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Summary
Jisung goes small, touching the side of his flushed neck sheepishly. He's stalling, and Minho knows his brain is short-circuiting under the pressure.
He glances over at Chan, smirking mischievously.
"Alright, Chan-ah. He's holding us up." Minho says, raising his right hand into a fist. "Rock, paper, scissors for him?"
"You're on." Chan grins, raising his own fist.
Jisung blinks at them sheer in disbelief. A fresh pink blush creeping up his skin.
"One, two, three." The hyungs mutter in unison.
Minho throws paper, while Chan throws scissors.
"Ah, fuck it." Minho laughs, dropping his hand.
"Winner." Chan says smoothly.
Without wasting a second, he reaches out and taps Jisung firmly on the thigh. Before Jisung can even argue, Chan plucks the water bottle balanced precariously between his legs and takes a long, slow swig before passing it to Minho.
"On your knees." He orders, voice low. "Turn around."
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