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“You know, when you graduated and became a real adult, I didn’t think you’d actually become this boring.”
For a second, Minho stops scanning the crowd and whips his gaze toward Hyunjin, who’s grinning wickedly after knocking back his third tequila shot of the night.
Hyunjin is lucky there’s a task at hand—i.e., finding out where Felix ran off to—otherwise Minho would not hesitate to deck him. As it is, he merely bares his teeth.
“What makes you say I’m boring? I’m a delight. In fact, I’m the whole goddamn party. Everyone here wishes they were me.”
“Everyone here wishes they were on you, maybe,” Hyunjin says, gesturing at Minho’s outfit.
Minho smirks. It’s true, he’s dressed to kill, but that’s what these nights are about: putting on something a little bit slutty, getting tipsy, dancing with his two former roommates, and picking someone to take home at the end of the night.
“So why aren’t they?”
“Why aren’t they what?”
“Why aren’t people on you right now?” Hyunjin asks. “Or, why haven’t you picked anyone to be on you? ‘Cause normally, you’d have picked up several guys by now.”
“Maybe the guys all suck tonight,” Minho shoots back. “Besides, this just means I get to spend all my time with my favorite dongsaengs.” He reaches out to pinch Hyunjin’s cheek, which of course earns him a yelp and an elbow to the ribs.
They’re still half-wrestling by the time Felix comes back on newborn deer legs, and even in the dim light, the flush of his cheeks is visible. “I saw hyung in the bathroom,” he giggles.
Minho snorts as he extricates himself from Hyunjin’s long limbs. “Which hyung, Lixie? We have a few of them.”
“Chan-hyung! You know, from Jisung’s radio show?”
Ah, yes. Bang Chan. Handsome, golden retriever Chan who seemed like he was connected to everybody on their sizable campus. Minho knew him mostly in passing, but their encounters had always been friendly. From what Minho remembers, this doesn’t seem like Chan’s scene, but Felix seems convinced anyway.
Felix goes on about the whole thing, saying how nice Chan was even though he hadn’t seen them all since he graduated last year, and wasn’t Chan always so nice, he might even find them later to say hi.
Happy to just have the younger boy back in safe range, Minho mostly tunes out the chatter. And truth be told, he’s still a bit stuck on Hyunjin’s comment. Has he really become that boring?
Maybe he should do something about that.
Turning back toward the bar, Minho orders himself three shots, which he takes in quick succession before gesturing to the dance floor.
“I’m going back out there. You kids coming?”
Hyunjin and Felix let out a cheer, both further gone than Minho is, and they link arms before slipping back into the crowd. They’re the perfect trio, really: Felix’s freckles and sweet grin get them free drinks; Hyunjin’s height and unearthly beauty get them through crowds without angering strangers; and Minho’s cheekbones and swaying hips either get them dancing partners for the evening or give them a wide berth.
They finally make it to a decent spot on the dance floor, and the drink Minho downed is starting to take effect. The music is bass-boosted and his limbs are suddenly loose and this. This is the feeling he loves. This is why he still comes out with his friends, who are still in university and don’t have a big boy job sapping them of their youthful energy.
Time stretches and bends, and Minho loses track of everything besides the music. At some point, there’s a DJ change, and this new person seems to like a darker and more sensual sound, which actually works great with the way Minho likes to move most.
It’s during such a song that a pair of hands materializes on his waist. Minho does the cursory glance back to make sure it’s not a total creep. The stranger is passable enough, and even though it’s grating to be touched without warning, Minho has slipped into the headspace where he doesn’t mind the feeling. In fact, he really likes it, likes that someone saw him and liked him enough to want to touch. Sometimes, it’s nice to know someone finds you sexy, even someone who doesn’t matter at all in the grand scheme of things.
“What’s your name?” comes a shout in Minho’s ear, and he doesn’t even suppress the cringe that runs through him. Why do men insist on talking on the dance floor? Is it not enough to dance for a song or two? Maybe kiss a little if it’s good? Nobody owes each other anything in these situations, and besides, who can hold a conversation when the music is this loud?
