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The roar of thousands filled the stadium like a second skin. Minho stood center stage, sweat clinging to his brow, the buzz of adrenaline still racing under his skin even as the final note faded. A second ago, he’d been grinning, wide, cocky, after shooting a blast of water straight into Seungmin’s back while waiving goodbye at the camera. The crowd had screamed, some laughed, some gasped.
Seungmin had whipped around, scowled with mock offense, and Minho had shrugged dramatically, grinning. As always.
It was their thing.
It had always been their thing.
But as he collapsed into the dressing room couch post-show, scrolling through tagged clips and fan reactions, the air in his lungs turned to glass.
“Minho went too far again.”
“It’s always Seungmin.”
“Lifting his shirt and splashing water at Seungmin unprovoked in New York. He also did that in Los Angeles, he pointed the water gun at Seungmin too! During cinema, he always distracts Seungmin by bumping his shoulders. And I remember him excluding Seungmin from the OT8 circle, and now this? It’s actually getting uncomfortable.”
“Does he even like Seungmin? Because that’s not how you treat someone you respect.”
“Seungmin deserves better. Someone who doesn’t make him the butt of every joke.”
Minho’s thumb froze over the glowing screen. The smile fell from his lips like it had never been there in the first place.
He locked the phone.
Then unlocked it again. Read more.
“Lee Know’s so fucking mean.”
“You can literally see Seungmin get awkward every time.”
“He’s such a bully, honestly. I don’t care if it’s ‘a joke.’”
“Seungmin isn’t his prop.”
“Not funny. Not cute. Just toxic.”
He stopped breathing for a moment.
It wasn’t the first time people misunderstood their dynamic. Their biting banter was practically a trademark. Sharp-edged teasing softened by affection behind closed doors. But this time felt different.
The comments weren’t just confused.
They were angry.
And loud.
That night, he sits in the dark at the back of their van with his phone to his hands, eyes open. Seungmin was asleep in beside him, breathing even and slow, unaware.
He thought about LA. The “Social Path” OT8 circle. He’d pushed Seungmin out and grinned, made a joke about “honorary exile,” and the fans had screamed. He’d thought it was harmless. Thought Seungmin knew he didn’t mean it.
He thought about New York. The moment the screams got louder than the music and Minho, all smug adrenaline and mischief, had lifted Seungmin’s shirt and flashed his abs to the crowd. Seungmin had yanked it down fast, barely laughing but trying to catch him and later in the dressing room he’d grumbled, “You’re lucky I don’t sue.”
Minho had just snorted. “You’re lucky I’m giving the people what they want.”
But was he?
God, was he just… humiliating him?
A sick wave of guilt swelled in his gut. His thoughts wouldn’t stop.
“What if he only laughs because he has to?”
“What if he’s just tolerating me because we’re in the same group?”
“What if he’s tired?”
“What if he’s done pretending?”
Minho rubbed the heel of his palm into his eyes, hard.
They’d have been in a relationship for 2 years, though they weren’t really loud about it. Not to anyone but the members. But they didn’t have to. Not when Seungmin curled into him after long rehearsals like instinct. Not when Minho traced circles on his arm with sleepy fingers. Not when they said nothing at all and understood everything.
So why did this feel like it was cracking?
Two days before the Chicago concert.
Minho didn’t come to breakfast when Seungmin asked him. Didn’t show up to gym call. Didn’t answer when Chan knocked on his door.
When he finally dragged himself to rehearsals, his face was a blank slate. He went through the motions. Laughed when expected. Spoke only when spoken to.
Seungmin, across the stage, kept looking at him.
Minho looked away.
He sat on the edge of the practice platform afterward, alone with his thoughts, watching the other members chat. Seungmin walked toward him.
“Hey,” he said, quiet, crouching beside him. “You’ve been weird.”
“I’m always weird,” Minho said flatly.
“Not like this.”
Minho didn’t answer.
Seungmin frowned. “Are you upset with me?”
He blinked. The question hit like a slap. “What? No.”
“Then what is it?”
Minho let out a long breath. “Just… thinking.”
“About?”
“About the fact that maybe I’m an asshole.”
Seungmin’s brows shot up. “Min—”
“No, seriously.” His voice sharpened. “What if all this time I’ve just been a goddamn prick? Everyone thinks I treat you like trash. That I bully you. That I make you look stupid on purpose. And maybe they’re right.”
“You don’t—”
“I lifted your fucking shirt in front of thousands of people knowing damn well you hate that. I made you stand outside the circle like some joke. I laughed at your face when you try to talk. I—”
“Stop it.”
Minho flinched.
“I never said those things bothered me.”
“That doesn’t mean they didn’t.”
“Minho—”
“You never complain. You never yell at me. What if you’re just swallowing it all because it’s easier than dealing with me?” His voice cracked, soft but vicious. “What if I’ve been making you feel like shit this whole time and you’re too polite to say it?”
Seungmin stared at him, chest rising and falling.
“I didn’t know you were so good at writing fanfiction,” he said flatly.
Minho let out a humorless laugh.
Seungmin sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “I know people don’t get it. They don’t have to. We do.”
Minho didn’t speak.
Seungmin turned his head. “But I won’t lie. You have been weird. So if there’s something you need to say, say it.”
Minho opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
He couldn’t say it.
Couldn’t say I’m scared you don’t love me anymore.
Couldn’t say I’m scared I ruined everything because I didn’t know how to be soft in public and now everyone hates me and maybe you do too.
Couldn’t say Please just tell me I didn’t fuck this up beyond repair.
So instead he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll tone it down in Chicago.”
Seungmin looked at him for a long, long time.
Then he said, “Hyung, just do whatever you want. I’m not complaining.”
And he walked away.
“My stubborn cat hyung…” Seungmin can only just sigh.
Minho didn’t go down for dinner.
Not even when Seungmin called his phone. Not the first time. Not the fifth. Not the tenth.
