Title: When It Comes to Us

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 1993

Summary: Minho sprains his ankle and in his utterly helpless state, he calls out for a personal servant.

Jonghyun sighs heavily as he dumps his bag by the door, flinging his jacket on the rack haphazardly and pulling his shoes off in a careless manner. He doesn’t bother righting the mess he’s made of the hallway (after all, that’s what he has Minho for) as he walks towards the kitchen, making to open the fridge for a well-earned slice of the leftover cake from last Saturday. (Then, Kibum had marched into their flat and dumped the cake on the counter, telling them to keep it as far away from Jinki as possible because apparently, Kibum had made it his mission to make Jinki lose a few pounds. Why, Jonghyun had no idea, but he didn’t dare ask as Kibum shot him his telltale speak-and-you-die gaze, and hey, who was Jonghyun to object free cake?)

His fingers curl around the handle, ready to pull it open when suddenly-

“Hey, Jjong.”

Jonghyun yelps (quite femininely so, but he won’t say that) at the surprising, familiarly low voice, spinning on his heals so fast he has to grip onto the counter not to fall. Because there, flaunting the best seat of their apartment, their living room couch, sits none other than Choi Minho, with an expression that Jonghyun can’t tell whether is smug or sheepish (though he supposes a combination because while being a total all hours of the day, Minho does have some shame).

“You,” Jonghyun grits out, stomping over to the couch with murderous eyes, his hands to throw merciless punches at Minho because no one startles Kim Jonghyun like that and lives to tell it (well, maybe not to that extend, but Jonghyun doesn’t care; he is mad). “You. ing. Jerk. How. Dare. You.” Jonghyun emphasizes each word with a separate, hard punch to the cowering Minho.

“What the- stop! You don’t hit an injured person, Jonghyun!” Minho shouts, gripping on to Jonghyun’s wrists with a remarkable force in an attempt to stop his manic boyfriend.

Jonghyun is livid as he thrashes in Minho’s hold, not sparing Minho’s words any heed. “Yah, let go, frog!”

“Not until you calm down,” Minho demands, pursing his lips. Jonghyun glares at him and writhes for another minute (just for the heck of it) before he relaxes his muscles. Only then does he notice the crutches on the floor beside the couch and his eyes trail down Minho’s legs until they settle on his bandaged right foot that has been elevated by a few cushions and is currently weighed down by an icepack.

He frowns. “What happened? I thought you went out with the boys.”

Minho sighs. “Yeah, well, I did. We went to play soccer, and- Jjong, you know us; it all dirty play.” Minho pauses briefly, the disapproving quirk of an eyebrow from Jonghyun a quite familiar sight by now, and he looks to the side sheepishly as he continues. “So I had the ball at one point and Donghae decided then would be a good time to tackle me, but, well, it didn’t turn out to be such a grand idea. My ankle didn’t take it very well.”

Jonghyun considers this for a minute, takes it in, turns it in his brain a few times before letting out an even longer and heavier sigh than when he first entered. Minho ducks his head and it reminds Jonghyun of the times his mother used to scold him when he’d misbehaved. “Is it a sprain?”

Minho nods.

“And I suppose you won’t be able to do much walking for the next few weeks?”

Minho offers an apologetic smile. Jonghyun sighs again.

Standing up, Jonghyun ventures back to the kitchen, feeling his spine prickle from Minho’s curious gaze on him all the way. “What are you doing,” he asks in a dumbfounded tone.

Jonghyun rolls his eyes. “To get some cake, duh.”

However, what he gets in return isn’t the usual, criticizing comment on how it’ll make him fat but rather the low request of, “oh, can you bring me some, too?”

Jonghyun turns to him, eyes wide in shock of such behavior, though his mien quickly turns soft in pity for the restricted Minho. As he draws out two plates from the cupboard, he tells himself that it’s only going to be for a little while so he might as well set a good example.

And that’s how it all starts.

--

“Jjong?” Minho calls from the bedroom.

“Yeah?” Jonghyun doesn’t look up from the screen, immersed in the second of the six articles he’s supposed to read for his next music theory lecture.

“Can you get me a coke?”

Puffing out his cheeks, Jonghyun finishes the paragraph before getting up from his seat to fetch the soda from the fridge.

“Catch.” He tosses the can to Minho, out of the room before Minho can even shout a, “thank you” after him.

--

“Jjong?”

“What?”

“Can you fetch me another pillow? The cushions are kind of uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, well, uh, one moment.”

--

“Hey, Jjong, make me a sandwich.”

“Go make it yourself.”

“I would, but, y’know, sprained ankle.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, right, I’ll be right back then.”

--

“Jjong, fetch me the remote,” Minho commands with his eyes still glued to the TV, holding his hand out expectantly.

Jonghyun’s response is curt and instantaneous, cutting through the air like razors. “It’s right next to you.” He doesn’t need to see the frown on Minho’s face to know it’s there, and he keeps his eyes on the screen in front of him because frankly, his assignment is just that much more important than Minho’s entertainment.

“What?” Minho blurts dumbly.

“You heard me,” Jonghyun responds absentmindedly.

Minho’s frown deepens. “Jonghyun, I have a sprained ankle.”

“So? You have crutches; get it yourself. I’m sure you can reach it if you just leaned forward a bit.”

Scoffing, Minho shakes his head, incredulous. “What’s gotten into you? Can’t you just do this one little thing for me?”

