Archive of Our Own

Somewhere, in the large auditorium where Minho holds his lecture, sits a student called Felix. 

He’s unassuming at first, close to being lost in the masses of the first lecture of the semester. Then comes the second and the third and as more seats grow empty and the crowd thins out, Felix appears in the periphery of Minho’s consciousness. Quietly, softly, like a lily-of-the-valley breaking through the last layer of snow. 

First, there’s a whisper of his name. It travels through the students’ mouths like a gust rattling leaves and all the way into Minho’s ear, awakening a tiny spark of interest just because of its unusual nature. Then comes the first essay that lands on Minho’s desk; the handwriting is condensed, but meticulous and tidy, as if learning the scripture had been done with painstaking patience. Minho doesn’t recall the contents of the essay at all, but remembers brushing a thumb across the corner where the ink had smudged around his name. Lee Felix Yongbok. 

It’s not until the fourth lecture that the tiny lily has grown tall enough to be spotted and for his face to appear through the gaps of missing students. There, in the second row, amongst the sea of dark, he’s a single speck of cherrywood hair. Bright as the first rays on a spring day and sitting as stubbornly in the corner of Minho’s eye as a thorn. 

From where Minho sits and teaches, perched against the old desk, he can sort of see Felix’s sweet little face, but not recognise any details. It’s a bit like watching a fawn cross the other side of the meadow, far away enough not to dwell, but close enough to become conscious of its existence, its appeal. When Minho finally moves closer, he risks a glance and, similar to the specks that decorate a fawn’s coat, there are freckles littered across the skin of Felix’s face like stardust. Reaching from the tip of his round nose and all the way to his temples, his ears. It’s unusual enough to make Minho pause. Their eyes meet for a moment — large and dark and sparkling like the night sky — then Felix looks away, nervous and flustered. Every bit fawn-like in behaviour, as well. Now that Minho is so close, he shies away. And Minho, as the hunter who has spotted him, tries to think nothing of it, of the pinkness of his cheeks and the hidden, bitten off smile, and walks on.

To his surprise, a few weeks later Felix stays behind as the auditorium slowly grows more empty. Minho tries not to make it obvious that he’s noticed, busying himself instead with shuffling the papers on his desk into a neat pile, even as the burning sunrise of colour from the corner of his eye remains ever present. When the door falls shut behind the last student, Felix approaches Minho’s desk. His essay is gripped firmly in his small fists, his body swimming in a pastel cardigan, whose soft hues of pink match the colour on his eyelids. It’s hard not to scrutinise, to study, but Minho forces himself to merely glance up, right above the rim of his glasses. Felix manages to hold eye contact for long enough to hand Minho his essay. Their fingers almost touch. Minho mumbles out a very soft ‘thank you’ as Felix stares, almost transfixed. He tucks a long strand of hair behind his very red ear and blinks his long lashes, every bit a deer caught in headlights, up until the moment where Minho looks away, and returns to packing his bag. Felix’s voice hitches around a quiet, “See you next week, Professor.” The next second he’s gone. Near silent.

He’s very pretty — but youth often is and Felix is young. Much younger than him. If Minho had to guess, he would put him somewhere in his early twenties, but not older. There’s still a roundness to his face, his body very delicate, with dove shoulders and Bambi legs. He’s cute and pretty enough to leave an impression, but it’s his very obvious crush on Minho that makes it impossible to stop noticing him, impossible to keep his eyes from straying, from returning. 

It starts off small; Minho tells himself he’s simply curious how far Felix will go, if he’ll become more daring as the weeks pass. He doesn’t. But after every lecture, and without fail, Felix finds an excuse to approach his desk, his cheeks and mouth so pink, a vibrant colour that spreads down his neck and dips past the divot in his throat. Minho wonders if he were to peel back those layers, how far it would go. He catches sight of his pink fingertips and nails and catches himself imagining where else his skin flushes the shade of a peony. Now that Minho has spotted him, has locked in on him, he craves more. Without having any real reason, Minho gets up from his desk and meanders along the hall as he teaches, stepping close enough to where Felix sits to study his face, drinking in that pink flush, the cluster of his dark lashes, the sharp point of his ear. When every week Felix turns coy and refuses to meet his eyes, sweet as a doe, hiding amongst tall grass, it all makes Minho want more. Simply watching him isn’t quite enough anymore. 

Minho has been teaching long enough, has had many students with crushes on him, all of them ignored with a terrifying ease. But there’s something about Felix; the brightness of him, the sweet innocence that drips viscous like honey from every flutter of long lashes, along the curved slope of his shoulders. Minho grows greedy for him, starts looking for traces even outside his lecture. He still feels every bit like a hunter, stalking close, catching traces of sunlight reflecting the white dotted coat; only that a hunter would have never made the mistake of stepping close enough and still letting his prey escape.

Just spotting him quickly stops being enough, too. It starts so simply; just a glance, just vague curiosity. Minho isn’t sure when exactly that moment shifts into something else, something more, but Minho starts craving. Starts wanting. It’s not right, a quiet part of him whispers, at the back of his head. Felix is so young and his student and it’s not right. But a much, much louder part of him drowns the whispered words out, bringing all of his focus to the sight of his full mouth, the fragile back of his neck when he puts up his hair. Minho looks at Felix and feels the ghost of a touch beneath his palm, imagines the softness of his skin, his lips, his hair. Imagines peeling back layers of clothes like fragile petals, to expose the softness right at the core of his being. The thought alone makes heat simmer in his body; behind his navel, right under the uppermost surface of his skin. Late at night, the heat stops simmering and grows bright enough to burn. When he’s alone in his bed and staring at the ceiling and imagining his student pinned beneath him. He wonders if he’d be loud, how the inside of his mouth tastes, how easily he’d open up. His fantasies take him far.

On some nights, Minho likes to imagine Felix the same way he sees a fawn. As pure, as untouched. Perched in a sunlit meadow, it barely knows a thing. Minho likes to imagine what it would be like to take him in, to be the first to touch him, to take, to bite. He imagines being the first one to make him shake and whine and cry; overstimulated and still begging for more. Minho imagines tying him with red ribbons, like a gift, then leaving traces on his skin, just as red, but lasting much longer. As clueless as Felix no doubt is, Minho knows he could show him many things. On some of his more depraved nights, he thinks about bringing him to his office, about kissing him breathless and dizzy, then bending him over his desk, a hand pressed against his mouth to quiet him and his fast paced exhales hot and helpless against Minho’s skin.

It should maybe be hard to face him after the first perverse thought has taken root, but quite the contrary, Minho finds himself only striving for more, moving in closer.

He calls on Felix in class just to hear his shy, little voice fight to break the oppressive silence of the room. Minho will come up to him, lean against his desk and let his hand linger on the worn wood, close enough to brush the sharp edges of Felix’s notebook, the end of his bitten pencil. While passing by, Minho grows daring enough to trace his fingers very briefly over the soft cotton covering Felix’s shoulder, then to the back of his exposed neck that seems to bloom bright as soon as the touch registers. Minho pretends not to hear the shocked little gasp that falls from Felix’s mouth, pretends not to notice the way his body shudders and straightens. His touch only lingers for a fraction of a breath before Minho moves on, but the image of the back of that slim neck and that perfectly round head lingers.

That night, he fantasises about gripping Felix’s silky cherrywood hair in a fist, pressing his fingers into that neatly styled little bun, and watching Felix’s back bend and arch as Minho fucks into him from behind.

When he sees him next, Minho feels no shame at all. He still studies him closely, eyes perhaps more intense than they should be, as he allows his gaze to linger on that plush, pink mouth, the shy tremble of his long lashes, the tips of his elfish ears.

Weeks pass like that. The lingering looks, touches, words. Felix’s flush is more obvious than ever, but while he bends under all of it, he doesn’t crack.

It’s only after three months, sometime in the new year, that Felix seems to have finally gathered his courage.

“Professor Lee?” His voice is very soft and very sweet. Low when he wants it to be, but pitched into something rather amicable whenever he approaches Minho like this. Today his hair is held up by a claw clip and there are strands falling and artfully framing his lovely, little face. Minho allows his eyes to linger on his pink cheeks, his pinker mouth, before meeting his eyes with a quiet ‘Yes?’

From the periphery of his vision he sees the nervous twist of Felix’s fingers, how they’re gripping his sleeve, the edge of his sweater. His chest is fluttering with the speed of a tiny bird’s wings and he looks so nervous and small Minho wishes he could devour him whole, feel tendons and bone bend and give between his teeth.

“I wanted to ask if you have some— some time for me today? I saw your office hours are right after this class and um—” he pauses, teeth sinking into his plush bottom lip. A shiver runs along Minho’s spine. Something that starts from the root up, warm and slow as it passes each vertebrae and settles in goosebumps at the back of his neck. He has spent a fair amount of time thinking about himself and Felix alone in his office. Minho would be lying if he said he doesn’t want to lock the door and taste the inside of his mouth. So, he nods and hopes that the smile he shows is more lips than teeth, even as he feels a vague, persistent hunger gnaw at him. 

“Of course, I do,” Minho says and the words feel like sandpaper against his tongue. As if he’d swallowed half the desert and now stands parched and with a self-denying patience that he never had to exhibit before. “I always have time for my favourite students,” he adds, quieter, his smile growing like he’s sharing a secret. As expected, the words make Felix bloom, a little like a flower in the peak of summer — a vibrant, lively ruby rose. Minho indulges in the fantasy of leaning in, of licking into his mouth and tasting himself and he easily blames the innocence that Felix displays like a trophy for making him crave to corrupt it. Like a prey animal showing its soft underbelly.

As they’re walking along the hallway together, Felix, a buzzing and blushing thing, a part of Minho starts to wonder how much of his purity is real and how much was an act to get his attention. Does he know what he’s doing? Is he aiming to push Minho far enough to snap? If this is a form of temptation, Minho has to admit it is quite masterfully done. He wonders if this is Felix taking the next step. Maybe, he assumes he has Minho where he wants him. Maybe his innocence is a well-worn mask he uses to dust himself off from all blame and responsibility. Maybe he’s done this before. 

From the corner of his eye he glances at Felix and catches his thin neck and lowered lashes and thinks to himself how he could forgive him; every transgression, every misstep. Even if everything had been an act. Even if he has seduced like this before, Minho wouldn’t denounce his purity. Because at this point it feels impossible to perceive him as anything but. If this is how he does it, Minho would play along.

They arrive at his office door and Minho leads Felix inside with a hand on his lower back, standing much closer than he had before. If he notices, he doesn’t seem to mind, but allows the touch to linger. Felix is warm, even through all those layers of clothing. There’s an almost imperceptible tremble to his frame that would have gone unnoticed, if it weren’t for the way Minho feels so tuned into every minute detail of him. From the texture of his cardigan, to the way the knobs of his spine feel underneath Minho’s fingertips. Subtly, quickly, he leans in, his nostrils fluttering as he picks up soft notes of something powdery and sweet that are clinging to Felix’s hair, his skin. The next second his student has moved away and Minho’s hand drops from his body, the subtle taste of his scent still melting on his tongue. It lingers there. Lingers, even as Minho swallows it down and feels it drop hot and sticky into the pit of his stomach.

And suddenly, he wants. Yearns. It’s no longer a maybe; Minho thinks that this was all planned, that Felix must have known, must have wanted to lure him in with this act only to end up bent over the table. Because Minho burns with want and Felix has to know, has to have planned it from his scent to every coy glance, to the obviousness of his crush. And who could blame Minho for taking what was so willingly offered? He’s just a man. 

He presses his back against the door, feeling the doorknob and lock poke against his waist. It would be easy to lock it now, with or without Felix noticing. Minho contemplates it, as he watches his student step carefully further into the room. His eyes wide and curious, even as Minho only watches him from in profile, watching him study the bookshelves, the papers strewn about. He’s so polite; tiny as a bird and shy as a fawn as he hovers in the middle of Minho’s office, somewhere between the coffee table and his desk. His body moves in sharp little jerks, like he’s all too conscious of himself, chest fluttering with nervous, shallow breaths. 

Against all odds, Minho doesn’t lock the door. 

He pushes away from it as Felix wrings his hands around the handles of his tote bag and his eyes only move close enough to Minho’s body to catch his feet, the movement of his thighs, before he looks away again. 

If this is an act, Felix wears his role as expertly as a second skin. 

Still, wanting to give him the chance to make his move, Minho sits on the couch that rests on the wall opposite his old mahogany desk. He makes sure to keep his body language open and relaxed, despite the way his blood thrums and his teeth ache. Hungry, sharp, itching. 

In a rather friendly voice he tells his student, “You can take a seat.” Then watches the way Felix’s eyes only briefly trace across Minho’s face, before fluttering away again, his face sort of conflicted as if he’s searching for his words. And Minho waits. What exactly for, he isn’t sure. He half expects Felix to drop the act now, because it surely has to be. He expects him to crawl onto Minho’s lap, to allow his hands to wander, to admit to all his sins, his lies, because they would be much easier to deserve than his purity and a lot easier to believe than his piety. 

But Felix remains standing, shakes his head minutely and still can’t bring himself to directly meet Minho’s eyes. His face is still flushed, even down to his neck. Just from the stiffness of his shoulders it’s obvious that he’s grappling with something, pulled taut, like a bow just before release. Then his body sets into motion, flustered and clumsy as he digs through his tote bag, mumbling softly to himself. Minho holds his breath through the sense of befuddlement that overcomes him when Felix pulls out a Tupperware box that he holds close to his chest, fingers digging into it, clinging on desperately.

“I really like to bake,” Felix starts and this time his eyes meet Minho’s — large and sparkling like the night sky he has seen in the countryside, back when he was a child. It would touch something in him, if Minho were to allow it. Instead, he can feel a scowl form between his brows, his smile is now gone, and he knows he must look a lot more strict and sharp than usual. Felix, jittery, but unperturbed, goes on, “It’s sort of a hobby of mine and I know you’re not allowed to receive gifts, but I promise — no, I swear, I really don’t want to bribe you for a grade or anything. I just, I would love it if you could accept these.” He steps closer cautiously, like he’s aware of the sharp teeth hidden, or the hunger he inspires and isn’t yet ready to meet his end. Or maybe like he’s aware of the fact that whenever he stares at Minho, he also stares down the barrel of a rifle, just shy of stepping right into a merciless trap. 

Despite the measured approach, it still surprises Minho when he finds the box pushed into his hands. It’s still warm, somehow. Their fingers don’t touch as Felix passes his gift over to Minho, but the speed with which he pulls back, almost as if burnt, makes it seem like he felt a brush of skin anyway. If not his touch, then the heat that’s no doubt radiating from Minho’s skin. He feels it, too, where it burns and lingers with a quiet persistence. And Felix remains standing just close enough for Minho to be able to reach out and grab; to pull him in, to continue what his mind still clings to was supposed to happen. He doesn’t, but the toe of his shoe presses closer, legs spreading out until it brushes against the side of Felix’s foot. Minho tries to be subtle about it, and about how his mind is far away still, as he studies the inside of the box, where cookies are cut into neat little shapes and decorated with smiling cat’s faces. “I made them, for you. I thought you might like cats. There’s, on your pens there are always cat and paw patterns, and um…” Felix trails off, clearly unsure how to end his speech.

All of a sudden, Minho feels a bit like a fool. He feels some heat rise to his ears and tugs his legs back, curls his body in as if that could hide him from the way his fantasies have clearly gotten to his head, no doubt fed and coloured by his wants and desires. But seeing Felix as he stands in front of him now, it becomes obvious that there was no ulterior motive. Just a student with a very obvious crush and a lot of adoration. The young thing that shifts on his feet and can’t seem to keep his hands still is clearly too unsure, too inexperienced, to be able to pull off a complex plan on how to seduce an older man. It’s embarrassing, too, because Minho knows that a large part of him wished for that to be the truth, just to be able to remove responsibility from himself and place it onto Felix. If he’s the one being seduced, then Minho can’t be blamed for the repercussions. Only, that is clearly not what has happened. 

“You made these?” Minho asks, trying to swallow his own chagrin and the vague leftover disappointment that, despite this, his own curiosity won’t be so easily quenched. 

He forces a smile and goes to pop the lid open, all too aware of the nervously shifting Felix in front of him. Even without looking at him directly, Minho is conscious of his fast paced breathing, of his pinching and twisting and torturous little fingers, as Felix squeezes a breathy little ‘yeah’ past his teeth. The mean, wronged part of him wishes he could make him flounder for longer, but now that the cookies have been uncovered, the scent of vanilla hits him. Although the season for it has already passed, the scent reminds Minho somewhat of Christmas. Of the time when his mother would stand with him in the kitchen and help him cut shapes out of sweet-smelling dough. There’s something familiar and homey about it. An association that Minho doesn’t necessarily welcome. 

