Jinwoo is too tired to argue.

The room is big but there is only one bed. Minho looks at him and points at it. Jinwoo refuses energetically.
"It's only fair that you take the bed. The couch will do fine for me," he says, seriously. He is not ready to share one bed with a nearly total stranger. He doesn't want to be a bother neither - Minho has already done enough. Besides, he could fall asleep on the floor and he would be alright. But Minho must be up to discussion because he takes his hand and pushes him to the mattress - it's so soft Jinwoo feels like sinking into it.

"Sleep here, hyung," he says, "I'm used to share a bed anyway,'' he explains with a playful grin. Jinwoo isn't particularly inclined to know but Minho tells him nevertheless, "with Seunghoon. I slept with him for 8 years. Not on the same bed, though. The only one who is allowed to do so is Jhonny," he adds with a smirk.

"A girlfriend?" Jinwoo feels obligated to ask. Not that he is curious. For a girl is a tragic name, though, but it well could be a pet-name too. Minho seems the type to rename everyone - he is already on hyungs terms with him and they have only met for a few hours. Heck, Minho has been invading his personal space with no regrets at all. And now he is laying next to him, facing each other; Minho has a hand under his neck and the other loiters in the air, searching for a place to rest.

Minho's laugh is magic. Jinwoo flushes a bit but wonders how nice would it be to hear it every day to be bathed by the sound of his revelry. It's nice, it's warm, it feels a bit like home.

"Nah, I'm single," Minho shrugs it with his petulant smug and Jinwoo feels a bit lighter, as if relieved of a weight caged in his chest - it's fizzy and bubbling, butterflies' wings caressing his heart.

"Must be complicated to date being famous," Jinwoo wonders. Minho smirks at him as if he had said something he can reel on. He nods in agreement.

"But I haven't date in years. Don't have the time or interest. Jhonny is my only love," he continues, still smirking at Jinwoo. Jinwoo's cheek is drowning on the fluffed pillow and Minho brushes away the bits of scattered hair out of his eyes. "Jhonny is my cat, by the way," he grins at Jinwoo and Jinwoo smiles back because he has cats, too. "How about you?" he asks, out of the blue. For a second, Jinwoo is taken aback. When was the last time he went out with someone? He no longer remembers. It would be nice, though, to hang out with Minho, he thinks, too exhausted to stop his mind - but conscient enough to not saying it out aloud.

"I don't know," he states, simply.

"If I were half as beautiful as you are…" he starts and his voice is so deep, so rich, Jinwoo feels warm inside, "I would hook up with every boy in town," he says, a thumb on the tip of his nose. He can feel his fingertips under his lashes, dancing tenderly over his cheekbones. "Your skin," he continues, softly brushing his features "is so perfect..." he wonders, fingers gently tapping his chin, the arch of his cheeks, the hollowness of the dimples of his smile. His eyes are dazzling, spiralling constellations of infinite stardust and suns. Jinwoo wants to stargaze on them, get lost, get sleep counting the millions of stars twinkling inside his orbs. He laughs instead - his thoughts are becoming wild, it’s running down, drowsy, tuckered out. Minho stares at him with a raised brow.

“I'm not like that, I don't like going out, making out with the first pretty boy on my sight… It’s not who I am,” Jinwoo replies, voice yawning, eyes tilting.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t know me,” he has been awake for so long, has worked so hard, now all the weariness is drowning him, drowsing his speak.

“No, but I would like to. To. Know you, that’s it,” he says in a soft smile that turns into a grin in the laps of a heartbeat, “if you were that type of person I can assure you that we wouldn’t be talking right now, “ he fails at wink but the subtlety is there and Jinwoo holds it. Minho is not advancing on him as he was fearing - he is giving him space, they are both on the edges of the massive bed despite that Minho’s hands are still lingering on his head, brushing the inked silk of his hair. His arms are so long, so strong, veins popping like rivers - it’s beautiful. When Minho pulls him closer, Jinwoo lets him - all his energy has been drained and Minho is so warm, so soft, his chest swings up and down and if counts all the times he breathes in he will fall soon asleep. “You should sleep, hyung,” he murmurs against the pillow, face flat down on the cottony surface. Minho traces his side carefully and Jinwoo allows it because it’s so relaxing, so soothing and his head is spinning and his eyes want to shut close and Minho is speaking carefully, so gently it’s like a lullaby only for him. “But I would really, really let to know you”.

“I own you for this,” Jinwoo finds the strength to say, “for sharing the room with me.” He is half slumbering but he can sense the way Minho lights up, beaming at his words. With his eyes closed, he can picture the curb of his pierced lips, the lovely creases on his sparkling eyes, gleaming in delight.

“Then, I want your phone number, hyung,” and fireworks are colouring his voice.

