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“I’m sorry,” Minho says suddenly as they drag their feet through the entrance of their apartment.
Seungmin looks down, or as much as he can while practically holding the other man up. To be completely honest, Seungmin wasn’t expecting to be fully carrying Minho. But as the evening melted into nighttime, and Minho progressively got tipsier until he was drunk, Seungmin found himself facing the very real possibility of taking home his roommate in the form of deadweight.
A possibility turned into a reality, of course, and so here Seungmin is, struggling to pull the weight of two grown men into their home. It’s not like he minds, but he may consider enlisting the help of a beefier friend as well to accompany them on their way home next time.
Or, he might start making trips to the dreaded gym. How horrific—the way he’s willing to torture himself for Minho. The way his heart melts so fondly at the thought of being able to service Minho in another way.
Because the gym—really? Seungmin chastises himself. At a certain point it’s just too much. He takes his thoughts and shoves them out the window, focusing on the matter at hand.
“Why are you sorry?” Seungmin asks.
“Made you take me home,” Minho mumbles. He barely moves his lips as he talks, his voice coming out all pouty.
Seungmin lets out a quiet laugh. It jostles Minho around and they nearly stumble into a wall but Seungmin catches them both at the same time. He whispers a little apology.
“Don’t be sorry—you didn’t make me do anything. I said I’d take care of you today.”
“‘M messy.”
“And that’s okay,” Seungmin says gently. He lets Minho lean against the wall of their entryway, pulling off his jacket before helping Minho with his own. “You deserve to let go a little bit. You worked so hard on your dance competition, remember? This is a celebration.”
Minho grunts, turning his head to the side, the sharp angle of his nose on perfect display. “That’s embarrassing.”
“You’re the one who invited me!” Seungmin smiles. Minho had been extremely awkward about it, to the point where Seungmin genuinely had to ask him if he wanted him there.
“Yongbok made me,” Minho says petulantly. “I don’t want you to watch me dance, Kim Seungmin.”
“Well, it’s too late.” Seungmin says. “What’s done is done and now I’m taking care of my messy, drunk hyung.”
Seungmin takes a knee to help Minho out of his shoes. They’re done up neatly, only because Seungmin had been the one to tie them earlier, back at Felix’s place. He’d saved Minho from the potentially-endless frustration of being unable to make his fingers cooperate. And as a reward, he got to see Minho’s pretty, flushed face and wide eyes blinking in thanks.
Minho mutters something under his breath.
Seungmin looks up, meets his eyes. There it is again, that flushed face. Pink ears, pink cheeks, skin shining with a light sheen of sweat. “Hm?”
“M not yours,” Minho repeats, lips barely moving. If possible, his ears turn a few shades darker. Whether it’s from the alcohol or something else, Seungmin doesn’t know. “You want me to be yours, though.”
“Mm,” Seungmin hums lightly. “Maybe I do.” He pulls Minho’s shoes off and stands up again, patting Minho’s hip. “Let’s go, hyung.”
“You can have me, Kim Seungmin,” Minho says extremely seriously as they hobble past the kitchen. “Only on the weekdays, though. Weekends I belong to myself. We can share the—what is it?”
“Shared custody?” Seungmin provides. Somehow, against all odds, they make it to the bathroom. Seungmin sits Minho down onto the closed toilet seat.
“Shared custody!” Minho snaps his fingers clumsily. He wobbles, then starts staring directly at the toilet paper stand. It’s shaped like a cat, the tail piled with extra rolls. Minho picked it out. It’s the most expensive item in their shared bathroom—custom made. It nearly made them go into debt. But Minho had insisted, and so of course Seungmin obliged. What’s a little irresponsible spending if the end product makes his hyung’s eyes sparkle like the stars in the sky?
“I like this. I’m glad we got it.” Minho nods, a little dazed. He reaches a heavy hand out to grasp the stand, looking like he’s about to communicate with it. There’s a weird expression on his face, but Seungmin’s never been exceptional at deciphering people’s emotions. Fondness, he guesses. Maybe more drunken fondness than anything.
“I’m glad too,” Seungmin smiles, keeping an eye on Minho. He takes Minho’s toothbrush out of their holder and squirts a pea sized amount of toothpaste out. A pea sized amount and no more, because Minho gets pissy when there’s too much toothpaste in his mouth. Something about the texture bothering him.
“You need me to help you brush your teeth or can you handle it yourself?”
“I’m not a baby,” Minho scowls, nose wrinkling all cutely. Usually controlled, he becomes so much more expressive when he’s drunk. His limbs get all floppy, his expressions more animated. It’s endearing. “I can’t get up, though.”
Seungmin sighs. “Use those strong dancer muscles of yours. I don’t think I can pull you up, deadweight.”
“You’re weak,” Minho whines.
“And you’re strong. You can do it.” The encouragement spills out of Seungmin’s mouth easily—practically uncontrollable. Maybe it’s the slow molasses of time making his words sound so soft. Maybe it’s Minho and his droopy smile and shining eyes that prods Seungmin to react differently than usual.
