Work Text:
Rain isn’t as common this early in April, but the weather has been strange this year anyway. A lot of things have been strange. Their team, their drafts, and even this.
Minhyeong doesn’t hesitate—when the first drop of water hits his nose he turns around and starts jogging. Minseok, after a second of hesitation, follows.
Warm heat rises from the tarmac, heavy with the scent of petrichor. Apart from their footsteps and the drilling storm, the narrow alley heading back towards the dorm is quiet. The path is familiar enough that Minhyeong doesn’t have to think about it at all; he can lose himself in the feeling of the firm road beneath his feet and the lash of rain against his skin.
They’re completely soaked by the time they reach the dorms.
“My room?” Minseok asks.
Minhyeong slides his gaze over to him and pauses.
Minseok isn’t looking at him—he has his gaze fixed on the plastic doormat outside the building where he’s wiping his feet. Strings of crystal raindrops drip off the ends of his hair. The white t-shirt he had worn for the jog has long become translucent, clinging to swathes of his ribs. As if sensing his gaze, Minseok turns to look at Minhyeong.
“What?”
“My room,” Minseok repeats. A faint red glow of exertion stains his cheeks. Under Minhyeong’s eyes, the raindrop clinging to his lower lip cascades off the precipice of it and slinks down his chin to soak into his t-shirt.
It’s like something from one of the dramas Minhyeong’s seen on his television late at night: tension thick enough to slice hovering in the air, echoes of their panting still lingering in his ears. Minseok has always just been Minseok though. Even after all the strangeness that has been around recently. In Minseok’s gaze, Minhyeong can see himself down to his foundations.
“How about mine?” Minhyeong finally rasps out. It takes more effort than he’d like to admit to tear his eyes away and even more to tap his card on the reader at the entrance. “Mom sent some kimchi that I need to finish. We could make some ramen.”
“Okay.”
Minseok brushes past him and into the building. Minhyeong swallows down his vague restlessness and follows.
By the time Minhyeong comes back from the shower, the sky is an oil-spill. Roiling clouds flash with lightning every so often, cleaving spears of brightness in the otherwise dark house. Minseok stares blankly into a pan of boiling water. His sweatshirt— Minhyeong’s sweatshirt—gapes to reveal a slice of his tanned nape.
Saliva floods Minhyeong’s mouth in a rush. He has to swallow twice before he flicks the lights on, startling Minseok. “It’s so dark. Why didn’t you turn the lights on?”
“I didn’t realise,” Minseok says. He glances over his shoulder to meet Minhyeong’s eyes and smiles a little. That’s strange too, but in a new way. Minhyeong thinks it’s probably the best thing to come out of this whole ordeal. Minseok smiling. It softens the curves of his face and makes Minhyeong a little weak in the knees each time he sees it. “Dry now?”
“Yeah. What about you? Feeling better?”
“Better?”
Minhyeong lets his eyes wander over Minseok’s figure as he steps closer. The large hoodie, his patterned pyjamas, the slippers he commandeered from Minhyeong’s cabinet. The evening feels unspooled. It’s easier, then, to watch Minseok’s right hoodie sleeve crawl a golden forearm down and admit, “Well, you’re not usually one to come jogging. Least of all outside. Least of all with me.”
Minhyeong reaches out and folds it before it can get wet—three turns, neat and even, unlike how it was rucked up. He traces his gaze over the exposed pale blue veins tracing down Minseok’s forearm.
“I just wanted to try something new and you’ve been overthinking a lot recently. I thought this would be good for the both of us.” Minseok looks away and turns the heat off. As he pours out a cloud of steam and water into two mugs, Minhyeong folds his other sleeve up for him too, lingering on the muscle of his forearms. The sweet scent of jasmine unfurls slowly through the kitchen.
Minseok wraps his fingers around one of the mugs, content, and presses it to his chest. It’s a habit he’s shared before: something about the warmth loosening the stress that he often winds himself into. Sure enough, the sharp edges of his spine curve.
“I went to the military, okay. I can run a couple of miles easy.” Sulking. Cute.
“I know.”
“I can outpace you, but I just didn’t want to.”
“I know.” Minhyeong wraps his arms around Minseok’s waist and pulls him close. Minseok comes without a complaint, taking a sip from his mug, even when Minhyeong nuzzles the crown of his head.
