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Only half an hour ago, Jisung had been stood with a funny looking puddle just in front of him, and he was wondering who had been sick when he felt the stinging burn in the back of his throat. He wished that the ground would open and swallow him, and his pile of vomit, into the abyss.
Changbin, Hyunjin, Seungmin, Felix, and Jeongin were staring at him, aghast. There were varying degrees of dropped jaws amongst them, but Hyunjin's was the worst. Like a snake about to swallow a mouse whole - it was a concern that his chin didn't jut backwards and bruise his neck.
Minho, on the other hand, seemed unsurprised. He was leaning back on the couch with one eyebrow slightly raised. He glanced at Hyunjin momentarily before standing up.
"C'mon," he said to Jisung simply. "Upstairs."
Jisung was in a daze. He let Minho take him gently by the elbow and lead him up an unfamiliar staircase. If he had been sober enough to think rationally, he would've been excited about discovering new parts of their house as though he was unlocking parts of a map on a game. Instead, he just followed. Just tried to breathe, tried to move.
"Minho hyung," called a voice from behind them. "It's okay, I've got him."
When Minho paused, Jisung was half-expecting him to put up a fight. To resume control. But instead he turned to face Changbin and handed the younger boy over.
Jisung was only just aware of fluorescent lighting. Cold water being splashed on his face, his now bare feet wiped roughly with dampened toilet paper, a hand patting at the few bits of spit and sick that had dribbled down onto his t-shirt.
"Hyung," he mumbled, "Hyung, wan go home..."
Changbin smiled at him sympathetically. He hated to admit how much of a soft spot he had for Jisung, the way that something in the back of his mind had a desperate need to look after him. He was one of the few people who had seen through his egomaniac façade. Seen him broken.
"We'll go home in the morning," Changbin reassured, voice sweet. "You can't walk like this and I don't fancy carrying you home."
Maternal instinct had sobered Changbin up. Whilst Minho had propelled Jisung up the stairs, Changbin had checked in with Hyunjin; he and Jisung would sleep on the couches in the living room (post-sick clean-up) and leave the next morning. It wasn't unheard of at parties like Hyunjin's.
Jisung didn't have any fight left in himself to protest with, and simply bleated an affirmation. He hung his head low and let Changbin delicately wipe off the last bits of vomit.
Neither realised Minho had appeared outside of the door. When they went to leave the bathroom, Changbin jumped, but Jisung just looked up at the raven-haired boy solemnly. Minho met his eyes; did he look concerned? Or was Jisung still that drunk?
Minho, in actuality, was battling a very foreign urge. His hand had almost moved in impulse to lift up, to gently thumb away the tearstain streaks that lingered under Jisung's eyes. Changbin hadn't noticed them, and it seemed like Jisung hadn't either.
He restrained himself. Instead he nodded towards a bedroom, ushering Changbin and Jisung towards it.
"Hyunjin said take the couch," Minho explained, "but I think Jisung needs a bed. And to not be near the smell of... y'know."
Jisung barely even noticed the room he was in when Changbin and Minho worked together to coax him into it. He hadn't noticed pressed bedsheets, notepads angled neatly against the corner of a desk, or the small row of fabric bundles by the wardrobe. He had, however, noticed the plants.
A breath had hitched in Jisung's throat when Minho had flicked on the light and brought life into the room; slightly yellow-toned bulbs were dim, but not so much that they didn't reflect on waxy green leaves throughout the room. On every surface, the windowsills, the bedside tables, even on top of the wardrobe - each held at least one plant.
Beside one bed bloomed a particularly beautiful flower. Jisung searched his alcohol-addled brain for the name; orchard? No, not quite...
"Orchid." Minho's voice was steady, his eyes glued to the way Jisung was studying the flower.
"Jisungie," Changbin was murmuring to Jisung, who was still gazing at the orchid. "You need to lie down, now, okay? I'm going to help you into Minho's bed..."
Jisung's eyes shot immediately to Minho. He looked like a deer in headlights, terrified at the thought of Minho's bed. With Minho in it? Surely not.
"Don't worry." Minho spoke as though he could read his mind. "Not with me in it. Me and Changbin will go downstairs, so you'll be in here with Seungmin."
Disappointed? Is that what that feeling was? Because of sharing a room with Seungmin, surely, and not anything else. Either way, Jisung allowed himself to be guided towards the bed. Minho took one last glance, as if to check Jisung was in safe hands, before he nodded at Changbin and left.
Changbin was grateful to see Minho had left some clothes on the bed. A white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He helped Jisung undress and then redress, the sibling relationship between them making it easy for them both. And then Jisung smelled it.
Changbin had pulled the covers up over him, and it was all-encompassing. Warm, musky, the smell of cologne but just underneath that- the smell of him. Jisung had only been close enough to smell it a handful times, but he knew. Without thinking, he snuggled down into the bed, bringing the duvet up to cover his nose so he could breathe the smell in forever.
