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“Hyung, can you drive me to my dermatologist tomorrow morning?” Seungmin asks without missing a beat, nudging Minho’s shoulder just as Minho is sprinkling salt into the pan. The timing is perfect—disastrously so—because the salt pours out in one heavy stream.
The death glare Minho shoots him could kill.
“Oh, sorry,” Seungmin says, lips curling into a smirk that makes it very clear he isn’t.
Minho scoffs, but the tug at the corner of his mouth betrays his annoyance. He tries to scoop the excess of the salt as much as possible before giving up and decides to feed Seungmin with this instead. His fault, his responsibility.
Ever since they are officially pronounced boyfriends, the bickering doubles down instead of mellowing out. They call it their love language. Jeongin and Felix, however, call it hell.
( Eventually, the two come to an understanding of the relationship. They are shocked, and not shocked at the same time—mostly because Jisung keeps broadcasting it. He tells them how Minho and Seungmin look suspiciously fishy, even when the two are doing nothing more than standing side by side at the coffee machine.
Which, frankly, is a view they see every other day anyway.
Well, that or the way Jisung keeps pointing out the painfully ordinary, insisting, “It’s all normal, guys,” in a tone that only makes it sound less normal .)
“So, you will drive me there, right?” Seungmin nudges again, but this time Minho is ready—he doesn’t budge an inch. Out of curiosity, Seungmin tries once more, and of course, it’s useless.
Minho nudges back, sending Seungmin stumbling a little. Well, Seungmin knows better than to start a battle of strength—not exactly new information, but he still loves to poke from time to time.
“Why should I drive you, hm?” Minho asks nonchalantly, still stirring the soup without looking up.
“Well,” Seungmin moves over to the coffee maker, fingers already plucking out a double espresso pod, “first thing first, you can drive.” He slots the pod into the machine with practiced ease. “Second, you were the one who said you wanted to practice driving with me as the passenger.”
“That’s because I don’t want to kill the other members,” Minho replies almost too quickly. He switches the stove off, scoops up some soup with a spoon, and tastes it. He winces, but doesn’t fix anything. A perfect taste of Kim Seungmin.
“That’s because you love me so much you’d rather die with me,” Seungmin fires back, casually stirring the coffee after adding a pump of syrup. He doesn’t even look up. “And third—” when Minho stays silent, he smirks, knowing he wins the argument, “—I make the best coffee for you.”
He leans against the counter, holding the mug out.
Minho gives him a look of disbelief before shaking his head. Still, he takes the mug, sips—and smiles the way he always does. Seungmin really does make the best coffee. Ever since the first time, Minho can’t survive a day without it.
(It’s just a machine, sure. But Minho is hopelessly whipped. Especially because Seungmin insists he thinks about how to make Minho happy every time he makes it. That thought alone makes the coffee ten times better. Again: whipped.)
“And lastly,” Seungmin says, suddenly leaning close, his voice brushing against Minho’s ear, “I’m your boyfriend.”
Minho chokes on his coffee, the warmth of Seungmin’s breath crawling down his spine. He wants to smack him, but Seungmin is already darting out of reach.
That, and—unfortunately—the shiver runs a little too far south.
Oh well. Another problem. One Seungmin, maybe, can fix.
The day comes—Minho driving Seungmin to the dermatologist.
As always, Seungmin has scheduled the appointment way too early in the morning. He’s an early riser. Minho is too, technically, but last night he pulled an all-nighter watching anime with Jisung. Something about demon slaying—or at least that’s what Seungmin gathers.
Not that it matters. What matters is that Minho is half-asleep behind the wheel and they’re almost late. (Almost means Seungmin arrives ten minutes earlier than the appointment time, which in his head is late.)
Minho grumbles as Seungmin nags all the way there. Seungmin yaps about punctuality, responsibility, skincare routines, road safety—whatever comes to mind. Minho insists Seungmin should be grateful, but Seungmin keeps going anyway.
Between the throb in his skull from lack of sleep and the focus required for the road, Minho eventually snaps:
“You should learn how to drive so you can understand the pain of driving.”