Despite the relative age of their relationship, some days Minhyeong feels all too big and clumsy about it, tracing worn paths more hesitantly as if they would’ve changed. These days in particular have felt like that. Minseok knows him well, though. He doesn’t let him question his footing for too long, ready with a firm hand and firmer words.
“Maybe we should order dinner instead,” Minseok says, breaking him out of his musing. He doesn’t seem to mind being caged in Minhyeong’s arms even if Minhyeong feels like he should be. The distance between them has felt like it has fluctuated recently before settling into an awkward middle. Maybe he was the only one who thought so because his boyfriend simply nestles his head back against Minhyeong's shoulder and tilts his phone so they can both look at the food delivery app together. On the dimmed edges of the screen, Minhyeong can see the curve of his smile. “I wanted something spicy… But now I’m not in the mood for it. Do you want Italian? But I’m not in the mood for pizza…”
He mumbles to himself for a while, but Minhyeong stops listening. He’s got an armful of warm, fragrant Minseok and his gaze keeps tracing the angle of his nose and the blurry shadows that his clothes leave on his throat.
He’s so close.
“Maybe… jjamppong…”
Another crack of thunder splits the sky outside, rattling through the dorms, and Minhyeong slides his hands to either side of Minseok’s waist instead, kneading the muscle of it idly. A thought wanders across his mind, half-formed, and before he can think about it, he presses his thumbs into the divot’s of Minseok’s back and fans his fingers out. Minseok stills.
“Ya. What are you doing?”
“Your waist is barely three hands across,” Minhyeong answers honestly.
“You weren’t listening at all, were you?”
“No.” Minhyeong meets Minseok’s gaze and tries not to drop his eyes to the edges of his tea-slick lips. “What were you saying?”
“That we should get jjamppong.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Minseok parrots. The phone gets placed on the counter behind him, face-down, and Minhyeong only has a second of confusion before Minseok turns around in his arms to face him. He’s smiling again. The big, beaming smile that has graced his lips a few times more than usual these days. His arms settle comfortably around Minhyeong’s waist and squeeze. Minhyeong can’t help but lean down to press a tiny chaste kiss onto his mouth. “You’re not listening at all .”
He isn’t. It’s a little hard to when they haven’t had time together recently. Between the lack of time with each other and the team’s recent performance, nothing has felt right. Minhyeong’s had bigger things to think about than sex. But now that they’re together, his body thrums; Minseok hasn’t been this close to him in what feels like weeks .
Minhyeong slides his hands under the sweatshirt and scrapes his nails against warm skin, insistently peppering a few more kisses across Minseok’s face. “I heard you. Jjamppong.”
“You don’t like jjamppong.”
“ You like jjampong.”
“I want you to eat something you like too, dumbass,” Minseok says, dodging a kiss to nip Minhyeong's chin. He grabs fistfuls of Minhyeong’s t-shirt and tries to pull him away. “Tell me what you want to eat. Quickly.”
“You.”
It’s unbearably cheesy, yet unbearably sincere. Minhyeong can see the exact moment the word registers in his boyfriend’s eyes from the way his pupils go wide, breath catching in his throat. His obliques jump. And then Minseok slides his gaze away, flustered.
“What the fuck, asshole.”
“Can’t I?” A tremble runs up Minseok’s body. He clutches the back of Minhyeong’s t-shirt like a life-line. It’s enough to embolden Minhyeong into grabbing Minseok's waist and hoisting him up.
A pair of legs urgently close around his waist and squeeze.
“ Ya !” Minseok shrieks.
“Kitchen table.”
“What the fuck ?”
“I said I’d eat you.” Minhyeong staggers the few steps towards the table and gently lays Minseok down, making space for himself between his thighs until they’re pressed completely together, hot. Minseok’s hair isn’t long enough to splay against the wood anymore. “So: table.”
There’s a quiet moment of stillness, broken only by the staccato rain hitting the windows until they shake in their frames. The heat that felt immeasurable only prickles now. Simmers. Lights Minhyeong’s stomach on fire even as a cold breeze bursts through a crack in a window somewhere in the house.
Minseok’s ankles hook around his back, tugging him in closer.
“Quit staring,” Minseok says. The embarrassment has faded, leaving behind something much more relaxed and confident. He raises one hand to drift down Minhyeon’s bicep and digs his nail in just enough to make him focus. “I thought you said you were going to eat me.”
