let it be known that joshua hong jisoo hates touching.

it’s not anything personal, it’s just that it feels positively hateful for jisoo. he’s alright with people messing up his hair, he’s alright with people sitting in his lap, but if a hug goes on for too long, if someone else initiates skin-on-skin contact, he will riot.

(it’s more like awkwardly manoeuvring out of the person’s grasp but hong jisoo can dream.)

let it also be known that jeon wonwoo is the softest person alive.

he likes stuffed toys and pastel, oversized clothes, he likes touching and being touched. jeon wonwoo is just a teddy bear in a box wrapped with black paper, jisoo says.

for all his softness though, jeon wonwoo has an equal amount of problems. anxiety, depression, and a pinch of insomnia to boot.

(that is not equal but jeon wonwoo likes to pretend it is, because it feels a little more bearable.)

tonight is one of the many nights they stay up because wonwoo can’t sleep and jisoo is a stubborn headass who doesn’t listen to their manager.

(“don’t stay up with wonwoo,” the man had said. “he’s used to it; he can take a whole day with only two hours of sleep. you can’t.”

what’s sleep? jisoo’s never heard of it.)

“i don’t know, man. what do you think is out there? what d’you think would have happened if we hadn’t become—y'know—” wonwoo gestures wildly at his body. “—idols?”

they’re in the living room of their dorm, the place hushed and unlike their mornings, full of hormonal boys yelling and rushing around. wonwoo’s voice has dropped an octave or so lower than normal, and his words are slurred, gyeongsangnam satoori prominent with how tired he is.

jisoo’s had experience with drunk, hell, even high, people back in the states. he thinks wonwoo sounds like one of them right now.
“i don’t know,” jisoo hums. “i’d probably still be living with my parents or something.” he laughs. “what about you?”

“i’d probably be dead in a ditch by now,” wonwoo says with full seriousness.

jisoo laughs.

(he doesn’t believe him. he knows wonwoo is a good son; wonwoo’d have been in university with a full scholarship or something.)

and like that, they fall into the lull and promise of dreamless nights.

jisoo wakes with an aching body and a lap full of jeon wonwoo.

his first thought is to flee. wonwoo is touching him; he doesn’t like it. his skin feels warm and clammy, and his throat is painfully constricted, like he just woke up from a nightmare.

(it’s probably from how the living room’s ac is turned off, but jisoo’s mind is in prompt terror right now; he can’t think.)

he hates it.

with how wonwoo is sprawled out on him, the only way he can get him off is by rolling him over and pushing him off. it feels almost like a mirage, with how close he is to sweet, sweet relief.

then he pauses.

jisoo hears a soft snore, and he pauses, because no ing way—no ing way is jeon wonwoo actually sleeping.

he stares at the clock, blinking because it’s only 2 or so in the morning. “oh my god,” he laughs wetly. “oh my ing god.”

he shifts around so both of them are in a more upright position. he grunts with how much wonwoo is being a dead weight, but it’s okay, it’s okay because jeon wonwoo is sleeping.

he presses a kiss against wonwoo’s temple, not even cringing at the contact. “goodnight, love,” he whispers.

(and it’s all alright, because it's wonwoo.)