Seungmin laughs. Minho grumbles. And soon enough, Minho is going to regret those words.
Seungmin takes the advice to heart.
Of course he does. He enrolls in a driving school, breezes through the lessons, and passes the aptitude test in just three weeks—classic A-student behavior. Then, naturally, he spends the next two weeks bothering Changbin every other day to practice with him once the license is in hand.
Why not Minho?
Because Seungmin has a grand plan: the license will be a surprise for his boyfriend.
And Changbin goes the extra mile in teaching Seungmin how to drive. He goes beyond by saying:
“Try using one hand, it will make you ten times cooler.”
Seungmin stumbles at first but he is not Seungmin if he doesn’t master the challenge in record time.
On Minho’s side, however, the plan looks a lot like betrayal. He’s permanently salty and, worse, jealous that Seungmin went to Changbin and not him.
“Does he think I’m stupid?” Minho mutters, exasperated, to the guy across from him—who is currently slurping his Darjeeling milk tea like it’s oxygen.
“Of course I know he’s taking the driving license aptitude test and of course I know he’s practicing with Changbin.” Minho sighs. “I mean, I can drive, too? I have a Class 1 driver's license, mind you.”
It’s their day off, and Minho has dragged his best friend out because his lover boy is apparently busy with another man.
“Can you listen to me for once?” Minho shoots Jisung a side-eye.
“I heard.” Jisung stirs his drink lazily. “Even deaf people would hear you.”
“Huh?” Minho’s lips twitch in annoyance.
“This is the eighteenth time you’ve said it, mind you.” Jisung pulls the straw out and blows a stream of tea-scented air at Minho. He gets smacked in the head for it, but he decides it’s worth it.
“Anyway, hyung,” Jisung says, rubbing the spot with a wince, “maybe Seungmin just thinks Changbin is a better driver than you.” A shrug. “And honestly? Changbin’s driving is hotter than yours.”
The comment lodges in Minho’s brain and sits there like a splinter.
One month, two weeks, and four days later, Seungmin finally executes his grand plan. Currently Seungmin is flashing his brand-new driver’s license in front of Minho who squints at him in pure grudge.
“Oh? What? You’re not proud?” Seungmin says flatly, a little too plain if Minho could add.
“You have the license but you’ll still ask me to drive you around,” Minho grumbles, unable to come up with anything else.
In his defense, for the past three weeks and four days, Seungmin has still made him drive everywhere—buy this, pick that up, go here, yada yada.
Seungmin catches Minho stalling, eyes flicking everywhere like he’s buffering, and laughs.
“Yeah, whatever you say, hyung.” (Jisung may or may not have mentioned Minho’s whining about him going to Changbin instead of him.)
Minho scoffs and lets himself fall back onto the bed, limbs heavy, legs still dangling off the edge. Seungmin chuckles at the sight. Sometimes he wonders how he ended up loving Minho—but maybe Minho wonders the same, and maybe that’s what makes them work.
Minho brings his head up, stretching his neck until his eyes meet Seungmin’s. He’s still pouting, frown is still prominent, arms flapping in a wordless demand. “Come here.”
Seungmin laughs under his breath but steps closer, planting one knee on the mattress before flopping down on top of Minho. The sudden weight makes Minho grunt, stomach tightening under the press.
He mumbles incoherent protests, but his arms still come around Seungmin, locking him in place.
“So, you’re proud?” Seungmin asks, voice muffled into Minho’s shirt.
“Yeah, whatever makes you sleep better at night.” Minho nonchalantly says but his fingers are combing through Seungmin’s hair. And that’s enough to make Seungmin believe that Minho is proud of him.
Seungmin takes the win either way.
“You’re impossible.” Seungmin shakes his head in amusement before snuggling closer to Minho. The driver license card trapped in between his fingers is now slipping through and falling on the bed.
“Says the one who cheats.” Minho nitpicks.
And Seungmin laughs, a little too loud for Minho ego’s sake. Seungmin pushes himself out from the hug to send Minho an amused look.
“Hyung, I was planning to surprise you!” Seungmin exclaims in between his laugh.