Tempting. So tempting. Especially when he tips his chin just the slightest bit cocky, knowing that Minhyeong has yet to refuse him much.
Hunger floods Minhyeong—ravenous and all-consuming—sunbursting from his chest to his cock until he’s firm against the junction of Minseok’s leg. He doesn’t waste more time. Minhyeong slips his palms up Minseok’s calves, dragging the fabric of the pyjamas with them, until he’s dipping his fingers under the loose hoodie. Minseok’s abdomen trembles.
The want hollows out his stomach and sends a wave of arousal rushing to his forehead. Minhyeong shoves the hoodie up. It pools in a spill of navy above the cut of Minseok’s waist, teasing shadows that make Minhyeong’s mouth water.
It really has been a long time, after all. This is what he’s been craving for days. Intimacy—both physical and mental. The feeling that Minseok isn’t as unattainable as their work has made him feel. Their attention, really, fully on each other. As if aware of his thoughts, Minseok drags his brand-like fingers up to Minhyeong’s shoulder until he has him by the nape.
His eyes burn. Lidded, liquid, dark—fixed on Minhyeong with a focus that makes Minhyeong’s cock twitch. His head is lifted off the table, abs tense as he parts his lips. Minhyeong presses their ribs together and meets him halfway.
Minseok’s tongue is soft and blunt against his own. An edge of a chewed nail catches against Minhyeong’s neck and then against his scalp, clutching at his hair. The tug feels heart-deep. Minseok, kissing him back, moans softly into his mouth.
Minseok wants him.
It’s not a revelation, but a reaffirmation. Something warm and tender that makes Minhyeong’s chest pulse, immediate and overwhelming. Minhyeong gives a shuddering groan against Minseok’s mouth. Minseok echoes him, legs finding immediate purchase around Minhyeong’s hips, clinging to him.
“Mmh—”
Minhyeong digs his hands under the hoodie and counts his way up his boyfriend’s ribs until he can catch one of Minseok’s nipples and roll it, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.
Minseok says something against his lips, but Minhyeong doesn’t dare to pull back enough to let him speak. He props one elbow next to Minseok’s head, leaning down further into his grasp as they kiss. The slick sounds of their mouths are loud in the kitchen. After a few more seconds of aborted sounds, Minseok gives in and hums, long and low, into Minhyeong’s mouth.
His calves squeeze around Minhyeong, encouraging him to grind down, already hard through the thin fabric of his pyjamas. At the first roll over their clothes Minhyeong feels another wave of heat pulse through him.
“Bed or sofa,” Minseok manages between kisses. In the gap between their mouths, Minhyeong can see the smear of saliva shine against his upper lip. His philtrum is flushed. “You hear me?”
“Mmhm.”
Despite the acknowledgement, Minhyeong slides a hand between them to feel the front of Minseok’s pants. His knuckles barely graze against the hardness there—fingers curling in anticipation—before Minseok catches his wrist with a rough sound, conscientious enough for the both of them.
“Minhyeong-ah,” he says as evenly as can be expected. The kitchen lights melt into his irises like marshmallows. His mouth is red. His chin is too. A thin trace of sweat traces down a sideburn. When Minhyeong doesn’t say anything else, Minseok thumbs at his thundering pulse and squeezes. “My back is killing me.”
“Okay,” Minhyeong rasps out. He leans forward for a final kiss before hauling Minseok up.
Minseok lets himself be manhandled into sitting up and offers only a sweet smile when Minhyeong snorts. Tufts of his hair stick straight up into the air like goose feathers. It’s unfair, really. Minhyeong is never quite prepared for the bouts of sweetness Minseok likes displaying every so often. Even now he uses his legs to yank Minhyeong close enough for a kiss to the temple. Minhyeong closes his eyes.
Warm lips skim his right eyelid before settling on the knife of his cheek. “Show me the result of your workouts, Minhyeong-ie. Won’t you carry me?”
It’s really unfair.
The kitchen light haloes Minseok, lighting the dried ends of his hair silver like a dandelion. Minhyeong pulls away and lets his hands caress up his thighs, gently squirming his fingers under Minseok’s ass to pull him up and into his arms. With this conscious deliberateness it’s easy to notice that he’s lighter than Minhyeong remembers him being. Or perhaps the team’s recent odd atmosphere is hitting Minseok harder than he’s let on. Sleepless, appetiteless nights aren’t uncommon to either of them.