Rather than answering, Minho closes his eyes and focuses on the beat, rolling his body in a way that comes across sexy but really works to keep him from too much contact.
“Ahh, so it’s like that. Damn. You’re a good dancer, though, did you know that?”
Of course Minho knows that. He’s studied for years, choreographed and starred in countless showcases, and he has natural rhythm. This guy isn’t even getting his good stuff.
But again, he stays silent, because sometimes guys like this will go away if you don’t show interest quick enough. Of course, this stranger seems a little bolder, which means Minho finds himself suddenly pulled back into a body that’s decidedly bigger than his. Probably not a good idea to start throwing elbows, then. He tries to sway himself forward enough to get out of range, but the stranger’s grip tightens.
Minho rolls his eyes, wishes he’d been more discerning a minute ago. This guy is totally turning out to be the typical possessive club creep.
Turning around completely now, Minho moves the dude’s arms off his waist and gives a grin-grimace that hopefully conveys the desired back the fuck off, buddy. Unfortunately, this dude skipped the lesson in body language, because he seems to take this as an encouragement. He steps further into Minho’s space, pulling him in with a hand on the small of his back and moving in, no doubt to start grinding.
And okay, Minho’s done with subtlety. Time to break some kneecaps.
Only then, a second, gentler hand touches him, this time on his shoulder. “Hey, babe,” Minho somehow hears above the noise. “You doing okay?”
So Felix was right, Minho thinks as he takes in who it is. Bang Chan really did come by to say hi.
Normally, Minho could take care of himself, but he’s grateful for the out he’s been given, and he falls into the role immediately. Plastering himself to Chan’s side, Minho yells out, “Baaabe! Thanks for bringing us more drinks!”
“Whoa,” the creep says, clearly angry by what’s unfolding before him. “You didn’t say you were here with anyone.”
“Well, he is,” Chan says, subtly putting himself in between Minho and the guy. His tone is firm, but the message is clear, and the guy scoffs before thankfully heading off without a fight.
Once the coast is clear, Chan immediately steps away to give Minho his space, which is considerate of him. Unfortunately, Minho’s still got alcohol in his system, so it causes him to stumble a bit. Immediately, Chan reaches out to steady him, and Minho registers the strength in his arms as they wind around him.
Respectfully, of course. Not like the creep. Chan doesn’t seem like a creep, at least not so far. Once he regains his footing, Minho peers at him. Sees there’s a little crease in between his eyebrows, and thinks, cute.
“Sorry to butt in like that,” Chan says. “But he seemed like he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and sometimes guys like that only respond to the same kind of neanderthal bullshit they pull.”
“Wow, big word for a club dance floor,” Minho says, because he might be drunk, but he’ll never pass up an opportunity for sarcasm.
“It’s on my word-a-day calendar,” Chan quips, before looking around. “Weren’t you here with your friends? Did they leave you alone to deal with that guy?”
Oh yeah, Minho is here with friends. And they did leave him alone to deal with that guy, what gives? But then he vaguely remembers Felix feeling sick and Hyunjin taking him to the patio for some fresh air. Shit, how long ago was that? He pulls out his phone and sees a missed call notification along with a couple mostly coherent messages from Hyunjin saying he’d taken Felix home.
“They left,” Minho tells Chan, who frowns.
“I should stick around, then. In case that guy comes back. Unless… you want to leave, too? I can call you a car.”
Minho is certainly not ready to leave yet, especially now that he’s found himself alone with a guy who’s as nice as he is hot. He eyes Chan’s shirt, the way it’s practically halfway open and revealing an obscene amount of his chest. His broad, broad chest.
“You should stick around. For sure.” He might be addressing the chest directly. It’s a good chest, okay, it deserves to be addressed.