He tries to distract himself by focusing on his student, his anticipation almost palpable and enough to feed the urge to regain control in him. Minho allows him to fidget a second or two more, then picks one up and takes a very careful and measured bite. 

Truthfully, he has never been the biggest fan of sweets. Minho tends to favour savoury flavours and often enough pastries will just leave the inside of his mouth feeling dry. It’s why he finds himself a little surprised when that’s not the case with these cookies. He can taste some bitterness; like ground coffee, or cocoa beans and finds he doesn’t mind the balance of flavours at all. Or rather, he enjoys them. Minho thinks he would have lied to Felix, even if he hadn’t liked them at all, but the way he hums around the next bite he takes is actually sincere and Minho gets to watch in real time as the nervousness somewhat falls off him. Felix’s shoulders drop and his face brightens like the early morning sun breaks the deep blue hues of the horizon.

“They’re very good,” Minho compliments and finds that he means it. He eats the rest of the cookie under Felix’s elated gaze and can’t help imagining Felix waking up early and baking for him, right before class. He wonders if someone had seen him do it, if someone is aware of this continuous effort he puts into everything just for Minho. Watchful and careful and attuned enough to shape them like his favourite animal, to make sure the taste is something he’d enjoy; Felix has definitely put thought into all of this and Minho finds himself oddly taken by the gesture. Touched at the thought of his student doing this for him.  

“I’m really glad you like them, Professor,” he admits and his bright smile has shifted into something quieter, more intimate. The previous thrum in his body turns into a quiet ripple. It travels along his arms and legs and arrives at a dead centre somewhere in his chest. Minho doesn’t live under the childish notions of crushes and other passing affections, but in that moment he feels an undeniable affection for the student in front of him. Not just for his looks but for the radiant warmth inside that he craves to touch, to taste. 

Maybe even to have. 

Minho clears his throat, then puts the lid back on the box and places it next to himself. What he truly wants to do now is wrap his fingers around Felix’s wrist, pull him closer, tug him in. He wants to feel the weight and warmth of him over his lap, against his thighs. Wants to sink into him and taste his mouth the second he gasps for breath. Felix stands in front of him, more innocent than he could ever deserve and more pious than he can believe and Minho realises that he wants quite a lot. 

“Is there a reason you wanted to bake me cookies?” he goads, already knowing the answer.

This too is a trap that Felix easily falls into. He shows the truth in his affection in the way he drips in shyness, but can’t suppress the smile blooming on his lips, or the excitement that lingers under his skin, buzzing. “Just, to show my appreciation, I guess? To— to thank you for your hard work,” he lies, but the deceit doesn’t come easy. It speaks for him, for his purity, that Felix fails to be convincing in his dishonesty.

“There’s nothing to thank me for, really,” Minho responds, but his tone is softer than usual, amicable. He allows a sort of tenderness to show on his face and in his words that he would never show outside of this room. It’s clear that Felix has picked up on it, too, and Minho wishes he could press a hand against his chest, or fingers against the side of his neck, just to feel the way his pulse flutters in this moment. Continuing to feed the flame of his crush is irresponsible and if Minho were a weaker man, he would never dare play this game, but at the same time, he doesn’t blame himself for it. Not when he steps closer, rifle pulled and pointed right between Felix’s large and trusting fawn eyes, only for him to remain exactly where he is. Surrounded by sharp teeth of merciless traps. If Minho didn’t know better, he’d say that’s exactly where he likes to be. And making sure that he remains unaware, Minho very sweetly adds, “But if you ever bake something again and have some bites to spare, I won’t say no.”

Naive as he is, Felix doesn’t take note of anything, but blooms in all colours and shades under the sun, bright as a meadow of wildflowers.

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Felix takes what Minho had told him to heart. 

Week after week, he stays behind until the lecture hall has emptied out, and the silence settles in the space between them like a secret. It feels like one; with the hush that encompasses them as they walk to Minho’s office, up until the very moment the door falls shut. Sometimes, even locks. Felix blooms in the quietness of the office. He stands in the centre and, in the afternoons where the sun manages to break the heavy blanket of clouds, the rays stream inside and hit the top of his head, reflecting off his hair like a halo. Today, the shirt he is wearing comes with the topmost buttons left open and a delicate cross, hanging from an equally delicate chain, briefly pulls Minho’s eye. It shines briefly, then the light catches Felix’s teeth instead, as he smiles, bright and happy to present Minho with a new box of baked goods. 

“Brownies, this time,” he explains. “I made sure they’re not too sweet.” Felix hands the Tupperware over, and pulls back before their hands can touch. For some reason, he never expects anything at all in return. No academic advancement, no favour. Nothing to further help him pursue his crush. Instead, those small moments where he gets Minho's attention all to himself are enough to sustain him. Watching him take the smallest amount of joy out of something Felix made, seems to elate him.

Because unlike Minho, Felix doesn’t seem to feel greed. His words and behaviour are a show of humility, instead. Of modesty — to a fault. 

“Don’t you want to sit down and have one too?” Minho finally prompts. It has been weeks and usually, Felix would leave again after dropping off the food. The initial plan had been to wait until the student became brave enough to make the move himself, but thinking that nothing would change unless Minho prompted it, he decided it’s time for a gentle nudge.  

Felix hovers for a moment longer, then mumbles a tiny ‘sure’ and takes a seat on the other end of the couch. He sits on the edge of the seat, his hands tucked underneath his thighs, shoulders pulled in. There’s a jittery nervousness to him that Minho can tell he’s trying to overcome with chatter. It’s surprisingly easy to learn more about him this way. Felix talks about his best friends and roommates, tells Minho about his struggles with the major and which professors he’s terrified of. 

“How come you ended up enrolling in CompSci, Yongbok-ssi? It doesn’t seem like you enjoy it a whole lot.” Minho tries to keep his voice gentle, but there’s an edge to the question that he can’t help. Probably on the basis of its very nature, and him knowing that the length of their studies and their grades are often sore spots for many students. That doesn’t quite seem the case for Felix. He doesn’t wilt or hide at it; there’s a sombreness to him that looks odd on his youthful, soft features, that are usually so cheery. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks first and Minho finds himself charmed. Charmed by the flutter of his eyelashes as he looks up, as he pins Minho with his gaze. Not through needles, not through intensity, but this painful vulnerability that Felix wields as effectively as any weapon. Stricken silent by its tender violence, Minho can only nod. “I never really… wanted to study this. I was always passionate about games and my big brother got into CompSci, so I kind of just followed his path. But Chan-Hyung is so smart and capable and people were inviting him to internships and I’m just–” Suddenly, he stops and shrugs and remains silent. Head lowered in resignation. 

“Just?” Minho prompts, not really expecting an answer. Because for all that Felix is chatty and open, a lot of the things he says are rather shallow. Not in the sense that he’s terrified of getting hurt or even seen as weak, but Minho gets the feeling that Felix carries his happiness around like a blessing for everyone else and a bit of a curse to himself. 

It surprises him therefore when, softly, his voice dispersing like fog, Felix says, “Just me.” 

“And isn’t that a good thing? I highly doubt your brother could make me brownies this good.” Felix laughs, short and brief and glad for the out Minho gives him because from then it’s easy to turn the conversation back to the new variation of his recipe and what he changed. He makes Minho try one and then comments on the consistency, on the flavour. There’s a spark in his eyes and a passion to him that Minho rather enjoys seeing. 

And as Felix talks Minho has to wonder if his friends and his brother know that Felix has this crush, that he regularly bakes for his Professor and sits in his office, all dolled up and pretty. That this has gone on long enough for his scent to start lingering against the cushions and the back of the couch. That Minho has pressed his nose into the fabric, and inhaled deep, hoping to catch traces of the sweetness in his perfume and the tailend of shampoo.

For now, he hopes that this is yet another secret that Felix keeps close to his heart.

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Oblivious to the way Minho craves for him, Felix moves a little closer every week — or maybe it’s Minho who finally creeps in, legs spread and arms wide over the back of the couch. Their knees almost touch. Minho catches sight of how frail and small Felix’s joints look, placed right against his own, and feels almost dizzy with it. It would be easy to grab him, to pull him across his lap and keep him pinned there with one hand on the back of his neck. He doesn’t even think that Felix would struggle; maybe twitch, probably overwhelmed, definitely overstimulated because Minho would tease him for hours on end, until he’s crying and begging and shaking. 

Trying not to let the thought consume him, Minho shifts. He turns his upper body until he’s facing Felix fully. His student is pressed into the corner, the pale and soft material of his knitted sweater a stark contrast against the dark bookcase behind him. With eyes far too intense and focused, he’s watching Felix’s mouth shape words. Minho doesn’t hear what they are, only registers the low caress of Felix’s voice that settles across his skin like spun silk.

The usual vibrancy is missing in Felix’s tone. He’s demurred today, voice lower than usual. His body sits lax and sunken against the couch, like he’s bearing a great weight on his small shoulders. It’s clear that he’s worried and Minho is also aware of what his mind is preoccupied by. Today, Minho taught his last class of the semester and with that there’s no more reasons for them to see each other every week. With it, there is also no guarantee that they’ll talk again since Felix seems unsure of if he even wants to continue with his studies or not. And even if he decided to push through, it doesn’t necessarily mean that they’ll have a class together again. The thought clearly colours Felix a rather sombering blue and as much as it surprises Minho, he finds his own mood slightly affected, as well. 

As the end of the hour nears, Felix grows more quiet and pensive. He tucks his hands beneath his thighs, head hanging like a lily-of-the-valley once more, weighed by heavy snowfall. Minho allows it; amongst his own foul mood, he takes some semblance of a perverse sort of joy in watching the sadness seep into Felix’s very being like a blooming bruise. It’s charming how obvious his crush is, how Felix can’t help but carry his affections obvious and clear right on his sleeve. Minho would be lying if he said it doesn’t feed his ego. Focusing on that makes it easier to ignore the tiny and sharp twinge that presses somewhere between his ribs as he moves. The feeling for his discomfort is probably easily pin-pointed if Minho spent any time at all considering, but instead he focuses on how sweet Felix’s attachment to him is. How he’s naive enough to not have taken note of any of Minho’s desires, or the urges each shy little glance from him feeds. Amongst the bleak afternoon and the heavy clouds that only bring his mood down further, Minho tries to focus on the shallow appeal of these meetings, of his student.  

“You don’t seem very excited that the semester is ending, Yongbok-ssi. Are you anxious because of your grades?” He’s being obtuse on purpose, but his voice is light and caring and Felix seems to have no idea that he’s being baited. He looks away, his teeth gnawing nervously at his lips. They’re grown rather red now. All of the previous gloss having fallen victim to Felix’s antsiness. It makes Minho want to see him cry. 

“Not really,” he mumbles. “I mean, they’re really not great. I think Chan-hyung might kill me when he sees how bad I did this semester, but I swear, I really tried.” Felix pauses with a sigh. His eyes are focused on where his small fingers have started tugging at the purposefully frayed edges of his sweater. Nervous and fluttering and shy. Like a little bird, like a fawn. A thought strikes Minho suddenly, about how Felix doesn’t belong here. Not in this bleak cold, not in the darkness of his office. 

“I’m sure your brother can appreciate all the effort you put in,” he tries to reassure, but mostly takes this chance to place his own hand on top of Felix’s. His skin is very soft; Minho very briefly traces the valleys of his knuckles with his thumb and fights a shiver at the petal-like softness. Even more addicting than the touch of his skin is Felix’s reaction; the lack of energy seems to leave his body with one electrifying zip that makes him bloom bright and pink at once. When Minho pulls away, Felix’s eyes move with him, suddenly a lot more alert again. 

“Maybe,” he replies and his voice is more honeyed again. Sugary sweet. Almost coyly he adds, “Maybe he’ll let me open a bakery so that you can still get your weekly sweets, Professor.” It’s a rather daring effort to make his desire to continue seeing Minho known. Felix seems to realise this too because his face grows brighter in hue and vibrancy and despite the grey sky outside, it starts feeling a little bit like spring has arrived within Minho’s office. For now, he doesn’t push, but allows the smile he shows to shift into something very sincere and endeared. 

“Is that your dream, Yongbok-ssi? Having a bakery?”

There, in Felix’s face, Minho spots a subtle shift again. Apparently, this is another secret he keeps close to his heart because a guardedness returns to his face and the flush on his cheeks wanes. “No, not quite. It’s… it’s something else.”

Minho decides not to push. 

When the hour is over, Minho makes a somewhat spontaneous decision. Perhaps, it’s not the smartest thing he could have done, either, but when Felix gets up and takes with him the subtle scent of fresh sweetness, Minho reaches out. It’s so easy to curl his fingers around Felix’s bird-boned little wrist and stop him in his tracks. When Felix turns to stare at where they’re touching and then Minho’s face, his eyes are wide and hopeful, like he has been waiting for this moment the whole entire time. 

“Before you go, Yongbok-ssi,” Minho begins and takes his phone out, “let’s exchange phone numbers. In case you ever need something.” The lie comes easy and Minho makes sure it sells as such. 

“Really?” Felix breathes, but his happiness is audible and he moves to obey with trembling little fingers. Spring isn’t enough to contain him anymore. Felix blooms like the peaks of summer, instead. Minho considers that he might miss the sight of him over the next few weeks. 

“It’s also in case I ever crave any more of your baking,” he jokes, as Felix hands him his phone back. Felix has already called himself and saved his name in Minho’s phone with a little sunflower next to it. Momentarily, Minho’s teeth ache to sink into his skin. Even more so when he’s met with the brightness of Felix’s smile, etched so deeply onto his face it seems almost impossible to remove.

Before leaving, Felix grabs his jacket and bag and then stops by the door, hand hovering on the doorknob.

In a gesture that’s almost uncharacteristically direct, and no doubt fed and nourished by Minho’s request to exchange numbers, Felix adds, “I hope to see you next semester, Professor Lee.”

It’s so cute. He is so cute. Minho can’t help the smile that feels too large on his own face, too sharp as well. He wonders if Felix can tell, but his face remains the same blooming happiness, the same oblivious trust. Minho will devour him whole.

“You will.”

────── જ⁀➴ᥫ᭡⊹₊⋆ ──────

February is a drag.

Minho tries to keep busy by going to work out with Changbin every day. He cooks large meals and invites Hyunjin over just to have a voice in his ear to make the silence more bearable. It sort of works. He feels like the skin around his mouth is too taut and awkward each time he smiles, but neither of his friends points it out, so Minho thinks he’s doing a good job looking interested, appearing engaged.

Maybe he shouldn’t be, but he’s surprised that he actually misses Felix. Genuinely misses him. There are moments filled with longing for his scent, for the texture of his clothes, the feeling of his shoulder blades beneath Minho’s hands; those thoughts had been filling his head for much longer, though. The surprise comes in the yearning to hear his voice, his thoughts, that sharp little giggle. Minho misses him.

He thinks that Hyunjin starts noticing that something is off about halfway into the month. 

“You seem different,” he says almost off-handedly, while setting the table one evening. Minho had invited him over for dinner and a movie — like every other night this week. Hyunjin, being the type of person he is, has agreed, and so far also withheld himself from pushing for an explanation. But it seems that even he has reached the end of his patience.

Minho wears his ignorance perfectly. “Different?”

“You seem occupied with something. Your mind keeps drifting.” 

Hyunjin is one of his oldest friends and it’s not easy to lie to him. Not out of some odd sense of guilt, but because over the years Hyunjin has genuinely grown too attuned to Minho as a person. 

“I think you’re imagining things,” Minho continues to deny for now. He’d tell Hyunjin, eventually. Not now, not anytime soon. Not when Felix still feels like a wound and Minho feels like he’s fighting for control against himself in the most pathetic way possible. Hyunjin seems to realise that he won’t get more out of him now and drops the topic again. 

And every time Minho invites him over again, Hyunjin is there. Minho is truly grateful to have a friend like him, but he is distracted. At the back of his mind he’s always busy counting the weeks, the days, the hours, until he has the chance to catch a single glimpse of Felix again. 

There’s a twinge of discomfort between his ribs when he thinks about how Felix, who had seemed so enthusiastic and craving his attention like parched soil does water, hasn’t reached out either. Minho tries not to dwell on it, on how his crush really might have been nothing more than a short infatuation that didn’t survive the few weeks of separation.