“Whatever.” Minho rolls his eyes, lips moving in a silent, mocking imitation of the words. Using his strength, which Seungmin doesn’t have even half of, he pulls Seungmin closer back to his initial place.
The next morning, Minho wakes up with no coffee from Seungmin. Big deals.
“Oh hyung,” Seungmin greets as soon as he gets out of the bathroom.
“You haven’t made coffee?” Minho whines with a frown.
“Hyung, your mental age is slipping each time you near Seungminnie.” Felix says, and Minho just realized his existence on the couch.
Minho rolls his eyes, “blame Kim Seungmin.”
“It’s dropping again, hyung.” Now Jeongin says and, again, Minho just realizes his existence. Even though he is sitting right beside Felix. Minho strangles the both from behind, each neck is now in his arms.
“Ah, we ran out of the pods.” Seungmin says, unbothered, “should we buy them?”
“Of course!” This time, Minho and Jeongin shout simultaneously. Minho squints his eyes on Jeongin.
“What? I need coffee too!”
“Seungmin-ah, I want cheetos. The biggest pack, the Flammin’ Hot ones.”
“Okay how many?” Seungmin asks.
“Twenty.”
“No, just three max,” Minho answers from behind.
“Hyung,” Felix nags, “it’s not enough.”
“Five then.”
“Ten please.” Felix pouts.
“Take back what you said about my mental age and I will let you.”
“It’s dropping even more, hyung.” Seungmin scoffs.
“Just five then.” Felix smiles sheepishly.
“Yah!” Minho exclaims but Felix just keeps smiling.
So yeah, three packs of coffee pods and five cheetos is their grocery list. But if Felix decides to buy another fifty bags of cheetos online, that’s beyond Minho’s control.
Minho takes the car’s key, but Seungmin snatches it.
“This time, I’ll drive.” Seungmin says smugly. Minho wants to counter with something like he doesn’t want to die or anything but Seungmin already runs off excitedly.
So Minho has no other choice but to cave.
Well, who is he kidding? Of course he’s willingly cave. Sure, he wasn’t the first one who saw Seungmin driving—Minho will cling to that grudge until the grave—but at least now, finally, he gets to experience it firsthand: being a passenger prince.
Inside the car, Seungmin takes forever to prepare. He buckles his seatbelt, adjusts the mirrors, checks the dashboard, fiddles with his playlist—five whole minutes pass before he even starts the engine. From the outside, Minho probably looks like the picture of patience, a long-suffering dad humoring his kid.
But it isn’t patience at all. It’s greed. Every little adjustment Seungmin fusses over just gives Minho another excuse to watch him. To quietly catalog the details: the flick of his fingers against the mirror, the crease between his brows when he squints at the dashboard, the smug tug of his lips when he finally settles on a song.
When Seungmin laughs proudly, satisfied with his preparations, Minho almost scolds his own heart for stumbling. Then it hits him: he’s in the passenger seat. He’s not driving. Which means—for once—he doesn’t have to pay attention to the road at all.
He could change the music just to annoy Seungmin, or doze off, or scroll through his phone. But most importantly, he can do the one thing he usually can’t: stare. Really stare. He can bore a hole straight into Kim Seungmin’s profile. (Because Minho couldn’t hold his gaze if Seungmin’s eyes actually met his.)
Minho looks like a curious cat, wide eyes tracing Seungmin’s puffy ones, then following the clean, sharp line of his nose, the way it props up his glasses, before landing on his tight-lipped mouth—the one he presses shut when he’s thinking.
“Hyung, you’re staring.” Seungmin tries to turn his head, but he doesn’t have the guts to actually look.
“Shh. Eyes on the road, pup,” Minho murmurs, though his own eyes don’t budge.
He keeps tracing—Seungmin’s eyes flicking, the corner of his lips tugging in amusement, the twitch of his nose as he fights off morning drowsiness. Even his ears, dotted with earring holes, are stupidly sexy. It feels like every detail is designed to knock the breath out of Minho’s lungs.
