nightfall || minsung

Chapter 17

Minho looked adorable in pyjamas. Bacon and pancakes against light blue, the standard model with a little folded collar, buttons and too-long sleeves. His hair was messy and his expression was grave, not amused. Really, really adorable. I'd never seen what he wore to sleep — he was always under the blankets by the time I'd arrive, and still unconscious when I'd leave.

He looked at me, and his pupils shot up, gently floated back down. An eye roll. He did it perfectly. He sat down next to me on the edge of his bed.

"Don't say it," he muttered. As if I could find a single flaw in this picture. No, all I could see was beauty — all I could feel was love, reverence. I couldn't describe how much I loved him after the day we'd had, and now this. I felt like a worm, drowned and trampled on a damp mid-February sidewalk.

"No, it's cute," I said.

He took the bottom of his shirt and pulled, pointing at a strip of bacon. "Is this how you see me?"

I was horrified for a second, and then realized he was making fun of me. I laughed and smothered it with my hand over my mouth.

"More like a pork chop," I said. "A delicious, irreverent pork chop."

"If I were you, I would've eaten me already. There're no good barbecue places in Forks."

"You're weird, you know that?" I kissed his cheek.

I heard a creak from the top of the staircase, just outside Minho's room. Charlie.

"Charlie's coming." I vanished and rolled underneath the bed. Minho turned the light off, yanked the blanket over himself and lay down.

His father peeked in — stayed just long enough to make sure Minho wasn't a row of pillows — and then pulled the door closed.

I army-crawled out from beneath the bed and slipped under the covers with Minho. Only inches apart.

He smiled when he saw me. "Hi."

"Hi. Is this okay? I can give you some space—"

"Please, please don't give me space. I have too much space already."

I closed the distance between us, pressed my lips to his. "Is that what you meant?"

"Sure." His lips were still puckered.

I kissed him again, hand on his back, pulling him closer under the blanket. He held the back of my head, fingers in my hair. I never wanted this second to end.

And then he parted his lips. We broke apart, cringed to the opposite sides of the bed. The fire in my throat, violent thoughts in my head, ringing in my ears, it all came back so much more biting than before.

"Sorry," Minho murmured.

"It's okay," I said quickly, "sorry." I held my breath, counted from 1 to 100 and back to 1. My throat was nearly spasming. I waited for it to subside before I spoke again.

"We've been together for a day and that's already happened twice."

"I'll try to keep it to myself next time."

"No, it's my fault. I'll try to be stronger. It's good, um, practice, for future." It wasn't unthinkable, to kiss him, to be that close. Now I was doing it without hesitation. Probably a mistake.

"Will it get easier for you?" he asked.

"I think so. This is all new to me."

"It's new to me, too."

"You're good at it."

"I know." He smirked. "So. You're in my bed."

I started shaking a little, embarrassed. "Uh-huh. It's comfortable."