9

Minho let out a groan as he flopped onto his back, freeing himself from the cramped position on the edge of the mattress he'd been forced into by Taemin over the course of the night. When he wasn't attempting to use Minho as a pillow, Taemin was tossing and turning, flinging his limbs every which way. Minho did his best to scoot away and minimize the damage to his body, but his muscles ached with stiffness. 

As he stretched out in the bed, he slowly came to the sleepy realization that he was its only occupant. He leaned over the side to check if Taemin had taken a tumble onto the floor, but there was nothing except a dust bunny and a scuff from moved furniture. He frowned when he patted the underside of the mattress, half expecting the saddlebag to be gone to wherever Taemin was, but it was still where he'd stowed it the day previous. 

Minho blinked in the faint light of the just rising sun as he weighed how exhausted he was against how much he cared about Taemin's absence. Deciding it wasn't worth waking up for, he tugged the blankets back over his head and attempted to fall back asleep. He'd turn up eventually, thought Minho. After all his begging to stick by Minho's side, it would be an odd thing for him to take off permanently without a word.

He felt his mind's connection on his body loosening, the way it does when sleep comes, but that sweet release was ripped out of his grasp when the door of the room loudly banged open. Minho didn't startle; somehow, he knew it was Taemin. He muttered a silent prayer that Taemin would have the decency to leave him to his rest, but he wasn't so lucky.

"You awake?" Taemin said, smacking at Minho's foot to try to get him to stir. "Brought you breakfast. Don't let it get cold. Get up."

" off," grumbled Minho. He tried to burrow deeper in the blankets, but they were snatched away from him.

"Come on! Don't be such a cranky bastard. Eat something. There's even like, half a cup of coffee here."

Minho continued to ignore him, but Taemin wasn't the type that would allow himself to be ignored. Something solid yet slightly wet pushed against his lips, and Minho cracked his eyes open to see Taemin hovering above him, attempting to force a hunk of bread slathered in something into his mouth.

"Open wide. Breakfast time!"

Minho smacked Taemin's hand out of the way as he sat up, and whatever that bread was coated in smeared against his face. As he wiped it on the back of his hand, Minho scooted to the opposite edge of the bed, putting space between himself and Taemin.

There was a clatter as Taemin roughly shoved the plate he held onto a bedside table. "I try to do one nice thing for you and—"

"Give me the coffee," Minho interrupted in exasperation. "I'll drink that."

Taemin hopped onto the bed, kneeling behind Minho. His chin dug into Minho's shoulder. "Say please first," he demanded. "Use your manners."

Minho pushed at Taemin's forehead to try and dislodge him. "Use your ing manners!" he complained. "Personal space, boundaries: Are these concepts you've ever heard of?"

"Eh, I'm not the biggest fan," said Taemin. "Here. Take this. You're lucky I'm so forgiving."

A coffee mug was pushed into Minho's hands, and he hardly had a grip on it before Taemin let go. Thankfully, it wasn't full enough to slosh over onto Minho's clothes, but then again, it was hardly full at all. Minho turned up his nose at the pink lipstick stain he noticed on the chipped rim and the of a cigarette he saw bobbing in the muddy liquid. 

With a sigh, he set it on the end table on his side. Wearily, he said, "Next time you bring me breakfast, I'd prefer it to be less… used. Who'd you steal this from?"

Taemin clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Someone who wouldn't miss it. God, you're so picky," he scolded. "I have something else for you, actually. Something you'll like better, I think. But you have to close your eyes. It's a surprise."

"Taemin, I don't—"

"Come on! Humor me this once. Please?"

Minho wanted to argue that he'd been doing just that since the moment they met, but he was beginning to learn that arguing would only prolong his suffering. He drew his legs up to sit cross-legged and adjusted his position to allow Taemin to see his face. His eyes, per Taemin's demand, were fully shut.

“Hands out,” Taemin instructed. “Palms up. No peeking. If you peek, I’ll know, and then you won’t get your gift.”

"You're making an awful lot of demands for someone I don't even like," Minho grumbled. "Ow!"

Taemin smacked him harshly across the shoulder, and Minho cried out more in surprise than pain.

"Don't talk like that. With your attitude, I'm probably the closest thing you have to a friend. Keep your eyes closed!"

"They're closed! They're closed!"

"Good. Here you go."

The objects Taemin dumped into his hands clinked and jangled metallically as they settled. Minho ran his thumb over something as he waited for permission to open his eyes; it felt like small links of a chain.

The air was still for a moment as neither spoke. Taemin was tensed for a reaction that Minho didn't have ready.

"Um, can I look?" prompted Minho.

"Yeah! Yeah, of course."

Minho let his eyes open, but it wasn't the treasure in his hands that he focused on first. Taemin was perched on his knees in front of Minho, his eyes wide with expectations. He was searching Minho's expression, nervous. He was desperate for approval.

Minho glanced down. In his palms was a mound of jewelry—rings, necklaces, brooches, pocket watches—varying in both quality and design. It seemed Taemin just snatched up anything that sparkled, judging by the contrast of cheap tin with solid bejeweled gold.

Taemin's finger poked i