And then there are his hands. Wrapped around the wheel, veins faintly rising under his skin, jaw flexing with restrained focus. He looks untouchable, and all Minho wants is to lean across the console and kiss that distracted pout.
Wait. Why is he pouting?
“Hyung.”
Minho blinks. Seungmin’s voice is sharper now.
“Huh?”
“You weren’t listening,” Seungmin huffs. “My phone rang earlier. Can you check it?”
Minho clicks his tongue. “It’s probably not important.” Still, he picks it up, unlocks the screen, and declares flatly, “Spam.” He tosses it back down.
“Oh. Okay then.” Seungmin drops it instantly. He doesn’t need to know it was Felix begging for five more bags of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. Spam, as far as Minho’s concerned.
Minho goes back to cataloguing Seungmin’s movements. The younger shifts gears, forearm tightening, veins pulling taut enough to make Minho bite back a groan. Was that much muscle really required to change gears?
When the road smooths out, Seungmin leaves one hand on the wheel and drops the other—casually, carelessly—onto his own thigh, tapping along the rhythm of the music that no longer registered in Minho’s brain.
Minho’s doom.
His gaze is glued to the movements of that hand. Long, slender fingers are now spread across the jogging pants that Seungmin’s using, but all he could think was how would it feel to have those fingers pressed against his own thigh instead, while shooting his deathly puppy eyes from below.
The thought alone blurs the world outside the windshield, and it builds low in his guts.
Without warning, Seungmin runs those same fingers through his hair, pushing it off his forehead in one lazy sweep. And sweet, sweet God, something inside Minho dies. How can a person be cute yet sexy at the same time, Minho wonders.
He gulps, trying to get control of everything unraveling inside his body. Looking away would be wise, but the way Seungmin rubs and taps at his own thigh keeps Minho’s gaze locked like a cat's prey.
And then suddenly, those fingers move back to the wheel, and the other hand drapes on the window, propping his head. In that position, Seungmin tilts his head and—damn him—exposes his long neck, the sharp jut of his collarbone, the places Minho usually puts his own fingers, tracing the lines, or leans in to kiss—
Minho has to stop.
Now Seungmin isn’t just driving the car. He’s driving Minho insane. The groan he tries to hold back is finally slipping out, and Seungmin is now trying to look at him, concerned.
“What’s wrong, hyung?”
“Eyes on the road Kim Seungmin,” Minho says through his gritted teeth, “I don’t want to die.”
“Chill, hyung. I practiced enough to bring us safely from the dorm to the store.” Now Minho’s eyes follow Seungmin’s hand changing position again so that he can pat Minho’s thigh.
And oh. Something is shifted. Like literally, physically shifted. Minho’s breath hitches as he closes his eyes, clenching his fist, and now he moves his legs to hide the growing bulge inside his pants.
That Kim fucking Seungmin is really driving him insane.
On the rest of the road, Minho is no longer eating Seungmin with his eyes. He tries his best to calm down his excited member down there.
In no time, they arrive at the store and Seungmin wants to park the car.
Normally, when you’re parking with a surround-view system, you can just glance at the head unit and see everything behind you.
But no, that’s not the case with Kim Seungmin.
He plants one hand on Minho’s seat, leans in, and twists his whole body to look back—like he’s in some old-fashioned driving test. The camera is right there, glowing in HD, but Seungmin still cranes his neck, lips pursed in concentration.
“Kim fucking Seungmin.” Minho grits out.
“Wait, hyung, I need to concentrate,” Seungmin mutters, gullible as ever, not even sparing him a glance.
When he finally finishes parking the car he beams at Minho, smug and boyish.
“How was it, hyung? I’m good, right?”
“Fuck no.” Minho’s glare at the younger..
Seungmin frowns. “I think I did fairly good… what part did I mess up?”
That’s Seungmin for you. Always asking for feedback instead of sulking—one of the things Minho loves about him. But right now, he’s just a pain in the ass. (And maybe, depending on how tonight goes, literally.)
“Okay, okay. You can evaluate me later. Let’s just grab the stuff first.” Seungmin cuts the engine.
