SLEEP TIGHT

1, 2, 3, I’m counting stars again
Feels like they’re the same as me
They’re shining, lonely and pretty
Seems like they resemble me.

- Sleep tight, Highlight -

The cold wind from Jeju blows at his skin even on the plane back home.

It's only for a day but it's a break, after all, a break from all the hard work he has been doing for the past days, a moment to breath in peace again, to see him, to be with him after a while, days that have passed away without his smile greeting him, without encouraging words that cheer him up on his darkest days, to help him sleep when the night is black and there aren't stars in the sky; he is the only one that shines brighter than any of them.

It’s a little earlier than expected and he should use this bit of extra time to be with them, but when he opens the door and Jinwoo lets him in, crumpled face and worried eyes, he knows that he won’t be able to work, that he won’t let him.

“You look awful, Minho,” he says, his arms still holding him and his head nests on his shoulders, the sweet essence of him warming his heart. “You should go to sleep” and it’s more an order than a suggestion, and he drags him down the corridor.

“Can I rest in your dorm? It’s closer” he wonders and Jinwoo rushes to comply, pulling the curtain so the bright sun won’t caress his skin and he would be able to sleep well as he deserves, pushing the door open for him and the shaded walls look the same but Jinwoo doesn't. He is so ethereal, even under the dark, he gleams, precious and beautiful, overwhelming as ever.

Jinwoo’s room is smaller than his but, in a way, it feels like him; clean and tidy and cozy, just a mixture of things that, for Minho, makes it perfect and that feels like him, the air tastes like his bones and the bed is soft under his weight, the mattress springing a bit but it’s warm, the heater on melting the sheets and a tight blanket on top of him, tugging around his limbs, weak and torn, and he feels as if paradise was under his back, on the corner of Jinwoo's concerned smile.

The smell of the perfume that lingers on the cushions and that belongs only to him, welcomes him, and he lets his sense drown into it, this sensation of been taking care of; of been under a spell, of being in love.

“We still have a few hours until the interview” he reminds him, Minho’s cheek already sinking into a sea of smooth and cold silk of the pillows, eyes half closed, mind about to reach the dream that is Jinwoo, gleaming against the door frame, the light catching shades on his hair and he is beautiful in new ways he can only imagine, see only at night - only in his sleep -. “I’ll cook something for later; you must be hungry” he offers and he nods at it intently, even when he knows that Jinwoo and cook don’t fit well together, and he must have seen his insecurities written on the lines of his exhausted frame. “I’m not that bad, I’m learning thanks to the show” he assures him, and just to prove it, he adds “also, I’m not going to do anything much elaborate. How does ramyeon sound?”

“It’s alright, hyung, we can always go and have dinner with the others” Minho replies, still unsure, but Jinwoo frowns and his nose looks ridiculously cute and he wants to kiss its top very badly, even if it’s only on a dream, just once. “But ramyeon sounds very nice” he accepts, his heart heavy with the weight of the culpability, the guilt he feels for doubting him, for not trusting the person he loves the most.

He leaves silently, closing the door slowly, peeking throw the empty spot in between, the light bathing his dark figure laying on his own bed, his head grazing his cushions and his skin spreads like butter all over the place. He gives him a last glance before truly leaving, running away from the vision he wants to embrace, that he wants to memorize, the cats happily mewling, rubbing tiny heads against his ankle, walking amid his legs and feet, long tails curled and, sometimes, it wraps around his calves. He feeds them, the three of them, and rubs Johnny's furry little body with care, giving her the love that Minho can't.

Jinwoo then remembers; Minho is so exhausted, so tired after a long flight and a long journey, working hard to make a name, to ensure the shine they have, to become a star, so he won't have time to change (he will, but then he has to deal with the choosing, what to wear, what will fit with it, and then, all of a sudden, he will have to start the combination again, not satisfied, not convinced with his clothes and, then, he will be late. All of them), so he skips that part, selecting a pair of jeans from Minho's wardrobe and a comfortable jumper that he thinks will match the honey tone of his skin. Shoes and socks and even the underwear, all are piled neatly in front of his dorm and he smiles at it, fondly.

