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It's 9:13pm. Ryan is sinking back into the corner of the sofa, watching the Princess Bride, and in his arms, sprawled backwards against him, is Min.
(It hadn’t started out like that. First they’d been sitting next to each other, but Min had slowly drooped, leaning against Ryan more and more as the movie went on. Ryan had shifted around to accompany him until he was squished into his current position, with Min half upright, half laying in his lap. As for why Ryan was holding him— well, he didn’t want Min to fall off the couch or anything.)
Min-Gi is halfway to sleep, because he has the circadian rhythms of an old man. Which Ryan would tease him about (again) if not for the fact that Min’s ungelled hair is so, so soft as it falls freely across his face. Ryan can tell it’s tickling Min, because his brows crinkle up and he keeps making irritable little puffs of breath whenever a loose strand brushes against his nose.
One of Ryan’s arms is looped under Min’s arm, around his chest, pulling him closer. The other arm— previously resting across Min’s stomach— floats upwards, before Ryan realizes: wait, what am I about to do?
His hand hovers, knuckles just shy of brushing Min’s chin. What am I doing?
Min shifts. More hair falls into his face. He sniffs, eyes squeezing shut in annoyance, and right between his brows there’s a crease forming, like the dimple of a smile.
Ryan doesn’t think and can’t stop. His knuckles sweep Min’s hair aside, and he leans down, and covers the wrinkle with his lips.
He rears back. Min’s eyes are wide.
“ Huh— ”
Make something up make something up—
“That was a bro kiss.” Oh, Ryan is so fucked.
“Wh— what.” Min’s voice is hoarse. Yeah, he was definitely just about to drift off when Ryan did that. Fuck . “What?” His voice is clearer now, less sleepy. FUCK .
“Bro kiss.”
Min stares at him. Ryan stares back. Poker face, poker face.
Min is laying in his arms, looking right up at him in bright red disbelief. He’s blinking rapidly, lips parted, groaning in confusion, “Ryan, what —”
If Ryan leaned down just a few inches he could kiss him quickly enough to swallow up whatever Min is about to say. In case he hasn’t dug his grave deep enough. His arms tighten. Min is so heavy, and burning hot, even when covered up in a baggy sweatshirt.
“You know, a bro kiss,” Ryan says, almost feverish.
“Ryan.” Min scrubs at his face with the heel of his palm. “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What are you talking about.”
“Ah—” Ryan inhales. “It’s just, like, y’know, human beings, we’re social creatures, and we all need physical affect— physical contact sometimes, right?” Physical contact? As if you haven’t been spooning him on the couch for an hour? Moving on, moving on.
“And I mean, you and I, we’re— single— unattached adults, we’re living away from home, alone, with each other, and. You know! Physical contact. Not in a, in a—” He coughs over the next few words, “ romantic way or anything like that. It’s just something friends do for each other sometimes. Cause it boosts your endorphins and stuff. So it’s good for your brain.” He’s backing this up with science. Then he chickens out and just lies. “So… some of the guys I met while touring would… uh, kiss their bros…”
Min-Gi hasn’t said anything. He looks distinctly unimpressed. (But he’s also kind of red, so he could be angry. Or maybe not? It’s so much harder to read him when he’s so close up.)
Ryan would burst into flames if he weren’t dripping with sweat.
Finally, Min shrugs, his shoulders shifting in Ryan’s arms. “Well, you could have asked me first.”
“Haha, that’s fair…” Then should he ask? Or is this Min’s way of telling him it wasn’t welcome? But Ryan’s mouth gets ahead of him anyway. “Then, uh. Is it okay with you?”
Min stiffens. He’s staring away from Ryan, transfixed by the flickering TV.
Ryan holds his breath. His stomach is full of knives.
Min-Gi closes his eyes. “Yeah, man, it’s cool.”
With that, he rolls over, smushing his face into Ryan’s sweater. Soon, his whole body slumps into Ryan’s, as his breathing evens out.
“Okay,” Ryan says, gulping. “Cool,” he says to Min’s sleepy face. “Cool, cool cool.”
Min definitely won’t remember that conversation, Ryan assures himself the next morning. After all, Min had been half asleep for most of it, had fallen asleep again right after, and when he’d eventually gotten up from the couch to stagger to bed, he’d been barely aware of his surroundings and only responded to Ryan’s questions with a grumble. No, Min definitely won’t remember that Ryan kissed his forehead, or the burning truck pile of excuses Ryan had made afterward.
Seriously, bro kisses? Ryan cringes at himself. That was the best explanation he could come up with?
And— yeah, Min had said it was okay… but Min was barely awake, and he might not give the same answer if the question came up again in the daytime.
But it’s all gonna be just fine. Ryan’s woken up earlier for once, and he’s standing over the stove, making two plates of the only semi-fancy breakfast recipe he’s good at, which is omurice. The coffee’s brewing, and he’s even cleaned up the living room and unloaded the dishes from the night before. Therefore, when Min wakes up and joins him in the kitchen, instead of potentially turning the conversation to whatever the hell happened last night, Ryan can redirect the subject to hey, I made breakfast! Aren’t I the best roommate ever! Haha yeah I guess I woke up early, super random, and I just felt like being productive, and it definitely wasn’t out of an anxiety-driven manic fervor or anything like that. And they can laugh about that instead, and it will buy Ryan time to gab about literally anything else.
The bedroom door swings open; Ryan hears the creak of the hinge and the floorboards, counting down the steps it takes for Min to arrive. The hairs on his neck stand on end.
( It’s just Min. It’s just Min, he reminds himself.)
“Morning.” Min greets him with a yawn.
“Hey,” Ryan says, the words sticky in his mouth. “I made breakfast.”
“Coffee too?”
“It’s on the pot,” Ryan says, gesturing to said pot, which is entirely unnecessary because the pot is right next to the stove like it has been every day since they moved in. Min knows where it is. Ryan does not need to gesture at it.
He also doesn’t need to tense up when Min comes up beside him, because this is completely normal for their morning routine in their tiny apartment, of course Min gets close to him sometimes, this kitchen is so cramped even for just two people—
Min stands beside him, bedhead adorably ruffled. He pours himself a mug— one with a picture of Kez in glitter paint, his favorite— and when the mug is full he stands right there, swaying in place, waiting for the scent of coffee to waft up, wake him up.
He takes a sip and grunts in satisfaction. “Thank you,” he says. “You’re the best roommate.”
“Haha, yeah,” Ryan says. I was supposed to say something like that, wasn’t I? “I just woke up early… totally random… yeah…”
Okay. Everything’s good. Nothing’s exploded. Maybe he didn’t need to worry after all. Maybe Min really doesn’t remember… or maybe he just wrote last night off as Ryan being his usual self. A big joke.
Nothing’s different. That’s good. Right?
Ryan keeps his head bowed down, eyes fixed on the fried rice tossing around in the pan.
An arm swings around his shoulders. Before Ryan can look up, he smells coffee breath, and feels something on the crown of his head—
Min pulls back and yawns again, moving to sit at the table with his Kez mug and mini-synth.
Scalp tingling, Ryan’s fingertips fly to the top of his hair, as if the kiss might’ve left a traceable touch. Behind him, Min taps out a line of electric notes as perfect as pearls on a string.
Ryan only breaks his trance in time to stop the rice from burning.