Each call rang until it went cold, the screen dimming with a hollow beep. Seungmin stared at it for a while, thumb hovering over the redial button again.
“Still not picking up?” Chan asked from across the table.
Seungmin just gave a slight shake of his head, lips pressed into a line.
“He said he was tired earlier,” Jeongin added, quietly. “Like… really tired.”
Seungmin nodded. “I’m gonna check on him.”
“Need company?” Han asked.
“No,” Seungmin said, already rising. “I’ve got him.”
He stood outside Minho’s hotel room a few minutes later, heart thudding too fast.
The hallway was silent, dimly lit. He knocked once, then again, sharp knuckles against the heavy door.
“Hyung. It’s me.”
No answer.
He knocked again.
Still nothing.
He bit his lip, glanced at the small extra keycard in his pocket, the one Minho had given him with a muttered, “Just in case I lose mine or sleep through my alarm again.”
He’d never used it.
He respected Minho’s privacy too much.
But this didn’t feel like a boundary. This felt like a silent scream he was being dared to ignore.
So he slid the card through the lock.
The click felt louder than it should have.
The room was dark, only the soft city glow filtering through the curtains. The hum of the aircon, the occasional buzz of a phone notification somewhere under a pile of clothes.
Minho didn’t notice him enter.
He was curled into himself on the bed, facing the window, blanket drawn up to his shoulders. His silhouette was small, almost childlike, shoulders trembling.
Then Seungmin heard it.
A choked sound. Barely audible.
Then another.
Soft, uneven, broken sobs muffled by the sheets.
His chest tightened like a vice.
He’d seen Minho annoyed, tired, frustrated, even silent for days. But this?
He’d never heard Minho cry. Not like this.
Not like he was trying to bury himself under the weight of his own thoughts.
He walked forward quietly, unsure if he was intruding, but his body moved on instinct. When he reached the bed, he knelt down beside it, slowly, not to scare him.
“Hyung,” he whispered.
Minho flinched, startled, then quickly turned his face into the pillow. “Go away.”
Seungmin reached out, gently cupped his jaw with both hands, trying to coax him to look.
“Hey, hey. It’s just me.”
Minho tried to turn further into the bed. “Please—just leave me alone.”
But Seungmin had already seen.
Red, puffy eyes. Tear-streaked cheeks. Lips trembling.
“Why are you crying?” Seungmin asked, voice shaking slightly. “Hyung, talk to me.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re crying.”
“I’m just tired,” Minho choked out, voice muffled and brittle. “The tour— it’s a lot. I’m just—fuck, I don’t know.”
“You’re not just tired,” Seungmin said quietly. “We’ve been tired for months. You’ve never cried over that.”
Minho didn’t respond.
Seungmin was quiet for a moment. Then, carefully, he lifted the blanket and slid onto the bed, slipping behind Minho. He wrapped his arms around him, chest pressed to his back.
Minho stiffened at first. Then crumbled.
Seungmin pulled him tighter, one hand running gently through his hair, the other rubbing circles over his chest.
“Please,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of Minho’s ear, “just tell me what’s wrong.”
Minho swallowed hard.
There was silence for a while until Minho started speaking.
“It’s everything. It’s—” He broke off with a hiccuped breath. “I’ve been reading everything. The tweets. The comments. The videos. The clips. They all… They all fucking hate me.”
“Who?”
“Everyone. The fans. They think I’m—” He choked on the word. “Abusive. That I’m toxic. That I don’t care about you. That I make you look small on purpose. And maybe… maybe they’re right.”
Seungmin’s breath caught.
“They think I’m cruel to you,” Minho continued, voice cracking in places. “And what if they’re just saying what you’ve been too nice to say? What if you’ve been putting up with it just because we’re in the same group, or because we’re dating, or because it’s easier than arguing? What if I’ve been hurting you and laughing like it’s a goddamn joke—”
“Minho.”
“I feel like shit,” Minho whispered. “I feel like shit, and I can’t stop hearing them. I can’t stop thinking that maybe I ruined us. That you’re gonna leave. That you should leave. Because I’m just—too much.”
Seungmin turned him in his arms gently, so he was facing him.
Minho’s eyes glistened in the dark, his cheeks damp. He looked so young, so small. So unlike the Lee Minho the world knew.
Seungmin pressed his lips to Minho’s forehead. Then his hair. Then again.
Minho’s eyes fluttered closed.
“You’re not too much,” Seungmin said softly, brushing his fingers through the strands at his nape. “You’re never too much for me.”
“I don’t want people to hate me.”
“They don’t know you.”
Minho let out a weak sound. “Maybe I don’t even know me.”
Seungmin pressed another kiss into his temple. “I do. I know you. I know your heart, Minho. I’ve held it in my hands every night for two years and even the years before that. I’ve known you for so long and you’re nothing like what they are telling you you. ”
“I’m scared,” Minho whispered. “That I’m losing you. That I already have.”
“You haven’t,” Seungmin said, voice thick with emotion. “You’d have to try a hell of a lot harder to lose me.”
Minho let out a shaky laugh, barely a breath.
Then silence. Just the soft hum of city light bleeding into the room, and the sound of Minho’s breathing beginning to slow.
Seungmin held him tighter.
“Thank you,” Minho said finally, voice barely audible.
“For what?”
“For not walking away.”
Seungmin leaned his forehead against Minho’s.
“I never will. You’re stuck with me forever.”
Minho stayed tucked into Seungmin’s chest, arms loose around his waist, the air between them finally lighter, but fragile like glass. His heartbeat was still a little fast, like it hadn’t caught up to the calm yet. Seungmin kept brushing through his hair, fingers tender and slow, the kind of rhythm you only know when you’ve memorized someone down to their bones.
“You know,” Seungmin said softly, his lips grazing the side of Minho’s head, “if we were both all soft and sweet and clingy all the time…”
Minho gave a faint sniffle. “What?”
