minsung one shots

cuddle me?

ⁿᵒᵗ ʳᵉᵠᵘᵉˢᵗᵉᵈ
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4695 / fluff
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ᴵ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰⁱˢ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ

maybe the question jisung asked most often was, “can you cuddle me?”

and minho - ever the picture of quiet resistance with a soft center - would always roll his eyes, a scoff perched at the edge of his mouth. but the smile would already be tugging its way in, curling up like it knew the routine. “why do you want to be cuddled so bad?” he would ask, half-exasperated, but his arms would already be moving, tucking jisung close like second nature.

because of course jisung wanted to be cuddled.

and of course, minho would let him.

┈┈․° ❁ °․┈┈

it was monday. the worst of weekdays. the kind where exhaustion lingered in the air like humidity, sticking to their skin, making everything feel heavier than it was.

they had just finished classes for the day, walking side by side through the slowly cooling air of early evening. the sun hovered low in the sky, painting the campus in syrupy shades of orange and gold. the sidewalk stretched ahead of them like it always did, but it felt longer today. dragging.

jisung was talking - something about a classmate’s absurd group project idea or the new limited edition matcha latte at the cafe near the library. his words spilled like a lazy stream, half-laughing, half-complaining, hands gesturing every now and then when the story needed extra flair.

minho wasn’t really listening. not properly. the rhythm of jisung’s voice was familiar enough to lull him into a fragile sort of peace, but the content was lost somewhere in the fog clouding his brain. his eyes were open and looking ahead, but they were glazed over, distant. his jaw clenched faintly. his hands were buried in his jeans pockets, shoulders slightly slouched. the strap of his bag bit into one shoulder, and slung over the other was jisung’s backpack - the one littered with pins that made it look more like a scrapbook than a school necessity.

ridiculous pins. minho had called them that, flatly, when jisung had first brought them out in a chaotic pile like a shiny hoard. some of them were absurd: a frog in sunglasses, a “certified napping professional” badge, a neon-pink pixel heart that blinked if you looked at it just right. jisung had pouted - a full six minutes of lip-jutting, wide-eyed, heart-melting stubbornness - until minho gave in.

he still remembered it. the exact way jisung’s face had lit up when minho rolled his eyes and muttered, “fine, one. just the frog.”

of course, one became two. two became ten. eventually, minho had let jisung pin matching ones to his bag, too. the grin jisung had given him was blinding, and minho hadn’t had the heart to stop him - especially not after jisung had kissed his whole face, giddy and delighted, mumbling things like “my softest grump,” between pecks on his cheeks and nose and forehead.

now, minho carried that bag for him without complaint, letting the soft jingle of metal pins follow them down the street like wind chimes.

still, his head hurt.

he could feel the headache blooming behind his eyes, an ache that had been building all day. classes had been brutal. deadlines breathed down his neck like a monster with too many teeth. there were assignments he hadn’t started, notifications he was ignoring, and at least three unread group chats about presentations he couldn’t bring himself to care about.

everything was too much.

and jisung’s voice - for all its warmth - was barely keeping him tethered.