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There was a whimpering, simpering mess on the table.
Head leaned on his folded arms, Jisung had finally lost steam after blabbing and blubbering for the past two hours, and had started to doze off.
Minho was humming to a song playing from the TV, swaying on the floor where he was sitting. He was pleasantly buzzed – well, a bit over his threshold – but it was a good time. His eyes stung, dried out, so he blinked a few times, and then squinted, realizing sunshine was cutting through the window of his room. Warm and totally disorienting.
Had they spent the whole night like this? Not one of their firsts, but it always fascinated him how time had the ability to accelerate when you weren’t paying attention to it.
Jisung made a sound, a sniff, making Minho switch his attention to his roommate.
His cheek was smooshed to his bicep, lips parted and nose slightly scrunched – he really looked like a mouse.
Equal parts amused and endeared, Minho picked up his phone and took a picture, zooming in on Jisung’s face to cackle. On autopilot, he sent the photo into the group chat, not expecting anyone to see it till morning.
Wait, it was morning now.
But, like, morning morning. Not asscrack of dawn morning.
He set the phone aside and returned back to singing and swaying to the music. A ballad was blasting from the speakers, the emotional bridge taking over as Minho dramatically lipsynced to it, using an empty soju bottle as his microphone.
Once the last notes of the song dissipated, he felt a buzz next to his butt, startling him from his performance. He looked at his phone.
Channie-hyung:
is he okay? ㅋㅋㅋㅋ
Of course he was up. And texting Minho outside of the group chat, too.
He scoffed, setting his elbows on the table, concentrating on the screen. The characters swirled around on the keyboard, making him take the time to type out his message.
Me:
no
yes
he will be
Channie-hyung:
he’s gonna break his neck sleeping like that
Me:
yes
I can’t carry him by myself
A bold-faced lie. He could carry Jisung like a bundle of sticks, but he was extremely tired and it looked annoying.
Channie-hyung:
do you need help?
See, why would Minho need to do anything when he had a hyung for it? Easy pickings.
Me:
no
but also yes
Channie-hyung:
ㅋㅋㅋㅋ
I’ll be there soon
Me:
text when you’re there
so Jisungie doesn’t die
of heart attack
though it would be funny
With that out of the way, Minho pocketed his phone and got up on unsteady feet. The room was spinning, so he paused and waited a moment until it became stationary again.
First, he went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, the cool liquid clearing up his head a bit. Next, he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and do the bare minimum of splashing his face with water. He returned to his bedroom then, stretching his back on the way, stiff from sitting for hours, and started tidying up: bottles and cans on the table, as well as takeout boxes, throwing out the empty ones and storing the others in the fridge for tomorrow. It was getting bright outside, and Minho was starting to become acutely aware just how much his eyes were hurting and his body tired.
His butt vibrated with a message on his phone after 10 minutes, or maybe an hour – who could tell? – and he buzzed Chan in. He waited by the door, picking on his cuticles, until he heard the softest knock.
On the other side of the opened door stood Chan: black hood over a black beanie, dark circles around his eyes, and a soft smile. A warmth akin to the alcohol he’d been drinking spread through Minho’s chest.
He ignored it, leaning on the wall. “Have you slept at all?” he asked.
“A little bit,” Chan said, shucking off his shoes. “Then I woke up, and, y’know… Was playing Genshin when you sent the photo.”
Minho hummed in assent; he knew how to fill in the blanks. Chan’s sleep apnea had been getting worse lately. He brushed it off as his usual insomnia, not wanting to burden the others, but after spending the night at his place a couple weeks ago, Minho saw firsthand the terror and fear on Chan’s face as he choked for air in the middle of the night. He’d keep saying it wasn’t too bad, but the state of the bags under his eyes told a different story.
“Is he asleep?” Chan asked after lining his shoes perfectly next to the door, snapping Minho out of his thoughts. He pushed off the wall and led Chan to his bedroom where Jisung was honk shoo mimimi-ing on the desk like the cartoon character that he was.
Chan snorted seeing him, then glanced at Minho, hands on his hips like an amused dad. “Had a good night?”
Minho shrugged in response.
Chan crouched down and gently nudged Jisung’s shoulders.
Jisung didn’t budge. Chan tried again.
“Hey, hey, Hannie.”
Jisung mumbled something incoherent, turning his head to the other side.
“You can’t sleep here, Hannie, your back is gonna hurt.”
Jisung reached out a lazy hand and swiped in Chan’s direction.
Chan chuckled, avoiding it with ease. “We’re gonna help you to your room, okay?”
He looked at Minho pointedly, who uncrossed his arms and helped Chan lift Jisung from the other side.
Jisung bemoaned. “Chan…ie?” His eyes blinked blearily, before he noticed Minho on his other side. “Hyung! Hyung. Your voice is so nice.” He turned his head to Chan’s side again. “Isn’t his voice so nice?”
“Sure is, Hannie,” replied Chan easily, slowly dragging Jisung from Minho’s room.
“He’s getting better and he’ll keep getting better.”
Chan glanced at Minho, who ignored the stare. “Uh-huh.”
“He can, he can do anything. Hyung, you can do anything–!” Jisung hiccuped, voice getting wobbly as if he would break into tears, but then got steady, addressing Chan again. “He’s so good, hyung. We don’t tell him enough. The world doesn’t hear it enough.”
“You’re so right, Hannie,” Chan affirmed Jisung’s babbles, helping him get under the covers. As soon as they reached Jisung’s bed, Minho had disengaged and left the room.
“I really like him,” Jisung said in a sigh, head sinking into the pillow.
Chan pulled the duvet to Jisung’s shoulders. “Yeah, me too, Hannie, me too…”
Minho set a fresh water bottle on Jisung’s nightstand, startling Chan. He looked up at Minho, who nudged his head towards the door.