He needs to make sure. He needs to see him again. If only he could see him, wrap his fingers around that bird boned little wrist and tug him in, press his nose against his temple, watch him turn all small and meek, crowded into the space between the back of his dark couch and heavy bookcase. If only he could get to him, Minho knows that Felix’s crush would be rekindled again.

That’s how he grits his teeth through the last two weeks of February.

March arrives with a sudden dip in temperature and a torrential downpour.

It’s a Wednesday afternoon. Minho has spent most of the day locked in his office to prepare for a seminar, so by the time he’s wrapped up for the day he walks the halls with an ever-growing foulness. His head hurts; the outside is grey and dim enough that he knows he won’t be able to go running today and even though he has been back at University for almost a week, he has yet to spot as much as a wisp of Felix’s hair.

Minho has been prepared for Felix not being in any of his classes this semester, but not seeing his face anywhere is weighing on him and souring his already poor mood further. The obsessiveness that at first had felt subtle, like an itch just under his skin, has quickly turned roaring and overpowering, bringing with it the need to know where he is, what he’s doing, who he’s with. He wonders how easy it would be to find out what classes Felix is in and if there’s any way to make his appearance in front of them just as they end seem truly accidental.

And why hasn’t Felix visited him yet? He knows where Minho’s office is. Or has that crush truly fizzled out like a vague infatuation and taken with it the need to see Minho ever again? He’s young, after all. Young people are fickle, at that age. Flighty. Pretty as Felix is, he’s no doubt attracting enough attention, pulling the eye of a handsome upperclassman that might not be able to give him what Minho could, but one who doesn’t have the additional burden and societal prejudice of being his professor.

Minho’s thoughts spiral and spin through annoyance and twinges of disappointment, of irritation. He’s glaring at the ground as he leaves the building, opens up his umbrella on autopilot and grits his teeth through it all, nearly missing the face that appears in the corner of his eye.

The rushing of rain is overpowering, but he still hears Felix call his name, the clear tinge of happiness audible even over the roaring rainfall, over the leftover rumbling of far away thunder. When Minho turns to face him, the annoyance slips away, easy as anything, melting like ice in the face of Felix’s early summer smile.

“Professor Lee, it’s been a while!” Felix greets and jogs closer. His jacket is far too large for his frame, almost looking like it belongs to someone else. His sneakers don’t look like they will last even a minute in the heavy downpour and there’s a very obvious lack of an umbrella on his person. Despite all of this, he looks happy, elated, even. Minho’s greed feels ever-present. “I hope you had a relaxing break,” Felix continues and Minho nods, mouth staying firmly shut. He is aware that he’s staring and that he’s staying quiet for much longer than is considered socially acceptable, but he can’t help tracing the lines of Felix’s face, studying him as he turns bashful once more.

His hair is loose today, reaching his shoulders in soft waves. He tucks a strand behind his ear where a daisy shaped cuff adorns the freckled, elfish shell and it’s so obvious how he basks in the attention that Minho is giving him. Felix blooms like a flower; despite the cold, despite the lasting heaviness of winter whose grasp is still so firm. Everything about him speaks of warmth and sunlight streaming through rustling evergreen, creating the very vivid image of a fawn resting in a meadow once more. The willing creature of prey that still stares down Minho’s pointed rifle, that has never learnt to run away, with his crush clearly still present. All of it tastes like a win, like sweetness. Like ripe fruit in summer.

“You forgot your umbrella?” he cuts to the chase and holds out his own to cover Felix even before his student has the chance to reply. “Come on, I’ll bring you home.”

“Oh, no, that’s—” Felix starts rejecting and Minho can once again watch the quick way his flush travels across his skin and the way it makes his freckles more pronounced. He wishes he could kiss them, bite at his sweet, round cheeks and then lick away the tears the action would bring. He wishes Felix would realise that’s what he wants as well.

“I insist,” Minho says, easily shutting Felix up. This is probably a boundary that a student should be conscious of, but as always, Minho breezes through all the flimsy walls Felix has ever pretended to put up. It doesn’t take much; barely a push, perhaps not even that, and Felix’s defences crumble. He allows Minho to step closer, close enough for their shoulders to brush, for Minho’s breath to caress his cheek and shift the strand of hair that refuses to stay tucked behind his ear. The hush between them is almost intimate, the smile on Minho’s face certainly a secret little thing, one that’s reserved for Felix only. He adds, “If I let you go to the bus stop like this you’ll be soaked immediately and catch a cold. I can’t have that happen to my favourite student.”

There’s no need to ask if that’s okay, Felix nods his agreement and Minho, greed ever-growing, sprouting poisoned fruits, rampant, places a careful hand low on his back and guides him towards his car. He makes sure that Felix’s body is covered by the umbrella, even as his shoulder quickly soaks through. It’s all worth it for the familiar scent of something sweet and powdery to enter his nose again. His fingers move to Felix’s waist, curl over the padded fabric of his jacket and feel the stiffness of his spine and shoulders and with how close they stand, even the swiftness of his breathing. Felix is clearly nervous, but still allows Minho to overstep all pre-existing social barriers.

Minho opens the door and waits with the umbrella in place for Felix to get in before he goes to the driver’s side. It’s definitely not needed, but once inside, he reaches over, ignores the flinch from Felix’s end, overlooks the way he licks his lips, the way Felix’s breath hits his face, the tender skin of his neck. His own eyes track the movement of the seatbelt in his hand and where he carefully pulls it across Felix’s chest and slots it into place with a soft click. When he glances at Felix’s face again, he’s wide eyed, flustered. His lips are parted and eyes so dark and Minho drinks it all in, drinks him in. Tempting as he is, clueless as he seems in that moment, his desire is obvious. As much as Minho wonders how it’s possible that no one has indulged themselves in his flesh, he’s grateful for the clear inexperience that makes it all the more fun to tease him. A quick squeeze of his knee before Minho asks him for the address of his dorm, the necessary placement of his arm behind Felix’s seat as he backs the car out of the parking space and he’s a ruby red and nervous mess. Minho throws a quick glance in the rearview mirror and catches the way Felix presses his hands against his flushed cheeks, his eyes downcast and body skittish. Minho grits his teeth and squeezes the wheel tight to hold back from reaching out, pressing his mouth and tongue and teeth into Felix’s skin.

“Did you have a fun semester break?” Minho breaks the silence at the first red light. He tries not to make it obvious how much attention he’s paying to Felix, to his soft breathing, to the timid twisting of his small fingers in his sleeves.

“Yeah,” Felix starts and his voice breaks off into a rough sound. He clears his throat, then continues, “My brother and I went back to Australia for the break. Visiting family.” Minho immediately feels relief and just as quickly feels annoyed at himself, how appeased he is after an explanation for the lack of contact from Felix’s side. It shouldn’t matter so much, but some of the deeper rooted annoyance is cleared, easily washed away in the face of Felix’s dew-drop clear innocence. 

He tries for an easy smile. “It’s currently summer there, right? I assume the weather’s much nicer than here.” Felix laughs and tells him about how warm it was and how he probably got tan with how much time he spent swimming and playing on the beach. It gives Minho the chance to turn and stare at him, stare him down, watch him flounder once again under the singular focused attention.

“It suits you,” he says. The words are true, but it’s mean nonetheless, even more so when he tacks on a careless, “You look pretty,” right before looking towards the road again. A brief moment of silence returns, where he thinks Felix whispers a soft little ‘thank you.’ Another glance at the rearview mirror shows the smile he is trying to tame by biting around it. His happiness makes Minho’s mouth water. “I’ve been curious about this before, but how come you live in the dorms when your brother is also in Seoul?”

“Oh, my brother is sharing an apartment with a few of his friends. It would be cool to live with him, too, of course, but there isn’t really space for me,” Felix explains, and something about the way he speaks sounds slightly dimmed, like he can’t fully hide the disappointment that he’s not living together with him. It makes sense, Minho thinks. Felix seems like the type to cling to an elder sibling for as long as he can, to be spoiled and coddled endlessly. As if sensing that his disappointment was audible, Felix perks up again and reassures Minho, “ Besides, the dorms aren’t that bad. And I basically live with my best friends, too, so that’s really quite fun. They’re both really the greatest people ever. I think when we’re all finished with University, I also want to live together with them.”

Minho recalls Felix telling him about them. One is a studious law major and the other a constantly busy music student. They both seem to feel the urge to take care of him, which is sweet and for a very brief moment makes him feel something like envy. He can imagine them all together in that small space; waking up to Felix’s sweet and sleepy face, falling asleep while holding him close after watching a scary movie. Smiling at him across the table, gripping his tiny fingers, kissing his soft cheek. Minho feels the emotion rise like acid, tasting bile as he swallows it down again. “And you’re eating well, too? I know the dorm cafeteria doesn’t have the best reputation,” he says, trying to stir the conversation in a very specific direction.

“Well,” Felix starts, completely oblivious to what Minho is doing. “I should probably be less picky,” he says, his words squeezed past a forced, little giggle that still manages to sound cute. He’s still antsy, though, pressing tiny pink fingers into his bottom lip and squeezing his knees together. Minho wonders if Felix can tell how precious he looks. How innocent.

He reaches over and takes his wrist in a gentle hold. The pulse beneath his fingerpads jumps. Minho ignores it and gives the fragile bones a quick squeeze. “You definitely need more food,” he comments, but doesn’t release his grip. Felix doesn’t pull back; his heartbeat remains a nervous flutter of a hummingbird’s wings in Minho’s caging hold. He decides to take it even further. “You should come over to Hyung’s place, so I can feed you some proper food, hm? What do you say?”

“Y—yes, hyung,” Felix responds obediently, not even a second’s hesitation before the sweetened words fall so carelessly past his lips. It speaks for him, how easily he follows along, how ready he is to be guided and how he never questions any step that Minho takes too far.

Minho can’t help his smile.

His fingers remain where they are, even going as far as to caress the petal-soft skin on the inside of Felix’s wrist as he drives. The heartbeat underneath his touch never wavers, the heat doesn’t wane. Minho’s greed feels all-consuming.

When they finally arrive in front of the dormitory, Minho allows the silence of the car to linger a moment before finally pulling away. He can see the way Felix immediately chases his warmth and curls his own fingers around where Minho’s had been. When their eyes meet, Felix’s carry stars and loud and clear adoration. His chin is lowered in sweet diffidence and he looks as if he’s ready to fulfil Minho’s every wish. It’s not easy to send him out, but making more moves now would be too soon and too rash. And more importantly, Minho now has a plan.

“We’re here,” he says instead of leaning in, the words clearly only there to dissipate any tension. He breaks eye contact to reach behind his seat for the umbrella that he holds out for Felix to take. “Let Hyung know if you have time this weekend, okay? And text me what you like to eat. Hyung will prepare it for you, anything you like. Don’t be shy.” He smiles, patient and warm, and feels his own chest expand when Felix takes the umbrella with two of his tiny hands and nods, his face a mix of shyness and glowing bright happiness.

“I will,” he promises, his voice so sweet it feels like drowning in honey. “Thank you, Minho-hyung.”

He leaves a moment later and Minho remains sitting in the car, breathing in the lingering saccharine scent.

────── જ⁀➴ᥫ᭡⊹₊⋆ ──────

Felix is a good boy, so it doesn’t surprise Minho that he walks through the door of his apartment for the first time that very same weekend. He lets Minho know in advance what he wants to eat and rings the doorbell exactly one minute before the agreed upon time. His outfit is prim and proper; his nails are freshly manicured, socks perfectly white and in his small hands he carries a gift. 

“I baked brownies,” he explains as he hands the decorative little bag over to Minho, who feels a surge of affection and need hit him with the intensity of a squall. 

There’s something about Felix in his rather large, minimalist apartment. Everything around him feels aged, worn. Not in a way that cheapens it, but Minho knows exactly who has passed through his life, through this very space, and how many traces and memories were left behind. Meanwhile, Felix stands in the midst of it all, a freshly bloomed flower, a tiny little daisy. Still untouched by all that has left edges on Minho’s soul, that has turned parts of him bitter and sharp. Hyunjin often tells him to smile more, that his face can seem intimidating, but looking at Felix, who’s at all times busy staring at him, starry-eyed and docile, he can’t help but wonder how he’s being perceived by him. By that innocent, little fawn. 

Against all odds, he does try to smile more. 

Felix hovers around the kitchen island, but he can’t seem to sit still as Minho cooks. His fingers are picking and scratching at the counter, hands moving about as he explains. Minho glances at him and wonders if he knows how his eyes wander when he speaks, like he’s recalling the scene in detail, or how they sparkle when he’s animated. Everything about him is energetic; he shifts on his feet, falls onto his heels, rocks back onto his toes, his fingers twisting his hair, poking at his mouth, tugging on his earlobe where a pretty, golden earring sits. This time, Minho actually listens and doesn’t just watch him. He listens as Felix tells him all about his holiday in Australia, about how much he missed his family dog, and the food his mother cooked. Minho comments about how she must be a great cook and Felix laughs and says she’s the best, his eyes disappearing, twinkling, his smile so big. Minho can tell he loves her a lot.

Briefly Felix complains about his brother’s overprotectiveness and nosiness. He says Chan likes to know exactly where Felix is and who he’s hanging out with, and Minho grins in amusement and thinks to himself about how grateful he is for his smothering ways. Felix’s face takes on that sweet pink tint again as he admits that his brother doesn’t want him to date yet because he thinks Felix is too naive and has no idea what he’s doing. He mumbles these things, speaks them into the edge of his sleeve and then takes the fabric into his mouth, pressing it between his teeth as Minho watches and wishes he could feed his own fingers into him instead. He shivers and looks away.  

“Your brother is simply looking out for you,” Minho says and gives him a mollifying smile, “And he’s not wrong. University aged boys can be very immature, you know? He just doesn’t want you to get hurt.” From the corner of his eye, he watches the way Felix soaks up the words, the pause in his breathing, the lowering of his lashes. Minho follows as his small fingers press against the surface of the kitchen island like he’s looking for a weakness, a give, a tiny hole to open up and swallow him whole while he considers whether or not to take the bait. But Felix is a good boy, so of course, he does. 

“What about someone older?” he asks. 

Minho’s smile grows; he’s a gambler who has won. “Would you like someone older?” Felix doesn’t reply. His face remains pink and shy and he shrugs a single small shoulder. Minho’s reaction to his flush is almost Pavlovian at this point. The moments he had spent thinking and dreaming about tracing it with his tongue and teeth feel slightly too real with Felix standing in his apartment, with his scent settling soft and tempting against the furniture. Dreaming about it becomes not enough anymore; Minho wishes he could reach across the counter and grab him and pin him down, lick that pout off his lips and kiss him breathless. But before the need shows on his face he looks away, towards where his hands are expertly moving across the cutting board, and says, “Someone who can take care of you? That’s generally the appeal in having an older partner, no? You want someone who’s reliable and knows how to treat you like you deserve to be treated.” As he’s speaking, Minho keeps his hands busy to appear more casual. He adds the last of the ingredients to the pot and wipes his hands on a dish towel. There’s still some time left where the stew has to simmer and Minho uses the chance to walk over to Felix’s side of the kitchen island, cross that last, physical barrier and break down yet another boundary as he steps much too close. 

Felix does nothing to stop him; he turns to face him, his body open and jittery. Excited. His breathing is warm and fast and his mouth parts with a sharp exhale that hits Minho’s chin. “And— and how do I deserve to be treated?”

“Like a tiny, little dewdrop in the palm of my hand,” he replies and allows his smile to grow into something sharp, something with teeth. Just a hint of the beast that’s hiding in plain sight. Felix doesn’t lean away, but stares, starstruck as always. It’s why Minho finally reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind his pink ear, why he leans close to it, close enough for his lips to brush the velvety shell, as he whispers, “Like something very precious.” 

A shudder runs along Felix’s body. One that Minho ignores as he forces himself to step away again. It’s not easy; the loss of his warmth, the feeling of his skin, his scent. Minho wishes he could press his nose against the divot of Felix’s throat and kiss along where the delicate golden chain with the cross rests. 

Instead, he goes to take out plates and cutlery to give Felix something to do and take his mind off the tension that Minho had created. And take his own mind off the things he wishes he could do. 

It’s a little mean to be so hot and cold and it’s not necessarily easy when Felix is just so good. But Minho would be lying if he said he doesn’t take pleasure out of watching him squirm and fidget, clearly so eager for something more and yet utterly obedient as he immediately gets moving and does as he’s told. Minho watches him from the kitchen as he sets the table and carries over everything he’s been handed and can’t deny that it looks right to have Felix in his space. 