Seungmin loves taking care of people—Minho especially, since he usually doesn’t let him. They’re typically equals when it comes to that kind of stuff, but once in a blue moon, things like this happen. Minho celebrates, Minho leans more drunk than tipsy, and Seungmin has the privilege of taking care of his cute, messy roommate.
So sue him if the gentle words escape his mouth more easily than usual. Sue him if his eyes are softer and his voice is warmer and his touches are more affectionate than normal. Minho deserves to know that he can depend on Seungmin. And Seungmin likes this, way more than he probably should.
“How do you know I’m strong? You spend a lot of time staring at my muscles?” Minho squints, looking like he’s trying to dissect Seungmin’s brain. Realistically, Seungmin knows he’s just trying to maintain eye contact without everything going out of focus. “Pervert,” Minho adds haughtily, a few seconds delayed.
Seungmin waves around the toothbrush, unperturbed by the insults. “I think you’re just stalling because you don’t want to brush your teeth.”
“Did it work?”
“Absolutely not. We both know you’re the bigger pervert out of both of us, too.”
Minho wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Bigger in different ways, too.”
Seungmin ignores the fact that his ears suddenly feel very hot. “Brush your teeth, Lee Minho.”
Minho’s lips purse together in a frown. “Changed my mind. I don’t wanna.”
Stubborn baby.
Seungmin sighs, gaze settling on the wall, somewhere above Minho’s head. Away from Minho’s eyes, where he’ll surely succumb to the soft light that seeps from within. “Want me to brush your teeth for you?”
Minho frowns harder. He thinks about it for a second—Seungmin can practically see the gears turning in his head.
“I don’t mind,” Seungmin adds offhandedly.
Minho nods once, blinking cutely. “Okay.” He unhinges his jaw right there on the toilet seat. Front teeth poking out and all.
“You have to come to the sink, hyung-ah.”
Minho grumbles under his breath. Then, he braces his hands on his knees and hauls himself up, groaning like an old man. Seungmin’s pretty sure he hears a joint crack.
“Good job, ahjussi,” Seungmin says, failing at making the comment sound like a joke. It sounds too earnest, too fond. Far too soft and intimate to be funny. Seungmin hopes and prays that Minho’s too drunk to start dissecting his tone of voice.
“Bwuh,” Minho says as he takes the four steps to get from the toilet to the sink. It seems Seungmin’s prayers were answered, since his drunkard of a roommate was too focused on putting one foot in front of the other to pay attention to Seungmin’s voice.
“Oh, shit.” Minho squints at the mirror, pointing a finger at his reflection. “I’m red.”
“Just a bit,” Seungmin says, making room for the both of them.
Minho barks out a short laugh, then goes still. His forehead is exposed tonight, as a result of his hair repeatedly being pushed back by drunk fingers.
Seungmin waits for a couple seconds, wondering briefly if he’s going to start yelling. Instead, Minho just opens his mouth again.
“Brush my teeth, please, Kim Seungmin. I even said please this time, so you have to do it.” Minho blinks several times, not quite batting his eyelashes, but Seungmin folds anyway.
“What a polite cat I have for a roommate.” Seungmin smiles.
Minho juts his chin out, nodding. A little bit proud, resembling those cat memes he’s so fond of. Seungmin wonders briefly if he’s aware of his own catlike tendencies, or if he copies them unintentionally. Minho’s so cute.
Seungmin finds himself thinking that more often than not. He’s yet to determine if it’ll be a future problem.
“Okay, open.”
Minho does, and blinks owlishly as Seungmin runs the toothbrush gently over his teeth, making sure to brush well. This is his area of expertise, the least he can do is make sure Minho won’t be suffering from cavities.
“Wider, hyung-ah. I can only see your front teeth.”
Minho grimaces as he tries to unhinge his jaw. “I can’t,” he tries to say. It comes out garbled, but Seungmin understands anyway. He’ll always understand.
Seungmin grips Minho’s chin with one hand, making sure his head doesn’t move around like a bobblehead while he’s got a toothbrush shoved into his mouth. Minho drops his head a little, nestling his chin into the curve of Seungmin’s palm. Like a baby kitten.
“Spit.”
Minho does.
“Rinse, then wash your face.”
Minho does not.
“What if I drown?” He blinks at the running water.
Seungmin tilts his head to the side in confusion, wondering where Minho’s imagination curated that worry from. “That’s alright, I’d rescue you.” He grabs one of Minho’s small hands and squirts a bit of cleanser onto his finger. “Wash your face, hyung. You’ll be all annoying in the morning if you don’t.”
“I won’t be annoying. I’m never annoying.”
“You will, and you are. You’ll say, ‘Kim Seungmin, I need to die this instant. Let’s die together.’ And then I’ll say, ‘No, hyung, you’re being unreasonable. Let’s make coffee.’”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
“I know this will happen because it’s happened at least twice before. Unfortunately, you’re a man of routine.”