“I’d get bored.”
Minho froze. “Excuse me?”
Seungmin grinned into his hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m serious. I like our constant bickering. It’s fun.”
“Bullying,” Minho muttered.
“Bantering,” Seungmin corrected. “You pick on me, I call you names, you fake annoyance, I stare at you like I’m an insane person until you crack, you roll my eyes, i stuck my tongue. It’s our thing.”
Minho pulled back slightly, brows furrowed. “You think I fake annoyance?”
“I said what I said,” Seungmin smirked, then softened again, brushing his thumb under Minho’s eye. “But really… you’ve always made me laugh when I’m exhausted. You annoy the hell out of me, sure, but it’s the best kind of annoying. You know when rehearsals feel like hell? When we’ve been filming all day and I just want to punch the next person who talks to me?”
Minho nodded faintly.
“You,” Seungmin said, voice lower now, “make it bearable.”
Minho’s lips parted.
“You call me a loser and I roll my eyes and say you’re uglier,” Seungmin said, punctuating each word with kisses to Minho’s cheeks, his nose, his temple. “You act like a diva, and I shove your face. It’s stupid, and it’s ours. And it’s saved my sanity more times than I can count.”
Minho stared at him, glassy-eyed again, but for a different reason now.
“You sure you’re not just too emotionally constipated for mushy stuff?” he mumbled.
Seungmin snorted. “Probably. But even if I wasn’t… I still wouldn’t change how we are.”
Minho leaned his forehead against Seungmin’s shoulder.
“You’re not too much,” Seungmin whispered. “You’re exactly the right amount of everything I need. And whatever the hell people on the internet bark about, it doesn’t change anything.”
Minho closed his eyes. Let it soak in.
“They don’t fucking decide who I love,” Seungmin said. “That’s mine. It’s always been mine.”
His voice was steady now, firm and final.
“And I love you, Lee Minho. Loud, quiet, annoying, soft, sharp-tongued, water-gun-wielding idiot and all. I’ll always choose you.”
Minho let out a shaky breath. “You really mean that?”
“Are you dumb?” Seungmin kissed the corner of his mouth. “Yes. I’ve loved you through the worst dance practices, ten thousand flights, your stupid habit of screaming on my ears, and that one time you set our shower in the hottest temperature because you were annoyed that I ate the last pudding in our refrigerator that I found at the back because apparently you were actually trying to hide it.”
“That was my pudding!”
“I was the one who bought it.”
“You bought it for me though.”
“I did. I bought twelve and I wasn’t even able to eat even just one because you ate like five in a day!”
Minho finally let out a real laugh. It cracked mid-breath but it was real.
Seungmin pulled him closer, thumbs brushing his cheeks again.
“You look so baby right now,” he said, eyes gleaming. “It’s kind of alarming.”
“Don’t.”
“Your cheeks are all puffy, your nose is red. You look like a baby bunny that got yelled at by its mom.”
“I swear to God, I will kick you out of this bed.”
Seungmin smirked. “See? Now you’re back to being angry kitten.”
Minho narrowed his eyes. “If you ever bring this up in front of the others—”
“I will.”
“I will ruin your life.”
“You can try.”
Minho paused. “You still love me?”
“Obviously.”
Minho bit his lip, blinking up at him.
“…Even if I cry like a loser?”
Seungmin leaned in, pressing one kiss to his lips, slow and sure.
“Especially then.”
Minho stayed tucked under the covers, his legs tangling with Seungmin’s. The heavy quiet between them had softened, lighter now. Warmer.
Seungmin leaned in, pressing a kiss to Minho’s cheek again.
Then his jaw.
Then just below his ear.
Minho squirmed. “Yah.”
Seungmin smirked. “What? I’m just loving my bunny.”
Minho let out a mock groan and pushed at his chest. “You’re so annoying.”
“I’m the best part of your day, and you know it.”
Seungmin kissed his lips again. And again. Quick, playful, lingering just a second longer each time. Minho started to giggle, then shrieked when Seungmin’s hands found his sides and tickled lightly.
“Yah! Stop—!”
“Nope,” Seungmin grinned, peppering kisses down Minho’s throat as he squirmed and swatted at him. “I told you, you look like a baby bunny. I’m obligated to bully you.”
“You said you loved me!”
“I do. Doesn’t mean I’ll let you rest in peace.”
Minho rolled onto his back, chest rising and falling, breathless from laughter. Seungmin climbed over him, one hand beside his head, the other brushing through his hair again. Their laughter faded into quiet — that kind that stretches between two people who know each other too well.
Minho looked up at him, eyes a little glassy again, but in a different way now. “Thank you,” he said, softly.
Seungmin leaned down and kissed him. This one wasn’t teasing.
It was slow. Sure. Tender.
Minho let his eyes flutter shut and lifted a hand to the back of Seungmin’s neck, pulling him in deeper.
The kiss deepened, breath hitching. Minho made a soft noise against his lips, one that made Seungmin still for a second.
When they finally broke apart, Seungmin rested his forehead against Minho’s.
“We should stop,” he whispered, voice a little hoarse. “We have rehearsal tomorrow and…”
Minho’s fingers tightened around his wrist.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “Please… don’t stop.”
Seungmin searched his face. “You sure?”
Minho nodded, already pulling him in. “I want you.”
There was nothing frantic in the way they touched after that.
It was warm and slow, kisses falling between quiet confessions. Shirts discarded, then pants, hands skimming over skin like it was the first time again, memorizing, anchoring.
“You’re so beautiful,” Seungmin whispered, kissing down his chest.
Minho moaned softly, fingers threading through Seungmin’s hair. “Don’t stop.”
“Never.”
Seungmin hovered over him, one knee pushing firmly between Minho’s thighs, forcing them apart. His eyes darkened as they dragged across Minho’s flushed skin, slow and consuming like he was devouring the sight, not just admiring it. Like he wasn’t just memorizing, but worshiping what was already his.