Minhyeong steps away from the table.
The living room is hoar-washed and chilly. Under their combined weight, the sofa sinks. Minseok doesn’t allow Minhyeong to move further than an inch, lips insistently following him when he tries to move back. A soft sound escapes Minseok’s throat: raw, unguarded refusal.
“I know,” Minhyeong soothes. He fumbles to a knee, shucking his pants off to dangle around the ankle planted on the floor. Minseok does less—he only tugs his pajamas halfway down his thighs. The sight of the pale, sun-starved skin makes Minhyeong’s vision spin. “Minseok-ie, fuck .”
“That’s the plan,” Minseok laughs. His breath catches on itself though and peters into a moan, thighs clamping around Minhyeong’s hand when he presses it between his legs.
He’s wet .
Minhyeong’s heart jackhammers in his ears, lobes suddenly hot.
“Like it?” Minseok tips up into his fingers, pushing the tips right inside.
“Love it.” The word trips out of his mouth, uncontained. Minhyeong rubs a thumb over the soaked, soft rim of Minseok’s hole a few more times, still in disbelief. He picks up a gentle pace, wrist aching, just to watch the lube leak and spill onto his palm. “Minseok-ie, you’re…”
“Great?” Minseok gasps. His heels kick the arm of the couch, calves tense. His stomach is tense too. After a few seconds, he hooks a hand around Minhyeong’s shoulder and digs his bitten fingernails into the muscle there. The elastic waistband of his pajamas stretches and strains against the way Minseok fights to spread his knees. Minhyeong sweeps a hand to pull them lower, letting them tangle at Minseok’s calves. “I know.”
“You made tea like this?”
Minseok’s teeth glint in the dimness. The next strike of lightning lights the enamel of them silver, catching Minhyeong’s gaze like a fish hook.
“I did,” Minseok hums. He bumps his right knee up, grinding it against Minhyeong’s cock, and tempers his smile into something a touch darker. There’s no blush to him but wherever their skin meets feels like an inferno. Minhyeong can’t help but rut against him like a dog. “Wasn’t sure if you were in the mood, but I thought I’d give it a shot. We haven’t—I’ve missed you.” The words summer through Minhyeong, prickling his skin. “And this.” Minseok punctuates the words with a jerk of his knee, making Minhyeong groan. “In me.”
“ Hah .”
“I keep thinking about it every time I see the stupid hashtag too.” He pivots his knee, letting it drop back on the sofa, and Minhyeong chases it down with his own hips to keep the contact. Trails of precum make the glide slick. His hand has long gone limp, barely able to focus, and it’s only when Minseok squeezes around his fingers that Minhyeong gathers his wits to pull them out. Minseok makes a small sound. “You’re really out of it, huh.”
“No shit,” Minhyeong gasps. He leans down to take a few more kisses, tongue flexing and licking against Minseoks’ own until words are the last thing from either of their minds. But still, the question prickles: “What hashtag?”
“ T1 in me ,” Minseok says, the English words awkward in his mouth. He drags his tongue down Minhyeong’s chin. A hot puff of breath escapes his nose and hits the trail of saliva, making Minhyeong shiver. “‘ Gumayusi in me ’ would hit better, don’t you think?”
The words snap Minhyeong’s resolve like a twig.
They both reach down at the same time, fingers clashing and tangling in their reach for Minhyeong’s cock.
Minseok doesn’t relinquish his grip, leaning up to breathe against Minhyeong’s ear, “There’s a condom in my pocket.”
“ Fuck .”
About ten more curse words flood his mouth in rapid succession but Minhyeong bites his lip around them. His fingers feel big and unwieldy. Minseok’s stupid pajamas twist on themselves and make it difficult to find the pocket, especially in his hurry. Minseok doesn’t make it easy either—his fingers dart up and around, circling Minhyeong’s shaft, stroking him, panting like he’s the one getting off.
Their gazes snag. Minseok stares down at him, heavy-lidded, open-mouthed, breaths coming in hot puffs that practically condense in the room. Minhyeong stares back. He doesn’t know if Minseok’s intentionally trying to seduce him, but there’s no point in wondering at all. Not when Minseok’s desire-laden gaze is heavy on him.
Minhyeong puts the condom on without looking, sliding his gaze from Minseok’s flushed face to his hole. It twitches around nothing, a glimmer of lube slipping out.
