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“Why the fuck are you here again.”
Minho’s first words for the day are a weak attempt at being stern—his syllables morph into a sleepy mumble, and Chan laughs, curling his arms tighter around Minho’s waist and nuzzling into the nape of his neck. “To give you your daily dose of affection from your favorite hyung, of course.”
“What—” Minho squirms in Chan’s hold, shoving Chan’s limbs off of him. The hem of his loose shirt keeps riding up; Chan can’t help but sneak his hands under the worn fabric, splaying his palms flat on the expanse of Minho’s stomach. “That’s fucking cold,” he complains, shivering. “Get your corpse hands off of me if you don’t want to lose them, Bang Chan.”
“Make me.”
“I always keep a knife under my pillow, hyung. Don’t try me.”
He doesn’t sound genuinely annoyed, and the threat rings hollow. “I’m hiding from Changbin,” he tries to reason. It’s not a lie—he’s just pulled another all-nighter and he is not in the condition for boxing drills and deadlifts—but it’s not the whole truth either. “Seeing you is, like, a bonus. A reward.”
“It’s a price I have to pay,” Minho scoffs, voice still rough with sleep. He’s stopped fighting Chan’s affection, though, and has settled comfortably against his chest, fingers loosely curled around his wrists. Chan would tease him about how quickly the change happens if not for the fear of losing a precious finger. “You can just throw a punch if you don’t want to work out. What’s all that muscle for?”
“For this.” Chan wiggles his fingers until they’re intertwined with Minho’s. “And I’m claiming my reward right now. Does it come with free kisses?”
A pause, like Minho is considering it, and then, “Not in the morning, sir, no. Please come back when service hours are open.”
“Aw.” Chan juts his bottom lip out, making sad, whiny noises that he knows annoy Minho to the point of making even more graphic threats. “Not even for your favorite hyung?”
Minho twists back to frown at Chan. It’s a funny sight, with his hair shooting up in all directions and his eyes barely open. “You are not my favorite.”
“But I’m your only hyung.”
“Which basically means I don’t have a favorite.”
“False, it makes me your favorite hyung by default.”
“And the one I like the least.” Minho lets his head drop back onto the pillows. The hand that’s not in Chan’s grasp attempts to draw the blanket up but fails when Chan kicks it further down their tangled legs, fully draping his body over Minho’s instead.
“What does that mean,” Chan huffs, mock-offended. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“I’m considering it.”
“Just one kiss,” Chan offers. “And then I’ll get out of your hair.”
Minho grumbles some more, but he turns his head and gives a peck that disappears so quickly, Chan doesn't even feel it. “Okay, now get out of my room.”
Chan frowns and hooks his chin over Minho’s shoulder. “You call that a kiss?”
Minho groans and pushes at his cheek. “Morning breath, dude, come on.”
“It’s fine,” Chan insists, puckering his lips and extending his syllables in a whine. “You smell like love.”
“You’re disgusting,” Minho complains—yells right into Chan’s ear, more like—and turns his head away, but he’s smiling now, and he doesn’t stop Chan from taking his face in his hands and putting a single kiss on his lips, obnoxiously and unnecessarily loud.
It’s not much, really, but it’s comfortable and familiar and warm, not unlike putting on his favorite sweats in the middle of winter. Minho's smile is sweet, but he starts to resist when Chan doesn’t break their connection, wiggling away from his grasp until Chan hooks a leg around his hips.
“Okay, alright—” Minho pulls away, but Chan places his hands on his cheeks to draw him back in for another kiss, and then another, their teeth clashing lightly at one point with how much they’re laughing. “No—you said just one!”
Chan breaks the kiss and pushes himself up until he’s sitting comfortably with his back against the headboard. “Come here,” he mumbles, and Minho rolls his eyes and mumbles something about Chan being a pain in the ass but doesn’t complain when Chan drags him by the hips and onto his lap. He even makes himself comfortable, lazily slinking his arms around Chan’s neck and hugging Chan’s hips with his knees.
“Hi,” Chan says, grinning. “Good morning, sunshine.”
Minho quirks an eyebrow, glaring at Chan like a bored, overgrown house cat. "Didn’t you sneak in here to make out with me?”
A laugh pours out of Chan and he can’t help but wind his arms tighter around Minho’s waist. “On it,” he says, his giggles dying down as Minho leans back in, their lips naturally slotting together like puzzle pieces.
It starts chaste, as slow as a sweet love song, until Minho’s hand comes up to hold his cheek, keeping him in place as he bites on Chan's lower lip. Chan drags in a breath as he parts his lips, letting Minho take the lead. He licks Chan’s bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth and Chan makes a pathetic little sound of half-pleasure and half-pain. Minho hums, satisfied.
"One kiss, huh,” Chan mumbles in between kisses.
Minho pulls back to glare at him. “Don’t ruin it," he mutters, dropping his head on Chan’s shoulder and hiding into the collar of his shirt, embarrassed.
It’s rare to see him like this, and honestly, Chan wants to keep this side of Minho to himself. He pokes at Minho’s sides, earning him this muted squeak of protest that makes Chan feel all soft and fuzzy and warm inside. It’s so fucking cute that Chan becomes a little obsessed, so he does it again just to hear more of it. “You’re so cute,” he says because maybe he can get away with it right now, with how cozy and pliant and warm Minho is, but he still leaves a kiss on the top of Minho’s head to be safe.
Minho groans, lifting his head from Chan’s shoulder to glare at him. "I’m always cute.”
The disgruntled expression on his puffy face and the red spots blossoming on the apples of his cheeks pull another chuckle out of Chan. Minho sulks even more, turning his cheek just as Chan leans in to kiss him again. Chan doesn’t—cannot—stop giggling, giddy from having Minho’s warmth all around him, and Minho tucks his face into his neck.
“The cutest,” Chan continues. “How are you this cute? It should be illegal, really—”
There are some more displeased noises muffled into the fabric of Chan’s shirt, and then, Minho, being himself, bites down just under Chan’s jaw, above his pulse, as a sick form of revenge. A choked noise escapes from between Chan’s lips, not quite laughter and not quite a gasp. He feels rather than hears the giggle Minho lets out at his reaction, buzzing against his skin, and then he’s doing it again, and again and again and again, hands tugging on Chan’s collar as he goes lower down the side of his neck and towards his clavicle, leaving fresh bruises next to the old ones that Chan will have a hard time to explain to the makeup artist.
“Turtleneck season isn’t here yet, baby,” he complains half-heartedly, arms tightening around Minho’s tiny waist as Minho’s tongue peeks out to soothe a spot he just dug his teeth onto.
“It’s fine.” He fixes Chan’s collar in place, patting his shoulders as if congratulating him for a job well done. “You’re an idol, hyung. A fashion icon. You’ll make it work.”
He grins up at Chan, his dyed hair turning golden under the morning sun and his eyes still swollen with the remnants of sleep, and Chan sighs.
“I am violently endeared right now,” he says. He has this strong urge to bite Minho’s cheek or, like, hug him tight until their bones are weaved together, but he knows acting on at least one of those will probably lead to an attempt to cut his life short, so Chan settles for rubbing his nose against Minho’s, and Minho surprisingly allows it. “I missed you, baby.”
“We were together yesterday,” is Minho’s reply, lightly knocking their foreheads together, “and the day before that. And the day before that. I see you every day. I’m tired of your face.”
“One day,” Chan laments with a wistful sigh, “one day I will hear you say that you miss me too.”
Minho smiles sweetly. “Not if you die before me.”
“Shit, you’re right.” Chan laughs. “Before I die, though,” he leans in, their lips brushing lightly, “can I ask for another kiss?”