As much as he stands out, he’s a perfect addition in Minho’s apartment, in his life. It’s easy to picture him in his bed too, maybe even in his clothes. Wearing his shirts and teeth marks hidden right underneath. What shocks Minho himself, though, is how easy it is to picture Felix as something lasting. Something more permanent. His want is obvious, overwhelming, but as he watches Felix move through his space, sort of clumsy and sort of tentative, he can’t help but think about how this isn’t about sex. It’s not about a brief indulgence on Minho’s part. It’s not about trying and testing him out while he’s still malleable and ripping the innocence from him like petals of a flower. Felix might still be a fawn, but despite how Minho has felt in the beginning, he hasn’t been a hunter for some time now. Nor has he wanted to be. Perhaps, it’s more right to think of himself as a tree to hide under, the soft grass to lay on. Perhaps he doesn’t want to rip his innocence at all, not taint it, but wants it to be given as a gift. Felix turns to him with a little grin, announces that he’s done setting the table and Minho can’t help thinking how maybe he actually wants to do good. To keep Felix coming back and keep him around for a long time. Undoubtedly, they’d look good together, fit so well with Felix’s round softness soothing all of Minho’s cutting edges. Like shapes in an abstract painting he saw somewhere in Hyunjin’s apartment years ago. At first they appeared rather strange, so unlike each other, but after having spend more time studying it, Minho had to admit that the contrast made them complementary. And for a very irrational half a breath he imagines what a perfect blend of their faces would look like, but the silly notion is quickly pushed aside and just as swiftly forgotten.

The evening passes by quickly. They eat and chat some more and then Minho offers to drive him home. It’s not yet very late and the pout to Felix’s lips tells clearly of how he wishes to stay longer, but Minho is trying to come across as patient, with an iron grip on his self control. It can’t become obvious how easily it threatens to slip between his fingers, like fine grains of sand, impossible to hold. 

Minho parks his car in front of Felix’s dorm, keeps it running and the heater turned up so Felix won’t grow cold as they’re saying goodbye. He’s a good boy so he thanks Minho for the invitation, for the food and for the evening. He says all there is to say and then remains seated still, lingers. Minho moves in between the silence of two heartbeats. His hand cups Felix’s flushed face and then he leans in, presses a kiss against that soft, pouting mouth. One that’s chaste at first, then grows more hungry when Felix chases his lips and grabs his sleeve in small, eager fists. His breathing is so loud in the silence of the car. It echoes against the inside of Minho’s skull, fills his ears with tiny, soft sighs as he licks past the seam of Felix’s lips and tastes his warm mouth. He’s all around pliable; tastes like the brownies he made, that Minho served for dessert. Much too sweet and perfectly soft. 

“Goodnight, Yongbok-ah,” Minho whispers against the corner of his slick mouth, “Listen to your brother and stay away from University boys, okay?” he teases, not expecting an answer at all.  

Immediately and without thought, Felix replies, “Yes, Hyung.” 

And Minho’s greed grows. 

────── જ⁀➴ᥫ᭡⊹₊⋆ ──────

Soft piano music fills his apartment, the scent of spices and home-made food spilling out from the tucked away kitchen space. Felix sits in one of the chairs at the kitchen island, dressed in soft rose tones and with his hair falling in gentle curls around his pink ears. It’s already the fourth time that he has come over to Minho’s place following a dinner invitation, and he still remains nervous, still fidgets where he sits and curls nervous fingers into the sleeves of his sweater. He’s flushed all over, from his round cheeks to his soft fingertips that Minho craves to sink his teeth into.

The previous visits ended with Minho driving him home no later than ten in the evening, right after dessert. Felix had looked taken aback every time, but Minho knows that he must keep up a certain image and jumping him the first chance he gets him alone just won’t do. Instead, he’s kept a respectable distance, has seen Felix off with no more than a pet across the back of his head and a smile. It’s been interesting watching his student grow greedy and hungry for more than just a kiss in the car on the way home. It’s in the way he dresses and moves, how he tucks strands of hair behind his ears and presses small fingers against his own lips, clearly shy of reaching out to touch Minho. It’s sweet. And it’s been going on long enough that Minho has decided to finally make a move. 

“It’s my first time making Beef Wellington,” he admits with a hint of humility and a grin as he plates the food. “So, if it doesn’t turn out perfect this time, I’ll have to make it until it’s perfect.” 

“I don’t think you’re capable of making anything that’s not delicious, Hyung,” Felix responds, ever amicable. By now he’s at least grown daring enough to move around the kitchen space freely and moves closer without needing to be asked. Minho indulges him, lets him take pictures of the food as he gushes about how delicious it smells, how his mouth is watering. Then he helps Minho carry over the plates and takes a seat to his right, the same as he had done the previous four times. They eat accompanied by soft, idle chatter; or rather, Felix chatters away as Minho mostly listens. He’s telling him about the classes he struggles with and about how his dorm mates have had a falling out recently that has made it a little uncomfortable to be in the room while both of them are there. 

Minho makes sure his face is appropriately empathetic when he tells him that he will be given the code to Minho’s apartment and can of course stay in his guest room if he needs it to avoid his friends. Or if he simply wants to come over to study in peace. Then he watches the way Felix’s chest flutters with his jumpy, timid breaths and imagines tracing the line of his blush with his teeth. He turns pink so easily. All over. Ever shy, ever coy. The sight of him like that has grown addictive. Minho wonders if Felix bruises easily too and how much it would take to leave lasting traces on his soft skin. Teeth and finger marks pressed lovingly against his cheeks, his thin neck, his delicate thighs. 

Once they’re done with the food, Minho ushers Felix over to the couch and offers him a glass of red wine.

“I’ve never had red wine before,” Felix admits and feeds into Minho’s fantasies, his depravities. He pours each of them one glass, then the next, and then a third. By then Felix’s flush is a permanent thing on his face, turning him into a ruby rose. They sit so close together that their knees touch, thighs brushing. Minho’s hand is draped across the back of the couch, his fingers tracing the line at the juncture of Felix’s neck and shoulder and dipping beneath the material of his sweater. His skin is so very warm. He smells like strawberries and milk. His breath is spiced with wine where it brushes Minho’s chin and his eyes are so open and trusting. He’s beautiful.

“Minho-hyung,” Felix mumbles and his words seem weighted, his head looks heavy and plops back against Minho’s arm the very next moment. His blinking is sluggish and sweet and he has yet to look away from Minho’s face, like it has become the very centre of his universe. “Do you often invite students over for dinner?” It’s a cheeky question because Minho is pretty sure that Felix already knows the answer. But he purses his lips into a pout anyway, indulged and spoiled and well fed. It’s cute on him, makes Minho want to spoil him even more, turn him so sweet he’s rotten.

“Of course not,” Minho soothes, pampers so sweetly that it turns the pout on Felix’s mouth into a stubborn, cherry red thing that becomes increasingly harder to deny taking a bite out of. “You’re the first and only student I’ve ever invited over.” His fingers caress along the side of Felix’s throat, trace a path of goosebumps up to his jaw, then curl right underneath the sharp bone in a hold that’s undeniably possessive, albeit tender.

“Then…” Felix starts and pauses long enough to lick his lips, “Why did you invite me?”

If this were someone else, Minho wonders if he would welcome this behaviour. Felix is clearly fishing for something and he clearly expects Minho to deliver it for him. And he will. Because while Minho is prideful and stubborn, this thing with Felix isn’t a game for him. He shouldn’t doubt his position in Minho’s life, he should crave it; crave his attention and affection like air, like sunlight. Amused and adoring, Minho leans in, brushes the tip of his sharp nose against Felix’s and feels his sharp intake of breath against his lips.

“Because you’re special to me,” Minho admits and the words are spoken softly, but ring with a clarity that stems from an undeniable truth. Felix is special. In a way, he has been special since the beginning, since Minho caught sight of him for the very first time. It’s easy to admit that he’d wanted him even back then, to some degree, only that the intensity of his want has grown into a terrifying force by now. Felix doesn’t even know the depth of it, Minho thinks. Is far too naive and innocent to understand that Minho won’t let him go. Not now, when he’s finally caught him; the beast’s tender teeth closing in around that fragile little ankle. He smiles, sincere, and mumbles the words, “Hyung’s sweet, little fawn.” Felix’s breath stutters and Minho watches his eyes fall to where their lips are almost touching. He doesn’t move away, but he also doesn’t lean in. Felix remains tucked right there, where Minho has caught him, trapped him. Their eyes meet and Minho hears him mumble something, a word that falls with the piety of a prayer, right before Minho finally closes the distance between them and presses his mouth against Felix’s. 

The kiss starts off chaste, even as Minho struggles to keep himself under control. So much time has passed since that first taste and he has been waiting to get his mouth on him since. To taste more. 

Minho feels the tremble of Felix’s body against his own and places a hand against his waist just to feel the jumping of muscles when he licks past the seam of his lips and feels every non-existent barrier rip like spider silk. It’s so easy to overpower Felix and make space within him for Minho’s tongue and teeth and touch. He opens up so easily, while the tension of his limbs turns into something malleable. Melting. His body succumbs, in the truest sense of the word. There’s no resistance anywhere in him; he allows Minho to press a thigh between his, to feel where heat gathers between his legs. There’s a lack of hardness that would confound Minho if it wasn’t so obvious how much Felix was enjoying himself, his hips twitching to press himself more firmly against the tensing muscles of Minho’s thigh. If possible, he grows even more warm. Wet. A vague idea forms and Minho grows more eager to finally slip a hand into his pants. 

First, his fingers slip under the soft knitted wool of Felix’s sweater and touch heated skin. Then, hungry as he is, hungrier as he continues to grow, Minho presses the question of if Felix has ever let anyone touch him like this against the corner of his mouth despite already knowing the answer. But it’s still so satisfying to hear him say it, to hear the sharp gasp and feel the heat of his embarrassment as he admits ‘No, Hyung is the first.’ 

“Do you want me to touch you more?” He goads and as expected Felix nods, chases his lips with his eager, pouty mouth. Pulling back slightly, he suppresses and feeds on the whine that Felix lets out, the pathetic pinch of his eyebrows. A small hand wraps around his wrist, almost panicked, as if he worries that Minho will pull back fully when the gap between them grows and some of the heat dissipates. He realises that he can probably get Felix to agree to many things with just a few soft touches and a single kiss. With his fingers he tenderly strokes along Felix’s jaw, tracing a thumb across his warm, soft cheek as Felix stares up at him like he’d hung the stars. And like he expects Minho to gift him each and every last one, too. He’s adorable; it’s why Minho can’t help the slightly mean edge to his crooning words when he says, “Ask me properly. Don’t whine, use your words.” 

There’s something so deeply satisfying in the tremble of Felix’s breath, of his lashes, of his voice, when he immediately responds, “Please, touch me more, Hyung.”

Minho spends a second soaking it all in and thinking about how that single sentence could probably feed his greed for eons. The realisation that he is little more than a parched man in the middle of the desert hits him right there, as the words continue to ricochet inside his head with the twinkling quality of tiny bells. Everything about Felix had been so appealing to him from the very beginning, but this wholly trusting part of him, this intrinsic submission that he showcases so readily — Minho knows that he wasn’t ready for it. His head has fed his heart with fantasies for months now, but reality hits so much more tenderly and arrives so much sweeter.

“Where?” he asks and his own voice is more breath than words. So soft he can barely hear it over the beating of his own heart; just as restless, just as rapacious as the rest of him. 

And Felix continues to feed him. With his face so red, from his temples all the way to the divot of his throat. His huge, endlessly dark eyes and a cherry red mouth that begs silently, with each parting of his lips, every exhale that falls from them. The fingers that have curled around his wrist remain there; they don’t push or pull, but Minho can feel the sharpness of his blunt nails dig into his skin. His thighs tense, squeeze around Minho’s leg, then part, just as he whispers the words ‘between my legs’. When Minho doesn’t move immediately, Felix adds an equally soft, little ‘please’ without being asked to. 

Felix’s skin is warm, but grows even more heated when Minho traces a path past the waistband of his pants. His underwear is something soft; cotton with a lace trim. The muscles of his stomach jump under Minho’s barely there touch. He glances at his face one last time, but can’t find more than eagerness and need that reflects his own. Maybe Felix will worry about this tomorrow, maybe he will regret when the tipsiness is gone from his system and maybe Minho should be more responsible, himself. But his self control hangs by a threat and Felix’s legs spread to accommodate and Minho cannot and does not want to deny himself anymore. 

What rests beneath is smooth skin. The soft outline of a pussy. Perhaps because the need is in the forefront of his mind, Minho accepts this discovery with terrifying ease. No thought wasted. It also doesn’t catch Minho by surprise as much as it settles into place; the wetness, the warmth. Minho has dated all kinds of people in his life, so it’s not like he’d care, or want to waste a single second questioning when the sounds that leave Felix’s mouth are so distracting. He grows more vocal with each touch, more loud as Minho teases his clit and plays with the wetness it creates, then finally presses one finger into him. Felix’s mouth parts around another sweet whine of ‘hyung’ and ‘please’. He turns his chin towards Minho, his lashes trembling and mouth searching. Minho can’t deny him anything, certainly not a kiss. Even if it’s more tongue and teeth than lips, even if half of Minho is distracted with the feeling of him around his finger, against his hand. The wetness grows louder and with each shallow trust, every curling motion, Minho can feel him grow more soft. He’s still so small, all of him, even inside. It makes Minho’s teeth ache and his mouth water to think about stretching him far enough to fit his dick, preparing him slowly. He thinks about their first time together, about pressing in and claiming his body fully, inside and out. 

The possessiveness in him grows quickly. Its roots reach deep, settling into corners of Minho’s body. He wishes it could be something more. Something worn for everyone to see, something more lasting and more firm. Something more concrete than just teeth, just words, just flesh.

For now he appeases himself with pressing teeth against the juncture of Felix’s neck and shoulder and biting down hard enough to bruise as Felix cums with an unabashed, thin whine. But his greed is not so easily gratified, not even with this, and as Felix pants into his mouth, his face flushed like a peony and his pussy rhythmically squeezing around Minho’s finger, it grows further. Taller. Minho doesn’t know it yet, but it’s about to take shape. 

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The idea comes to him in a museum.

Ornate, wooden frames of a painting surround Felix perfectly as he stands and studies it. Colours burst from the centre, a halo of light that looks like it radiates off Felix as Minho watches from behind with his obsessive, never-ending hunger. Few people move around them, but the creaking of the wooden floors is easily drowned out by his own eager heartbeat, beating a steady and thunderous rhythm. Then Felix turns to glance at Minho over his shoulder and the steadiness wanes, his heart momentarily tripping and fluttering in the face of that soft smile, that pretty face. Minho wants to kiss him more, touch his warm skin. He forces himself to look away instead.

As Minho steps close enough for his shoulder to brush against Felix’s, he finally looks at the painting that had captivated him so. It’s beautiful, albeit a little plain; showing a woman tenderly cradling an infant, one of her breasts exposed and her chin lowered. There’s a hint of a smile on her face, cheeks plump and flushed. Her skin looks supple, making her look rather youthful.

When he turns to look at Felix, he’s staring up at the painting again. His lips are slightly parted, eyes wide and focused while his fingers are playing with the golden cross around his neck. The action is something dream-like, maybe even wistful. He seems utterly captivated in a way Minho doesn’t understand.

“They’re beautiful,” Felix whispers, probably having felt Minho’s gaze on him. His mouth forms the softest of smiles, head tilting just so and now, for sure, Minho thinks he can tell which point his eyes are so focused on.

“You must really like children,” Minho replies and feels a vague, far away stirring. Nothing quite new; it’s something born from a seed that had been planted a while ago, now finally breaking through the surface with growing certainty.

“I do,” Felix confirms and his face grows openly desirous. He’s so vulnerable and sincere with his emotions, Minho is often stuck between wanting to drink each minuscule shift in and needing to look away to avoid being overwhelmed. “And I really love paintings like these. They always seem so tender and sweet. Unconditional.” Felix finally turns to him and it strikes Minho how he looks just as sweet as the young woman in the painting, just as radiant. In front of his inner eye he imagines Felix holding a small infant, just like that, smiling down at them. His cheeks flushed, his eyes misty. He thinks about Felix aglow and pregnant. Thinks about kissing his eyelids, his hands, his shoulders, his rounded stomach. How it would be if he could put his ear against it and hear and feel their child grow. How happy Felix would be. And how then it would be impossible for him to leave.

