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“I can’t believe it! I can’t believe you decided to lose!”

Chansung has dozed off, which only adds fuel to Junho's sudden burst of anger. It takes a while for the maknae to make sense of the shove on his arm and the light yet numerous punches on his shoulder, but Junho notices him peering at the TV screen until he seems to realize what’s going on. “Stop it,” he mumbles, pushing back at him without looking and earning a bite on his palm. It was Junho’s face he hit, and he ought to be more careful.

“How dare you two give up like that, after just one defeat! And it was not even your fault, it was Sunggyu hyung!” Two, three more punches, but Junho’s face is still scrunched up in frustration.

“Two defeats. And the second one was—”

“Your stupid reasoning or Woodong’s, I don’t care, you could still have won the game!” Junho shoves at him once more before sitting down on the couch to pay attention to the show again. The cast ofRunning Man is arriving at the university and there are hundreds of students cheering for the hosts and idols. “Tell me you’ll win this round! What game is it?”

Junho waits, but Chansung doesn’t answer. It looks like he'll sleep again if only Junho allowed him to, but he's having none of that. Junho might undertand how tired Chansung is from their Japanese fan meeting, the constant trips, and the mere thought of flying back to Korea again. For all his own lack of sleep and hectic schedule, however, Junho oozes energy and excitement, and resting is the last thing on his mind right now. Watching the show only makes him more restless.

“Hey, you’re good at dodgeball, right?”

Chansung's gaze flicks to Junho's eyes for a moment, but he remains quiet. Junho’s eyes are on him, though, so he eventually speaks. “Junho ah… you should just watch it and let me nap. That way you won’t get any spoilers—”

“I can tell by your voice and the lack of comments from both you and Wooyoung that you haven’t won the show, but I’m still curious.” Junho moves a little to the left, closer to Chansung, until their legs align, their shoulders bump, and Junho can sniff at his neck easily. Chansung smells of shampoo and soap, wasabi and kani from the sushi they ate earlier, and 2PM. Junho can’t really describe it, but once all of them spend time together, there’s a scent that connects them all, maybe from the dorm, from the borrowed clothes or shared sweat, but once it hits him, his nose wrinkles up, though he also smiles faintly. 

Chansung has closed his eyes and Junho feels tempted to hit him into consciousness again, but then he looks at the TV, sees how Wooyoung is eliminated from the game but still greets the students coolly, and then lets himself be distracted by the show. That is, until Seungho hits Chansung, Joon celebrates like a kid, and 2PM’s second place feels like they got last. The total amount of seconds they have earned shows they are screwed indeed, so Junho stands up and sits on one of the beds in the hotel room, the unused one, where they’ve spread clothes and accessories and gadgets that they only have a couple of hours to organize and pack. Lazing around is more important, though, because it’s one of the few moments he and Chansung will spend together, just the two of them, before their appointments and miles of distance get in the way again. He rummages through the bags at the foot of the bed until he finds a plastic package, which he takes back with him to the sofa.

He sits down heavily, but Chansung doesn’t move, not even when Junho aligns their bodies again, his skin feeding on the warmth. Junho knows the maknae’s not sleeping, though, so he pushes his left leg against Chansung’s right one repeatedly, until the other opens an eye at him.

“Wha—”

Junho shoves a mochi in his mouth and holds his chin up so Chansung won’t spit the sweet back at him. He smiles wickedly despite the flare of Chansung’s nostrils and how his protests remain comprehensible in spite of his current difficulty at speaking. Junho takes one of the mochis for himself and bites at it gently, savoring the jelly-like texture that gave way to the sticky filling. They were supposed to taste like strawberries, but it was barely there, just as the sweetness. 

Chansung coughs, clears his throat, and narrows his eyes at Junho. “Did you really have to do that?” he asks, but Junho just smiles at him again, eyes turned to half-moons. Chansung's senses have finally kicked in, and Junho knows the other is reading him right now. Junho's practiced, outrageous look of innocence could only mean evil. “Nuneo…”

Junho takes another bite of his mochi before holding it close to Chansung’s mouth. “Eat. You’ll need all the sugar you can get.”

Chansung shakes his head, starts to argue, but his boyish smile is already there. Junho grins back at him, challenges him to dodge the silent implications, but they both know whose victory this will be. “There’s still the mission, y’know…”

Junho makes sure his face says is-that-the-best-you-can-do whereas his body moves at its own accord, one leg draping itself over Chansung’s lap, so all the other can do is pull him forward and help him straddle his legs. Chansung also accepts the sweet and munches on it slowly, almost thoughtfully. He's probably taking the moment to enjoy it since he’s deprived himself of snacks like these for weeks, something Junho still has to smack his head for. He wants to tell Chansung to stop dieting, but he reckons the other will just throw it back at him. Despite his obstinance, Junho can admit to himself that he doesn't like to keep his eating habits in check all the time. Besides, he doesn't want to argue or discuss anything serious right now. He just wants to relish in Chansung's company, the fact that they're alone, and the possibilities that entails.

Junho caresses his hair, eyes following his own fingers as they rake through the black locks, still a little damp from the shower he took earlier. Chansung closes his eyes again, this time for different reasons, one hand gripping at Junho’s left thigh as the other hand caresses his lower back underneath the shirt. Junho hisses at the unexpected burn of his skin under Chansung’s touch. He tugs at the short hair close to Chansung’s neck before leaning forward, nose bumping nose, half lidded eyes resting on parted lips. Junho breathes in, the air between them shifting, hot and heavy. 

“Chanana…”

Chansung cackles at the nickname, but Junho’s fingers dig over his shoulders, his other hand covers Chansung’s on his thigh and squeezes, his hips moving ever so slightly, more than enough. Chansung must know what he wants, but he still holds back a moment longer. The tension, the yearning before their lips meet is as exhilarating as the kiss itself, but Junho craves for the taste. Chansung's lips brush against his lower one, taking it in, the tip of a tongue runs over it and then Junho bites back, his patience running out quickly. Chansung just smiles into the kiss, savors his mouth and at his lips until Junho’s gasping, arching against him, demanding for more. 

It doesn’t take long for Chansung to stand up, Junho still on his lap, legs firmly locked around his waist, Chansung’s hands on very inappropriate, or appropriate places. The TV is not forgotten, it’s just turned off by Chansung’s foot, which almost makes them fall. Junho does punch him on the shoulder then, but he also wants to get the package of sweets back, and that’s when they fall indeed, though not exactly by accident. Junho doesn't hide his smug grin as he pulls the other down over him on the couch, and the maknae is silenced with a heated kiss. 

The bed can wait, his desire cannot.

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