minsung one shots

the longest five days

ⁿᵒᵗ ʳᵉᵠᵘᵉˢᵗᵉᵈ
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fluff / 554
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the front door clicked open just after 8 p.m., and the soft shuffle of suitcase wheels on hardwood followed. the apartment was quiet, lights dimmed, and the faint scent of chamomile tea lingered in the air - something minho always associated with home. he barely had time to step in before a body collided with his.

jisung was already there, waiting - had been since late afternoon, pacing the apartment, straightening things that didn’t need fixing, checking his phone every five minutes. the moment he heard the telltale beep of the security lock, he launched toward the door like a wave crashing toward shore.

and now, finally, jisung was in his arms. or rather, minho was in his - arms wrapped tightly around minho’s neck, nose pressed into his shoulder, breath shaky and warm against his skin. minho’s luggage thudded to the floor, forgotten.

they stood like that in the doorway for almost ten minutes. neither of them spoke. the weight of the past five days pressed between them - five days of solo dinners, quiet nights, and the absence of breath in the bed beside jisung. five days of missing texts, lonely morning routines, and pillowcases that didn’t smell like minho anymore.

minho tightened his hold, burying his face in jisung’s hair. it still smelled like lavender shampoo. still smelled like home. he exhaled slowly, grounding himself in the moment.

“I missed you,” jisung mumbled into minho’s neck, voice muffled but raw.

“I know,” minho whispered back, his throat tight.

eventually, they moved - shoes kicked off, bags pushed aside, the lights dimmed further as they padded toward the bedroom like gravity had finally set in. minho changed into a worn shirt and soft sweatpants; jisung had already showered, his hair damp, skin warm with lingering bath steam.

they slid under the covers, the hush of the apartment wrapping around them like a blanket. minho opened his arms wordlessly, and jisung curled into him immediately - his head on minho’s chest, hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt, legs tangled with his.

the silence was tender. not awkward, not heavy. just full of things neither had to say out loud.

minho brushed his fingers slowly through jisung’s hair. “I missed you too.”

jisung shifted closer, impossibly close, like he wanted to crawl inside the space between minho’s ribs. his voice was quiet when he spoke next, barely a breath:

“I’ve barely slept those five days because you weren’t here to hold me.”

minho froze. his heart lurched. the kind of confession jisung didn’t make often - not out of pride, but because his love was steady, not loud. but here in the dark, wrapped in each other, vulnerability had a different weight.

minho blinked, once, twice - his vision blurring anyway. he tightened his arms, kissed the crown of jisung’s head. “I’m here now,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I’m not going anywhere.”

jisung didn’t reply. he didn’t need to.

minho lay awake for a little while longer, holding the person who had waited five nights without sleep for him. his husband. his best friend. his home.

and eventually, as jisung’s breathing slowed into the rhythm of sleep - safe, finally, in his arms - minho let the tears fall, silently, into the dark. not out of sadness. but because some kinds of love were so deep they had nowhere else to go.

09.05.2025