But when he reaches for the door, Minho catches his wrist and yanks him back, earning a startled yelp.
“What the hell?”
“You’re going in alone,” Minho deadpans. “Also buy condoms and lube.” He smiles ever so sweetly.
“Wha—” Seungmin’s face reddens the moment Minho flicks his eyes downward. It’s deeply satisfying, watching his gaze follow and land on Minho’s obvious problem.
“Also—” Minho snatches the dangling keys from Seungmin’s hand with practiced ease. “I’m driving back.”
He rewards Seungmin with a sweet, poisonous smile, layering on a rapid-fire assault: pecks on his lips, a rough ruffle through his hair, a patronizing pat to the shoulder.
If Seungmin has to shuffle through the grocery store with a very visible, growing problem in his pants… Well, it’s his own problem, not Minho’s.
Seungmin is in full armor when he gets into the store. However he is not Jisung. He doesn’t use black cap, black hoodie, black glasses, and black mask in one go. Instead, he just uses a headband to push back his hair, using his very thick fake glasses (which makes him dizzy but it’s needed), and a white mask.
And all just to ask his non idol friend who works in that store to buy things he needs. He gets a weird look from his friend but as long as he is safe, he is safe.
—
Once they’re inside the dorm, Minho wastes no time. He pins Seungmin against the door in one clean motion. His body cages Seungmin in and his lips hover a breath away, close enough that Seungmin can taste the ghost of him. Minho stops midway, savoring Seungmin’s startled expression.
“Can I?” Minho says but holds his gaze on Seungmin’s lips.
Seungmin places his palms pushing on urgently at Minho’s chest.
“Hyung, wait!” Seungmin breaks his eye contact with Minho and tries to look past him to see any sign of his dormmates, “The others are—” His protest cuts off in a broken moan when Minho slides a thigh firmly between his legs, grinding just enough to make Seungmin’s breath stutter.
Minho leans in close, his nose brushes Seungmin’s cheek. “Do you want this, or not?” The evenness of his tone only makes Seungmin’s pulse spike harder.
“I do… if we’re alone,” Seungmin whispers, eyes fluttering shut in a desperate attempt to regain control. He is not about to be caught doing something indecent by his dormmates—one of them a maknae, the other literal sunshine.
But as if that’s all the permission Minho has been waiting for, he scoops Seungmin up in one fluid motion, drawing a startled yelp. Instinctively, Seungmin’s legs hook tight around Minho’s waist, his fingers clutching at Minho’s shoulders for balance.
Minho wastes no time, finally indulging in the temptation that’s been gnawing at him since the drive earlier. He peppers urgent, hungry kisses along Seungmin’s neck, each press of his lips pulling a shiver and an involuntary twitch from Seungmin’s body. Minho walks them down the hall without breaking contact, nudging his bedroom door open with his elbow.
The moment the door clicks shut behind them, Minho lays Seungmin down on the bed, lips still trailing fire along his jawline and throat. The mattress dips under their combined weight, and Seungmin arches up into him, pulse thrumming wildly at every kiss, every shift of Minho’s body over his.
“Hyung—“
“Ssh, we’re alone,” he murmurs in between the kisses. “I already made you tell Jeongin and Felix to get lost.”
Seungmin’s eyes snap wide and he holds Minho’s face in place, making Minho miss his neck. “You made me do what?!”
Minho clicks his tongue because of the loss of contact.
“Can you stay?” Minho frowns, like a sulking child.
“No,” Seungmin props his elbow to support him to sit up, “what do you mean by I told them to get lost?”
Minho smiles sheepishly as he plops his body on top of Seungmin, which of course, makes Seungmin’s elbow give up.
“You message them to ask them to go out because apparently you need cuddly time with me,” Minho says as he braces on Seungmin's neck—savoring the smell.
Seungmin groans. This is not the first time Minho uses his phone to tell Jeongin and Felix to get out of the dorm.
“I will make sure they know that it wasn’t me.” Seungmin mutters.