Minho puffs out his chest like it’s something to be proud of. “That I am.”
Seungmin sighs. “Wash your face. And then we can go put on our pajamas and sleep.”
This time, Minho listens. He chokes a bit on the foam (“Why the hell did you keep your mouth open?” Seungmin nearly starts panicking) but he makes it through, without any major mishaps, and certainly without drowning.
By the time they wander their way back to Minho’s room, the whole night has finally caught up to Seungmin. His eyes burn with exhaustion, and he can feel the beginning twinges of soreness packed along his shoulders from having to drag Minho from the car all the way up to their apartment.
He sets Minho down on the bed (pants off, because outside clothes never belong on the sheets), and rummages around in his dresser for pajamas.
“I want the Kuromi pants,” Minho says airily.
Seungmin gets the Kuromi pants and a random shirt and tosses them both towards his roommate. They hit Minho in the face, too inebriated for his typically excellent reflexes to work.
“You hit me,” Minho grunts belatedly.
“I’m going to go brush my teeth,” Seungmin says instead of replying. He backs out of the room, hanging around the doorway to make sure Minho doesn’t strangle himself with his pajamas.
“Come back when you’re done?” Minho asks when he’s dressed for bed. It’s quieter than usual. Meek. He would never say this sober. So it makes Seungmin pause, then remember that thing Hyunjin said one time—drunk words are sober thoughts, or whatever.
“‘Course,” he says, equally as quiet. “I’ll be just a minute.”
Seungmin speeds through his nighttime routine in record time. He skips his toner, even though he knows Felix will scold him for it. But the extra seconds he’s shaving off to see Minho sooner is all the more incentive to go through the familiar movements faster.
When he returns, Minho is all tucked into one side of his bed. Curious, because he usually tends to take up all the real estate.
“That was longer than a minute,” Minho mumbles into his pillow. His cheek squishes as he talks, making his voice come out unclear.
Seungmin scoffs softly. “You’re a brat.”
“You are too.” Childish. “Sleep here tonight.” Minho sticks out a hand from underneath the covers and pats the empty space next to him.
“You made room for me?”
“Of course,” Minho says. “I know you get scared at night.” Seungmin doesn’t, but he plays along. Drunk words are sober thoughts, he repeats in his head.
Then he’s hit with a thought—Does Seungmin want Minho to remember this in the morning, so they can have a real conversation? Or is he not ready for it? Would he rather Minho forget everything happened, so they can go back to being roommates?
“Get in the bed, Kim Seungmin.” It’s not a whine, not high-pitched enough for one, but rather a demand that effectively shakes Seungmin out of his thoughts.
Seungmin obliges, tucking himself neatly into the covers. Right, now should he face Minho? Face away? What’s the protocol here?
“Please don’t tell me you’re one of those people who sleeps like a log,” Minho says.
Seungmin turns to his side to face him. “I don’t sleep like a log.”
Minho’s eyelids droop so far that they look almost closed, but he manages a suspicious squint.
“I think you’re lying.”
“I’m not!” Seungmin hisses.
“Prove it.”
“How am I supposed to—”
“Prove it,” Minho repeats, all pushy.
So Seungmin awkwardly bends his legs into some sort of deformed fetal position on his side. It’s not comfortable, and his limbs are a little bit too long to be folded up like this, especially when Minho’s taking up the other half of the bed, but he makes it work.
Minho nods in satisfaction. “Good dog.”
“Dog?” Seungmin says incredulously. “How is—”
“Now do the same thing but flipped on your other side.”
Seungmin snaps his mouth shut and wordlessly flips around, only slightly miffed. Behind him, he can hear some shuffling, then Minho breathes down his neck creepily.
Seungmin shudders. “That’s gross, hyung-ah.”
Minho bites him on the shoulder. Seungmin doesn’t yelp, not at all. He only inhales sharply, just the slightest bit, and only because it was surprising. But before he can turn over to chastise Minho, he gets yanked around his midsection into a warm chest, and a heavy leg throws itself over his.
“Hyung, you’re suffocating me,” Seungmin complains, half muffled into Minho’s bicep.
“Shh,” Minho whispers into his spine. “Body pillows don’t talk.”
Seungmin blinks. He’s stuck here until morning, probably. He’s not necessarily unhappy about it. Quite the opposite, really.
Once they settle into a better position, it’s peaceful. Minho’s still breathing down his neck, but it’s comforting, knowing that his hyung hasn’t suffocated himself in his sleep. Even if his breath is a little too warm and a little too humid. It’s fine. Seungmin’s suffered through much worse.
Just as Seungmin feels himself drifting off, he feels a movement behind him. A suspicious little wiggle.
“I have to pee,” Minho says suddenly, much too loud and much too close to his ear for comfort.
Seungmin could tell him to go by himself, but he doesn’t. He gets out of bed, and he says, “Let’s go, hyung.”
And he feels nothing but love.