Chan doesn’t seem to mind at any rate, because Minho swears he puffs up before responding, “Okay, sure. Let me just text my roommate, since I came with him. Although he’s with his boyfriend, so I doubt he’d miss me anyway.”
As soon as Chan gets the all-clear from his roommate, he asks Minho if he needs water or another drink. And this concerned acquaintance thing, it’s sweet, but that’s not why Minho asked him to stay, so he decides to just go for it.
“What I want,” he says, leaning into Chan’s space, “is to feel your hands on me while I dance.”
Chan raises his eyebrows. “Well, then,” he says, pulling Minho in by the waist, “your wish is my command.”
And if Minho held back with the creep from earlier, he definitely doesn’t hold back now, giving Chan only his very best moves. Turns out Chan has moves, too, meeting every twist of Minho’s hips with his own. Every now and then, Minho will catch him mouthing along to the lyrics, and he remembers how Chan’s voice used to sound on the campus radio, smooth and lively and a little bit raspy the more he talked.
Back then, Minho had only passing thoughts about how attractive Bang Chan was, too busy with his own life to do much about it, even if he was always just within reach. But here and now, as Minho is confronted with it full-on, he wonders what the hell his past self was doing, missing out on something like this. And when Chan finally kisses him, Minho spares a final chiding thought for his past self, fool that he was. If he had tried, he could have had this years sooner. This, an all-consuming kiss from a man who somehow knows exactly how Minho likes it: mouth warm and wet and biting, hands everywhere all at once.
Eventually, after Minho’s lips feel swollen and they’ve abandoned dancing for straight-up grinding, Chan suggests leaving and continuing their party elsewhere. Minho agrees readily, and only pauses briefly when Chan asks, “Your place or mine?”
Because as a general rule, Minho doesn’t bring people back to his place for sex.
It comes down to control, really. He’d like to keep the awkward morning-after small talk to a minimum, thanks, and it’s just easier to leave a place than it is to kick someone out of yours.
But the rules are for anonymous hookups, and although Chan was more acquaintance than friend, he’s still familiar enough that Minho finds himself saying, “Mine.”
Rules are made to be broken, right?
After what feels like an hour-long wait and subsequent cab ride home, Minho pushes Chan through his darkened apartment all the way into his room and, on total auto-pilot, closes the door behind them.
“Do you have a roommate?” Chan asks, as he helps Minho out of his shirt.
“No,” Minho says, tugging at Chan’s hem in the universe signal for you too. He obliges, and even in the dim light, it’s plain to see that Chan is fit as hell. Minho had already felt up the broad shoulders and thick arms as they danced, but holy shit, the man has abs, too? “God, you’re fucking hot.”
The words fall out without Minho’s permission, but hey, this is a sure thing, right? They’re practically in bed already.
“Thanks,” Chan says brightly, like Minho’s just complimented his new haircut. “So why’d you close the door, then?”
Minho barely hears him, only managing a questioning “hmm?” before pushing Chan back onto the bed and settling on top of him. He fits their mouths together again.
After a few moments, Chan pulls back a bit to add, “If you don’t have a roommate.” As if they’re just having a normal conversation. As if he hasn’t just been sucking Minho’s bottom lip into his mouth in a way that has Minho swallowing a whine. “Why’d you close the door?”
And that’s when Minho is confronted with the other reason he doesn’t really bring people back to his place.
“Um,” Minho says, getting the words out in between the teasing kisses Chan has the audacity to keep doling out, “I have cats. And they’re nosy.”
“I see,” Chan murmurs, sounding amused. Minho almost kicks him out, except Chan chooses that moment to flip them so that he’s on top. “So—”
“No more talking!” Minho cuts him off. “Just fuck me. Now.”
Chan laughs. “Bossy,” he says. “But okay, as you wish.”
To his credit, Chan does exactly that: thoroughly, and with great skill.
“So that’s what it’s like with a dancer,” Chan says afterward, still slightly out of breath. Minho feels a little smug. “Noted.”