They eventually move on to the next painting. Then the one after. It had been years since Hyunjin had forced Minho to go to the museum with him and back then he hadn’t realised how many paintings there could be just like that first one. Felix always lingers. His gaze is always devoted and gentle, his fingers picking at the cross around his neck in a gesture that’s clearly subconscious. He looks at peace. Almost tranquil. Next to him, Minho feels a little bit like a man possessed.  

The thought of Felix pregnant with their child consumes him all throughout their museum date. Even after, when they’re sitting in the cafe on the last floor and Felix is telling him about his favourite art pieces around bites of chocolate cake. He’s so young. Too young for a child, some might say, and certainly too young for Minho. Him being older and responsible, he should know not to do this, not to play this game. But nothing about this is a game to him. Minho doesn’t remember ever having been this serious about anyone in his life. With each moment they spend together his obsessiveness grows into a bottomless beast that craves and hungers for more and more and more. Minho wants to have him, to fully possess Felix in every way imaginable. He wants to own his heart, his soul. He wants Felix so utterly besotted with him that he’d never consider leaving, never look anywhere else. With an odd sort of clarity, Minho realises that he could even see himself getting married, if it’s to Felix. He has never before wanted children, but in front of his inner eye the painting of the woman holding a baby has been replaced with Felix, in Minho’s apartment, sitting in front of a bright window, radiant with joy and illuminated by sunlight.

Felix would be happy with him, Minho is sure. He would never yearn for anything, everything would be taken care of. Felix has opened up about his struggles with University and how unhappy he is in his major. He has let it slip how it’s only because of his brother that he even started on this path and while Minho isn’t sure what Felix’s dream job is, he already knows that he’d move mountains to make it reality for him. 

If only Felix gives him that child, and himself, Minho will give him the world.

They leave the museum walking close together, shoulders brushing. Although most of their meetings take place at Minho’s apartment, he has grown somewhat overly confident. No one has said anything the few times they went out for dinner, no one has given them any weird looks. That’s why it catches Minho completely off guard when, as he places a hand low on Felix’s back to lead him towards a nearby park, he’s suddenly yanked away from him.

A young man stands on Felix’s other side, his nostrils flaring and eyes intense. His face is sharp, but puppyish, giving him the impression of a harmless dog, trying to posture. Minho would maybe find it endearing, if his hand wasn’t currently wrapped around Felix’s wrist, tugging him closer, half behind himself. Minho immediately recognises him as one of Felix’s friends.

“Seungminnie—” Felix begins to voice his complaint, only to be interrupted by the young man saying, “Ahjussi, who are you? Why are you standing so close to my friend?” Despite his clear annoyance and tension, his voice is very soft and even. Smooth. Felix, on the other hand, is starting to look rather upset, quite panicked. He’s trying to twist free of Seungmin’s grip and using his free hand to tug on his sleeve. But the little puppy doesn’t budge.

“Seungmin-ah, don’t be rude. That’s my professor,” Felix hisses and Minho watches a crease appear between Seungmin’s brows. He finally blinks, but still hasn’t released his grubby little hold on Felix, or stepped away. He does turn to face Felix though and it annoys Minho more than a little how Felix needs to lift his chin to meet his gaze.

“Felix,” Seungmin starts and Minho hates the strictness and clear disapproval in his voice. “Why are you walking out of a museum with your professor?”

Minho has always known Felix to be a very sincere person and a very bad liar, but it’s almost painful to watch the way embarrassment colours his whole face ruby within a second. Felix’s eyes are wide, giving him once again the impression of a deer caught in headlights. Every bit the scared, little fawn that Minho has sworn to protect.

He decides to finally speak up, though he still keeps his distance. “I understand you’re worried about your friend, but perhaps try not to create such a scene in the middle of the street,” Minho scolds. It’s still only afternoon and there are enough people walking by that are throwing cautious glances towards Seungmin. Felix, as predicted, grows more embarrassed about this, while Seungmin has the decency to appear uncomfortable now that he has noticed the attention. “You’re not in a K-Drama, Seungmin-ssi.”

“Minho-hyung, I’m really sorry,” Felix apologises in Seungmin’s stead. From everything he had told Minho before, he had reckoned that Seungmin is a stubborn one, but seeing him attempt to stare Minho down, despite looking like a strong gust of wind could knock him over is rather impressive. If he’s simply a very good friend of Felix’s and sincerely trying to look out for him, Minho could learn to appreciate him. As long as it really is only that.

“No worries, Yongbok-ah.” Minho forces himself to smile, and offers, “Should I drive you both back to your dorm?”

As expected, Seungmin remains stubborn. He says, “No need, we’ll take the bus.” Then quickly bows his head and starts tugging Felix off the opposite way.

Maybe Minho should be worried, but he finds himself feeling rather calm, albeit a little irritated that their date got interrupted. Something is telling him that Seungmin will keep quiet and that Felix’s fawn eyes are way more effective than any threat Minho could voice.

He walks to his car and drives home. By the time he’s arrived, there’s a plethora of messages from Felix, more apologies, some explanations about how Seungmin didn’t mean to be rude, he simply worried because he saw Felix with an older man. He reassures Minho that he told Seungmin that his worries about Minho taking advantage of him are unfounded. That Felix is not being naive and knows exactly what he’s doing. That he’s the one who asked Minho out on a date, the one who pursued him and the one who has a pathetic puppy crush.

Wide-eyed, sweet thing, Minho thinks to himself. He truly has no idea.

────── જ⁀➴ᥫ᭡⊹₊⋆ ──────

The next few dinners they spend at Minho’s apartment. He prepares fish and lentils, adds citrus fruits or walnuts to every dessert and makes sure Felix won’t have any more alcohol. It’s the small things that count after all, and although they haven’t even had sex yet, Minho doesn’t want to waste any time preparing Felix’s body for what he needs it to do.

Aside from the fact that Minho has only been allowed to touch his pussy that one time, things are progressing steadily. He never pushes for more; it’s no secret that Minho desires him, craves him. Whenever he has Felix pinned against the counter, breathing into his warm mouth, it takes Minho everything to keep his hands above the waist, only tenderly cupping Felix’s precious, little face. It’s not that Felix regrets that he allowed Minho to touch him — at least that is what he had said —, but that he felt they had rushed things. Felix hadn’t been ready yet, but the alcohol had made him irresponsible and crave things he usually wouldn’t have asked for. It’s in moments like those that Minho realises that no matter how open and honest Felix seems, he keeps a lot of thoughts still very close to his heart. But Minho smiled and kissed his temple and told him that he’d follow whatever pace Felix sets. Once that threshold has been crossed, Minho anticipates that it won’t take very long. He knows that Felix doesn’t take any contraceptives. They’ve spoken about this. Minho doesn’t remember how exactly he brought the topic up — maybe it’s the natural progression of things. He remembers mentioning how long they’ve been seeing each other, asked about Felix’s previous relationships and how far he had taken it with them. He remembers gritting his teeth through the answers, the shyness that had overtaken him, the admission that he really is as untouched as he seems. Just as pure. And then, when Felix had taken another bite of his Tarte au Citron, Minho had asked if he was taking anything.

Felix swallowed and paused eating, with half of the slice still left uneaten.

“No, nothing. And I know we’ve been going out for a while now, but I still want to wait,” Felix had mumbled, suddenly more serious than Minho had seen him before. He placed the spoon that had been carefully kept balanced between his lips, caught between blunt teeth, back onto his plate. His eyes were maybe a little nervous as they shifted about, always avoiding Minho’s face. There was a tautness to his body, almost like a prey animal readying itself for flight. Despite this, resolve hardened on his face, seen in the line of his mouth and the thin, pinched brows. Even if he seemed to worry how receptive Minho would be to his answer, Felix was willing to talk about it. “I don’t want to regret anything and it’s— I don’t know. It feels a little scary…” he finally trailed off, shrugging one shoulder.

As Felix sat there, opposite him on the kitchen table, Minho thought about leaning in and sinking his teeth into any soft part of him, just to feel how sweet he would taste against the tip of his tongue. Even without touching, he could feel the flutter of his heart, reminding Minho of a tiny bird, something small that could break and crumble if touched too harshly, if gripped too tight. It was only his bad luck that Minho wanted to squeeze him, bruise him, crack him open and crawl into the space created, right there, between his ribs.

When Minho was still younger, less mature, he avoided these types of partners; the bright eyed, sweet kind. A part of him that no doubt suffered from motions of grandeur had decided that he needed to avoid anyone who seemed inexperienced, who seemed like they’d get overly attached, or overly clingy and needy. The people who wanted a grand romance, not simply to pass a fun time together.

Most of his previous partners told him that he was a bit too intense, a bit too cold. Minho rarely apologised, rarely said what he thought, rarely was the first one to reach out. Like a stray black cat, Hyunjin had said. If you get too close, you risk getting scratched. Maybe it’s maturity, maybe it’s his age, but something about allowing Felix to step into his life has changed him. There’s a softness to him that has, in turn, forced a softness in Minho to resurface. One that has been dormant for so long, he barely remembers it existing in the first place. It’s not that Minho is only ever harsh, or cruel, but the older he got the harder it became to open up about certain things, about feelings. Maybe it’s because he had gotten so used to his way of living, the strict borders he had created around himself. Maybe that’s why, at first, he had thought of him and Felix as an animal of prey and the thing that haunts it. And maybe it’s that vulnerability in Felix that forced him to expose his own in return, to be a more sincere version of himself again. 

At first it really only was curiosity that pulled him towards Felix, then maybe his own ego that allowed the student with his very obvious crush to get closer. It was definitely ego that made his chest swell whenever Felix grew flustered, grew pink, grew shy. At first it was ego; then something else entirely.

Felix sitting in his kitchen and telling him that he’s a virgin, that he wants to wait, that Minho needs patience — suddenly none of this was annoying or bothersome, no. It was precious. Like a gift on Christmas morning that he had been waiting for all year. Minho found himself growing delighted, excitement quickly forming and bubbling up from behind his navel and along his ribs. He found himself yearning to be worth it.

“Are you scared Hyung could hurt you?” he asked, voice soft and tender in a way it usually was around Felix. Surprisingly, this was the moment where Felix met his eyes again. Imploring and large as they are, they almost pinned him to the spot, hitting him with an intensity that Minho swears he could feel right behind his breastbone, like a fine needle prick.

“Not physically.”

“Emotionally?” Minho prompted, eager to hear more, eager to fix whatever it was that needed fixing.

After a second of silence, Felix mumbled out, “Maybe it’s stupid.” Then he paused again and his eyes fell onto the plate in front of him. He reached for the spoon again, then seemed to think better of it and pressed his hands together, instead, almost like in prayer. He had that weird quality about him sometimes; when he didn’t move, his cheeks flushed pink, his hair falling in soft waves, he looked rather pious. Like one of those paintings at the museum. “I know it doesn’t mean anything for a lot of people, but— I know that physically it won’t be much of a difference, but I want this to be a gift that I will feel good about having given away. I don’t want to look back at it years from now and realise that the person I gave it to didn’t treat it with care and just, just threw it away.” The possibility seemed to genuinely make Felix sad, anxious even. It’s perhaps that moment that Minho realised that although Felix has been going along with everything up until that point, he clearly wasn’t feeling very confident in their relationship. The blame is on Minho’s part. He hadn’t said anything out loud, had never bothered to define it. They were simply meeting, after all. That very first kiss had clearly shifted their relationship from something platonic into more and then even more than that still, that night where Felix allowed Minho to put a hand down his pants. But how much more Felix was allowed to yearn for, he clearly didn’t know. And he hadn’t dared to ask either, but the lack of words had clearly caused him some degree of misery. That realisation had hurt too. Worse than a pinprick, this time.

“Yongbok-ah,” Minho had sighed his name, then got up and crossed the distance between them. Felix was malleable in his hands; allowed himself to be turned towards Minho, before pressing his face against his stomach and hiding there. His breath passed the fabric of Minho’s shirt, hair silken soft and shining like polished wood beneath his fingers. “Do you worry that this isn’t serious to me? That Hyung wouldn’t appreciate you?”

“I don’t know.” Even the way he was whining his words was cute to Minho, along with the way his chubby little fingers clung to the back of Minho’s shirt, pulled it taut. Because it’s Felix it was easy to ignore even the way his shirt collar dug into his neck. “Sometimes I worry about what I could even give you and then— you’ve always treated me so well, Hyung, but then I think what if, what if we finally have sex and you decide it’s boring and I’m boring and you don’t want someone who has no idea what they’re doing.” Felix paused and within that second silence Minho realised that his shirt had started growing wet and that Felix was crying. He had tried to interrupt him, to say something soothing and reassuring, along with the fingers that were firmly gripping the back of his thin neck, but Felix barrelled on, “I mean, you’re so smart and so successful and I’m failing most of my classes no matter how hard I try. I feel so stupid around you. And so uncool. I try so hard to be mature, but I feel like, like a kid who’s pretending to be an adult.” Finally the first choked off sob fell. It was the first time Felix had cried in front of him and the sound of his hiccuped breaths registered as sharp edges of broken glass between his ribs whenever Minho tried to inhale. Deciding that Felix needed to let it out first, he had allowed him to cry against his stomach, had held him through it all, carefully petting his shoulderblades, the back of his head, scratching soothing nails along his scalp. Eventually the tears ebbed out again and when Felix once more grew quiet, Minho sighed. The sound rang with clear adoration as a smile formed around the words ‘my poor, little fawn’.

“Can Hyung tell you a secret?” Felix didn’t nod, but he did pull away, dug his sharp chin against Minho’s bellybutton, his eyes still glassy and thin brows pinched in the most pitiful way. He looked so sweet. Minho rubbed his thumb beneath his red lower lash line and showed him a soft smile. It felt impossible not to. It has started feeling impossible not to smile around him in general. “I felt like that too, well into my twenties even. I kept getting older and waiting for things to click and for me to definitely feel like now, I have fully reached adulthood. Now, I have everything figured out, but it didn’t happen, just like that. It was more of a very slow process of me getting better and more confident at more and more things. But Hyung is still stupid and uncool a lot of times, too, you know?”

Felix sniffed once and his cute little nose scrunched up, voice still slightly hoarse and thick with lingering emotion. “Like when?”

“Like… when I see my very beautiful and sweet Yongbok-ah and try very hard to impress him.” Minho had teased softly.

Felix laughed and his face crinkled and brightened like the breaking of dawn and suddenly everything seemed alright again. “You’re always impressive to me, Hyung. You don’t even need to try.”

Some degree of seriousness returned to him again; the previous realisation still lingering, firm and sobering. Minho remained quiet for a moment and caressed Felix’s cheek, wiping at the wetness of his flushed skin. He felt warm and the overhead lights reflected in his dark eyes like the sparkle of far away, dying stars. His pretty fawn. He was a beautiful sight, even crying and red faced. “No, Hyung definitely has to try if you think that there’s even a possibility that I wouldn’t appreciate you giving me your gift. Or thinking that I would lose interest in you after. That definitely, definitely won’t happen.”

“Promise?” Felix had asked and he sounded so hopeful, he was near breathless.

The easiest thing in the world was to stretch out his pinky finger and offer it to Felix. The easiest thing was to smile and allow some of his obsession to bleed through, coloured by softness and affection, and allow Felix to see. “Pinky promise.”

Of course, Felix didn’t realise the depth of Minho’s promise or the true meaning behind his words. In Felix’s mind forever is still too vast of a concept and an end probably always seemed eminent when everything in your life is constantly changing. But Minho was way past that. He had reached a point where he plans his future and Felix just has to be a permanent fixture there. And even if he doesn’t realise it yet, Minho knew that this truly was what’s best for him.

So, he continues to feed him, to give him supplements that boost fertility, all under the guise of making sure he stays healthy. To get more meat on his bones. Felix smiles through all of it, happy to be taken care of. Endlessly trusting and wholly credulous.

Felix remains oblivious to what Minho is doing — then again, Felix remains oblivious to most things, which has only ever served to further endear him to Minho. His innocence goes further than just skin deep and Minho has stopped thinking of all the ways he will chip away at it, all the ways Felix could be corrupted. Instead, he has twisted it into a possessive urge to fully and completely claim him, while keeping him faithfully on this pedestal. Almost like an altar. Fully devoted to him. 

Minho doesn’t share any of this out loud, but it must show in his voice, in the smile that curls around his mouth — sharp and hungry and obsessive — because late one evening, Hyunjin tells him, “You’re a pervert.”

Minho doesn’t reply, but busies himself with pouring them each another glass of wine. It’s the weekend, but Felix told him he had to stay at the library and study. His brother’s orders. Minho thinks it’s a waste of his time. He has failed almost all of his classes the previous semester, has to redo quite a number. Felix himself clearly is only dragging his feet through this and too worried to honestly tell his brother that he wishes to stop. Not to mention that they could be using this time to spend it together instead, with Minho’s fingers pressing into his thighs, the softness above his hipbones, the peach fuzz on the back of his upper arm. 

