CRIMINAL // minsung

chapter 19

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"Is something wrong, detective? You look a little pale." Minho halted to watch Han's reaction.

"No, I'm good." Han gulped staring around the room.

Through the small, blurry window Han noticed the sun starting to rise, creating a dim lighting in the space. The empty glass was on the nightstand, and the small closet opened as Minho rummaged around to find Han some clothes.

Finally Han's eyes were glued onto the bed, where the sheets were just as messy as he left them.

Minho was about to hand him a pair of sweatpants, but Han's mind was racing so fast he didn't even notice.

The feeling he was experiencing was something fairly new to him, although it had been common for the past 24 hours.
It was somewhat a mixture of horror and thrill - he often mixed up those two, which wasn't good at all - and denial.

"Do you want these clothes or would you rather stay in that towel?"

Han snapped out of his thoughts and grabbed the pile from Minho without saying a word.

"Well, detective, I'm really tired, so I'm going to sleep," Minho said with a light tone in his voice as he fell down to sit on his bed.

"Wha- where am I supposed to sleep?"

"Do you not see the bed in front of you?"

"Yeah, but-... It's yours..."

That didn't seem to bother you the last time."

"I-"

"You do whatever you want."

"What?"

"I said, do whatever you want." Minho repeated and took off his hoodie. Feeling Han's gaze on his body, Minho smiled to himself and then slid under his blanket.

Han caught a better glimpse of his tattoos before they got buried under the sheets. Not having any space to think about why he even was curious about them, he was conflicted.
Do whatever I want?
He must've said that by accident.

But Minho closed his eyes peacefully, because he knew exactly what he said. And he also had a strong feeling about what Han wanted.

Because what Han wanted to do was not the same thing as what Han should do.
Han should escape. Han should run down those stairs and out of the door and never look back.

But what Han wanted- no, what Han needed,-  was Minho.

He slowly put on his clothes and then just stood there. His mind was flooded with certain scenarios, all of them which were powered by the sight of Minho laying in his bed, vulnerable.
He switched his position and the blanket slid off his back, revealing his toned- and scarred?- back.

Han's vivid imagination was starting to get the best of him, and in a daze he took a silent step closer to the bed, closer to Minho.

Minho turned around to lay on his back.