This comment reminds Minho of why he invited Chan back in the first place. They might not have run in the same circles back in university, but they’re not strangers by any means. Certainly not after what they just did. Twice. Minho feels safe, then, having Chan here.
Perhaps this is also why, when Chan ends up dozing off, Minho lets him stay. Surely, he’ll be gone by the time Minho wakes up, and he won’t have to think about all the personal rules he broke today.
Only, Chan isn’t gone when Minho wakes up.
He doesn’t realize this at first, because Chan and all of his stuff aren’t in the room. But as soon as Minho’s pulled some pants and walked out of the bedroom, he realizes what’s happened.
Because there is Chan, fully clothed and on the couch, with all three of Minho’s babies rubbing up against his legs. He hasn’t noticed Minho yet, too busy staring down at the cats. He looks absolutely at a loss, and the only reason Minho doesn’t let loose a cackle is because he’s having too much fun watching undetected.
“Hey,” Minho hears Chan whisper. He’s probably trying not to wake Minho, considerate as he is, but it makes him sound hilariously timid, and Minho again bites back a laugh. “Hey… friends. Um. I don’t have anything for you, but maybe your dad does? I can go wake him, just. Don’t freak out, okay? I’m just gonna slowwwwly get up.”
And okay, Minho can’t take it anymore.
“They won’t bite,” he says, and he waits until Chan looks up all startled to tack on, “probably.”
Chan’s shoulders loosen somewhat at that, and he lets out a wheezy sound, equal parts nervous and amused. “Well, that’s reassuring.”
Minho settles down on the other end of the couch, and the cats immediately abandon Chan for him instead. Good. At least he’s raised his babies to be loyal. He bends down to rub their chins and between their ears, murmuring good morning to each of them.
From his periphery, he can see Chan watching closely. Sooni and Doongi stick to Minho’s side, but Dori walks back over to Chan, always the curious baby out of the three. Chan’s hand hovers above Dori’s head, clearly wanting to touch but unsure how. It’s almost childlike, the gesture, and Minho will blame the early hour for finding it endearing.
“That’s Dori. You can just scratch behind his ears, he likes that.”
Looking grateful for the instruction, Chan reaches out slowly and does just that. Dori leans into the touch, and Chan’s delight is palpable.
Minho is practically obligated to tease him about it.
“So it’s not just people you need to like you, huh? Animals, too?”
Chan’s mouth drops open. “I don’t need people to like—”
“Hyung. You were on the board for three clubs on campus. Plus SKZ president. Plus, the radio show. Plus—”
“Okay!” Chan says, a tad whiny, which sends Minho cackling. Luckily, Chan doesn’t seem too offended, because he joins in. “What’s wrong with being liked, anyway?”
Minho shrugs. “Nothing wrong, just… you don’t have to try so hard. People like you regardless.”
“I like trying,” Chan says, then he smirks. “But I’m glad to know you like me no matter what.”
Minho narrows his eyes. “Who said I was included?”
“Are you saying you’re not people?” Chan scrunches his nose. “Uh, person. Are you saying you’re not a person?”
“I’m a demon.” He gives himself fake horns with his fingers, lets out a hiss for good measure. “Hail Satan.”
It’s not even that funny, but suddenly Chan is full belly-laughing, and it’s… cute, okay. He’s cute, Minho can admit that to himself. Dori doesn’t think so, though, because he hops off the couch as soon as Chan lets out the first guffaw.
“Well, looks like your mission failed,” Minho says. “Better luck next time.”
There’s no smirk this time, but Chan’s eyes twinkle with something. “Next time, huh?”
Dammit.
“Figure of speech,” Minho says, because even though he wouldn’t mind seeing Chan again, he’s not going to make it easy for him by actually admitting it out loud.
Chan hums, noncommittal, before pulling out his phone. “Well, listen. I didn’t sneak out on you because that would be rude, but I do actually have to get going. So, if you do want there to be a next time,” he pulls out his phone and holds it out to Minho, “put your number in. Or don’t. It’s up to you.”