Jonghyun slams his laptop shut with quite a bit of vigor because this, this is ridiculous. Minho had become so difficult over the last two weeks. Even if his ankle limits his mobility, Minho acts unjustifiably helpless, calling Jonghyun out to do every single task for him (heck, Minho could even be calling him out to wipe his , it’s possible) because apparently, he couldn’t do it himself. And that is just bull crap because not only does Minho have the crutches to help him, he has the body and agility of an athlete and a stubbornly competitive mind yet to be defeated. So, he should be fully capable of handling himself without Jonghyun’s assistance; he should even be wanting to serve Jonghyun to prove his independency.

Standing up, Jonghyun marches over to Minho, for once the one towering over Minho as he spews fire. “Over that last two weeks, I’ve brought you everything you asked for, carried your bag wherever you needed to go and practically the floor for you. Can’t you, with your oh-so-great and mighty muscles, do this one little thing for yourself, for once, while other people tend to actually important matters, huh?”

Minho is utterly speechless as Jonghyun picks up the remote and flings it at his chest, “and here you go, princess,” being his last words before he leaves the living room entirely, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

--

When Jonghyun hands in his finished assignment a few days later, he actually feels sort of guilty for taking his stress out on Minho. It wasn’t Minho’s fault that he sprained his ankle nor was it his fault that the sprain left him in this predicament. Minho is in need of care and nursing and Jonghyun has been too selfish to give it to him.

So, on his way home from the hand-in, Jonghyun chooses to drop by the florist to purchase some flowers because that’s what people do when they want to apologize, right? They give flowers, don’t they? Yes, yes they do, Jonghyun settles as he picks out a bouquet of pink tulips (and it’s only because he detests yellow and orange just won’t fit in with their apartment, so he’s simply left with the pink).

There’s an evident spring in his step as he makes his way down the street (a few passersby give him strange looks but he couldn’t really bother) and he rocks back and forth on his heels as he waits for the elevator to reach the third floor. Naturally, Jonghyun hastily discards his things by the door – except for the bouquet, of course, that he hides behind his back –, tiptoeing to the living room with a mischievous grin. However, when he reaches the lounge area, Minho’s not there, which is odd, because the kitchen is empty and he could’ve sworn the toilet lights were off.

Jonghyun shrugs, walking down to the other end of the hallway, the one with the bedroom door, thinking Minho maybe took a nap. The door is slightly ajar so he only has to push to open it, and when he does, Jonghyun finds himself outright dumbfounded at what greets him.

The first thing his brain registers is a blur of red next to Minho’s flabbergasted face. The next thing is that the blur is actually a bouquet of red flowers – tulips, no less.

“I-I-,” Minho starts, fidgeting on the bed, but then his eyes catch sight of one of Jonghyun’s hands, the one that clutches tight on to the bouquet, and then his mouth is just hanging limply (Jonghyun takes a mental picture for future entertainment). “What’s that?”

Jonghyun glances down at the pink bouquet. “It’s an apology present. Well, for you. Y’know, for being, like, a total the last couple of days.” He scratches his head awkwardly before pointing to the bouquet that is now resting in Minho’s lap. “What are those for?” Jonghyun asks.

“O-oh, these?” Minho chuckles nervously and brings the flowers up to his face, clearing his throat. “I just wanted to apologize f-for acting like an when you had that essay to do.”

“Oh,” is all that leaves Jonghyun’s mouth.

“Yeah.” Minho picks at his sleeve sheepishly for a while before trying to stand up without his crutches. Jonghyun is quick at his side though, pushing him down gently to lie horizontally, leaving the bouquet on the bed next to its red sibling. He kneels beside the bed to start running his finger through Minho’s soft locks, studying every crevice and flaw of that handsome face before leaning down to place a sweet, long peck on Minho’s lips.

Minho stares up at him. “Am I forgiven then?”

“Am I?” Jonghyun counters, though with a smile.

Minho shoots him that dazzling grin of his in return, the one that has his spine shivering and fingertips tingling.

--

They look a little odd, mixed together like that. Kibum has already complained about them thrice and how they don’t fit in at all, but Jonghyun has taken to simply dismissing his lip-pursing remarks (because it is a common fact that if you disagree with Kim Kibum, you’re better off keeping your mouth shut than retaliating).

He actually kind of likes how they have that streak of abnormality to them, which is only emphasized by the too small porcelain vase with ugly blue swirls and intricate patterns that they borrowed from Jonghyun’s mother. The deep red and loud pastel pink doesn’t match up with the antique jug, but it doesn’t really matter to Jonghyun. It makes it seem more personal, more them.

“Jjong?” Minho calls from the couch, breaking Jonghyun’s reverie.

“Yeah?”

“The micro wave just beeped; I think the popcorn is done,” he says and Jonghyun can hear the smile in his voice.

“I’ll get it then,” Jonghyun says, casting one on last look at the obnoxiousness that is the mixed-up red and pink tulips in that horrid vase and he smiles to himself.

A/N: This is late and I'm tired and I've been taking care of a puppy who keeps biting the carpet all evening and it won't leave me alone to write. And this just kept dragging on and on and I'm too tired to make a proper A/N so I'm gonna come back later and make up for it okay x.x Also this is not even mildly proofread so yeah it's horrible x.x Goodnight

Latest edit: August 13^th, 2016