It’s really not every day Wonwoo gets to sleep in. The entire group has been inevitably busy ever since they released Mansae, and days like today are as rare as anything can get. Despite today being one of those exceptional days where he doesn’t forcibly wake up to a cacophony of grunts and yells and harmless shoves, there’s still a disturbance in the air. Someone snores lightly, and Wonwoo knows it’s not him.

            There’s warmth nestled up against his side, brushing his bare arm, and burning his skin with the most delicate sensation. The sleeping figure beside him fidgets slightly, and Wonwoo almost lets a dissatisfied groan slip when the zing of heat abandons him, neglecting his unspoken wish for more. He tells himself it’s because the morning air is cold, and that he had accidentally left the window open last night.

            Wonwoo isn’t one to do things on impulse—he actually contradicts spontaneity very much—but despite popular belief, there are moments when Wonwoo does things without a safety and wrong-or-right filter, and those moments happen frequently when he’s half-awake or half-sleep (basically half-dead). So, it’s against all his morals—or so he tells himself—when he rolls over on his side, arm flinging over to land on the Mingyu’s waist, only to have it flop onto the bed sheets—to which he takes note is still very, very warm. A loud thud sounds from somewhere too far for Wonwoo to register where exactly, but he has a pretty good idea, and he knows he’s kind of ed before the hiss even reaches his ears.

            “Ow—what the , bro?” Mingyu curses through gritted teeth. “Seriously?”

            “Bro, oh my god, I’m so sorry—holy ,” Wonwoo says hurriedly, leaning off the top of the bed with an apologetic expression and an extended hand. “Dude, I swear it was an accident-”

            “Did you just try to spoon me?” Mingyu asks, reaching for the hand to pull himself back up. He falls back on his behind when Wonwoo lets loose of his hand.

            “—-”

            “Oh my god, seriously,” Mingyu says, pushing himself off the floor to stand up. “You tried to spoon me?” His voice is a little raspy when he speaks, and Wonwoo loves it, though he doesn’t say it aloud.

            “No—no! What are you saying-”

            “You tried to spoon me,” Mingyu says more than he asks this time, and pushes Wonwoo on his shoulder as he climbs back onto the bed.

            Wonwoo chooses not to answer, and presses his back against the sheets again, eyes glued to the ceiling unblinkingly. He comes up with numerous reasons to answer the question he asks himself repeatedly—is his heart supposed to beat this fast? This loudly? He comes up with nothing. He feels Mingyu shuffle from beside him.

            “You wanna or not?”

            Wonwoo turns his head to look at him, cheek pressed into the pillow. For a moment, he just stares at Mingyu. “What?”

            “Dude, why are you making me say it?” Mingyu asks, turning away and rolling over, and all Wonwoo sees is the back of Mingyu’s gorgeous head, neck, and broad back, stretched under the thin cotton shirt that belongs to him, Jeon Wonwoo, and no one else.

            “Say what?” he asks, swallowing thickly.

            “Just do it,” Wonwoo hears the younger male grumble out.

            Wonwoo doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, but he follows his instincts and rolls to his side again—this time, making sure not to push Mingyu off the bed—and rests his arm over the other boy’s waist, palm pressed onto Mingyu’s stomach while he pulls him closer until his own chest is glued against the taller male’s back. He can’t really say it’s his instinct to, but he definitely wants to, and he supposes that this can be just an excuse in case Mingyu actually meant something else. Thankfully, he didn’t.

            Wonwoo swallows a dry lump in his throat, heart pounding erratically against his chest. If Mingyu notices, he doesn’t say anything about it.

            They stay like that awhile, breathing a little shallow and quickened, but still content and comfortable. Mingyu is warm against Wonwoo, and it feels like there’s nothing that can disrupt this feeling. Wonwoo wants to stay like this for a very long time—forever, maybe.

            “This is kinda gay,” Mingyu says quietly, but there’s no hint of displeasure or dissatisfaction in his voice.

            Wonwoo takes no offense to it, and in return, replies, “Yeah, I know. This is okay, right?”

            Mingyu hums. “Yeah. You’re kinda too gay anyway—kinda saw it coming.” A small laugh leaves Mingyu’s lips, and it sounds so, so, so gorgeous, Wonwoo thinks he’s imagining it. If this is a dream, he never wants to wake up.

            “Dude, you’re gay,” Wonwoo responds, kicking the back of Mingyu’s leg gently.

            “er-”

            “Shut the up, man. You’re ruining the moment,” Wonwoo groans, words slightly muffled when his head dips into the crook of Mingyu’s neck, lips brushing over the junction of the other’s neck and shoulder.

            Mingyu turns around, shirt slightly wrinkled from not being in the habit of folding them or hanging them up, and looks at him, noses a couple inches away from each other’s. Wonwoo stares at him, and he feels Mingyu’s breath on his lips, and he swears that if neither of them say anything, he might just do something he may or may not regret afterward.

            His arm is still resting over Mingyu’s waist when he asks in a hushed whisper, “What are you doing? Stop staring at me like that.”

            “Like what?” Mingyu asks, and leans closer. “You’re staring too.”

            Yes, Wonwoo admits. He is, in fact, staring. As a matter of fact, he’d love to stare some more. Beauty should always be appreciated, shouldn’t it?

            But then he doesn’t stare any more, and instead, he leans forward, lips pressed onto Mingyu’s—and they’re kissing. He can feel the heat of Mingyu’s breath on his lips and philtrum, and it’s so, so good, he seriously thinks he’s in love.

            Wonwoo doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, but all he knows is that he loves the feeling of Mingyu pressed up against his body like this, legs tangled under the white duvet. They pull apart after a few moments, and they continue staring until Mingyu speaks up.

            “That,” he starts, chest heaving a little, “was so gay. And your breath stinks.”

            Wonwoo laughs a little—a small chuckle, kind of airy and raspy, but Mingyu decides he likes it—and tugs him closer until Mingyu’s head is pressed against his shoulder. He feels Mingyu’s breathing, calm and gentle against his skin.

            “You should also put a shirt on.”

            But Wonwoo doesn’t care. He feels warmer without his shirt anyway, now that he has Mingyu like this.

            “I don’t care,” Wonwoo voices out nonchalantly, eyes closing as he sighs contentedly. “Bet you everything you liked it more than I did.”

            “Did not,” Mingyu defends, though there’s no edge to it.

            “Did too.”

            “Gay.”

            “You’re gayer.”

            “I know.”