But Minho tries to keep his greed at bay; he doesn’t tell Felix what he thinks, instead responding with words of encouragement and understanding. Surely, if he gave it another go, Felix could pass the exam this time. It would also look wrong on his part to dissuade Felix from school and studying because, later on, when he inevitably meets his family, his overprotective brother, it can’t look like it was his idea for Felix to stop studying. And no doubt, that is exactly what they will believe. Minho gets it; it perfectly plays into his family plans after all. 

Not seeing him for a whole weekend and the following week did sour Minho’s mood, though. But instead of spending his time alone at home and sulking, he invited Hyunjin over, similarly how he did in February, over the semester break. 

At first, everything was peaceful. Hyunjin had missed him, he said. They had food, then started drinking. Clearly a mistake. “What do you even talk about? Is this midlife crisis? Is that what’s happening with you?” his friend continues to prod, clearly trying to bait Minho into saying more.

They’re each four glasses into the conversation, which is the only reason why Hyunjin even got Minho to admit that yes, he is seeing someone. Then that admission turned into a vague description and once Hyunjin smelt blood, similarly to a shark, he would not let go until Minho told him more. Said ‘more’ being Felix’s name and his age and the fact that he’s sweet as a fawn and just as pure.

“I don’t get it,” Hyunjin repeats again, then takes a sip of the wine. His face has grown flushed and sweaty and there’s a furrow to his brows that lets Minho know that he’s truly displeased with him. Nothing new or unusual there. Hyunjin will get over it, Minho knows. They’ve been friends for over twenty years now and Hyunjin has been there to witness many things he didn’t agree with over time. Each one has been forgotten and forgiven.

“There’s not much to get, Hyunjin-ah,” Minho finally sighs and ignores Hyunjin tucking a foot under himself to turn his body towards Minho, an expression on his face that tells him exactly how disbelieving he feels. “Yongbok is very, well, I wouldn’t say mature, but in some ways he’s certainly ready for a serious relationship.”

Hyunjin snorts in response and when Minho sends him a glare, he sees him roll his eyes. “Yeah, sure. He’s a virgin, Hyung, how much can he know about what he wants in a relationship.” Minho wants to argue that he finds his accusation rather unfair. Hyunjin doesn’t know Felix and he doesn’t know what he needs or wants, but truthfully, Felix might not realise it yet either. But that’s okay, because that’s why he has Minho, after all.

“I know it might be hard to understand,” Minho starts and the earnestness in his voice seems to have gotten some of that clear disapproval on Hyunjin’s face to momentarily turn to curious alertness, “but he truly makes me happy. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this strongly about anyone before, Hyunjin-ah. I genuinely like him and I want us to stay together for a long time.” This degree of vulnerability is unusual for Minho, he knows. He also knows that Hyunjin has realised this. That he’s serious. Utterly and completely taken.

Hyunjin remains quiet, but he does study his face closely. His lips are pinched, worried, then he sighs and some of the tension bleeds away from him. He takes another sip of wine and looks towards the glass instead of Minho’s face. With less judgment than before, he says, “Well, if a young thing in their twenties is what makes you happy, Hyung, don’t let me ruin your fun.” His words kept some of their cutting edge and he clearly doesn’t approve, but Minho knows that the softened tone means he’s well on his way to see past it.

The keypad from Minho’s door being opened makes them both pause and turn towards the entrance. Minho hasn’t been expecting anyone, but there are only so many people who know the passkey to his apartment. Someone enters, followed by the rustling of a jacket and shoes. Felix turns the corner a second later, looking bright eyed and barefaced. The tip of his nose, his pointy little chin and cheeks are flushed from the cold and he walks in with a smile that immediately falters when he spots Hyunjin.

“Yongbok-ah.” Minho puts his glass down and gets up. He ignores the dizziness it causes, ignores the confusion on Felix’s face and the way his wide eyes linger on Hyunjin, before finally shifting to meet Minho’s inquisitive, tender stare. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you anymore this weekend. Weren’t you busy studying?” He cups Felix’s cheeks and maybe stands a bit too close, swaying towards Felix, towards the scent of ripe fruit. Minho’s own hands are burning hot and it feels good to caress the cool skin and enjoy the way Felix leans into the touch. It’s clear that he’s trying for a smile, but a part of him remains clearly guarded and unsure.

“I finished early because I wanted to see you, Hyung,” Felix explains. His words are more of a whisper than anything, as if he’s nervous of being overheard. More shyly and with a hint of insecurity that Minho has never seen him wear before, he adds, “I didn’t know you’d have someone over, though, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding at all,” Hyunjin responds immediately, before Minho can even think to deny it. He too must have caught the same traces of insecurity as Minho and seeing Felix stand there, shy and unsure, he decided to immediately take pity on him, soft-hearted fool that he is. Soft-hearted fools that they both are. 

Minho releases his hold on Felix’s face, but finds it impossible to look away. He wishes suddenly that Hyunjin wasn’t there, that he could tug Felix in, tuck him against his chest, between his ribs, hide him in the folds of his heart, where he’ll remain warm and safe. The need feels strong enough to drown him. Despite the wine, his head feels clear, even if the swaying of his body and lack of alertness seems to disagree. 

Minho doesn’t hear Hyunjin place his wine glass on the coffee table, or move, but suddenly he’s next to him and Minho shifts his eyes to him, sticky and slow. Hyunjin’s whole face is flushed and shiny and he’s got his friendliest smile in place, and a large hand stretched out towards Felix. “I’m Hyunjin, I’m Minho’s oldest friend. It’s nice to finally meet you, Yongbok.” And, oh, Hyunjin is good at this. Minho remembers the time they used to go out, how easy it was for him to charm people, to become the centre of attention, all bright, chiming laughs and blinding teeth. His eyes crinkle as he smiles down at Felix, his hand still outstretched, patient, even as it takes Felix a second of contemplation to accept the handshake with some hesitation. “Minho has told me a lot about you,” he continues and the motion of their hands stills, but Hyunjin’s still holding onto Felix’s, his grip large enough to dwarf the student’s, engulfing enough to make it fully disappear in his hold. It makes Minho feel some type of way and he’s not so sure what his face is doing at that moment. 

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Hyunjin-ssi,” Felix responds. His voice is quiet and barely passes through the rushing in Minho’s ears. But he can see his lips shape the words, can see the nervous way his fawn-eyed stare moves from the hand still holding his, to Hyunjin’s face. Minho follows it and easily spots the amusement that glints in Hyunjin’s eyes, the mischief. There’s a handsome, teasing grin on his full lips and although Minho is not someone who lacks confidence, nor has he ever been, he finds himself minding this. Minding the interaction, minding the touching, minding Hyunjin’s presence, there, in front of Felix. 

“Such tiny hands,” Hyunjin says, clearly striving for a reaction. He gets it, too, in the form of Felix flustering for a moment, before he tugs his hand free. Minho isn’t sure if he reached for Felix first, or if it’s Felix who moves closer, but he curls under Minho’s arm and clings to his waist. Hyunjin laughs, amused and satisfied and Minho only doesn’t immediately scold him because the need to press his nose against Felix’s hair is larger. The scent of him helps ease some of that restlessness, the dizziness that had come about as soon as he got up. Felix’s arms around him squeeze briefly and he turns his little face into Minho’s shoulder and hides there, the sweet thing, so cluelessly playing into impulses even Minho himself thought latent. 

“You match each other,” Hyunjin continues, “Both you and Minho-Hyung have small hands.”

“Yours are just freakishly large,” Minho retorts easily and feels the ringing in his ears ease away the tiniest bit. He’s not sure if he’s the one tugging Felix to the couch or if his student pulled him over there, but they’re sitting down and Felix is handing him a glass of water that he downs immediately. Having sat down the dizziness has faded again and Minho zeros in on Felix’s face, on the tenderness there, on the softness of him bare and tired. He can see the purple under his eyes, a red spot on his chin. His lashes are startlingly long even without anything at all to aid them and Minho thinks he could spend early morning and every late night staring at that face. Kissing it. 

“Were you celebrating something?” Felix asks and the question arrives almost with a delay. 

Minho’s mouth moves before his brain can consider what he wants to say, though. Surprisingly his words aren’t slurred at all and he easily mumbles out a ‘No, not at all’ at the same time as Hyunjin opens his mouth and announces, “Your Minho-Hyung was sulking because he thought he wouldn’t get to see you.” A spark of annoyance hits him and Minho turns to Hyunjin’s happily grinning face with a frown. At some point he had sat down next to Minho and resumed sipping from his glass again. Before he can say something, he hears Felix exhale a breathy and awed little ‘oh’ and when Minho turns back his eyes are wide, staring at Minho full of adoration and also surprise. A little bit like he’s seeing him for the first time.  

“Hyung missed me?” he asks and sounds so hopeful that Minho almost, almost, responds to him. Almost kisses him, hugs him, whispers secrets and thoughts and feelings against the softness of his skin. Almost, but not quite. Instead, he turns to Hyunjin.

“Hyunjin-ah, you just said you were planning to leave, right? Let me walk you to the door.” His friend’s grin widens into something almost fox-like, but after a quick goodbye to Felix, he allows Minho to guide him to the door, now walking more steadily than before. He doesn’t comment on the way Minho keeps his body between them, or the way his fingers squeeze much too hard into the skin of his forearm, hard enough to leave a red imprint when he finally releases him.

As Hyunjin puts on his shoes and coat, Minho calls him a taxi and right as he’s about to walk out of the door, Hyunjin pauses and leans in for a quick hug. His breath is warm and smells of fruit, lips red where they almost graze the shell of Minho’s ear as he whispers, “I take everything back. I think I get it now.”

Minho’s blood buzzes until the door falls shut behind him.

When he returns to the living room, Felix is still sitting in the spot where Minho had left him. He’s dressed a lot more casual than usual, which makes Minho, for the first time ever, take note of the fact that Felix always dresses up for him. Usually, he’d be all prim and proper; his hair done and some degree of makeup on his face. Now he’s in sweatpants and a large hoodie, his freckles a lot more prominent and scattered across his entire face, without anything to conceal them.

“I’m sorry for coming over unannounced, Hyung,” he apologises, before even giving Minho the chance to say anything at all. His knee is bouncing, mouth red and lips cracked where his teeth had been gnawing at and peeling the thin skin.

“You don’t need to apologise,” Minho says and falls back onto the couch next to Felix. Now with Hyunjin gone, Felix immediately shifts closer, body bending and leaning towards Minho like a flower towards sunlight. His head rests against Minho’s arm, cheek smushed into his sticky, overheated skin and as soon as Minho’s hand touches his forearm, Felix exhales and some of the previous tension that his body held falls away from him like dew drops. He doesn’t offer an explanation, just starts twisting the edge of Minho’s shirt around his fingers, his lips pursed. At first Minho assumed the nervousness in his body was because of Hyunjin’s presence, but watching the hesitation still remaining, he decides to push. “But be honest, Yongbok-ah, you didn’t just come here because you finished early, right? You really weren’t planning to visit me this weekend.” Felix’s lips press into a thin line. He briefly glances up at Minho, but can’t seem to hold eye contact with him. Very quickly his eyes fall away again, watch the repetitive motion of his fingers and the way they grip at the dark fabric. Somehow his fingertips are always very pink. “What happened?”

“I got into a fight with my roommates,” he admits softly. Minho waits, in case Felix wants to elaborate, but when no more details follow, he simply reaches for his back and rubs a hand up and down his spine, before fully pulling him into his side. Felix goes easily, immediately melting against him. His nervous fiddling stops and instead his small hands reach for any part of Minho they can hold onto; his forearm, his thigh. They grip at him with something like desperation and when Felix first started coming over, Minho thought this was born from some need to have him as close as possible. Only recently he realised that Felix seemed to have some deep-rooted insecurity about being left behind. Abandoned. He seems to cling in fear of being discarded. As if Minho ever could.

“Hyung has a spare toothbrush. How about you stay here for the night, hm?” Felix remains pressed against his side, but he nods twice. They continue to sit like that for a while. Minho doesn’t push, but he softly coaxes Felix to get up. Then he gives him a towel and spare pyjama set and leaves him to the shower, while he stands in the kitchen and drinks two more glasses of water. The flush from the wine has waned from his face. Minho thinks he hardly feels it anymore with Felix close by, with his body so attuned to his scent, the feeling of his skin, his hair. This would be the first time Felix is staying over. A part of him considers doing the kind thing and setting up a temporary bed on the couch, but a much larger, more selfish, more greedy part simply refuses. He won’t push, but he does want to hold Felix as he sleeps, wants to press against him and wake up to his rumpled dewy skin and his soft, pink lips.

“Hyung,” Felix’s voice almost startles him out of his thoughts. When Minho turns, he’s standing there in a long sleeved shirt that’s too big for his small frame and Minho’s old pyjama pants. The golden cross around his neck gleams even in the dimness of the late night. His toes are curled in and his small fingers fidget with the sleeves, before pressing against his lips in a gesture that Minho has by now grown rather familiar with. “I’ll— um, I’ll sleep on the couch. Do you have any spare pillows and blankets?”

He exhales audibly through his nose and puts the glass in the sink before walking closer. “Don’t be silly, Yongbok-ah, of course, you’re not sleeping on the couch. You’re not some random guest here.” Although Minho doesn’t feel the effects of the alcohol strongly, his control still is not as firmly in place as it usually would be and he can’t deny himself from teasing Felix. He moves close enough to breathe in the scent of his shampoo on Felix’s skin, to feel the shaky, hot breath of his student hit his chin. Subtly, he traces the tip of his nose against the side of Felix’s throat and feels the answering tremble of his body where they’re close enough to be touching. Despite the hitch of his breath and the tiny fists his hands curled into, Felix doesn’t step away and Minho grins. “Are you scared that Hyung is going to eat you if you’re in my bed?” he whispers, causing Felix to flinch and pull back, red faced and with a hand against the very same patch of skin Minho had been nosing at.

“No! That’s not— I wasn’t thinking about, that’s really not what I was thinking about, Hyung,” Felix whines and pouts when Minho’s only answer is a laugh. By now he has learnt that Minho likes to tease, to see him squirm. Still, he never does anything to stop it, but always plays right into Minho’s hands with his obvious and earnest reactions.

To placate him, Minho tenderly pets his head and runs a finger along his cheek. The pout stays firmly in place. Minho finds him so cute like this. “Go ahead and get into bed, I’ll take a quick shower and be right there.” He pats Felix’s butt for good measure to send him on his way, an act that causes more flushed cheeks, more hitching of breath. Something that makes Minho’s mouth water and teeth ache.

And despite the softening of his body — or perhaps because Felix has grown comfortable enough around him to tease back, he grins in that mischievous way he sometimes does, that makes him look almost kittenish, rather than fawn-like for once, and says, “You’re so mean, Ahjussi. Let’s see if I allow you into bed later.” Then he runs off, giggling in a surprisingly high pitched way, when Minho shouts a half-heated ‘Yah!’ after him.

Later, when Minho has gotten ready and turned off all lights except for the bedside lamp, he gets into bed to Felix’s awaiting little hands and an eager nose pressed against the juncture of his neck. Felix crawls closer like he’s trying to crawl beneath his skin and Minho finds himself thinking about how he’d let him, how he’d tuck him so close, like something very small and very precious, just to keep him safe and protected from anyone that isn’t himself.

“Comfortable?” Minho mumbles against Felix’s forehead and feels more than hears the answering hum. Blindly he reaches to turn the bedside lamp off and then darkness settles over them.

He can feel Felix’s fast paced heartbeat, the way his cold toes wiggle and press against Minho’s feet, his shin. Something has left him once again nervous and restless.

“Is something wrong?” he whispers when nothing breaches the silence.

“Hyung,” Felix starts slowly, “I think Seungmin and Jisung hate me now.” Although Minho has not met Jisung, he has seen Seungmin and he knows Felix. It’s highly doubtful that he could have done anything at all that would warrant that. From everything that Felix had told him up until now, it seems very much like both of his friends adore him. Perhaps a bit too much.

Still, not wanting to take the chance from Felix to open up, he asks, “I highly doubt that they do, Yongbok-ah. What makes you think that?”