Minho considers it. He likes that Chan is giving him the option, and he knows enough about him to know that it’s not just a gesture: if Minho really decided to reject him, Chan would respect it.
But the sex was good, he has to admit that, and just because he gives a guy his number doesn’t mean he has to respond if the guy were to come calling. Minho is still in control here. It’s that thought that has him reaching for the phone and putting in his contact information.
Besides, Minho thinks after walking Chan to the door and getting thoroughly kissed good-bye, who’s to say when next time will be?
Next time, as it turns out, happens a week later. Minho finds himself bored on a Saturday and a third glass of wine tells him it’s a good idea to send a you up? text at midnight. After a week of flirty texts, he doesn’t think Chan will be too surprised, and he can probably play it off as a joke if it goes south.
But it doesn’t go south. In fact, Chan answers within minutes and suddenly, he’s on his way over, which probably means Minho should change out of his ratty sweatpants and into… slightly nicer sweatpants. They’re gonna end up coming off anyway.
By the time Chan texts that he’s coming up the elevator, Minho is fully worked up from the anticipation. He barely restrains himself from attacking Chan at the door, waits at least until he has his shoes and jacket off before he’s in his space.
“Take it all off, honestly,” Minho says, “why waste any time?”
“Oh, so you’re not even gonna ask me about my day first?” Chan asks, but he lets Minho work him out of his shirt and lead him to the bedroom.
“How was your day?” Minho asks as he whips off his own shirt. “Did you do anything fun?” He pulls off his pants and is suddenly naked, having not bothered with underwear. “Can we have sex now?”
Chan looks incredibly amused, but he nods and adopts a simpering tone to say, “Yes, dear,” before stripping down himself and following Minho onto the bed.
Just like last time, Chan takes the lead, kissing to conquer, and the wine has made Minho pliable enough to let him do so. At some point, they will do this sober, and Minho makes a mental note to make Chan squirm when they do so, but tonight he’s content to take whatever he gets.
What he gets first is Chan on top of him, tongueing across Minho’s nipple while using his hand to play with the other one. The contact comes as a surprise to Minho, so his eyes fly open.
And that’s when he sees Doongi on the bed, staring with clear judgement in his eyes.
“Motherfuck,” Minho gasps out, and Chan smiles against his skin.
“Feels good, eh?”
“No, I mean, motherfuck, we forgot to close the door.”
“Wait, what?”
“My son. Is watching us.”
“Wait, what?”
Right on cue, Doongi lets out a loud meow, and Chan turns toward the sound. Minho watches the horror run across his face before giving way to a sheepish grin.
“Hey buddy, how you goin’?” he says, rearranging himself slightly so he can address Doongi fully, and Minho cannot believe this man exists. “What’s this one’s name again?” he asks, reaching out like he’s going to pet him.
“Doongi, and don’t encourage him,” he says, smacking Chan’s hand away. “Just let me up so I can get him out of here.”
Chan has the audacity to pout. “But he’s so cuuuute.”
“Of course he is, he’s my son!” Minho yells, exasperated. “But we’re in the middle of something, hyung, or have you already forgotten?”
Silently, Minho hopes he hasn’t actually forgotten, because it would be incredibly embarrassing for his naked body to lose out over a cat. His cats are exceptionally great, but still. It’s the principle of the thing.
“Could never forget,” Chan assures him, and he swipes his thumb across Minho’s nipple for good measure before rolling off him. Minho quickly picks up Doongi, whispering a quick apology into his fur before plopping him down just outside of the bedroom. He closes the door and is about to head back to Chan before he thinks of something.
“Quick, check under the bed. Sometimes they hang out there because it’s dark.”
Dutifully, Chan hangs off the side of the bed and peeks underneath. “All clear,” he declares, and as he comes back up, there’s a guilty look about him. “You don’t think we traumatized him, did we?”