“Minhyeong-ah,” Minseok mumbles, hands darting between them again before Minhyeong swats them away. “Huh?”
“Hold on.”
Minhyeong gathers up both of Minseok’s legs, swinging them over a shoulder as he pulls him closer by the hips. Minseok’s going to be sore tomorrow—he knows it already—but it’s well worth the startled look. Minhyeong turns to kiss Minseok’s calf, tracing a few ticklish kisses before ending on a bite, sliding his gaze sideways to meet his boyfriend’s. Minseok swallows.
A crack of thunder roars through the room. Minseok, eyes squeezed shut, grasps at the forearm Minhyeong’s planted beside his head for balance. His weak grip slides until it shackles Minhyeong’s wrist.
Minhyeong misses the soft, wet target of Minseok’s hole on the first thrust. His cock slips, catching against Minseok’s sac and sliding against his length. Neither of them look down. Minseok, trembling, bites his lip. On the second thrust, the head of Minhyeong’s cock finally catches and hooks in, spearing through.
They both gasp. Minseok’s thighs flex, heels kicking at Minhyeong’s back—but Minhyeong barely notices the reactions. The heat and hunger that have been eating him alive make him feel like he’s being boiled alive.
There’s no need to wait for Minseok to adjust; his body is pliant and willing. Minhyeong simply hunches over him—one hand still cradling his legs, and fucks into him hard and fast like it’ll drive the distance away from them. The burning of exertion in his hips has nothing on how perfect Minseok feels around him. Minseok’s head hits the arm of the couch with a dull thump and a muffled groan, and he brings a hand up to brace himself.
“Minhyeong-ah—” Minseok gives a long, wobbling moan, punctuated into a stutter by the brutal pace. He kicks at Minhyeong again, like he can’t help it, and his calves tense. The pajamas have slid lower, dangling on one ankle. “Mm m —slow—slow d-down—it’s been a while—”
“I’m trying,” Minhyeong bites out, chest hot.
He did start slow. Maybe for all of two thrusts, though. And it’s getting harder now—especially when Minseok clenches hard on his cock like he’s hit the right spot.
And Minhyeong’s always been good at things like this—at finding and chasing and kiting, at standing there and hitting everything he needs to. He finds a groan leaving his lips as he focuses, leaning down to shorten the distance between them.
He drops to an elbow, cupping the crown of Minseok’s head, settling around him, and caging him in. It’s far too intimate; their brows press together, clammy with sweat, and noses brushing hot air across each others’ skin. Minseok has no choice but to hold his gaze.
Minhyeong’s heart races. He chases a kiss first, shutting his eyes away from the intensity of that hot gaze. Each puff of breath is hot and panted between them, scorching when Minseok kisses him back, fisting his free hand in Minhyeong’s hair.
Not enough , Minhyeong thinks deliriously. He wants to be closer. He wants to press them skin-to-skin until he can feel Minseok’s heartbeat against his own.
Minseok definitely feels the strain. His breaths start becoming louder, voice cut off into wheezes and moans that barely force their way out of him with Minhyeong’s weight bearing on him. A red flush takes over his face and spills fingers down the valley of his chest. Sweat beads pearls on his skin. The fabric of the hoodie crumples Minhyeong's name like a claim. He’s one of the most attractive sights Minhyeong has seen in a long while.
The sound of their fucking is louder now, the slap of Minhyeong’s hips against Minseok’s ass wet and fast.
Minseok doesn’t let him go far. He kisses him—again and again until Minhyeong’s head is spinning and his lungs burn, brain too scattered to focus on a proper rhythm. Minseok grabs at his shoulders desperately, then drags his hands down Minhyeong’s back hard enough to hurt even with his closely-trimmed nails before settling on his hips, digging in with his fingertips. He’s hot and wriggling beneath him, sucking on his upper lip and biting at the lower after like he means to claim it.
Claim him .
“Minhyeong-ah,” Minseok moans his name. He licks the sweat off Minhyeong’s chin, eyes locking onto his. His cock bounces between them both, smacking his stomach, but he makes no attempt to grab at it. And despite the lack of friction it has, a pool of glistening precum sits on his belly, trickling higher up his ribs. “Minhyeong-ah, say something. Talk to me—”
Minhyeong can’t bring himself to deny him.
