Minho

The faint hum of the amplifier was the only sound in the apartment. Jisung was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his spine pressed awkwardly against the base of the couch. The only light in the room came from the glaring screen of his laptop, casting harsh shadows across his tired face. Around him lay the physical evidence of his latest hyperfixation – tangled jack cables, scattered lyric sheets, and a completely untouched takeout container from yesterday.

The front door unlocked with a heavy, metallic click. Footsteps moved down the hallway – steady and unhurried. A second later, the overhead light flicked on, flooding the living room with bright, unforgiving clarity.

Jisung hissed, squeezing his eyes shut and raising a hand to block the glare.

Minho was standing in the doorway, still wearing his immaculate wool coat. He didn't say anything at first. He just stood there, his sharp gaze doing a slow sweep of the disaster zone, lingering on the cold food and the dark circles under Jisung’s eyes.

— Are you trying to permanently ruin your eyesight, or is working in the dark part of the artistic vision? Minho asked, his tone perfectly flat as he began unbuttoning his coat.

— The screen is bright enough, Jisung muttered, dropping his hand and blinking rapidly. — I was in the zone. I just lost track of time.

Minho walked into the room, expertly stepping over a coiled guitar cable. He stopped right next to Jisung, the toe of his polished shoe lightly nudging the cold takeout container.

— You didn't eat, Minho stated, not asking a question. — You haven't moved from that spot since I left for the office twelve hours ago. Shut the laptop and get up off the floor, Jisung.