“Why are you staring?” Minho breathed, voice catching, low, vulnerable, already breathless.
“Because I can,” Seungmin said softly, mouth brushing just under his collarbone. “Because you’re mine.”
The words made Minho shiver, and Seungmin felt it, the way he curled closer, fingers curling at the sheets like it anchored him to reality.
“You’re so soft,” Seungmin murmured against his skin, trailing his lips down Minho’s chest, tongue flicking, teeth lightly grazing, lips tasting every inch like a slow confession. “My little bunny. Always acting like you bite, but the second I touch you—” his voice dropped to a husky growl, “—you fucking melt for me.”
Minho’s cheeks flushed crimson, hips shifting involuntarily. “Yah…”
Seungmin chuckled, the sound dark and intimate, lips curved in a smug smile against his ribs. “You don’t like being called that?”
“…Didn’t say that,” Minho muttered, eyes fluttering shut when Seungmin nipped at a sensitive spot just below his sternum. His voice came out small, wrecked. “You’re annoying…”
“You love it,” Seungmin breathed, licking slowly down his abdomen. “You’re trembling, kitten.”
Minho’s body arched, a soft, helpless noise escaping his throat, the nickname striking deep, leaving warmth in its wake. His skin tingled everywhere Seungmin touched.
Seungmin’s hands slid lower, palms flat against Minho’s waist as he tugged the boxers down just enough to expose the soft skin of his hips. He kissed the spot right above the waistband, then nuzzled lower, lips brushing the sensitive dip where pelvis met thigh.
Minho whimpered, his hips lifting instinctively. “Please…”
Seungmin smiled into his skin. “Tell me what you want, bunny. Use your words.”
“You,” Minho gasped. “God, Seungmin, I want you. I want your mouth—your cock—just… need you.”
“Fuck,” Seungmin groaned, eyes flicking up to meet his. “So polite when you beg.” He leaned in and kissed Minho again, slow and deep, tongue tangling with his, tasting every moan.
He slid down again, finally dragging his tongue over Minho’s length, slow and wet, one hand wrapping firmly around the base while the other held Minho’s trembling thigh open. Minho cried out, breath stuttering as his fingers twisted in the sheets.
“Look at you,” Seungmin murmured between licks, lips swollen, eyes wild. “Already dripping for me. So fucking sensitive. So responsive.”
Minho’s hips bucked, and Seungmin pinned them down with a hand, mouth teasing the head of his cock l, flicking, sucking, swirling his tongue, until Minho was cursing under his breath, his voice breaking.
“Seungmin—God, fuck, please—”
“Shh, kitten, I’ve got you,” Seungmun cooed, finally taking him deep. Minho choked on a moan, legs shaking, thighs tensing around his shoulders. Seungmin worked him open with his mouth and fingers, easing in slow but with intent, preparing him carefully but teasingly.
“Seung, faster please…”
Seungmin did.
And when he finally slid into him, it was all breathless moans and trembling limbs, Minho’s gripping Seungmin’s arms like lifelines, head tossed back on the pillow, hair sticking to his damp forehead.
“Harder,” Minho gasped, wrapping his legs tight around Seungmin’s waist. “I can take it. I want to feel all of you.”
Seungmin kissed the words right from his lips. “You always take me so well, kitten. Fuck, look at you—tight and perfect for me.”
Their rhythm built quickly, desperate, passionate, intimate. Seungmin moved with powerful thrusts, hips rolling deeper each time, knowing exactly where to hit to make Minho’s gasp, cry out, fall apart. The sheets twisted beneath them. Their skin slapped, hot and sticky. The room was filled with the wet sound of bodies, low groans, and whispered “pleases” that barely made it out between kisses.
Minho wasn’t loud, he never was, but his broken moans were enough to undo Seungmin.
“Keep looking at me,” Seungmin panted, forehead pressed to his. “Don’t hide, bunny. Let me see how much you fucking love this. How much you love me.”
“I love you,” Minho gasped, voice cracking. “Seungmin—fuck, I love you—”
And he came like that, with his back arched, eyes open wide and locked on Seungmin’s, shaking with the force of it. Seungmin followed soon after, burying himself deep, groaning low against Minho’s throat as he spilled inside.
They stayed like that, tangled together in sweat and love, hearts racing against each other’s chests. Seungmin stroked a hand down Minho’s side, kissing his temple, his jaw, his lips.
“You’re mine,” he whispered again, softer this time. “Always mine.”
Minho turned his head, still dazed, and smiled, cheeks flushed, lashes wet. “Then don’t ever let me go.”
Seungmin kissed him again. “Never.”
The room was warm with the scent of sweat and sex, their bodies still tangled in the sheets. Seungmin lay on his back, chest rising and falling slowly, one arm draped over Minho’s waist. Minho rested against his side, cheek pressed to Seungmin’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded and dreamy.
Everything was quiet. Calm. Their skin still humming.
Until Minho shifted.
Seungmin barely noticed at first. The gentle shift of Minho’s hand, the subtle drag of fingers over his abs. But when that soft, teasing palm slid lower, brushing down over his thigh and curling around his cock again, half-hard, twitching slightly from sensitivity, Seungmin opened his eyes.
“…What are you doing,” he asked, voice already touched with warning and want.
Minho smirked, slow and playful. His fingers tightened around Seungmin’s cock, beginning to stroke with maddeningly lazy ease.
“You’re still hard,” Minho whispered, licking his lips as his hand moved, slow, precise. “That’s not my fault, is it?”
Seungmin groaned low in his throat, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Bunny,” he warned, catching Minho’s wrist, “if you keep doing that, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, let alone rehearse.”
“I’ll manage,” Minho said, defiant and sweet in the same breath. “Let me take care of you.”