Truly, truly, Minho cannot believe he exists.
“Somehow, I think he’ll live,” he says, rejoining Chan on the mattress. “But you won’t if you don’t get back to what you were doing.”
“Yes, sir,” Chan says, pulling Minho in for a searing kiss, and there’s no more talking for a while after that.
Weeks go by, and pretty soon, Minho finds himself hooking up with Chan on the regular. At first, they alternate destinations, once at Minho’s and the next at Chan’s and back again. However, Chan has a roommate and apparently Minho is loud, so much so that Changbin bans them from doing activities over there.
So Minho’s place it is, and it really wouldn’t be a problem, except things with the cats keep happening.
For instance, Chan has taken to bringing treats with him when he visits, which Minho finds so infuriatingly adorable that the first time it happens, he takes it out on Chan by going down on him and not letting him come for almost an hour. Now, Minho’s used to it, but it still makes him feel a type of way to see Chan pull out treats and distribute them evenly across the cats before turning to Minho and saying, “And now it’s your turn,” then kissing the living daylights out of him.
The treat thing also means that the cats love when Chan comes over, to the point that when he leaves, Dori follows him to the door and yells until Chan bends down to give him goodbye pets.
Minho tries not to find it all too charming, but it’s hard when everything about his cats makes him soft and tender-hearted, and that apparently extends to Chan interacting with them.
But the final straw comes after about a month and a half of seeing each other, after Chan texts to cancel a Thursday afternoon they’d scheduled that morning.
can’t anymore :( got tied up at work
Well. Looks like it’s just him and his vibrator tonight. Before he goes to pull it out, Minho searches for the right emoji to express his displeasure. Suddenly, another text from Chan comes through.
but say hi to the babies for me!
There’s something almost domestic about his phrasing, and it makes Minho’s heart do something funny in his chest. Without texting back, he tosses his phone to the side, smashes his face into his pillow, and screams. What is this man doing to him?
After giving himself a stern talking-to, Minho straightens back up. He then leans over to grab his phone and opens his messages to the only person he can think of that will understand his plight.
me: sos need new dick appt asap
hannie: why lmao i thought the current dick was bomb
Minho frowns. His friends know he’s hooking up with someone, but he still hasn’t told anyone it’s Chan, mostly because their friend group has crossover and it’d just be weird explaining it at this point. Minho considers, for a second, spilling everything to Jisung, but it’s too much for a text so he ultimately settles on he’s getting too serious.
Five minutes pass with no reply, and Minho is about to give up on the conversation completely when another text comes through.
hannie: hold up gonna facetime u
When the screen comes up to accept the call, Minho actually hesitates. A text conversation is easy, he can control the message there. But Jisung is perceptive, and he will definitely see through Minho’s bullshit even through a screen. Nevertheless, Minho does kind of need to vent about this, because he’s at the end of his rope.
So he hits accept.
His screen is suddenly filled with a huffing Jisung in glasses and a beanie, who appears to be walking across campus. He launches right in with, “Sorry, I was in class and the professor’s a real stickler about phones. He did not appreciate the one time I tried to explain that multitasking actually helps me concentrate. Probably because it was a lie, but still! I thought that was at least a little bit clever. Anyway, what’s the deal with the dick appointment?” He pauses to gasp dramatically. “Did he tell you he likes you?”
Jisung always does this: starts calls like they’re already in the middle of a conversation, and Minho is struck with a wave of fondness. He hasn’t seen Jisung in weeks because he’s in the throes of writing a thesis, and even a look at him through a screen is like a balm to the soul.
Minho sets that aside, though, because there’s a point to this call. “Worse,” he answers, “he likes my cats.”
Jisung’s eyebrows furrow. “Do they like him?”
“Very much.”
The way Jisung’s eyes widen and the “oh, shit” he lets out are exactly why Minho chose him to confide in. Because Hyunjin and Felix might be some of his closest friends, but Jisung knows him best. They have a certain mutual weirdness that means they get each other, and Jisung never needs much to get up to speed with Minho’s thinking.
