confessing, it goes like this.
“Hyung, you don't have to do this for me.” Seungmin quietly murmurs. He watches as Minho stiffens before the older wordlessly settles the spoon and turns his attention to the younger.
Minho didn't talk for a second. Letting silence fill the air without taking his eyes off of Seungmin. It makes Seungmin’s skin crawl with how Minho is dead set on him like he was trying to pry open Seungmin’s soul.
And it's working because Seungmin hesitantly supplies under his razor-sharp gaze. “You don't have to skip class just because I'm sick. I can definitely manage on my own.”
Minho just hums, assessing, eyes scanning over Seungmin’s face.
“And about what happened earlier,” Seungmin blurts. “It was not nice of me, hyung. I'm sorry for being a burden.” He lowered his head.
It twisted something in Minho’s guts, to see Seungmin being distant with him again. Hates the resigned tone when Seungmin says those words with finality. As if he was leaving and this was his way of telling him.
Minho knows that he did something to upset the younger. Because normally, Seungmin wouldn't react like this— like Minho’s mere existence pains him.
A screech of what seems like a chair being pushed from the floor echoed amidst the silence, tipping Minho over the edge.
Without any preamble, Minho automatically rushes in, firmly holding onto Seungmin’s wrist. “What do you mean by that, Kim Seungmin?”
Seungmin bitterly sighs, “That I'm wasting your time when you can spend it with someone else. Someone whom you clearly want.”
“And what do you think I'm doing right now, hmm?”
Minho hoists himself up. The abruptness made Seungmin flinch that he took two steps back, staggering. He was about to question it when it took him a minute before he registered Minho’s words.
“T-thats… huh? Funny joke, hyung! Would rate 4.5 stars for the effort,” he laughs although he stops halfway when Minho didn't return the sentiment.
“Y-you…You're not lying, right?” He slowly reiterates, disbelief.
“You're an idiot.”
“Hyung, I'm not in a mo– ah!” Seungmin didn't even get to finish when Minho abruptly pulled him closer, his breath hitching when he realized how close they were. So close he could count Minho’s long lashes under the kitchen light.
“You really are,” Minho breathes. Puts a hand on Seungmin’s forehead and lightly knocks him with his own. His hand cushions the impact. Nevertheless, it made Seungmin’s nose scrunch adorably. “I have never bought coffee again since the day you brewed one for me. Your coffee tastes so good that I want to commit arson because maybe you drugged it and I was bewitched,” Minho barrels on. “You who cooked an ugly fried egg the day you came by, and I used to think it was funny yet my hand slipped and took a decent picture of it to post on my twitter.
Seungmin makes indignant noises. “Hyung, you make shit photos of your food.”
“Exactly.” Minho gives him a meaningful look but continues. “Seungmin-ah,” he pauses, champagne bubbles through his name. “Your gift was my favorite out of all the gifts that I received because nothing comes close to it. And I thought I made it clear. But it wasn't the case because you're slipping away from me.”
He hears Minho take a shaky breath, the glassy sheen of wet, unshed tears as he peers at Seungmin. “And I never knew this was the price I have to pay for holding myself too much from loving you.”
Seungmin’s heart stopped. His world was reduced at Minho’s confession. Minho loves him?! It burns and burns and burns. He thinks he might die on the spot.
“I love you so much that I wanted to be selfish.” Minho let go his hand from Seungmin’s wrist, instead, he hovers it to the latter's temple— massaging the pain away. “But it's because I love you that I can't be selfish when you told me you didn't want to fall for a friend.” Hand goes still.
Seungmin goes wide-eyed.
He was about to protest when Minho chuckled fondly with a teasing lilt, “But I'm stubborn and I'm dead set on making you suffer together with me.” He said it threateningly yet to Seungmin, it sounded like a promise.
Seungmin giggles. Eyes crinkling with happiness because for the first time, his heart feels light and warm.
He kisses the hand that's cradling his face before Seungmin then sneakily steals a kiss on Minho. The press of their lips makes Seungmin momentarily forget about his sick state. He thinks he tries to pull away but it is futile— not when Minho firmly holds his chin and applies the right pressure, enough to make his knees buckle.
It took Seungmin an embarrassing amount to recover after they parted. Lips kiss-bitten, hair tousled messily and it still looks so good on Minho.
“I love you too, Minho hyung,” Seungmin whispers and is endeared at how the redness of Minho’s ears are progressively spreading down his neck. Laughs silently because Minho can't seem to give him a great comeback. God, he wants to kiss him again. His fingers itches to grab him again. But he can’t, so instead—
“ —however, don't kiss me again because I'm sick!”
“As if that could deter me. But don't worry, It's not like I'll die, jagi.”
“Pshh, how can you be so sure?”
Minho kisses his nose.
“Because I’ll make sure to be stuck with you till we go onto each other’s funeral.”