A small smile grew on Changbin's face as he watched his younger friend.
"What happened tonight, Sung?" Changbin's voice was delicate.
Jisung hummed noncommittally in response.
"You can't drink, not on your meds. You need to be more careful."
A small sigh from the mouth still buried under the covers. Fighting a losing battle, Changbin patted Jisung's head lightly. Even for someone so small, Jisung looked like he was drowning in Minho's bed. And so Changbin left him to sleep.
Jisung really was trying, but sleep had never been his strong suit, especially not when he felt quite this sea sick. He tried to grip the bedsheets around him, soft linen in creased palms, just to ground himself. It felt as though the bed was rocking with him in it.
He had his eyes closed tightly and this meant he didn't see who approached the room and peered around the door, left ajar in case anyone needed to be alerted to Jisung falling out of bed or choking on his own sick.
He did, however, hear the sigh of disapproval, and then the door clicking shut. Whoever it was was not happy about Jisung being in the room nor did they care about the possibility of him dying in there. If he had seen that it was Seungmin who was so displeased, Jisung probably wouldn't have been surprised.
Jisung gave it another hour and then declared to himself that sleep just was not for him. And so he found himself drifting, still unsteady, down the stairs. He was expecting there to be remnants of partygoers still there, but he was met by an unnatural silence. The house downstairs was dark and Jisung dragged his hands along the wall, trying to use muscle memory to lead him to the kitchen.
A low warm glow from one room drew his attention. A moth to a flame, Jisung edged slowly towards it. The kitchen; thank God for the guiding light, as before seeing it he had been heading in the complete wrong direction.
The room was empty. Jisung felt misplaced. He focused on the balmy light coming from a lamp plugged into the corner of the room. His habit when he felt anxious; 5 things he can see, 4 things he can feel, 3 things he can hear and so on.
He could see empty bottles covering the counters. He could see a black bin bag abandoned in the corner. He could see a few cacti sitting safely out of reach on top of the fridge. He could see a cigarette packet. He could see empty pizza boxes.
He could feel the rough graze of cotton on his fingers. He could feel cool night air on his neck. He could feel his socked feet on stone floor. He could feel a hangover starting already.
He could hear the wind through the window. He could hear the hum of the freezer. He could hear someone walking up behind him.
"Why are you awake?"
Jisung turned slowly, seemingly embarrassed to have been caught wandering.
"Can't sleep," he mumbled back.
He dragged his eyes up from the floor to meet his; Minho's. They were dark, slightly narrowed, already smudged with dark circles. When Jisung's gaze met Minho's, the older cocked an eyebrow.
"Too quiet. Don't wanna sleep," Jisung added after a silence.
An eye roll from Minho. A now familiar sensation, slender fingers circling his wrist. Jisung followed wordlessly. He still felt lost, not sure if it was the alcohol or something else, but he was happy to have someone guiding him.
When Minho stopped with Jisung by the door to his bedroom, Jisung froze. Like a stubborn child he planted his feet and looked petulantly up at Minho.
"Won't go in. I'll just get back out," Jisung said with a pout.
Another eye roll. Imprisoned wrist. Following Minho.
The older angled Jisung so he was by the side of the bed, facing away from it. His eyes quirked up into a smile that didn't touch his mouth, as when he had placed his hands on Jisung's shoulders to push him gently down onto the bed, a sharp inhale had snuck from still pouting lips.
Minho's pressure was light. Barely touching Jisung's chest, he eased the boy down so he was on the bed. Tentative hands grabbed the duvet that Jisung had left shoved against the wall. The sweetest thing Jisung had ever seen; Minho pulled the cover over him and up to his neck.
It seemed like Minho was hesitant to touch Jisung, unfamiliar to how he had ever been before.
He gave Jisung a quick once over before going to leave the room.
He had made it three steps before realising Jisung was up and following him like a puppy.
Rinse and repeat. Minho was patient in guiding Jisung back to bed, pushing him down gently, and Jisung was silent in his obstinance. Letting himself be tucked in, and then rolling the covers back off.
Minho was still patient when he decided to try something new.
He pressed Jisung back into the bed with no resistance. He went to lift the duvet; he hesitated. The gentlest nudge into Jisung's side. Making space. Crawling in beside him.
Jisung was frozen. Minho was warm, radiating a steady heat.
"Try to move me and you won't make it out of here alive," Minho murmured.
Even in the darkness of the room, Jisung could tell Minho had flickered sleepless eyes closed.
The younger had no idea how he would ever sleep. How was he expected to with... him right next to him? His heart rate doubled. Tripled.
Halved.
Minho's breathing had become steady, slow. Not close enough to feel his breath but close enough to hear it. It was the lullaby Jisung needed.
Matching his breaths, the younger followed him into sleep.
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saaaarrrry again for slow updates ! life hit me like a freight train ! hopefully will have a few uploads over the next few days :-)