After Dark 》Minsung

23 》That Was A Dumb Choice

"Something stupid. We can lay together on the couch and, uh, snacks!" Jisung gasped an airy note. Pure excitement. A bundle of sunshine radiating through that living room as he steadied himself one foot at a time. A bundle of fastidious elegance on those translucent wings refracting through the late night lights glowing through his apartment, chasing after while Minho watched him take off. Sprinting, stopping, sliding stationary across the wood floors as if he was sliding against the frigid chunk of a frozen lake oozing out from underneath him, with his hot pink fuzzy socks and oversized shirt covering up the shorts below, rippling like his cape in the wind. He exclaimed,  "We need snacks!"

Minho bit back the smile, dangerously daring to slip onto his expression while he watched that adorable young man scramble away.

HE'S SO CUTE!?!";'*@1(3_*'?1(

Desperately, he tried peeling himself away from the view of the younger scrambling through his apartment to find his kitchen, listening to the hypnotic sounds of homely rustling and shifting in the kitchen cabinets. He tried to force himself from where he stood, stepping down to the carpeted section of the camboy's living room where his couch and television sat hoisted on the wall, immediately reaching for the remote to spark up something to keep them both occupied. One glance to the pixels powering on in their own feverish excitement to the impromptu hangout. Another behind him to the comfortable cushions of the couch they would be laying across, with a brief though of, "If we're getting this involved we should get some blankets too."

Jisung hollered back to him, "Get the one from my bed!"

He was in love, he knew that. He knew; As he set the remote back down to the coffee table and jogged to kick his shoes off, hustling in hurried steps fervently seeking the aformentioned sheets from the top of Jisung's bed, the plushy blankets pooling up in his arms while he dragged their heavy weight from the tucked pedestal rested on the mattress. He knew. He was desperately in love with that camboy. He was desperately in love with Jisung while he laid the blankets out on the couch, creating snuggly cocoons atop the cushions so they would be comfortable while watching their movie together. Bundled up in one another arm's, so they wouldn't have to tear themselves away from the ecstacy of warmth from the other. So he wouldn't have to let go of Jisung, yet. Not yet. He was desperately in love with Jisung while he searched the streaming services for a proper movie, he was desperately in love with Jisung while the camboy set down a bowl of popcorn and a miniature version of that crucible filled with candies to nibble on as well.

He was sick. A fever that radiated through his head with a dizzying adoration weakening him while Jisung accidentally stepped in front of him. A nausea in his stomach that caused him to flutter with the tightening knots of butterflies, drifting when he wrapped arms around Jisung's waist and pulled him to his lap, so he could properly see the television screen and the titles scrolling by. A warmth that flushed through him when the camboy relaxed back into him, head tipping back as he eased into Minho's arms, the blossoming breaths that teased his ears with sunlit pricklings while he advised on what movie to watch together. Confirmations here, a quick head shake of a denial there, a 'that has a sex scene' and the 'oh ew I don't want to watch that right now' passed back with a flurry of giggles before they moved on.

He shouldn't feel that way. He couldn't feel that way. No feelings. No feelings, while they cuddled on the couch together, bundled up in one another's arms while the beginning of their movie played and their gentle chatter filled the space beneath the orchestral swells swarming the apartment with their telling announcements to pay attention. No feelings, while he cuddled close to Jisung laid in front of him and curled up inside the blanket with him, entrenched with an elucidated boredom with the slow pace of that beginning, distracting himself with rubbing shapes into the younger's tummy, hand slipping up beneath his shirt to press pecks to that shoulder. No feelings, while he felt the hot pink fluff from the socks become tangled in his legs, hooked, weaved together like vine branches dangling from the marble edge of a manor's balcony.