Cooking is rather easy, boiling water in a pot and waiting. The sour smell of the instant ramyeon spans across the room, filling every corner of it, and, as an unspoken spell, the cats cast around him once again and he obligates to play with them, Rei and Bei looking sadly at him, not able to been touched as much as wanted and Jinwoo misses those days when he could rub them without fears, without red spots and rashes and hives. He beams at them, giving some treads to compensate and they take it as an apology, going away, back to sleep, probably, leaving him alone again.

He knows that Minho is sorry for been away, for not working with them as he should, for leaving him alone, but work is work and Minho is the most committed to it (if it's music then it has to be Seungyoon but, overall, Minho is the one who is doing the most out of them). Jinwoo is aware of that, of how much Minho loves Winner, how he pushes the name everywhere he goes; he admires him for that, he appreciates him more for it, too.

The dinner is ready but Minho is still sleeping, huddled up in between woolly blankets that bring him all the warm that he lacks and that he needs, breathing slowly, steadily, his chest dancing, up and down, setting a rhythm, like a song and, for a second, Jinwoo is amazed at it, hypnotized with the waltz he has settled. He looks young and relaxed, all the pressure forgot, gleaming under the pale light that comes from the window crease. He stealthily leaves him alone again, waiting for him to wake up all by himself, not wanting to disturb his too well deserved rest that he has earned eagerly, working harder than any of them, but the ramyeon is getting cold and he can't eat, not without him, not when he knows that he will want to talk, explain all he has been doing these past days, in Jeju, with the cast and crew of Kang's Kitchen, smashing pork cutlet, washing dishes (when at home he doesn't seem to know what to do with them), serving tables and helping. He knows what Minho likes to do, and eating alone is none of them; he has to but he despite it very much, always looking for excuses to have dinner with someone else. So he waits for him, covering the plates and sitting of the table by himself, checking his phone, ensuring that they still have time.

It's getting late but Minho is still sleeping, gently snoring, and Jinwoo finds it fascinating, endearing, but he has to wake him and his heart bleed a bit at the picture of Minho opening his gorgeous eyes to look at him, tired and sore and still in need of rest, to be in bed for a week, and it's sad, it's hard, he doesn't want to, but he has to, he tells himself, soft voice encouraging, slow steps that are bringing him to his room, trembling lips that refuse to say the words he has to.

Minho appears so lovely, with all the wrinkles on the right places, under his eyelids and on the curb of his sleepy smile, hands over the covers, grabbing the hem of them, holding them tight, high under his neck, his chin nearly at the edge of it, slightly wrapping up there, like a sweet mommy and he shakes his shoulder slightly, then a bit more vigorously, until his head moves back and fort and his eyes are wide awake, staring at him, brown and warm and luminescent.

“Hyung?” he wonders, voice raw and husky, drowsy, dazed a bit, but is still his own tone and Jinwoo blushes thinking about how sweet it sounds “What time is it?”

“It's time for you to awake and have dinner. I didn't have mine yet, so we can catch up while eating” he suggests and Minho beams at it as if wanting for nothing else.

“Were you waiting for me?” he asks in surprise, but then he realizes that it's Jinwoo, nice and gentle, he would do that in order to make him happy, to keep the lonely side of him away. Jinwoo's cheeks are so flustered right now, shameful scarlet blushing them and his flesh is so hot, he can feel the warmth that he irradiates from behind the blankets and it's so adorable (the situation, how shy his hyung still is around them most of the time but, also, savage and weird and oblivious, naive and innocent and downright charming, enchanting, with a laugh that feels like a drug and he can't get enough of it, addicted to that wonderful music that is Jinwoo's giggles). “Hyung, is it ok if I sleep for a little more?” he says, puppy eyeing him, forgetting about schedules and responsibilities (and for him Jinwoo would give up the whole world).

