no space ! MINSUNG

the hungover

Jisung thought he'd had a weird–ass dream.

Five seconds later, realization set in. It wasn't a dream, everything that happened last night was very much real.

Lee Minho, peacefully asleep beside him, confirmed it.

Jisung bolted upright, panicking. Why the hell was he on a twin bed with Lee fucking Minho? He glanced around. Oh, good. Still in the Room. Wait, the Room? Bed?

Okay, now he knew his life was getting ridiculous because why on god's earth did the Room make the couch into a bed? And why did Minho join him?!

"Turn into a couch. Couch!" Jisung whispered, desperate, but trying to not wake Lee up either.

He knew awkward days awaited if he woke up and then he knew that he knew that he knew they both slept in the same bed. Wait, that barely made sense. Jisung's head was a mess.

Ugh, he had the worst headache like he'd gone a month without drinking water.

He sighed in defeat when the Room refused to change the bed back. His gaze drifted to Minho. Of course, he had to look perfect, even while sleeping—neat and put together, as always. Jisung rolled his eyes. Why did Lee get to have flawless skin and plump lips... Wait, he was getting off track again.

He turned and spotted a bucket—right, the puke. He'd thrown up in front of Minho last night. Fantastic.

"Can you at least make that go away?" He asked the Room. Surprisingly it did listen, the bucket vanished.

As he tried to figure out what to do, bits of last night resurfaced in his memory, it was almost hard to realize if they were a dream.

"You're hot."

"Your hands! I mean your hands! They're hot. Wait, that's still weird."

"I mean, I guess your smile could be, maybe, at a certain angle, kinda cute, like when you look at Chicken..."

"Now that we know what kind of drunk you are, I'll make sure you don't drink next time."

"Can you stroke my hair? Chan does it when I can't sleep,"

Oh.

My.

God.

No. No, no, no.

He'd made an absolute fool of himself—in front of Minho. And Minho was definitely going to use it against him.

Vague memories of Minho carrying him here flickered back, and—oh no. He cried. Jisung wanted to curl up and disappear. What had been in his drink to make him Lee-obsessed? Maybe he was one of those slutty drunks. If they'd left him with Selene five more seconds, he probably would've made out with her. Not that he'd ever thought about that with Minho, obviously. Nope. Never.

Should he sneak out? Obliviate Minho? He sat there, frozen.

Just as he was about to decide, Chicken jumped on Minho and licked his face. Jisung moved to stop him, but apparently, Minho was a light sleeper.

Minho giggled. Giggled. Jisung couldn't believe his ears.

Then Minho woke fully and looked at Jisung—but didn't seem all that surprised.

"Shit, I slept in," Minho said, his voice husky. Jisung's eyes widened. Minho sat up, and even though Jisung tried to shrink into a corner, the bed was too small.