❝002 -- Love me.❞

“Hey,” Chansung grumbles, chucking a piece of popcorn at Junho.

The raging lascivious bear had been feeling extremely neglected these days, especially toward this specific band mate. It was on this fortunate Tuesday that the two were allowed —or more like it was Junho’s day off and Chansung played ‘Mr. Cough Cough Drippy Nose’ to essentially have alone time with his man without, of course, hidden intensions of something like ‘get on the kitchen counter and get on all fours so I can totally draw figure eight’s with my bonerfied  in your butthole’ type of whatsoever.

No, never.

So, he watches Junho purposely ignore him, clicking away at the remote as he slowly passes by the adult channels. ert.

“Hey! ” Chansung repeats louder this time, flicking about six or seven more kernels at the man.

“...”

Chansung scoffs, annoyed as . Well actually, was good. was what he wanted. With Junho. In the kitchen. Drawing figure eights with his bone—

That’s beside the point.

His hand dives into the buttery glass dish once more, only to hit an empty bottom. In an empty bowl. With empty patience. 

Was he deaf? Were “Hot Latino Lesbian Girls Next Door” more important than him? All he has to do was simply give all of his attention to him and only him for the rest of his life and play Angelina and Brad and adopt Ethiopian, Cambodian and Vietnamese babies. Was that so much to ask for? Can't he spare him a—I don’t know—nineteen ninety-nine plus shipping and handling?

Just love me.

Love me like I love you!

“I do love you, Chan.”

“H–Huh?” Chansung croaks, his eyes a little teary and mouth drier than the Sahara.

Junho saunters over to Chansung with a tissue box, plopping down onto the arm of his chair. Chansung gazes at him with some mushy feels before burying his face into the pit of his stomach. He was happy. Obviously. He just needed it to be said though.

“H-H-How did you—”

“You were doing that thing where you say everything out loud while bawling like sixteen-year-old pregnant girl that was rejected from MTV.”

Chansung simply replies “Oh.” as he lamely wraps his arms tighter around Junho, earning an equivalent gesture back.

“No ‘I love you’ back?”

“I hate you! ”

“What?”

“Oh, right, it’s not opposite day.”

“Pabo.” Junho laughs, reverberating it against Chansung’s lips.