“Whatever,” Minho says as he starts to give a trail of kisses on Seungmin’s neck, then continues to his jaw, and finally the corner of Seungmin’s lip. Minho can feel Seungmin’s breath start to sound huffy.
“Relax,” Minho says, voice soft and whispery. His fingers find their way to tangle on Seungmin’s lock while his other hand slides up under Seungmin’s shirt, calloused fingers tracing the curve of his ribs until they brush over a peaked nipple. The sudden spark has Seungmin jerking, a strangled sound leaving him, and his arms automatically circle on Minho’s neck.
“Hyung—” the protests are soon mellowed into messy moans when Minho slowly grinds their clothed bulge. His head tips back against the bed, exposing his throat, and Minho takes the invitation immediately—lips latching onto the soft skin just under his jaw, sucking hard enough to leave heat blooming.
“Aah—“
“Hmm.” Minho cuts him off with a kiss, finally claiming his mouth. It’s rough, desperate, teeth clashing, tongue pushing past Seungmin’s lips before he can protest again. The sound Seungmin makes is muffled but needy, his body betraying him as his hips snap against Minho’s without thought.
Minho groans into the kiss, pressing harder, in line with his hand that’s now steadying him in his waist. It slides lower, lower, until he palms him through his pants. Seungmin shudders violently, breaking the kiss with a sharp gasp, lips wet and swollen.
“Please—” he whines, high and helpless now. He instinctively spreads his legs, eager for more contact.
“You sound so good when you beg,” he breathes, kissing the corner of his mouth again, nipping at his swollen lower lip.
Soon, Minho’s hand sneaks to tug the sweatpants down. Seungmin shifts his body to let his hyung strip him off completely. The cool air hits his flushed skin, but Minho’s hand is wrapped around his now exposed cock instantly, faster now, firmer.
Seungmin is trembling, every muscle tight, his mouth falling open against Minho’s shoulder as the pleasure coils low and desperate in his stomach. Minho doesn’t let up, relentless, pushing him to the edge with every stroke.
“Hyung—I’m—”
“Let go,” Minho whispers into his ear, voice dark and commanding.
Seungmin shatters, releasing spilling over Minho’s hand as his body arches against the door, mouth falling open in a silent cry. Minho holds him through it, still kissing, still touching, until Seungmin finally slumps forward, chest heaving, sweat-slick and trembling in his arms.
When Seungmin finally catches a shred of air, Minho leans down, lips brushing his ear.
“You’re so fucking loud,” he murmurs, grinning against Seungmin’s flushed cheek.
“You’re insufferable, hyung.” Seungmin heaves, lungs still clawing for oxygen.
Minho doesn’t bother answering. Instead, he reaches for the wet tissue waiting on the sidetable, wiping away the mess with practiced ease. Then, with the same maddening calm, he grabs the grocery bag—one Seungmin swore they abandoned in the hallway.
When the hell did that get here?
Before Seungmin can ask, Minho is already fishing out the lube and the box of condoms Seungmin(‘s friend) had bought.
“Seconds!” Minho chirps, all triumph.
Seungmin regrets driving.
A bit.
—
Seungmin
Lix, I need time for my lovely Minho-hyung. So kindly take yourself and the maknae away.
ASAP
Thanks!
Definitely Seungmin.
Felix stares at the flood of four urgent notifications. He taps the pop-ups, reads the message, then the sender’s name—then the message again. His brows pinch together. He elbows Jeongin and shoves his phone in the younger’s face.
Jeongin takes one look and grimaces. “Minho-hyung can at least try to write like Seungmin-hyung.”
“Exactly,” Felix mutters.
It’s not the first time Minho has hijacked Seungmin’s phone to send them eviction notices, despite owning a perfectly good phone of his own. Seungmin protests every time, but Minho never budges.
“He is such a kid,” Jeongin groans, “and that’s coming from the maknae, mind you.”
Felix chuckles at that. They don’t want to leave, but they don't want to risk anything either. Ever since Jisung specifically told them that they never wanted to hear whatever might come from Minho and Seungmin’s room, both of them have played it safe. If they stay, Minho will find some petty, childish way to punish them later.
And they know how childish Minho could be.
