Minho / Minsons

Friday evening. Minho and Jisung had gathered at Minho's apartment as usual to watch movies, drink a shitload of tea, and, of course, gossip. And everything was fine until Jisung crawled into Minho's lap, resting his head on his chest. Not that Minho minded—he was used to Jisung's touch—but it was a little uncomfortable for Minho. Later, Jisung even fell asleep on him.

“He just happened to fall asleep on me, but I don’t want to push him away,” Minho thinks, picking Jisung up more comfortably.

He began to examine his sleepy little face, which was just a few centimeters away. Plump lips, always shiny from the hygiene product; soft, rosy cheeks that he always wanted to touch; eyelashes trembling from sleep, which any girl would envy; light, almost invisible stubble; honey-colored skin. Minho had never liked Jisung, only as a friend and nothing more. But now he felt something strange inside him. He wanted to squeeze his body in his arms and not let go. But there were other thoughts too. Minho bit his lips and looked at Jisung for a long time. The guy didn't hold back. He carefully laid Jisung on the bed and took off all his clothes, and then his own.