“Now sleep well,” Chan said to an already sound asleep Jisung, following Minho out. “What was that about?” he asked, closing the door behind him.
Minho rolled his eyes, but he might have overdone it because the room tilted. Chan grabbed his elbow.
“Not that drunk,” Minho muttered. “Just tired.”
“I’m sure.” Chan’s eyes were warm and amused. Minho’s stomach swooped.
He looked down, grabbing the strings of Chan’s hoodie to fiddle with them. “He cried about me for hours,” he explained. “Because of my voice and how much better it’s gotten.”
“He’s right.”
Minho looked up then, a small scowl on his face. “I know he is.” He playfully slapped Chan with one of the strings. “It was cute at first, but after hearing it all night until sunrise, it was a bit… much.”
“Was he really like that?”
Minho rolled his eyes again, this time pulling his arms over Chan’s shoulders to keep steady. “You know how he gets when he drinks.”
Chan chuckled, hands sliding down to Minho’s waist. “Yeah, you’re right.”
They were close now, chest to chest, warm lips brushing. Minho closed the distance. It was just soft, slow, no tongue. Chan’s lips were warm and comforting, making Minho melt in his arms like ice cream on a hot summer day. Perfect way to close off the night.
Minho clung around Chan’s neck, face falling to his shoulder, a dead weight in Chan’s arms. Chan held him tight.
“Stay here?” Minho’s voice came small and muffled.
Chan rubbed his back. “You’re drunk.”
Minho straightened his neck, eyelids heavy but resolute. “So? I can handle myself.”
Chan looked guiltily at the closed door where they left Jisung. “We said we’d be careful.”
“We won’t do anything. But even if we did, he wouldn’t wake up.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep…”
“Die alone in your bed then,” Minho retorted, sulking.
“Wait, waitwaitwaitwait,” Chan huffed, laughing, holding an unhappy Minho who was trying to wriggle out of his arms. “I’ll stay, I’ll stay! But I’ll leave before he’s up, okay?” he finished by kissing the pout off Minho’s upper lip.
“Well, if you have to,” Minho said, but his lack of inhibition made the winning smirk on his face hard to hide.
They returned to Minho’s room, a humble space with barely any decorations, but it was enough for Minho to see it as home. Chan took off his clothes until he was only in his boxers, while Minho already had his pajama pants on, so he just slipped into bed with Chan.
Both laying on the side, he got into Chan’s open arms, legs tangling under the sheets, cold toes brushing on warm skin.
Minho sighed contently, his face buried in Chan’s chest. “Isn’t this better than being by yourself?”
“Well, technically, Jeongin’s home… Ow!”
Minho kicked him in the shin.
Chan’s body shook, in pain and amusement both. “You’re right. This is much nicer.” He kissed the top of Minho’s hair. “You’d said it was a night just for the two of you, so I didn’t want to bother you.”
Minho humphed. “It was a night just for the two of us. He won’t remember you.”
“What if he does?”
“What if he does,” Minho mimicked lazily, snuggling up until he was under Chan’s chin. “Sleep. If you choke, I’ll hear it.”
Chan giggled, tugging Minho closer. “I’ll try.” And then just before Minho fell asleep: “Thank you.”
~*~
When Jisung woke up, he felt like a woodpecker had perched on his shoulder during the night, thumping a great big hole on his head. It was throbbing. His mouth was dry and a sudden queasiness overcame him, but then passed just as fast. He opened his heavy, crusty eyes and saw a bottle of water, reaching for it like a lifeline, emptying its contents in a matter of seconds.
He didn’t remember much of yesterday, especially how he got into his own bed, but he knew he could always count on Minho to take care of him. As he exhaled, drinking the last drop of water, his bladder decided to remind him that it was there too, and needed immediate action.
He scrambled out of bed and went to the bathroom, another wave of relief easing his body as he peed. The trickling seemed to go on forever, and in that same long moment, he had the misfortune of remembering his tears from last night, and how, in the same vein, it went on and on and on.
He flushed the toilet, feeling his cheeks blush out of embarrassment all the same. While washing his hands, he decided the best way to thank his best friend would be by bursting through the door and doing a little dance, and maybe if Minho was hungover enough, he’d even let Jisung cuddle him in bed. He nodded to himself in the mirror; a perfect plan.
It was foiled as soon as Jisung left the bathroom, because Minho’s bedroom was open, and Minho wasn’t in there; he was around the corner by the apartment door, whispering.
“Hyung?” Jisung called as he approached. His voice was hoarse and raspy. Definitely drank too much.
Minho turned with a start and briskly closed the door. His face was blank, but his ears were red.
“Is that how you greet me?” he asked, boring into Jisung.
A moment passed.
Jisung sighed.
He got on the ground and prostrated himself. “Good morning, hyung-nim.”
He looked up when Minho didn’t say anything. His roommate still seemed to be occupied by the entrance, head turned to the side.
“Who was at the door?” Jisung asked, sitting on his heels.
“The postman,” Minho answered quickly, head turning back. “I’m going back to bed,” he announced. “It’s still early, so you should too.”
Jisung blinked at him, still on the floor. “How do you never look like shit after a night of drinking?”
It was Minho’s turn to blink at him. “I have vampires that suck the alcohol out of me and keep my youth.” He made his way to his room. “I’ll call you for breakfast.”
“You mean you’ll order breakfast.”
“Yeah. Who has time to cook these days?”
Minho closed the door, and Jisung returned to his deserved bed-rotting for the rest of the day.
It wasn’t until way later that night, when he was trying to fall asleep again, that a weird thought washed over Jisung.
This morning made no sense. When Minho closed the door, his hands were empty.
And besides – what postman worked Sundays?