He feels small fingers play with the sleeve of his shirt. Felix remains quiet for a long and almost pressing moment, but without seeing his face, Minho can’t tell if he’s gathering his thoughts or hesitating because he’s trying to keep secrets. More worries pressed close to his tiny, little heart that cannot possibly begin to carry all these burdens. “We had a fight about— just, stupid stuff. Jisung easily gets mad about a lot of things, but this time Seungmin also got mad at me. It was really serious and scary,” he mumbles the last part and shifts so his mouth is pressed into Minho’s shoulder instead, body curling in until one of his thighs comes to rest high up on Minho’s lap. Minho’s arms are still firmly around him, holding him close, rubbing comforting lines up and down his back. By now, and with the way Felix is skirting around the topic, he thinks he can guess what the reason for the fight was.

“Did they get mad because of me?”

It feels like Felix holds his breath. Against Minho’s arm, he can feel his heartbeat skip a single beat, before it trips over itself to pick the pace back up. It almost feels like having a very small animal of prey pressed against him. One that clearly cannot lie. Like a little cherub, like something holy, the truth spills free from his mouth, falling softly like white feathers against Minho’s skin. “They think I’m failing school because Hyung is distracting me, but that’s not true. And Seungmin is also mad because you’re older. He thinks you aren’t being serious about me.”

Minho doesn’t like that they’re meddling, or trying to stir Felix away from him, but he also realises that this is something Felix won’t budge on just because his friends don’t approve. They’re no threat to him. Knowing this he hums and noses against the crown of Felix’s head, affectionate and soft like his words, like the fingers that move underneath Felix’s shirt to touch the petal-soft bare skin underneath. Indulgent and all-knowing, he says, “It’s a good thing that your friends worry about you, but they also have to realise that you each live your own lives and are taking different paths. They can’t expect you to walk the same ones as them. And it is not okay to get angry at you about this, but I’m sure they only got angry in the heat of the moment. They definitely don’t hate you.”

Another beat of silence. Then Felix exhales, long and hot and deep. His breath passes the fabric of Minho’s shirt and burns in a way that brings goosebumps to his skin. “Yeah…” Felix mumbles, voice very small.

Minho presses a kiss against his head and gives his body a squeeze. “Now sleep, Yongbok-ah. I’m sure tomorrow things will settle down again.”

Silence returns again.

Minho wonders how easily he will be able to fall asleep; not because he isn’t comfortable enough to sleep with Felix in his bed, but simply by how attuned he is to him, how overly aware he is of every shift, every breath. He thinks he will have to stay awake half the night and then Felix exhales again, a very long breath that turns his body heavier and softer. His mouth must be parted because his soft little exhales are audible, so close to Minho’s ear. He feels himself smile, unprompted, feeling adoration and affection rise even for such a simple thing. Somehow he had assumed that Felix would need quite a long time to fall asleep, probably due to worries and nervousness, but he had drifted off, peaceful as anything, in Minho’s arms.

And Minho can’t help it, he starts thinking about how it would be if that is how their every night goes. If Felix lived with him, slept with him. If his scent started lingering in every room, on every surface he touched, intertwined with Minho’s fresh pine perfume and adding a much needed sweetness to everything. He fantasises about their life, about Felix aglow, his stomach round, his cheeks full. At some point he falls asleep, but the image follows him even into his dreams, clear as day.

────── જ⁀➴ᥫ᭡⊹₊⋆ ──────

About two weeks later, as he’s crossing University grounds, Minho spots Felix.

His hair glows like traces of amber in the sun, his teeth gleaming like pearls as he laughs, open mouthed and unabashed. Two people are next to him. Both of them watch him closely with a similarly affectionate softness to their faces. One of them Minho recognises as Seungmin, which leads him to assume that the other one must be Jisung.

Minho stands far away enough that they haven’t spotted him yet, simply watching for a moment.

If Minho hadn’t noticed him last November, how would Felix’s life have gone on, he wonders.

He watches those two young men speak to him, watches as Seungmin tugs Felix’s scarf in place and Jisung holds his hands, rubs them and blows hot air to warm them up. Felix’s cheeks are very pink, the tip of his nose too. Part of their disdain towards him must be jealousy, he concludes. He can’t imagine them being this attached, this adoring, and having no ulterior motive, no lingering feelings.

An ugly feeling takes root between his ribs. It presses firm and close against them, makes every inhale a sharp, stabbing one that keeps his ribcage compressed. Minho has no reason to worry; they’re both young and inexperienced, they have nothing to offer someone like Felix. Someone that stands like an icon, or a symbol of purity in the gleaming rays of the afternoon sun. He’s made for more, for greater, for a life of comfort and happiness. All of which Minho can offer.

But he worries, nonetheless, because the two young men move similarly to snakes. They slither through the grass and wrap around his fawn softly, tenderly. He doesn’t notice the grip around his arm tightening, doesn’t seem to take note of the hold around his shoulders. Felix grins and smiles and reflects the brightness of the sun.

The seed that had taken root grows large enough to arrive with a suffocating intensity in the back of his throat. Minho tries to swallow around it, feels the way his heart jumps and beats high into his throat. His nails are digging into his palms with burning hot annoyance, with the need to gnaw and bite and then—

Felix spots him. Two black pearl eyes that glimmer like the whole entire galaxy move to find him and Felix’s smile blooms warm like the earliest days of spring. It spreads across his chest; Minho takes a breath and feels like he’s inhaled the rays of the sun, feels his chest expand with it. He’s probably smiling back, feels his body move as if standing right outside it. He thinks he’s waving. Felix waves back. Minho watches as he takes a step towards him and is quickly grabbed by a scowling Seungmin, sharply tugged back.

It would be easy for Minho to march closer, to do a big and grand and dramatic thing and pull Felix free of his friend’s arms and tug him close against his chest. But he doesn’t. Because, as he had said to Seungmin before, this isn’t a K-Drama and Minho is at his place of work. He simply shoots them all a polite smile, then turns and continues on his way.

The emotion festers, though.

The greed and possessiveness stays and grows. Roots that tumble and twist and knot into themselves, spread into every last crevice of his body until all that’s left is the overwhelming urge to finally bind Felix to him in the most irreversible way he can imagine.

────── જ⁀➴ᥫ᭡⊹₊⋆ ──────

It’s the first warm and sunny day in April.

They have spent Friday afternoon picnicking in the nearby park.

Minho has allowed Felix to feed him bits of brownie that’s more sweet and more sticky coming from his fingers, and yet Minho as good as licked the crumbs off. Then they laid down and watched the clouds move past as Felix talked about what shapes he could see, what stories he could spin from nothing at all. About brave rabbit knights and cloud dragons and a princess born from sun rays. It was sweet. Minho hadn’t seen him quite that carefree before.

“You could write children’s books,” he tells him, the words falling from his mouth carelessly. It’s why he’s bewildered when Felix turns to him with wide eyes and a look of genuine surprise on his bare face. There’s a stubborn strand of hair that sticks to his forehead that Minho is itching to reach out and tuck into its rightful place.

It’s distracting enough that he almost misses it when Felix very softly mumbles, “I want to.” Minho had already forgotten his own words, thoughtlessly as he had commented them. He asks Felix what he means and then realises that Felix is carefully unfurling, like a flower preparing to bloom, baring more petals, more truths, more parts of himself. Carefully, he rolls onto his side until he’s facing Minho, until their breaths mingle, like he’s gearing up to share a secret.

“Actually, Hyung, I’ve wanted to be a children’s book author since I was really young,” Felix admits with some hesitation.

“Ah, really?” Minho asks, blinks. He’s not so much shocked by the admission, as he finds himself surprised with how much sense he finds it makes. “Is that why you’re trying to push through with CompSci? Do you only want to write on the side?”

Felix shrugs one shoulder and then his fingers are reaching for Minho’s sweater and fidgeting with the material like he sometimes does. His lips purse for a moment, into that unconscious pout that finds its way back to his face often, that Minho wants to kiss. “It’s unlikely that I can make enough money writing. It’s a silly dream, anyway. I don’t plan to actually write, I’ve just, I’ve been dreaming about it, I guess.” Then he smiles, but it’s not bright as usual, rather a small and sombre thing. “In my ideal world… In one where I could be whatever I want, I’d be an author. I’d sit by a large and sunny window and write and illustrate my stories and be so happy, I’d have nothing to worry about.” Minho smiles at the words. He can actually see it, clear as day, can make it happen too. He’s about to comment as much, when Felix continues, “But in the real world I have to struggle with Professor Kim’s course and fail, no matter how much I study.” He sighs and turns away, back onto his back.

Somehow, Minho feels like it wouldn’t be right to address all of what Felix had told him at this moment. His refusal to meet Minho’s eye makes it obvious that he has grown more closed off again, more self conscious, that he currently doesn’t want to be seen. Minho remains quiet. He mirrors Felix and also turns back onto his back, staring up at the sky, where clouds have grown thicker and fuller and darker. The wind has started to pick up enough to make their movement easily discernible. It has started to look like rain.

He sits up and looks at Felix, who’s still stubbornly staring up, his mouth still pursed. Something about him looks too sweet to truly look contemplative, turning his expression instead into something sulky and almost childish. Minho finds it cute. “Maybe we should pack up and return to my place, hm? It’s getting colder again. How about Hyung makes you hot chocolate?”

At the mention of something sweet, Felix perks right up and in no time they have packed the remainder of the food back into Minho’s backpack and have made their way back to the car. On the drive home it starts pouring. Although Minho tries to park as close to his apartment as possible, they’re still caught in the downpour and absolutely soaked by the time they’ve reached the apartment.

Minho had left all the blinds up when he left, but the sky had turned so bleak and grey that the inside of his apartment had dimmed. He quickly places the backpack down and toes off his shoes, grabs a towel and stands in front of Felix within a moment’s time. The student stares up at him as Minho mutters a soft aigoo and starts drying his long hair, gently petting his cold cheeks. Drops of rainwater are caught in his long lashes, clumping them together and making his eyes seem even more round, more lovely. From this close, with the heat of Felix’s body and the rainwater, he can smell his shampoo clearly. Full-bodied, fresh and ripe strawberry with traces of milk and vanilla. Notes that had taken Minho an embarrassingly long time to pick apart and decipher. It’s also a scent that has made Minho’s mouth water from that very first time that Felix walked into his office, all those months ago. Now his teeth ache to sink into his skin and taste it.

Carefully, he pats the towel along Felix’s jaw, the side of his neck, the shifting, pronounced collarbones peaking out from his shirt. Minho pretends not to notice his shivers and the small, pink nipples poking through the white material.

The silence between them starts feeling less careless, more heavy. Like weighted satin.

Felix must feel it too. He remains oddly quiet, oddly focused. Minho isn’t sure if he’s blinking at all.

A cold and small hand touches his. The fingers are trembling. Felix’s breath stutters and he looks away, suddenly coy. Warmth spreads through Minho’s stomach, licks along his spine and presses against his breastbone. He thinks he knows what’s coming, but holds his breath anyway, standing rooted to the spot as the fawn finally crosses the meadow, as it finally approaches.

“Can I sleep over tonight?” he whispers. 

Minho knows what Felix is truly asking and can’t deny himself the teasing. “Of course, Yongbok-ah, you know you don’t need to ask me that.”

Felix, by now, knows when he’s being baited and presses his lips into a thin line. He lowers his chin and looks up again and the beauty of him in that moment turns Minho breathless. “I think I’m ready. To do stuff. With you,” he presses out and Minho watches in real time as his face grows increasingly more red, up to his temples and down his thin, little neck.

“Stuff?” he asks in return, but there’s a lopsided grin to his mouth and he has wrapped one of his hands around the warm back of Felix’s neck. “What kind of stuff do you want to do with Hyung, Yongbok-ah? Tell me.”

If it weren’t for Minho’s grip on his nape tightening, he thinks Felix would have tried to squirm away. He pulls into himself, shoulders rising and arms crossing loosely above his stomach. He’s turning more shy by the second, more sweet. Minho wants to gobble him up. And he will. He just needs Felix to ask for it.

“You know what I mean. It’s embarrassing to say out loud.”

He knows. Of course, he knows. By now he knows Felix well enough to look at him and see the heat rise to the surface of his skin, to understand what the parting of his pink mouth means, what he’s thinking of when his eyes glaze over slightly, like he’s grown sleepy, or feverish. There are moments like those, where Felix’s whole being will call to him like a siren and Minho will crowd him into the nearest surface and kiss him breathless and whiny. It’s hard not to press against his body, to ignore the interested twitch of his dick, even more so when Felix’s hips shift and twitch, eager and curious and so needy. Minho hadn’t touched him again, but he had made Felix touch himself, breathed warm and full of teeth against the column of his bared throat as Felix threw his head back, the sound of his wetness growing louder, rising in tandem to his choked off moans.

The same neediness glows in him again now. His eyes half-lidded and face ablaze with the same sticky glaze to him. As usual, his mouth parts and his chin twitches up, like he expects Minho to lean in again and kiss into him. Only he doesn’t. He brushes the tip of his nose along the soft skin of Felix’s cheek and asks, “If you can’t even say it, should you be doing it?”

Minho expects Felix to fold. He expects him to follow along and turn meek and sweet as he always does. Too flustered to take Minho’s taunting words. He hadn’t anticipated that, by now, his sweet little fawn has learned some of his teasing, has discovered that Minho, too, needs him and craves for him. And although he’s shy and coy and honeyed as he mutters the words, there’s an edge of something determined in his voice when he returns, “I thought you wanted to eat me, Ahjussi.”

His mouth waters.

Minho wastes no more time speaking, he bends down, picks Felix up. It’s shockingly easy, too, with most of his weight resting across Minho’s shoulder and his legs on each side of Minho’s ribs. He wiggles and laughs, bright, with only a hint of nerves, his little fists hitting the space between Minho’s shoulder blades.

“Ahjussi,” Felix starts, squeals. “I take it back, I don’t want to be eaten. Let me down!” Minho ignores him. He carries him to his room before carefully placing him back down, right in front of the bed. The soft thud of Felix’s sock-clad feet against the floor is overwhelmingly loud in the silence of it all, where only the patter of the rain hitting his windows and the sound of their breathing remains. An intimate hush. Minho remains standing close as he pulls Felix’s shirt over his head, throwing it to the side. It lands with a wet noise that he doesn’t have in him to mind, before he reaches to open Felix’s jeans. His pants are way too large for his small body and simply fall past his hips, leaving him almost bare and shivering.

All of him is freckled and most of him is pink. The flush that spreads along his body colours him the shade of peonies, turning him into a pink lily. Minho watches the tremble of his shoulders, the shuddering rise and fall of his chest, his glassy eyes. His own clothes he shrugs out of much faster than the careful touches he reserved for Felix.

The rainwater has turned Felix’s skin cold, but he warms up quickly when Minho pulls him closer, pressing into his mouth with tongue and teeth. He’s soft like a feather as he melts into Minho, burrows closer for warmth, for comfort. So sweet. So naive. If Minho were a better man he would feel horrible for what he is about to do.

He maneuvers Felix onto the bed, the fan of his hair like a halo around his head as Minho hovers just above. What he had almost forgotten, hidden as it remained under Felix’s clothes, is the delicate gold chain around his neck. It rests against his chest now with the filigree cross lying just above his breastbone, following the flutter of his expanding ribcage. Minho pauses. His fingers trace the body-warmed metal, pressing it firmly. He thinks about the painting in the museum again. The woman and the child, the halo surrounding them both. His eyes meet Felix’s and his hand moves, traces a path down his chest and to his navel, where it comes to rest, where Minho plans to feel life grow. It feels soft beneath his touch, the muscles twitching as he dips his fingers past the waistband of Felix’s panties.

“Hyung,” Felix whispers, the sound falling like drops of honey along Minho’s spine. His eyes are locked in that fawn-like stare again — helpless and syrupy as he stares up — and he lifts his chin sharply, his mouth yearning. Minho placates him with a kiss.

Felix’s pussy is already wet when Minho presses his fingers between his lips. His breath hitches, right against the corner of Minho’s mouth, and his legs part slightly, knees shaky. Minho takes his time teasing his clit, touches soft and patient with the single intention to create more wetness, to have him relax slightly, to take his mind off things. When he finally presses a finger in, it goes with relative ease, making Minho try and suppress a grin as soon as he realises that Felix had truly planned to do this today and had probably practiced in advance. The second finger is a tighter fit, but aside from the hitch in Felix’s breath, he takes to it easily.