With a shrug, they agree to crash in another member’s dorm. Felix picks Hyunjin’s, and Jeongin tags along. Felix even checks Find My—he and Seungmin share locations with full consent—and sees Seungmin’s dot still at the store. They figure there’s time. No rush.
Back in their room, they scroll their phones for a bit, shoot a quick message to Changbin, and start packing the bare essentials: chargers, wallets, earphones, maybe a deck of cards.
But no—God has other plans.
The door unlocks. Felix freezes mid-step, charger still dangling from his hand. Before he can bolt, the door slams shut hard enough to make the walls shake. Something heavy crashes against it. The sound vibrates through his ribs.
“Shit,” Felix hisses, fumbling for his phone. His heart stutters like it’s lost its rhythm.
Me:
WHAT SHOULD WE DOOOO?
Jeongin:
I don’t know
I don’t want to know.
Then it happens: a sound Felix would rather die than hear. A moan. Seungmin’s moan. His whole body jerks as if the floor just gave out beneath him. His ears ring. His chest goes tight, heat crawling all the way up his neck to his ears, so strong it stings. His fingers twitch around his phone, but he can’t look away from the screen.
Jeongin:
Let’s just use our earphones .
Turn up the volume,
Hide under the blanket.
So that’s exactly what they do—holding their pee, holding their hunger, thankful they’d stocked water. Time stretches endlessly. By the time Felix dares to remove one earbud, they’ve survived an entire season of Demon Slayer.
He creeps to the door, presses an ear against it. Silence. Carefully, he cracks it open. He pokes his head out, scanning like an Overwatch player scouting enemy lines.
And then—clank.
He nearly screams when his gaze collides with Minho’s wide, startled eyes. If anyone else were there, they’d swear it looked exactly like two cats catching each other off guard—backs arched, claws out, leaping in opposite directions.
“What the fuck?!” Minho whisper-shouts. “I told you to go out, didn’t I?”
“Well, you were too quick!” Felix fires back, matching his volume. “And clearly it was Seungminnie who messaged me?!” He sticks out his tongue, feeling triumphant for catching Minho red handed for his shenanigans.
“It doesn’t matter.” Minho frowns, hates that he slips with his own lies, “me and Seungminnie are the same person anyway.” Even Minho can hear how much it doesn’t make any sense.
“Your age is slipping again, hyung!” Felix shoots before bolting, knocking on Jeongin’s door in warning before sprinting into the bathroom, safely out of reach.
“Wait!” Felix unknowingly stops his sprints upon the demand. It feels like a scene right before a jump scare.
Minho’s jaw tightens, “You didn’t hear anything, right?” His voice drops, sharp, dangerous.
Felix opens his mouth—then falters. Because the sound is there again, replaying in his head, looping against his will: Seungmin’s moan. Felix swallows hard, stuck for a beat too long.
Felix snaps out of it. “I didn’t hear anything!” he blurts. Too fast.
“Ya!” Minho half-shouts, half-whispers, fury breaking through. This time, Felix doesn’t stop his legs.
—
Later that night, after Seungmin has passed out, Minho corners Felix and Jeongin in Jeongin’s room—much to Jeongin’s misery. Minho claims the chair like a throne, while the younger two sit stiffly on the edge of the bed.
“So be honest,” Minho starts, narrowing his eyes to slits. “You didn’t hear anything, right?”
“I swear, I didn’t—and I never want to.” Jeongin scowls.
Minho turns to Felix. But since he has much time to calm his heart down, Felix now can lie easily, “I can recite what happened in Demon Slayer season one if you want.” Felix says convincingly now.
And much to Felix’s dismay, Minho really does ask the summary of season one of Demon Slayer. Once he’s convinced, he leaves the room and goes to his boyfriend’s bedroom (even though Seungmin has told him many times not to) to get his share of cuddles.
Jeongin sighs. “He’s so unreasonable. He is mad because we might’ve heard something, right?,” Felix hums in agreement, “He’s so damn jealous.” A pause, “And childish.”
Felix snorts. “Childish doesn’t even cover it.”