Before Seungmin could argue, Minho leaned down and kissed him, slow at first, tongue soft and teasing, but it grew hungrier, needier. He bit Seungmin’s lower lip, then pulled back just enough to meet his gaze.
“You said I was yours,” Minho whispered. “Then let me act like it.”
And with that, he began kissing lower. Again. Down Seungmin’s chest, mouthing at every line of his torso, leaving wet trails and pink marks behind. His hands moved with him, stroking Seungmin’s back to full hardness while his mouth traveled the rest of the way.
When Minho took him into his mouth, it was with no warning, no hesitation. Just warmth, tongue, suction, a slick, eager mouth that knew exactly how to make Seungmin lose his breath.
“Fuck,” Seungmin hissed, hips jerking despite himself. “You’re such a tease, kitten.”
Minho moaned around him, the vibration sending sparks up Seungmin’s spine. He bobbed his head slowly at first, hollowing his cheeks, tongue curling around the head, tasting him, every sound Seungmin made only fueling his hunger. Then he pulled off with a wet pop, only to lick a stripe up the underside and go lower, kissing his way down between his legs, nuzzling the sensitive skin.
“Bunny,” Seungmin gasped, breath catching when he felt Minho’s tongue lower still, warm and filthy and purposeful. “Fuck—don’t you—shit—”
Minho moaned into him, lips and tongue moving sinfully, his hands gripping Seungmin’s thighs to keep him still. It was obscene.How good he was, how hungry. Seungmin’s hands flew to his hair, threading through the strands, tugging tight as he writhed beneath him.
“Minho, you’re gonna make me—fuck, stop—”
But Minho didn’t stop.
He only got sloppier. Wetter. More intense.
Seungmin’s head fell back against the pillow, jaw tight, trying to resist the coil threatening to snap.
Then it happened. Seungmin sat up suddenly, gripping Minho by the hair and dragging his mouth off him with a low, wrecked growl.
“So naughty,” he hissed, voice thick with lust. “Turning into a cock-hungry little thing now, huh? You just couldn’t leave me alone.”
Minho blinked up at him with swollen lips, flushed cheeks, and a smile oh so innocently. “Maybe I missed your cock already.”
“On all fours,” Seungmin commanded, his voice hard and low. “Now.”
Minho’s smile vanished, replaced with something darker. Anticipation. He obeyed without hesitation, crawling forward on shaky arms, back arching beautifully, ass lifted just enough, presenting himself, proud and unashamed.
Seungmin knelt behind him, one hand stroking himself, the other gripping Minho’s hip tight. “Look at you,” he muttered. “Wiggling your ass like that. You want it that bad, bunny?”
Minho nodded, looking over his shoulder with blown pupils and parted lips. “Please, Seungmin. Fill me again. Use me.”
“God,” Seungmin growled, spitting into his hand and stroking himself harder. “You don’t even know what you do to me. My pretty little kitten. Always acting like you’re innocent, then you pull shit like this.”
He dragged the head of his cock against Minho’s entrance, teasing, pushing just enough to make him whimper.
“You’re dripping,” Seungmin said, amused. “Already so open for me. I bet if I slid in now, you’d just take it all, wouldn’t you?”
“Please,” Minho whimpered, pushing back against him. “Seung—”
And Seungmin gave him exactly what he wanted.
He pushed in slowly at first, watching the way Minho’s back arched, the way he gasped and fisted the sheets, moaning through clenched teeth.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” Seungmin groaned, bottoming out. “So tight, so hot—fuck.”
He didn’t wait long before thrusting, slow, hard, deep. Minho cried out, biting into his arm to muffle the sounds, but Seungmun wasn’t having that.
“No hiding,” he growled, slapping Minho’s ass, making him jolt. “I wanna hear you. Let them all hear who’s fucking you this good.”
Minho sobbed his name, body shivering with every hard thrust. Seungmin gripped his waist tighter, moving faster now, relentless, driving into him with deep, hungry strokes that left no room for thought.
“You’re mine,” he whispered into Minho’s ear, leaning forward to kiss his nape, his spine. “No one else gets to say you’re not. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to fuck you like this.”
Minho’s reply was garbled, broken by moans. “Yours—fuck, I’m yours—don’t stop, please—”
Seungmin slipped a hand beneath him, wrapping it around Minho’s leaking cock and stroking in time with his thrusts. Minho bucked, overwhelmed.
“Come for me,” Seungmun whispered. “Be a good bunny and come for me, my love.”
And Minho did, with a loud, breathless cry, body locking up, shaking violently as he spilled all over the sheets. The sight, the sound, the feel of him clenching tight around him drove Seungmin over the edge seconds later. He thrust deep one last time and came with a groan, burying himself inside Minho and shaking with the force of it.
They collapsed together, panting, trembling, slick with sweat and come, completely spent.
Seungmin pulled Minho close, wrapping his arms around him, pressing soft kisses to the back of his neck, still catching his breath.
“Remind me to punish you again for this tomorrow,” he muttered sleepily. “If you can even stand.”
Minho giggled weakly, turning his head to kiss Seungmin’s jaw. “Worth it.”
“Little menace,” Seungmin whispered. “My naughty little bunny.”
The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing, still slowing, still syncing.
“You okay?” Seungmin asked softly, voice husky and low.
Minho blinked up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes a little glassy. “…I feel like I just got spiritually rearranged.”
Seungmin chuckled under his breath. “You did.”
Minho swatted at his shoulder weakly. “Shut up.”
Seungmin dipped his head and kissed his forehead, then the corner of his mouth. “Seriously, though. Was it too much?”
Minho shook his head. “No. It was…” He paused. “Perfect.”
“Good.” Seungmin kissed him again, then pulled back slightly and scanned Minho’s body, eyes softening. “You made a mess of yourself, kitten.”
“Yah,” Minho groaned, dragging the blanket up his chest. “Don’t say that after you—”
“You what? Wrecked you?”
Minho stared at him, deadpan.
Seungmin just smirked.
