Minho

The late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, casting long shadows over the scattered essays on Minho's desk. He pinched the bridge of his nose, the dull headache of grading finally catching up to him. The hallway outside had been empty for the last hour.

A soft knock, followed immediately by the door opening. Minho looked up, ready to say that office hours were over, but the words faded the second Jisung slipped inside. He shut the door behind him with a soft click.

Jisung didn't even glance at the chair across the desk. Completely ignoring the professional boundaries of the campus, he walked straight around the heavy oak desk and stopped right beside Minho.

— You said you’d be done by five, Jisung murmured.

He didn't wait for an invitation, simply stepping into the space between Minho's knees and resting his hands on his shoulders. Minho leaned back in his chair, the rigid posture he maintained all day instantly melting away. He didn't care that the door wasn't locked and anyone could just walk in. Instead, he just let out a long breath and wrapped his arms around Jisung's waist, burying his face against the soft cotton of his hoodie.

— I got stuck on the last batch of papers, Minho admitted, his voice muffled against the fabric.

Jisung hummed, his fingers finding the hair at the nape of Minho’s neck, massaging his scalp. It was a simple, grounding touch.

— I know, you always overthink the grading, Jisung said, tilting Minho’s head back so he could look at him. The exhaustion in his own eyes was softened by a warm, fond look. — The library was depressing anyway, and my brain is completely fried too. So I decided to come get my boyfriend. Let's go home. I want our couch and terrible takeout.

Minho sighed, a small smile finally breaking through his tired expression. He gave Jisung's waist one last squeeze before letting go and reaching for his coat.