It’s always like this.

After each concert, after the excitement and the adrenaline rush; and after it all fades by the end; when the others are settling down and anticipating a well-deserved rest, Sanha still has something to look forward to.

Everyone else is exhausted, making one lest effort to be flawless, to hold themselves up gracefully and smile and wave to the fans who were seeing them off.

Sanha too is tired, absolutely fatigued, but something in his chest is still tingling, there is still anticipation in his guy, slowly spreading through his body as they near the van.

A few smiles and waves later, they make it inside at last and soon take off.

Any minute now.

Sanha feels a weight on his right, a head on his shoulder and a fist kneading into his chest.

He smiles.

He pretends not to notice.

“Sanha.”

“Hm?”

He’s still pretending, not paying attention to Minhyuk.

“Babe.”

At this, Sanha caves, as he always does.

It’s always like this.

Sanha drops his phone and cups Minhyuk’s cheeks, presses a kiss to his pouty lips.

Minhyuk smiles, faintly. He’s barely keeping his eyes open. He moves, slowly and hazily, lowers his head into Sanha’s lap.

Minhyuk doesn’t give Sanha a chance to move, already demanding, “Play with my hair.”

Sanha smiles. As if he wasn’t going to do that anyway. But he doesn’t say anything; Minhyuk already knows, and Sanha doesn’t want to disturb him as he drifts off.

It’s always like this.

Minhyuk always gets soft and cuddly when sleepy, but especially after concerts. After each one, when the two of them happen to catch a moment of privacy, Minhyuk comes to Sanha and, in his evasive ways, asks to be held.

Sanha loves tours.

He glances outside the window, and as he watches street lights, neon signs and stop lights race by in a blur, he feels his eyelids getting heavy.

It’s always like this, and Sanha doesn’t want it to change.