Chapter Text
Minho sighed. “I told you, I’m busy.”
Felix hummed and said nothing.
If it had been anyone else, Minho would’ve probably found the words to tell them to fuck off and find another poor soul to use as a pillow, but he was always too soft when it came to the kid. Felix would be the end of him, with his bright eyes and the pout that bloomed in his face when he focused hard enough in his game to forget about everything else.
He didn’t even ask these days, simply dropping himself on Minho’s unsuspecting lap and making little noises to match whatever battle was going on in the screen—
And Minho let him, because he was too whipped, because he was growing soft, because in the end he had to admit that he enjoyed his steady heartbeat against his own and the comforting weight of having him so close.
“Oh, you’re losing,” Minho said.
“No, I’m not.”
Felix was sitting properly on his lap this time, and his elbow dug uncomfortably into Minho’s side, but he seemed to be comfortable enough. In his phone, the character he was playing vanished as quickly as she had come. Felix whined.
“Wait, what level was she?”
Felix’s pout was visible even from the awkward angle. Minho’s hand snaked its way into his hair before he could properly think about what he was doing and tangled easily around the messy strands. His hair was growing properly long again, to everyone’s delight.
“Felix.”
He was trying really hard to not show any reaction, but as soon as Minho tightened his fingers he squirmed around in his lap, the phone momentarily forgotten. “Twenty, level twenty,” he gasped.
“Did you choose your party ignoring their stats again, baby?”
Minho wasn’t even properly pulling on his hair, and he was already putty in his hands. “I just wanted to try her out, I know I haven’t built her properly yet but she’s so cute—”
The complaint got lost in a yelp. He was wriggling, as if he believed that he could get away so easily but not really making a proper effort to move.
“Dumb little thing can’t be trusted to think for himself,” Minho muttered. He kept his voice light, casual, like he was remarking on the rain outside or the song his playlist had switched to, and he knew exactly the effect it was having on Felix.
“I’m—you can’t just—”
Minho loosened his grip, keeping his hand easy and sweet in his hair as a reminder. “I can't do what?”
Felix huffed. “How am I supposed to win this if you’re just saying shit?”
The whining tone made Minho snort. “You came here.”
“… Yeah.”
Tight again, tighter, tighter, not stopping until the first moan came out through shaky lips. “Keep playing.”
“Hyung—”
“You know what happens if you lose.”
“But this boss is so hard!”
Minho rubbed the pads of his fingers against his scalp as a tiny measure of comfort. “Better choose your team well this time, then.”
Felix picked the phone back up and laughed, the sound deep and sudden vibrating into Minho’s bones. “You’re the worst,” he said with a defeated smile.
And then he was resting all his weight against Minho’s chest, until he was clearly fully comfortable even with the grip in his hair keeping him still, and the game resumed.