“So you’re saying this guy has been to your place. Multiple times.”
“Yes.”
“And he’s good with your kids.”
“Yep.”
“And the sex is good?”
“Best in a long time. Maybe ever.”
“Well, shit!” Jisung exclaims. “Who is this guy, Prince freaking Charming?”
Minho looks up at the ceiling, wondering if the truth is worth spilling. He’s almost certain he knows what Jisung will say, but he also… might not say it. Stranger things have happened.
“It’s Bang Chan.”
“CHAN-HYUNG!” Jisung screeches. “Chan-hyung. Chan-hyung is who you’re banging? You’re banging Bang Chan.”
“Will you not talk so loud,” Minho hisses.
“Why not, it’s not like he’s Voldemort and will magically appear here, and how can you not expect me to yell when you tell me something like this?”
“Because, Jisung-ah,” Minho says, wishing he could throttle him through the screen, “you’re on campus and people know him there!”
“I’m halfway home,” Jisung says, waving him off, “but fine, damn. I’ll be quiet. Like you, I guess! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
Minho scrubs a hand across his face. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”
“Right,” Jisung drawls, and he sounds way too knowing for Minho’s comfort, “because you like him and you didn’t want to face it, but you knew I’d make you.”
Completely caught out, Minho stays silent, but his silence is answer enough.
“Look,” Jisung says, “I met up with hyung a few days ago and he mentioned he was seeing someone. He didn’t say who, but he looked happy about it. God knows why, because you’re a nightmare, but he looked happy. So don’t fuck it up, okay? Talk to him. Tell him how you feel. Don’t make my favorite hyung sad.”
“I thought I was your favorite hyung, you brat,” Minho scoffs.
“Not if you make Chan-hyung sad~,” Jisung sings. The pompom on his beanie has been bouncing along with his stride the whole time they’ve been talking, but he stops now and looks sternly through the camera. “Look, do you want to keep seeing him?”
And he has no reason to lie, not after Jisung handed him his ass about it. “Yeah. I do.”
Jisung gives a firm nod. “Then tell him you want to be boyfriends. You practically are already.”
The conversation ends pretty quickly after that, because what else is there to say? Minho promises to handle his business like an adult, and Jisung makes him also promise to share every detail once he does.
Only, Minho doesn’t handle his business like an adult. Instead, he dodges Chan’s texts for a couple days, before starting to ignore them altogether. Chan is sweet and persistent without being annoying, which makes everything so much worse, because it reminds Minho how good a guy he is, even outside of all the cat stuff. And Minho misses him, okay, misses the sex and also misses Chan’s gasping, ridiculous laugh, misses his dimples and his strong arms, misses the way he sometimes kisses the freckle on the end of Minho’s nose.
But he’s also… scared. Of what it all means. Of it somehow ending and getting hurt. Because despite all his experience in bed, he’s never really, truly dated anyone. And this is Bang Chan. Former campus hottie. Current music producer at a small label but certainly destined for bigger things. Loves Pokemon and can’t eat spicy food and sometimes sings in the shower at full volume, off-key if he thinks it’ll make Minho laugh. And Minho does laugh. Mostly at Chan, but sometimes with him, and it’s a lot he could lose if something went wrong.
So he avoids the problem entirely, at least for a little while.
Until, after a week of unanswered texts, Chan sends a rare Snapchat of some random street cat with the caption “not as cute as the babies, but still pretty cute!” and Minho finally just caves and asks him to come over.
Karma says Minho deserves to be ignored or dodged back, but apparently Bang Chan doesn’t believe in karma, because he says he’ll be there in 30. Scrambling, Minho tidies up quickly and changes into a somewhat presentable outfit just in time to hear the knock on the door.
