Chapter Text
Things aren’t any different at first. Minho goes to work and Seungmin goes to work. In the mornings they have coffee together and in the evenings they have dinner together, the day’s worth of usual pointless messages between them the same as always, and nothing changes for a few days.
Then, Seungmin starts moving around their apartment in the manner a prey animal would, either seeking out or hiding from Minho depending on the time of day, and Minho can’t recognize a pattern to it. One moment Seungmin is sitting pressed up against him on the couch, the next he’s moving to the opposite side, adjusting and readjusting the pillows without ever seeming to get comfortable enough to truly relax, then he gets up and disappears down the hallway for a little while before coming back to the living room to curl up in a different spot than before. If he’s gone for too long, Minho goes to see where he is; one time he finds him curled up in their bed, another time he finds the bathroom door closed and locked, water running on the other side, and sometimes he can’t find him at all—figures he doesn’t want to be found and goes back to the living room where he waits for Seungmin to feel social again.
It fluctuates throughout the day. Seungmin is clingy one moment and distant the next, the skittishness not at all in line with his typical behavior, and Minho doesn’t know what to make of it. None of the online forums mentioned this; Seungmin hadn’t mentioned this. Minho can’t figure out why he seems to be hiding from him—then one day nearly a week later he realizes he’s got it wrong. Seungmin isn’t just hiding from him. He’s keeping mostly out of sight, peeking around corners, watching and waiting. Stalking.
The realization nearly makes Minho laugh, part relief from having been concerned Seungmin was avoiding him and part disbelief he hadn’t realized what was going on sooner.
It makes more sense now, all the times Minho has gone from one room of the apartment to another and returned to the initial room only to find Seungmin had disappeared again; he’d been waiting for the opportunity. Minho pays closer attention but doesn’t bring it up. Wonders why Seungmin hasn’t, if he simply forgot to mention it or if it’s a new development after having gone so many years on suppressants. There are bound to be some obscure side effects not included in the information the doctor went over. (There’s a pamphlet. Minho read it front to back three times.)
Minho waits until Seungmin gets up and disappears down the hallway and the apartment goes mostly quietly save for the show idly playing on the television screen—some background-noise pick because Seungmin said he couldn’t focus enough to seriously watch anything—before standing up and silently walking into the kitchen. He sits down behind the counter, pulls out his phone, opens Sudoku and wins three rounds before he hears the familiar padding of Seungmin’s footsteps coming down the hallway and stopping suddenly as soon as he steps into the now-empty room. Peeking around the corner, Minho watches Seungmin look around, then back down the hallway, his profile giving away that he’s frowning.
“Hyung?” he calls.
Minho sits back against the cabinet and a few moments later hears footsteps approaching. When Seungmin walks into the kitchen, he grabs his ankle.
Startled, Seungmin jumps out of Minho’s grip and Minho’s subsequent laughter earns him a kick (a generous way to describe it with the lack of force behind it) to the thigh.
“What is your problem?” Seungmin huffs, ears flat, staring down at Minho as he gets the rest of his giggles out. “You’re so…” he huffs again, a smile edging its way onto his face, and nudges Minho with his foot. “Get off the floor.”
Wrapping his hands around each of Seungmin’s calves, Minho urges him to step closer, his fingertips squeezing at the border of white cotton and smooth skin. Seungmin’s knees wobble when Minho kisses the inside divot of one. The smile hasn’t left his face. “Come here.”
“You’re just doing this because I told you to get up,” Seungmin accuses, nonetheless squatting until he settles in Minho’s lap, his tail wrapped around his side and curled against his leg.
Minho tilts his head. The tip of Seungmin’s tail flicks. Humming, Minho looks down at where Seungmin’s shorts have ridden up, bunched in the hinge of his hips. They’re shorter than anything he’d ever wear out in public, and like this they look more like underwear than shorts. Minho squeezes up the bare expanse of his thighs and back down, feeling the way Seungmin’s muscles flex minutely as he does. “And why am I doing this?” he asks, lightly dragging his nails up Seungmin’s legs.
Seungmin grabs Minho’s wrists. “Same reason.” He bares his teeth in the least threatening manner Minho has ever seen. “Because you like getting on my nerves.”
“You like getting on mine.” Minho pinches Seungmin’s leg.
“Ow! That hurt.”
Caressing the pinched-pink spot with his thumb, Minho coos, “Oh, no.” He glances up at Seungmin’s face and grabs onto his hoodie just before Seungmin begins to shift like he’s going to get up. Holding him there, Minho tilts his head. “Why were you stalking me?”
Seungmin scoffs and stutters over a few syllables. His cheeks are flushing pink. “I never—” Minho raises his eyebrows. “Whatever,” Seungmin looks down, “when’s the last time you cleaned the floor in here?”
“You scrubbed it last weekend,” Minho says, still prodding at the spot on Seungmin’s thigh, “on your hands and knees.” There are still faint bruises on each of Seungmin’s knees because he stubbornly insisted he didn’t need anything for them. Minho watches his tail uncurl the slightest bit and runs his fingers over it lightly, the fur fluffy and soft. “Cats stalk when they want attention.”
“Or,” Seungmin says, “when they want to kill something.”
“You want to kill me, Kim Seungmin?”
“Yes.” Seungmin flicks his tail, then curls it over Minho’s wrist. “I’ll be sure to do it while you sleep.”
Minho smiles. He reaches up to hold Seungmin by the neck and pulls him so close their noses touch, his guard not down because he knows better than to think that’s the end of it even as Seungmin nudges their noses together and angles his head to kiss Minho, whose wrist is fully encircled by Seungmin’s tail by the time their tongues touch. It’s a comforting trap. Minho keeps wondering what it’ll be like once Seungmin’s heat hits. Usually, this isn’t a problem. Minho is good at living day to day without getting caught up thinking about hypotheticals—there’s no reason to stress out about things that may not ever happen—but when it comes to Seungmin, it’s a little trickier to ward off the worries. Still, he does his best: squeezes Seungmin’s hip, his fingertips slipping under his shorts, and hums when he feels the rough texture of Seungmin’s tongue against his own.
He doesn't startle when the sharp tips of Seungmin’s nails press at his throat—just pulls him closer and sighs as they graze, not quite scratching, down to his chest.