Then without another word, he stood, padded over to the bathroom, and came back a moment later with a warm towel and water bottle. He sat on the edge of the bed and helped Minho sit up slowly, holding the water to his lips.
“Drink.”
Minho obeyed, watching him with wide, unreadable eyes.
Seungmin carefully wiped him down next, gentle, unhurried, not even pretending to rush. Minho watched silently, not just because his body was still recovering, but because his heart was clenching.
No one had ever taken care of him like this before. Not like he was something precious.
“Seungmin…”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
Seungmin looked at him, eyes a little soft around the edges. “I know.”
He leaned in and kissed Minho’s lips again, slow and sure then pulled him back into bed and wrapped him up, limbs tangled beneath the sheets.
They fell asleep like that. Quiet and warm and whole.
The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains.
Minho stirred when he felt something soft on his cheek. Lips.
Then another kiss, to his jaw, his neck, his shoulder.
“Mm…”
“Minho,” Seungmin whispered. “Time to wake up.”
Minho cracked one eye open. “Already?”
Seungmin smiled down at him, hair slightly mussed from sleep, shirt loose, eyes impossibly fond. “You need to eat.”
Minho blinked. Then shifted.
And winced.
“Hell…” he groaned, flopping back onto the pillows. “I can’t feel my legs.”
Seungmin tried to stifle a laugh and failed. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m not being dramatic. You broke me.”
“You asked for it.”
Minho glared at him. “I was emotionally vulnerable and seduced by your stupid dog face.”
“You were begging.”
“I was being romantic!”
Seungmin grinned and leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. “Well, romantic or not, I’ll take care of you.”
Minho hesitated, his smile faltering for half a second. “Hey… about last night.”
Seungmin stilled. “What about it?”
“I just… sorry for being so emotional. I didn’t mean to make things heavier than they needed to be.”
“Hyung.”
He looked up.
Seungmin’s eyes were warm. “You’re allowed to have feelings. I’d be more concerned if you didn’t.”
Minho frowned. “But I—”
“Stop.” Seungmin cupped his cheek. “You can be strong and still need comfort. You can be the sharp-tongued little shit you are and still cry sometimes. You don’t have to be anything other than yourself, alright? People will bark all they want but I’m the only one who gets to choose you. And I always will.”
Minho blinked rapidly. “You’re so annoying when you’re right.”
“I know.” Seungmin kissed his nose. “Now. You can’t walk.”
Minho groaned again. “I really can’t.”
“Which means I get to carry you. Romantic, right?”
Minho stared at him. “If you dare bridal-carry me into the shower—”
“I already texted Chan we’re skipping morning rehearsal. Told him you weren’t feeling well.”
“You mean you wrecked me and now you’re feeding me like a wife from a medical drama.”
“Exactly.”
Seungmin stood, pulled the sheets off of Minho, who yelped and scrambled to cover himself again.
“Seungmin!”
“Oh, hush. I’ve seen it all.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” Seungmin leaned down and scooped him up in one smooth motion, arms firm around his back and under his knees.
Minho squeaked. Actually squeaked.
“If you drop me—!”
“I’d never drop my wife,” Seungmin smirked.
Minho hid his face in Seungmin’s neck. “I hate you so much.”
“You keep saying that, but I remember very clearly how many times you moaned my name last night.”
Minho groaned. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“Nope.” Seungmin kissed his forehead. “Now let me shower you, feed you, and kiss you like the spoiled wife you are.”
Minho mumbled something against his skin.
Seungmin smiled. “What was that?”
“I said you’re lucky I love you.”
“I’m the luckiest man alive.”
And that morning, for the first time in days, Lee Minho didn’t feel heavy.
He felt loved.
And that was enough.
The Chicago air buzzed with anticipation. Backstage, the atmosphere crackled with energy. Dancers stretching, stylists checking fits, members warming up their vocals and cracking last-minute jokes to ease the tension that always settled just before they stepped into a stadium full of screams.
Minho stood in front of the mirror, dabbing the corners of his lips with a tissue as makeup artists finished blending the final touches into his skin. He looked perfect.
But Seungmin knew that tension well. Knew that Minho’s silence right now was a quiet war between adrenaline and memory.
“Hyung,” Seungmin murmured, stepping closer.
Minho glanced at him through the mirror.
“Look at me.”
Minho turned, chest rising slightly. Seungmin walked into his space without hesitation, fingers tugging lightly at the collar of Minho’s shirt, adjusting it like it mattered, like it wasn’t just an excuse to touch him.
“Whatever happens out there,” Seungmin said gently, “whatever people scream or post or assume…”
Minho’s eyes flickered.
Seungmin brought his hand up to Minho’s cheek and held it there. “None of them get to decide how we treat each other. Or how you should feel.”
Minho leaned slightly into the touch, almost imperceptibly.
Seungmin whispered, “So just enjoy it tonight. Okay? Laugh. Dance. Sing your heart out. Make them scream. I’ll be watching you the whole time.”
That earned the tiniest twitch of Minho’s lips.
Seungmin leaned in and kissed him, not a soft peck, not a rushed goodbye, but a deep, anchoring kiss. One that told Minho everything he needed to remember. You’re not alone. I love you. You are wanted. You belong here.
And when the mic checks finished and the stadium darkened and the lights finally flared—
Minho came alive.
From the very first track, it was obvious, Minho had found himself again. His movements were sharper, crisper, but more than that he was joyful. That cocky smirk had returned. He pointed at the camera, teased fans on the barricades, threw hearts like they were grenades.
Seungmin, mid-verse, glanced over once just to check.
Minho caught his eyes instantly.
Seungmin mouthed, “I love you.”
And Minho… grinned. Big. Toothy. That real, feline grin Seungmin knew was genuine.
The crowd lost their minds, but all Seungmin could hear in that moment was the sound of Minho’s laughter echoing in his chest.
Then came “Cinema.”