“You’re so hot.” Minhyeong’s breath catches, shuddering through him. He fucks Minseok hard enough to make the couch creak and groan beneath them. A soft flump drifts over as Minseok’s pajamas finally fall off his foot and onto the ground. “You need to shut up.”
Minseok says a mangled syllable around a groan—something that could be what or huh . Something tickles in Minhyeong’s brain at the idea; perhaps he’s finally fucked the wittiness out of him.
“Why?” Minseok manages.
Every time Minhyeong bottoms out, Minseok squeezes and sucks his cock back in with a little sound. His thighs, red from where Minhyeong keeps his hold on them, keep struggling to spread.
“You feel…”
“Yeah?”
“You feel good , Minseok-ah,” Minhyeong says. He cups the crown of Minseok’s head and presses down to let him feel the weight of it, fucking him deeper than before. He’s aching now as well—both from the exertion and just how badly he wants to come. “You feel so good. Makes me want to stay inside you forever.”
Minseok doesn’t say anything but his eyes squeeze shut again, breaths coming out hard through his nose. The hoodie is up near his throat, patchy with sweat. A fresh gush of fluid drips onto his belly, sliding down his side and onto the couch. Minhyeong can feel him contract—hard and sharp—and knows that he’s close.
“C’mon, Minseok-ie,” Minhyeong murmurs, settling his weight lower and thrusting more shallowly so he’s within kissing distance again.
“Minhyeong-ie—” Minseok makes a small, strangled noise in the back of his throat, his damp hair lifting and falling as he’s bounced on Minhyeong’s cock.
Minhyeong kisses Minseok’s cheekbone and the skin under his eye and his temple, and then across to his ear, before whispering right into it: “time to come for me, Minseok-ie.” He feels Minseok lurch and spill between his fingers, dripping stickiness between them, a high-pitched nasal whine almost lost into the curve of Minhyeong’s ear.
Untouched. Instant. Minhyeong would be a fool to think he was waiting for permission, but the idea is hot enough that he allows himself a moment of selfishness. Minhyeong licks the sound from his mouth, kissing since he can’t spare a hand to touch him.
Minseok squeezes around him tight and sporadic and Minhyeong’s breath hitches. His groan feels squeezed from his lungs. The orgasm that follows feels like catharsis—crashing through him in a wave of pleasure so massive that it has him trembling over Minseok.
His whole body feels loose. Exhausted.
By the time the ringing in his right ear stops, Minseok has already pawed at him a few times, clearly asking to be released.
Minhyeong blinks back to awareness and leans back, lowering both of Minseok’s legs. Minseok groans and props both legs on either side of him, pressing in with his knees. After a few seconds, he holds both his arms out.
“Huh?” Minhyeong asks dumbly.
“Are you not going to cuddle?” Minseok shoots back.
“I’ll crush you.”
“You lost so much weight; you couldn’t even crush a pillow anymore,” Minseok scoffs, but he waits until Minhyeong lowers himself into his arms.
His voice is rougher than usual, his complexion blotchy and red with exertion—but he sounds…comfortable. Minhyeong takes a slow, deep breath, taking in the air heavy with the smell of sex and sweat. The exhale is equally measured and brushes across Minseok’s chest in a flurry of goosebumps.
“We have to clean up,” Minhyeong reminds him quietly. He brings a hand up to wipe away the sweat on Minseok’s chest, thumbing at the thrum of his heart beneath his fingertips. His hoodie is going to need to be washed. Still, he pulls it back down, stretching the letters of his name across his boyfriend's chest. He doesn’t particularly want to look up or move. Or remember that there are things they both need to be doing.
“Mhm.”
“Shower again, probably.”
“Don’t wanna.” Minseok tugs at his hair gently, forcing him to look up and meet that cool, dark gaze. “Hey.”
“Mm?”
A smile breaks out across Minseok’s lips. “Where’s the ramen you promised? Let’s eat something while we review some games. I’ve got some saved on my hard drive and I brought them over. We’re not letting no scrims stop you.”
Minhyeong stares at him.
It’s not that he had ever doubted Minseok, but he had thought that being benched would perhaps change how Minseok saw him. Saw them together, perhaps, too. It wouldn’t be strange.
But maybe he had over-thought that as well, like he had many other things recently.
“I love you,” he finds himself saying, eyes tracing across the embarrassment that flits across Minseok’s features.
“Ew,” Minseok says, eyes glancing away. “Love you too.”