“But you still have to shower and eat something… Even if a prepared your clothes, you will surely want to check them and change them, too. But you look godawful so… just for a few more minutes, what you think?” and Minho heartily agrees, curling up and tugging the blankets even more. But then, all of a sudden, his hand is grabbing Jinwoo's, who is getting up from the bed, halting his depart.

“Will you stay? Lately I have been having nightmares due to the stress” he lies, but the whopper sinks into his mind and he obligates, sitting next to him, and Minho pushes him down, until he is lying at his side and Minho's arms are thrown over his lateral, his nose nuzzling the smooth skin of Jinwoo's long neck, the hair of his nape slightly tickling him.

He hugs him tight, as tight as possible without seems suspicious, without Jinwoo making assumptions or, worse, making questions, wondering in confusion at what he did wrong. But his hand acts on its own, fishing Jinwoo's one, intertwining fingers and Jinwoo lets him do so, holding his hand and caressing the back gently, rubbing it with his thumb, drawing relaxing circles and he feels his heart missing beats, all the fond that he has for him, a love without measure leaking.

“Hyung, I really like you” he voices, small and afraid, right inside of his ear. Jinwoo trembles, his back shaking, hitting on Minho's but he doesn't bother, he doesn't care, only waiting for a refuse, but he doesn't even react, his fingers wrapping his hand still, keeping it in place, the warm sensation of his exposed skin patting his own. As he doesn't do anything, Minho starts proving it, just in case he needs it. He kisses his neck gently, plump lips against his pulse and, at this, Jinwoo can't make any excuse; there is no way to misread it, to misunderstand (he is kissing him, it's clearly not an accident, there is no logical explanation for it, not a lie he can tell to convince that, what he feels it's just one-sided, that he won't be loved back). Minho his neck, the side of it, pocking his tongue, fresh over the hotness that is Jinwoo's flesh, and he, then, shivers.

“Minho” he calls and he stops intermediately, as if his name was a curse, a slap on his face, the distance between them increased immensely and now Minho feels all the regrets, his mind processing what he has done and finding ways to conceal it, to lay it down. But there is none, he can't escape this time (holding hands, sleeping together on the couch, the cats walking over their bodies, stealing glances and staring at him, stargazing, fantasizing; he can say it's friendship, that he is overwhelmed by his amazing visuals, that even after years, he is still aware, shocked by his presence, but not this one) so he repeats what he has said.

“I really like you, hyung. More than in just friends”.

Jinwoo faces him now, wide eyes that shine like stars, freaking big and precious and he has never looked so wonderful.

“So – So do I,” he says, low, nearly a whisper, but he catches it, smiles at him intently, confidently. Minho's hand, freely from Jinwoo's embrace, sweeps up and down Jinwoo's ribs, sliding from his shoulder to his hip, tracing all the contour of his love.

“I really, really like you” he repeats because it's still strange, to have Jinwoo for real between his arms, kissing his head, playing with his hair, kissing the air that separate them both, laughing stupidly at how foolish they both are, how many opportunities and changes they had missed, how they have been in love since forever but never brave enough to confess, even when Minho was confident about Jinwoo's sentiments for him (kind-ish, so Seunghoon has told him long time ago).

It's later, with Jinwoo's lips pressed toward Minho's, that he notices that they are late now, very much late (and Seungyoon is about to knock down the door), but the feeling of Minho's kisses lingers on his mouth and the butterflies are out now, holding hands and smiling fondly, with something new, something that, later on, the rest of them will read, too. But, for the moment, he can't focus on excuses or alibis, they have to rush or else Seungyoon will nag at them eternally and kissing at night will be impossible.

With a last peek they both open the door to face a very disappointing leader and an overexcited Seunghoon, who smirks as if knowing something (and maybe he does).

“We are going to be late” he complains, and this time Minho feels the need to take the blame. After all, he was the one who convinced Jinwoo to stay.