Their stage.
The moment their voices and hearts got to take center spotlight, not just as idols, but as artists. As partners.
The lights dimmed, a soft instrumental playing as Minho began his walk from the extended stage, his steps slow, deliberate. Seungmin mirrored him from the main stage, both approaching the center like magnets.
And in the middle of that slow approach, surrounded by 40,000 screaming fans, pyrotechnics, and flashing lights, they looked at each other.
They didn’t glance.
They looked.
The eye contact was locked. Long. Unflinching.
Minho’s jaw tightened, lips parted slightly. Seungmin’s heart pounded as he walked closer, never once breaking that stare.
There were no smiles.
Just intensity. Like they were standing in a memory.
By the time they reached center, they sat beside each other. Legs folded, shoulders touching, gazes tilted toward the lights above.
The crowd might’ve screamed for the harmony, for the emotion, but the most electric thing in that stadium wasn’t a note.
It was that gaze.
Mid-song, after Seungmin’s ment, a heartfelt message to Chicago Stays, he turned toward Minho while they were walking.
Minho was watching him again, eyes a little watery from the beauty of the moment. Seungmin paused, barely breaking his sentence.
Because the two are both menaces, Seungmin pointed Changbin’s name at the credits rolling up at the screen. A promise he made to Changbin.
Minho smirked.
Seungmin’s smile faltered, just slightly, before he broke into a laugh, eyes crinkling. Minho’s laughter followed half a beat later, soft and brief, shared only between the two of them.
The kind of moment that didn’t need translation. The kind that didn’t belong to anyone else.
—
Then came the mid concert ment section. Chan handing the mic off to Minho, calling him to hype the crowd.
“All right, Lee Know, let’s go!”
The crowd screamed at just his name. Minho bobbed his head to the rhythm of their chants, already grinning, already in his element.
Then—
“1… 2… 3… SCREAM!”
And the entire stadium exploded.
The ground shook.
Minho laughed, full and bright, lifting the mic again as he repeated the call and waved his arms.
From the sideline, Seungmin watched him with the softest expression. A quiet, proud smile played at his lips as he clapped and cheered beside the members, motioning at the fans in the pit to scream louder.
He’s back, Seungmin thought. He’s really back.
There was also a moment when the members was saying their ments and Minho, a very random Minho, just straight up went to Seungmin, circling on him, just staring so randomly and not saying anything.
“Well, typical cat behavior.” Seungmin thought.
The chaos reached its height during “Chk Chk Boom (Festival Ver.).”
Minho jumped off the stage and into the extended floor zone, snatching a Stay’s phone mid-chorus with a gleeful shout. The crowd roared in surprise as he spun it around and suddenly, Seungmin’s face appeared on the screen.
Seungmin blinked, confused at first, caught while getting water.
Minho pointed the camera at him with a huge grin, wiggling his eyebrows. Seungmin sighed, but just let him be, indulging him with a confused but fond look.
Then Minho ran off, laughing, handing the phone back like nothing happened.
Seungmin shook his head. Menace.
Moments later, Seungmin, soaked with sweat and adrenaline, grabbed a water bottle, grinning as he splashed it toward the pit.
Just as Minho walked by.
The water hit him dead in the chest.
Minho glared.
Seungmin just burst out laughing.
Minho rolled his eyes, but there was no fire behind it. He kept dancing. Kept smiling.
Kept being Minho.
And Seungmin had never felt more proud.
Backstage after the concert, chaos continued. Stylists buzzing, dancers high on adrenaline, staff yelling congratulations.
Minho pulled his in-ears off with a long sigh, running his hand through drenched hair.
And then, arms.
Seungmin appeared from nowhere, arms around his waist, dragging him in by the collar and pressing a deep, hot, grounding kiss to his lips. Minho gasped slightly, caught off-guard, but kissed back immediately.
“You,” Seungmin breathed, pulling back just a little. “Were amazing.”
Minho smiled, dazed. “Yeah?”
“Yes. And also a menace.”
“I accept both.”
Seungmin laughed and kissed him again. Once, then twice, then lightly on the nose. “I’m proud of you, hyung.”
Minho melted, just a little.
Then comes the final city.
Toronto air carried the same energy as every city before it—thick with excitement, anticipation, and the bittersweet sting of lasts. Last mic checks, last crowd calls, last of the North American tour.
But backstage, things were anything but solemn.
There was laughter. Hairdryers humming. Costumes being zipped, sneakers being tied, vocal warm-ups echoing from every corner of the dressing room.
And in the middle of it all, Minho stood in front of the mirror, stretching one arm lazily across his chest.
Seungmin entered the room, fixing his in-ear monitor as his eyes casually scanned for him because no matter how many cities they’d visited, he always looked for Minho first.
Minho spotted him immediately.
“Hyung,” Seungmin greeted, stepping forward.
But before Seungmin could say anything else, Minho grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a corner, just out of the way of the stylists and cameras. He stared at Seungmin like he had something serious to say, eyes narrowed like he was searching for something in Seungmin’s face.
Then he smirked.
“Watch out tonight,” he murmured, leaning in close.
Seungmin blinked. “Why?”
Minho leaned closer still, voice dropping just above a whisper. “I plan on being a menace.”
And before Seungmin could roll his eyes or even react, Minho kissed him. Bold and fast and a little smug like he was claiming victory before the game even began.
Then he pulled away, adjusted his mic pack with a dramatic little hair flip, and strutted off toward formation call like he was on a runway.
Seungmin, utterly unbothered, just shook his head and laughed under his breath.
God, he loved him.
From the second the concert began, Minho radiated sunshine.
Literally.
The golden hour light hit him perfectly during their opening ment, making him squint adorably as he introduced himself.
“I’m Lee Know,” he said with a dazzling grin, eyes squeezed almost shut against the sunlight.
The fans screamed, completely losing it at his cuteness. Seungmin, standing a few members down, bit back a smile.