“It’s open!” Minho calls from the kitchen, and as he emerges with two glasses of water, he comes face to face with the boy—and the feelings—he’s been dodging for days. Chan looks handsome as ever, even in a simple hoodie and his unstyled hair, which lays in its natural curly form.
“Hi,” he says, somewhat dumbly. He blames the curls. Damn the curls.
“Hey,” Chan says, then holds up a bag. “I brought something.”
Minho sets down the glasses on the coffee table and briefly forgets his nerves in favor of excitement over whatever present he’s getting.
“What’d you bring me? Is it snacks?”
“Oh. Um,” Chan huffs a laugh. “It’s for the cats?”
Of course, Minho thinks.
“Of fucking course,” he says out loud, suddenly channeling his anxiety into annoyance. “Of course you brought something for the cats!”
“Um,” Chan says, this time dragging it out with a nervous tinge. “Should I… not have?”
“No!” Minho says. “By all means! Bring things for my cats! God knows you like them, and they certainly like you. Lots of cat feelings going around!”
“Ohhhhkay. Does this have anything to do with why you’ve been avoiding me all week? Because I… like your cats too much? Am I not supposed to like your cats?”
“Everyone should love my cats,” Minho practically spits, “because they’re wonderful. They also must be napping pretty hard right now, because they have yet to come greet you, like they always do. Because apparently, you’re very likable. And you know what? It’s a problem.”
Chan opens his mouth to respond, but Minho plows on. “I’m serious. It’s a problem. I didn’t plan on them liking you. I thought you’d do the dog person thing and avoid them like the plague and then I never would’ve spoken to you again because anyone who meets my cats and doesn’t like them does not deserve my time. But you didn’t. You asked me how to pet them, so you would do it right. You brought them treats and held them in your lap and god, you even didn’t care when they’d walk in on us having sex.”
He starts pacing a bit, because there is suddenly too much energy in his body and he has to get rid of it somehow. “The sex is also a problem,” he goes on, because it is, and it must be addressed. “Because it’s too good.”
“Hold on, how can sex be too good?”
“Don’t interrupt me!” Minho practically yells. “And it’s too good when there’s feelings. Because feelings are scary and I’m not used to having them. I’m certainly not used to talking about them. But you do. You talk about them all the time. You talk about how music makes you feel and how food makes you feel and how my cats make you feel, and it’s infuriating because— you’ve never once talked about how I make you feel. Which is scary, because here I am, talking about how I feel.”
He stops to look at Chan, who’s gone from looking bewildered to looking somewhat fond. It makes Minho think, cute, which is so painfully close to what started this whole thing that it gets him to say it: the thing that’s had him so scared for a week.
“What I feel is that I like you,” he says, and it sounds so simple to say it out loud. “And I’m not used to feeling this. But I do. And I guess… I’m asking if you like me, too.”
Somewhere during this whole tirade, Chan has stepped closer and closer until he’s right in front of Minho. They’re basically the same height, but Minho still feels a little small, inside this moment of truth and vulnerability.
“You know,” Chan begins. “The reason I haven’t talked about how you make me feel is because… I was trying to show you. Because I thought that might mean more to you.” He reaches up to hover a hand above Minho’s neck, silently asking for permission to touch. That same childlike hesitance. Minho melts a little, and nods in approval. Chan smiles and fits his hand at Minho’s nape.
“I’ll tell you, though,” he continues. “If you want.”
Minho sniffs. “That… would be nice.”
“Okay,” Chan says, indulgent. “I do like your cats, Minho-yah. But I like you a lot more.”
“You fucking better,” Minho grumbles, then finally closes the gap between them.
Later, Minho will text Jisung and tell him he finally handled his business. Later still, he’ll text Hyunjin and Felix individually and drop the bomb that he has a boyfriend, replying to Felix’s emoji-filled reactions briefly and Hyunjin’s all-caps texts not at all.
For now, he just kisses Chan with everything he’s got, because as it turns out, that’s exactly what they’ve both wanted all along.