“Tomorrow, I will give you everything but tomorrow. Now, sleep,” he wants to sound commanding but it comes out as a puff of air and Minho drags him even closer, his back on his chest and his hands holding him with affection and care. Minho hums in agreement, absolutely contented.

It’s all quite when Jinwoo opens his eyes. The light that comes in is dim and the wind is blowing faintly the curtains. The storm has subdued; nothing lasts from last night torment but a memory that Jinwoo can’t grasp - where is he? He can’t remember. He blinks, confused, before his mind settles in, taking in what happened. He stirs and turns around to face Minho - Minho is glancing at him, already woken.

“Good morning,” Jinwoo purrs, rubbing his lashes. On his own side of the bed, Minho stays still, looking at him waking. The sheets are perfectly fitted, unused and Jinwoo realised, ten seconds late, that Minho hasn’t slept there.

“I was… watching you sleep,” he confesses cheekily - but there is some colour on his cheeks and he looks adorable, ruffled hair and puffy eyes. “I just… I have my sleeping pattern ed up so I never sleep at night,” and Jinwoo nods not comprehending it at all. “I wasn't stalking, though!” he defends himself when Jinwoo starts to raise some suspicions. “Watching you helped me relax. Better than counting sheep,” he adds, sheepishly.

It’s too early to argue.

“Breakfast?” Jinwoo offers, heading to the bathroom. Minho follows him with a glance.

“I’ll call the room service,” Minho says, “take a shower and we will pick whatever to have”. Jinwoo refuses.

“I’ll bring you something from the buffet,” he says, ten minutes lates, drops smearing his pale skin, glimmering. Minho wants to fight - he wants to keep him under his sigh but lets him go nevertheless.

Jinwoo carries everything he can on plates up to their room smiling at the scene of the coffee, pastries, the sunshine bathing him, the fact that he is going home. He is thinking about what to tell Minho, the message still beeping on his phone - a new flight to Korea, taking off in a few hours. He had to reschedule everything but Minho seems totally unaffected, unbothered - which pisses Jinwoo a lot, but he smiles at Minho because he is curled in bed pouting at his mug of iced Americano.

Minho looks up at him, grinning all of a sudden. His phone is shimming and Jinwoo can read it on his expression, the words are written on his orbs.

“We are flying together back home,” he speaks to him which so much familiarity that confuses Jinwoo sometimes. They aren’t friends, they aren’t acquaintances; they are strangers brought together by accident and he doesn’t want to deepen it, to turn it into more than it is now - it would never work out. He wants to get over with it - to reach home, away from Song Minho.
Minho likes to differ.

“We don’t need to see each other again,” Jinwoo said just to hear Minho’s chuckling.

“You promised me your phone number”.

Jinwoo was too tired to think, too intoxicated by their proximity to refuse, to deny it, to deny him. But he remembers and he is a man of honour. Minho makes sure that he gets the exact number with his trademark smirk when Jinwoo’s phone treachers him by ringing. Jinwoo wants to smash it, but Minho is faster to grab it and save his name on it.

“Let's have a drink together some other time,” cheers Minho, handing him his device.

Minho insist to share the ride back to the airport and Jinwoo gives in just to stop the nagging, the pouting, the complains - because it makes his heartache. He stares outside through the windows and ignores all Minho’s banter - he listens to it as if background sounds though all the meanings dive inside his core. The road is covered with rain and falling trees but they make it to the airport where planes are taking off already. Jinwoo smiles watching them, imagining him inside of one, pictures him far from Minho who is sitting next to him, his voice caressing the inside of his mind.

He strolls his suitcase - Minho follows suit with his ten thousand of bags that now Jinwoo knows what hides inside. He sits and Minho sits by his side. He takes his phone and Minho watch over his shoulder, so close that he can breathe the air coming out from Minho’s lungs. When he tries to watch the drama, Minho talks over it, loud and annoying until Jinwoo faces him and sighs, resigned. Minho always wins in the end - Minho has earned, somehow, Jinwoo’s attention all the time. They chat and have lunch while waiting to board. Minho pays and Jinwoo rolls his eyes, bothered. Minho withers whenever Jinwoo isn’t paying attention; Jinwoo is like water and rain when he looks at him, he smiles, beaming like the sun and the stars - and when he sulks Jinwoo wants to give him whatever it takes to erase it and draw a smile instead. It’s hard to resist and Jinwoo has never had the will to do it.  

Luck is not on his side, not when he checks in, sits and Minho takes the seat beside him.

“Stop following me around,” Jinwoo whines, tired of the shadow that is Minho.

“I know you like me,” he smirks, absolutely sure, “and I’m not stopping until you agree to date me”.

Luck is never by his side but Minho is, stuck next to him like a second skin.

Jinwoo sighs and lets Minho to cuddle, his head resting on his lap, his hands itching to ruffle his hair.