Minho kept blinking rapidly, trying to keep his eyes open without ruining the moment. “The sun is attacking me today,” he added, dramatically shielding his face with his hand, then peeking through his fingers like a cat caught in a nap.
And it only got worse—better—for Seungmin from there.
During “Giant,” as the choreography had them moving in synchronized dance, Seungmin turned for a beat to the side.
And right then, Minho’s hand swooped in with perfect timing to grab a cheek.
His butt cheek.
Seungmin yelped slightly, nearly missing a step.
Minho didn’t even look back.
Just kept dancing, deadly serious, except for the small victorious smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Seungmin scowled at his back, cheeks heating up. He’s so dead.
Then came “Cinema.” Their stage.
Just like in Chicago, the lights dimmed and the crowd quieted to a hush of anticipation. A soft beat hummed through the stadium as Minho and Seungmin began their walk from opposite ends.
Same routine. Same timing. Same slow pull toward center.
But something felt different tonight.
Maybe it was the knowledge that this was the last North American stop, or maybe it was just how confident Minho looked under the spotlight.
They locked eyes early.
Seungmin’s brow arched, already in challenge.
Minho met it with a smug tilt of his head.
Their feet moved, perfectly in rhythm, their gaze unmoving. The closer they got, the more intense the air felt between them.
Until—
Minho snorted.
Right in the middle of the stare down.
He tried to hold it back. Really, he did. But he just couldn’t keep the smile off his face, not when Seungmin looked so serious and so adorable, trying to be dramatic with that puffed-out chest and focused expression.
He laughed, softly. Shook his head.
Seungmin narrowed his eyes but his mouth twitched, clearly holding back his own grin.
By the time they sat down at center stage, their shoulders touched—bumped, initiated by Minho like always, but Minho leaned in slightly and whispered, “You looked like an angry puppy. I couldn’t take it.”
Seungmin elbowed him lightly in return, fighting his own smile.
The chaos peaked during “Topline.”
As the beat dropped, the members spontaneously formed a little train on stage, each linking onto the shoulders of the person in front of them as they danced around in a line.
At first, Seungmin had Jeongin behind him.
Minho didn’t notice.
Until Chan, who was watching it all from the side, burst out laughing and shouted, “Lee Know-yah!”
Minho spun around, noticed the train and immediately scampered over.
With a quick side-step, he slid himself between Jeongin and Seungmin, grabbing onto Seungmin’s shoulders like a man on a mission.
At first, it was normal.
Then.
The idea hit him.
He looked down.
Grinned.
And very, very softly—
Minho knee-butted Seungmin.
Right in the backside.
Seungmin jerked in shock.
Spun around.
“You—!” he hissed, eyes wide, scandalized.
Minho just winked and ran.
Seungmin chased him across the stage, laughing too hard to be truly angry, while the crowd went wild at the interaction.
The members just watched the chaos unfold like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Because with them, it was.
Then “Chk Chk Boom (Festival Ver.)” started.
The fan-favorite energy closer. Loud, unhinged, euphoric.
Minho danced like his foot had never been injured. He jumped, twirled, flipped his mic, shouted adlibs.
And during one of the bridge sections, as Seungmin was singing and Minho happened to pass by behind him, they locked eyes again.
No words.
Just another stare down.
A challenge.
Minho held it for a beat.
Then raised a single brow.
Seungmin pursed his lips, mid-line, but his eyes smiled. He wasn’t backing down.
And Minho?
Minho turned around, stuck his tongue out like a child, and kept dancing.
The Canada crowd was losing it.
By the time the encore rolled in and confetti began to fall like rain, Minho was drenched in sweat, breathless, but grinning so brightly it made Seungmin’s chest ache.
He was glowing.
Not just from the lights or the love from the crowd but from joy. From something whole.
Backstage, as the lights dimmed and the final ments echoed through the arena, Seungmin found Minho again, towel draped around his neck, still catching his breath.
Minho turned to him.
And before Seungmin could say anything, Minho just smiled.
That same cat-like grin Seungmin first fell in love with.
Then Minho stepped in and hugged him, tight, burying his nose against Seungmin’s shoulder for a second.
“Thank you,” he whispered, voice raw with emotion and exhaustion. “For not letting me forget who I am.”
Seungmin hugged him back just as tightly.
“You’re annoying,” he murmured against Minho’s ear.
Minho chuckled. “I know.”
“But I’m proud of you. So, so proud.”
Minho’s arms tightened around him.
And though the fans wouldn’t ever know what this moment meant, though their relationship remained theirs alone, Seungmin wouldn’t trade any part of it.
Not the chaos. Not the teasing.
And definitely not the menace with the sharp smile and soft heart who held him like this.
Because in the end, Minho wasn’t just back.
He was home.
And Seungmin was where he’d always be—right there with him.
Later, after they’d changed into sweats and oversized tees, seated in the van driving them back to the hotel, the world slowed down again.
Minho curled beside Seungmin on the backseat, head tucked into his shoulder, arms wrapped loosely around his waist. The exhaustion hit hard now, post-concert high fading into heavy limbs and aching muscles.
“I’m tired,” Minho mumbled into Seungmin’s neck.
“I know,” Seungmin whispered, stroking his arm gently.
“But I’m happy.”
Seungmin smiled and kissed the top of his head. “You did a good job.”
Minho blinked up at him, eyes half-lidded.
“Really?”
“Really. You lit that stage up.”
Minho nuzzled closer.
“And tomorrow,” Seungmin added, voice teasing, “you can go back to being a little shit.”
Minho chuckled sleepily. “Thanks for the permission.”
“You’re welcome, kitten.”
And as the van rumbled quietly beneath them, and the Toronto skyline shimmered in the distance, Minho closed his eyes, wrapped in arms, in love, in quiet, and in peace.
He didn’t have to be anything but himself.
And Seungmin would always be right there.