ONE SHOTS🍒| STRAY KIDS

45. Bang History: The Extra Credit You Can't Study For

Band: Stray Kids
Ship: ChanSung
Top: Chan
Bottom: Jisung
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It started with a very innocent plan.
A lie.
A harmless, scholarly little lie.

Jisung had insisted he needed to study for his history midterm.
Specifically: "World War II, hyung. I literally might fail. If I get anything lower than a B, I'm legally required to cry in the quad in front of everyone."

So naturally, Chan told him to come over.

What he should've done was send Jisung a link to an online quiz and barricade the door to his dorm.

Jisung was just supposed to come over to Chan's dorm to study. Like, actual studying. History midterms. World War II. Dead dictators. Definitely not anything remotely horny.

But then again, when has anything involving Jisung and Chan ever stayed innocent for more than fifteen minutes?

Instead, he cleaned the apartment, sprayed cologne like a lunatic, and even wore his sluttiest sweatpants. You know the ones. The soft gray ones. The ones that left nothing to the imagination if you stared too long.

Exactly.

Jisung noticed immediately.
Because he was a menace. A loud, short, over-caffeinated menace with zero self-control and at least seven different kinks disguised as personality traits.

"Nice outfit," Jisung said, stepping in like he didn't just almost trip on the welcome mat. He held up an iced coffee. "I brought motivation."

Chan looked at the coffee. Then at Jisung.

Black jeans, oversized hoodie, headphones around his neck like a feral gamer boy, and lips that looked way too biteable for someone trying to study.

"You're late," Chan said flatly, even though he'd timed his Spotify queue to start a lo-fi playlist right as the door opened.

"I stopped to cry about capitalism, sue me."

"Valid."

"I'm here to learn about Stalin," Jisung said, his voice cracking halfway through.

Chan didn't even look up from his laptop. "You said that like it's code for something."

"Is it not?"

Chan looked at him now. "Depends on how much of a masochist you are."

"...That's a later convo," Jisung muttered, sitting down and immediately launching his coffee onto the desk by accident.

Chan didn't react. This was normal. This was Tuesday.

They lasted fifteen minutes.

Fifteen whole minutes of Jisung sitting beside Chan at his desk, mumbling about Mussolini while bouncing one knee like he had bees in his bloodstream.

Chan was seated on his bed in his usual disaster gay outfit, sweatpants, a sleeveless shirt with the sides cut so low it was basically a cropped curtain, and messy post-shower hair that screamed "I smell amazing and I know it."

Then came the shift.

Chan leaned back to stretch, groaning as his spine popped. Jisung turned his head, eyes zeroing in on the exposed sliver of Chan's abs under his lifted shirt.

His brain short-circuited.

He stood up.

And sat directly on Chan's lap.

Like it was a perfectly reasonable thing to do in the middle of talking about fascism.

Ten minutes into trying to read the first paragraph of the textbook, Jisung had caused gay panic while embodying gay panic.