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Minho is tired. His feet scuff and drag across the sidewalk, then the linoleum tiled floors of the lobby, all the way to the moving, steel death trap. Or elevator. He steps inside and ignores the way it gives under his weight just slightly, and taps the button to his floor. He sighs, slumping back against the wall, and lets his eyes close.
All he wants to do is get home, hole up in his room, and fall into a coma (take a nap). The weight hanging off his shoulder seems to dig a little deeper, the textbooks in his bag scolding him for thinking he could take a break. No, they scoff, you have an essay to write.
Why did he ever decide to go to university? Minho isn’t sure, and he is certainly cursing his younger, fresh-out-of-school self right now. He had been so excited back then, bright eyed and eager to take the next step into the future, into adulthood.
What a load of bullshit.
The elevator dings and announces his arrival to the eighth floor, doors sliding open with a low hiss. Minho steps out, readjusts the strap on his shoulder, and sighs again. He’s really fucking tired.
So, as he walks down the hall, fishing his keys out from his jacket, he begins to rationalize with himself. He doesn’t need to actually finish this essay yet, it’s not due until next week. All he has to do is make at least a bit of progress on it, and then he can relax and get some much needed shuteye. Just as long as his roommates don’t try to kill each other. Again.
He slides his key into the lock of his apartment and opens the door, greeted immediately by the smell of popcorn and voices in the kitchen.
“What did you say this movie was about again?” He hears you ask, presumably directed at your other roommate.
Jisung clears his throat, shaking what sounds to be a bag of popcorn. “Um, family drama? I think? It’s called Hereditary, anyways, so it’s gotta be family stuff.”
Oh no.
Minho lifts his eyes to the ceiling and prays for the will to survive this night. As he kicks off his shoes, he wonders how long it’ll take you to try and strangle Jisung this time.
“Is this the one with Alex Wolff and that little girl making that clicking sound in the trailer?” You ask, prodding for more information.
“Sounds like it.”
There is a moment of silence, then, in a very suspicious tone, “Ji… this isn’t a horror movie, is it?”
Minho finally rounds the corner to see you pointing an accusing finger around a can of sprite at Jisung, whose mouth is opening and closing as he tries to come up with an answer. He’s absolutely floundering, so Minho interrupts.
“It is,” he says, “it’s an Ari Aster film, of course it’s a horror movie.”
There’s one, two beats of silence where Jisung stares at him in utter betrayal, face rapidly paling. And then—
“HAN JISUNG I’M GOING TO SMACK THE SHIT OUT OF YOU!”
“WAIT, WAIT, COME ON, IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE— AHH , NOT THE HAIR!”
— there goes Minho’s peaceful, violence free evening. He’s tired, and a little annoyed at the familiar screeches and yelps as you two run about the apartment, but he watches on with more fondness than he’d ever admit. Idiots , he thinks. But you’re his idiots.
“FINE!” Jisung shouts, batting away your hands from his safe zone behind the couch. “We don’t have to watch it.”
You smile and breathe a relieved sigh, already retreating from the couch. “See? Was that so hard to—“
“But only if you admit that you’re too much of a pussy to do it.”
There’s a very scandalized gasp from you, and Minho has to suppress a snicker, even as the bickering starts up in full force again. It’s shorter lived this time, and you, unwilling to let Jisung and the rest of the friend group (namely, your brother) hold it over you for months, turn to Minho.
“Is it like… really scary?” You ask, voice much quieter, and Minho’s chest aches for a fleeting second because that is absolutely not what you should ever sound like. He thinks that he hates hearing you sound so small.
He pushes those thoughts away and shrugs. “I mean, everyone has their own idea of scary. I liked it, at least.” But Minho knows you better than that. “Doubt you’ll be able to sleep tonight, though.”
Jisung shrinks back at that answer, ready to flee again should you take chase, but you don’t. Instead, you take a calming breath and let it out in a huff. “Fuck it. I’d rather have a bad night than listen to Hyunjin tease me about it on the drive home this weekend.”
The two of you ask if he wants to stay and watch, but Minho declines, collecting his book bag and claiming he has schoolwork to do, which is true. However, the full truth is that one watch of that movie was more than enough for him, whether he enjoyed it or not. On his way down the hall, he feels just a little bit guilty, thinking, you really should’ve chosen the latter .
If he wasn’t already fantasizing about when his head could finally meet his pillow, he might have stayed to let you hide your face in his shoulder.
—
It doesn’t hit you until you’re leaving your room, blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders like a shield against scary monsters and your bedroom light illuminating the hallway, how juvenile this feels. It was bad enough for your pride to admit that Minho was right when you actually weren’t able to sleep, but this? Tiptoeing across the hall like a kid that needs their mom and dad? Fucking pathetic.
By the time you’re stood in front of his door, you are very much considering running back to your own bed and pulling an all nighter with the lights on. To avoid the “I told you so” conversation, if nothing else. But then you swear you see a shadow move at the other end of the hall, and you’re slipping into his room before you can think anymore on it.
Minho’s sound asleep, laying on his side and facing you, with his phone inches away from his hand where he no doubt passed out in the middle of reading something. You creep closer to his bed and are quite thankful for the open curtains letting in moonlight so you don’t kick his bed frame.
“Minho?” You whisper, and he doesn’t even flinch. “Minho,” you call his name twice more, but it isn’t until you reach down and gently touch his shoulder that he stirs.
“Mmm… Y/N…?” He mumbles and rubs his eyes. “What’s th’matter?”
“I’m sorry, I just…” you trail off, eyeing a particularly ominous shaped sweater that’s slung over his desk chair in the corner. You shiver and force your eyes away. “Can I stay with you tonight?”
There’s no judgment, no smug comment about him being right, and zero hesitation. Minho doesn’t bat an eye. He flops his hand about the bed until he finds his phone and puts it on his nightstand, then pulls back the covers for you to get in. You don’t waste another second, crawling in next to him before something can grab your ankle from under the bed.
He throws the covers back over you and before settling in again himself, grabs a small remote from the nightstand and switches on a lamp beside you. It’s small, round, vaguely cat shaped, and you know that if you squish it, it’ll change colours. God bless random Amazon finds.
“Red okay?” Minho asks, and you hum an affirmative. He changes the color and it lights up the room just enough to inspire confidence that there is nothing standing in the corner or sitting at his desk.
He lays back down next to you and is about to roll over on his side, when he stops and looks you over. “Hey… you’re shaking.”
Are you? You are. “Oh,” you let out a nervous chuckle, “I didn’t even realize.”
“That movie really freaked you out, huh?”
No point in denying it now, no matter how warm your face is getting from the embarrassment. “Yeah…”
Minho, again, doesn’t hesitate. “C’mere,” he says, opening up his arms.
You take his offer and shuffle over, tucking you head against his chest. His arms circle around you and draw you close, and his heartbeat is quiet but steady under your ear. Warmth spreads through you as his hand rubs your back, a gentle up and down, up and down. “I’ve got you,” he whispers.
The bed is soft and warm, and Minho feels like safety, and finally, finally, you feel the pull of sleep.
“Thank you,” you say a little while later, barely awake enough to string the phrase together.
“Anything for you.”
—
Thirty minutes later, Jisung is standing at the foot of the bed with a stuffed animal hugged to his chest, asking,
“Can I sleep in here tonight?”