Minho finally pulls away from his mouth and kisses along his cheek, then down his throat. A lingering kiss, he presses against the cross that calls to him with vague fascination. Not because Minho is a religious man, far from it, but because in that very moment he’s the very thing burning away at Felix’s purity, stripping him of his piety with every wet squelch, every bite of his teeth that leaves a red mark on his soft skin. Hyunjin must have been right because he feels like a pervert; his single minded focus is still on the end goal, even when he bites around the skin of Felix’s pebbled nipple, even as he sucks it into his mouth and thinks about his chest swelling with milk. Minho is probably a pervert because he doesn’t think there will be a moment where he won’t want him, even pregnant — or maybe even more so then.

His teeth and tongue make their way further down, to the flat plane of Felix’s stomach. He leaves a kiss beneath his navel and uses his free hand to tug Felix’s panties down his legs. The cloth around the crotch is soaked and around Minho’s fingers, he has only grown more pink, more red. Minho spreads his fingers to watch the way he gives, then hungers more and caves, pressing his mouth and tongue against his mound, into the swollen nub.

Minho is definitely a pervert because he could swear he can taste Felix’s purity on his tongue.

Felix’s fingers reach for his hair. He grows louder, the twitching of his hips more restless. All of his body slowly grows more taut; his thighs pressing close against Minho’s ears, muffling the sound of his own groans and making him all the more aware of the full bodied throb he feels. The hunger that grows as he presses his tongue into Felix, along with his fingers, as his other hand presses down against his stomach. Felix clearly is approaching his orgasm, but Minho does nothing to stall it. In fact, he allows him to chase it against his face, then enjoys the gushing of more wetness, the squeezing around his fingers as Felix’s body falls lax from one second to the next. He’s all loose-limbed, legs falling open once more as he heaves and shakes and tries to calm.

It’s the perfect moment, Minho thinks. He places tender kisses on Felix’s chest, feeling the way his ribs expand. One reverent, last kiss lands on the edge of the cross again, sacrilegious, before he presses his lips against Felix’s chin and meets his barely open eyes. Everything about his face is languid and satisfied and Minho knows he’ll barely question it and smiles.

“Yongbok-ah, will you let Hyung fuck you without a condom?” he asks, buttery, sweet. Ice melting in midday heat. Felix hums, the noise confused and vague, as if the words are all registering with a delay. His eyes remain sleepy and barely open, but his thin brows start pinching together. Minho presses an open palm against his stomach and continues, “Actually, I got a vasectomy quite a while ago and I want to feel you. Especially since it’s your first time, Hyung doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable.” For a moment he presses down against his stomach and hears Felix’s mouth part, wet. Warm breath hits the side of his face. “I heard it feels much better without a condom, too. Hm? What do you say?”

“Y-yeah,” Felix breathes, then nods a few times. His pupils are blown wide and Minho assumes he actually knows what he’s agreeing to. Especially when, a second later, something like alertness returns to his face and Felix asks, “Will it hurt?”

A heat overtakes Minho’s body; blazing and sudden and all-consuming. The question is so innocent, whispered with the barest hint of voice, mostly breath. Minho doesn’t want to hurt Felix, never, but a part of him does wish he could crack him open, cleave a space inside that’s undeniable and unyielding. He wants to drink the sweetness that’s at his core, that peeks shyly past his ribs. That purity, that piousness. If Felix had a halo, Minho thinks, that’s where he’d find it. In his chest, radiating from his warm, gentle heart.

“It might feel a little uncomfortable because you’re not used to the stretch, but it shouldn’t hurt,” Minho explains, then slips out of his underwear and presses his dick against the smooth mound of Felix’s pussy. He’s still pink, still twitching lightly. The wetness clings to Minho’s cock, increasing with every teasing thrust that makes his cockhead rub against Felix’s clit. Minho watches as Felix’s face grows more red again, more needy. His hips start shifting a second later.

It would probably be easiest to fuck him like that. The kindest, certainly. But the same evil root that has always lingered just under the surface of Minho’s skin, tucked between his heart and his lungs, the one that has led him to this situation in the first place, whispers ideas into his ear. There’s a holiness to Felix’s body, to his being. Minho can’t reach inside and take a hold of the halo that’s hiding in his ribcage, but he can watch it dim, can test the width of its borders. Part of Felix’s appeal is his innocence, but only because while Minho gets to be the one to make it his, no one can take it.

He slips his hands beneath Felix’s shoulderblades and tugs him up, pulls him onto Minho’s lap. The heat of his body calls to Minho, has him twitch in excitement and vigour against the sticky wetness. “You should ride me,” Minho mumbles. His words are bird-song soft against Felix’s cheek. He whines and starts shaking his head, his legs probably still feeling wobbly, but Minho continues, “Hyung will help you, and you’ll feel so good like this.” Minho can hear where his own words have taken on a feverish edge that certainly burns hot and greedy, starving, against the red tip of Felix’s ear. His fingers press into the thin skin right next to Felix’s hip bones, calming the tremble of his body and making him grind down against Minho’s cock. It’s easy to move him; small as he is, obedient as he is. The fever in him only rises. “You’ll feel so good fucking yourself on Hyung’s cock.”

He ignores the whiny noise that Felix makes and uses his grip around his hips to help him up onto his knees. Felix’s legs are shaking, his thighs quaking and muscles jumping. Minho whispers to him about putting it in himself, but thinks that Felix will feel too shy. Only that some of him has turned rather daring because despite the nerves that leave him shaky, he still grabs onto Minho’s dick with one tiny hand and leads it to his entrance. Minho feels with a crystal clarity as his pussylips part, as the spongy head pushes in and meets some resistance. Beneath his hands he can feel the tension of Felix’s body, his unease, his fear. His skin burns with heat, with the beginning of sweat. The scent of strawberries and milk is even stronger now, even more penetrating. It clings to Minho’s nose, to the back of his throat. Felix’s fingers are digging into Minho’s shoulder and the back of his neck. His nails are blunt, but they cut into his skin anyway; not with the intention to harm, but to cling, to ease some of the discomfort he’s feeling.

Minho can tell when the head of his dick pushes past the tight grip of his body because Felix inhales, sharp and loud. His stomach quivers, his chest heaves. He lets out a noise that sounds almost wounded. High strung and pitched and whiny. Minho can feel himself whisper words of encouragement into his ear, soothing one hand along his flank like someone would do to calm a deer.

Felix’s forehead presses into his shoulder and his whole body shivers. Minho’s grip is still tight against him. He wonders if he’ll find traces of his fingerprints there tomorrow. Hopes for it. Felix makes another sound, like a choked off breath, a thin moan. His skin has grown sticky with sweat, but he’s still going, his pussy fluttering as he continues to sink down on Minho’s dick. He’s very small; all of him is. His joints, his little bird bones, his tiny pussy. For a second Minho regrets not using more fingers to prepare him, but then Felix’s butt finally comes to rest against the top of his thighs as his body sort of sags against Minho’s.

“Tired already?” he teases, but even his own voice sounds strained. He’s itching for release, too, by now. Itching to fuck up into the wetness, the tight heat of Felix’s body. His self control is held together by a very thin thread, one with fraying strands that start to pull and snap when he feels Felix’s hand slip between their bodies, over his own stomach.

“Hyung, it’s too much,” Felix whimpers into his shoulder. He’s twitching a lot; on the inside, his thighs, the muscles of his stomach. Probably overwhelmed, feeling too much at once. It’s mean of Minho to pick this very moment to start moving him.

Felix is so light, like a ragdoll in his hands, no choice but to let Minho bounce him slightly, fuck into him with enough vigour that his breaths are punched out of him. He allows it, with his face hidden against Minho’s neck and his tiny hands digging into his skin, breaking it, leaving burning streaks.

“Hyung,” Felix whines again, his complaint turning into a breathless moan and sharp and shocked exhales. Minho hasn’t even started fully thrusting yet.

“What is it, my little fawn? Too much?” Minho croons, sweet and tender. His words juxtaposing his actions when he pulls Felix almost all the way off, before tugging him down sharply. Felix yips like a puppy and his whole body curls so tightly against Minho’s that he stops moving him and simply wraps his arms around him, holding him close for a moment. He’s breathing hard and the rhythmic squeezing from his pussy is making it harder to hold back. Especially when Felix starts shifting, grinding his hips, clearly feeling too good to stop, despite the fullness he’s no doubt battling with.

He’s so cute. The way he squirms on top of Minho’s lap, the quivering, the whining. His whole being so sincerely affected. This, too, is part of Felix’s purity, his innocence. The lack of pretence, the honesty with which he reacts to every new experience. Minho hopes he can take many more firsts from him. Drink them in, devour them whole.

His hands briefly rub against Felix’s spine, soothing him, mollifying him. The action is brief because the thread of his control keeps thinning by the second. He can’t deny himself squeezing Felix’s asscheeks, tugging them apart, barely tracing his fingers over the tightly furled rim. Minho’s intention was to tease, but he feels Felix’s startle against him, pressing the words ‘Hyung, not there’ into Minho’s ear in a way that leaves him fighting a full body shudder. With no intention to push him in even more ways, Minho pulls away and grabs onto Felix’s waist again.

This time Felix moves with him. He leaves his hiding spot and uses his leverage on Minho’s shoulders to lean back, his neck bared and eyes closed. Strands of his hair stick to his red cheeks and the sheen of sweat on his forehead. Mouth red and parted. The cross against his chest gleams despite the dimness of the room. He looks like one of those paintings again.

When he cums, Minho could swear he sees a halo, his chest cracking and the light spilling forth. Like the yolk of an egg, like life itself. He leans in to lick into Felix’s open mouth and catch the brightness, drink it up straight from the source. Surprisingly, it tastes like heat.

It was still only afternoon when Minho pulled him into the bed, but he continues to keep him there, continues to fuck him well into the night. Felix grows sleepy quickly, his body losing the nervous jitters and the overwhelmed tautness and giving way to a satiated languidity that allows Minho to stay inside, to press him close against his chest, one hand low on his stomach. Felix dozes off, flickering in and out of consciousness as Minho continues moving inside him in an unhurried rhythm. He’s no longer rushing.

He presses his forehead into the back of Felix’s neck and thinks about doing nothing but this the whole weekend. He thinks about feeding Felix with his bare hands, thinks about keeping him full, plugging him up. He thinks about how not a single drop must be wasted. How Felix’s body can only take so much, but Minho has made space for himself within him and will continue to take more.

The next morning, Minho crawls between Felix’s legs before he’s awake. He kisses along the inside of his thighs and down. His pussy is pink and slightly swollen and so soft, so open, Minho licks inside with ease. Felix wakes with a confused moan and his small fingers are in Minho’s hair the next moment. He mumbles something that could be complaint or begging for more. Minho pulls away to shush him with a kiss, then presses inside. By now it feels like home.

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Once they start, it’s a bit like a dam breaking. Minho feels insatiable. Invigorated. He wants to have Felix everywhere, at all times. He calls him to his office when he knows no one drops by and fucks him against the desk, a hand pressed firmly against his mouth, just as he had fantasised. Felix is still tiny, still so sensitive and quickly overwhelmed. He cums twice by the time Minho is done with him and then stands on shaky legs like a newborn fawn as Minho tucks him back into his clothes.

Sometimes he can’t even wait long enough to get home; Felix sits next to him in his car and now that the weather has grown warmer and he starts wearing shorts, the skin of his legs tempt him. The sight of his bare knees. Minho pulls over and fucks him in the car, greedy and hungry as Felix’s thighs quake around him. The more often he’s in that tempting heat the more often he wants to do this. He craves to carve his home inside of Felix, grows almost giddy at the thought of one of these times being the one he finally falls pregnant.

At dinner he still feeds Felix’s things to boost his fertility and watches him eat them with obvious enjoyment. And Felix, in turn, is just as happy to eat his Hyung’s home cooked meals.

Sometimes Minho can’t wait to get ready for bed and lifts him onto the table, eats him out instead of dessert, then fucks him as he lets Felix lick cream and custard from his fingers. Looking debouched. Underneath his clothes, the golden cross still gleams. And despite it all, Felix still remains pious. His halo still bright, still reaching far.

The only thing he needs is a baby in his arms.

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It’s late, one Thursday night. Minho is getting ready for bed when the door to his apartment opens. He hadn’t been expecting a visitor, but leaves the bathroom in expectation to find Felix anyway. Only, before he reaches the door, the unmistakable sound of sniffles reaches him, interrupted by hiccupy, uneven breaths.

Felix stands in the middle of his living room with his jacket still on, nose red and eyes glassy. In his hands, he’s clutching something.

“Yongbok?” For a moment, Minho feels dread fill his stomach. He’s closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, grabbing Felix’s shoulders, running his hands down his arms, cupping his face — all in an effort to pinpoint what it is that has upset him so. “Tell Hyung what’s wrong. Are you hurt anywhere?” Felix shakes his head and Minho watches the corners of mouth tug further down, his thin bows pinched. He looks so heartbreakingly sad.

“Hyun— I’m so-sorry,” he manages to force out and then he’s sobbing, loud and free and into Minho’s shoulder. Minho holds him through it, soothes his hair down, whispers into his ear about how it’s okay and it will all be okay and Hyung is here now. But none of his words seem to help. On the contrary, the softer and sweeter Minho’s voice turns, the more he slips into questioning hums and pet names, the more upset Felix seems to get. Until the words, ‘Hyung is going to hate me!’ finally bust past his lips.

“Yongbok-ah, come on,” Minho sighs, now getting slightly frustrated at how upset Felix is and how nothing he does or says seems to be able to help. Felix’s face has grown very wet and very red already and his hiccups have started moving too close to hyperventilation for his tastes. When Minho cups his face to wipe his tears, he realises how swollen his eyes have gotten and he can’t help cooing at him, fighting the urge to call him cute, even in this state. “Hyung could never hate you, you should know that. Now tell me what’s wrong, hm? So Hyung can help you.”

Through his swollen, glassy eyes Felix looks at him. His lips are shaking and he seems to be battling with what to say, how to say it. In the end, he averts his gaze and simply presses an unassuming, small carton box against his chest. Minho goes to hold it automatically, but barely glances at it before he’s asking Felix what it is. Not that he’s getting an answer; now that his hands are free, Felix is hiding, sobbing into his little hands with abandon.

Realising that he won’t get an answer out of him, Minho looks down. In his hands is a pregnancy test, clearly already used. Immediately, his heart jumps into his throat. Minho feels breathless as he goes to open it, his fingers shaking when he pulls out the stick that was inside. The display shows clearly and unmistakably that Felix is pregnant.

“Yongb—“ Minho starts again, but hears his own voice almost like underwater, vague and far away and broken.

Felix interrupts him, “Hyung, I’m really, I’m so, so sorry.” He has forced the words out against his hands, still hiding his face. “I really don’t know how— I noticed something weird was happening and I just, I didn’t expect this, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, Yongbok,” Minho sighs and puts the box down to go and hug him again. Felix allows it, although his body remains still and braced against Minho, as if he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. The truth couldn’t be further from it. Any worry, any frustration, any remotely negative emotion that Minho had been feeling vanished in a second, replaced instead by affection, vast as the ocean, filling his chest. He feels awash in it, jittery and excited and happy like never before. He kisses Felix’s head, his temples, his wet cheeks, the corner of his closed eye. There’s a smile on his face he has no hope of curbing because things have fallen into place so beautifully, so perfectly. Minho had planted his rotten seed when he first spoke to Felix and now he’s reaping his own, rotten fruit. Through a hint of a laugh he asks, “But why are you apologising? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

A choked off sob follows and then Felix is blinking through his tears at Minho and his words seem to have finally registered somewhat. “Hyung isn’t mad at me?” he asks, incredulous.

“Of course not,” Minho reassures him and the words feel almost too light, too elated. He has to remind himself of his lie, of staying in character, even though it feels actually difficult for the first time. It’s a good thing that Felix’s face is all snot and tears and that he can probably barely see Minho’s expression because he’s quite certain that, in that moment, the truth was visible in the lines of his mouth, the delighted glint in his eyes.

Still disbelieving of the ease with which Minho is accepting all of it, Felix adds, “But, but you don’t want a baby, Hyung. You said— the vasectomy.”

It should scare him how perfectly things fell into place. If Minho had painted this very picture, he doesn’t think he could have done better. It really must be fate, he thinks. He has picked someone so perfect for him that his plan had no choice but to develop precisely as intended.

Minho takes a hold of one of Felix’s hands, squeezes the small fingers between both of his. For a moment he thinks about what type of ring would fit those fingers, but that is moving far too quickly for Felix. Minho needs to ease him into it, first. The first step is making sure that he’ll want to keep the baby.

“This happening in spite of it makes me think this must be a gift.”

Felix sniffs and seems to pause. “A gift?”

Minho turns the words over in his mouth a few times, until their shape feels familiar and the lie feels true. The softness of his lips feels appropriate, the smile a tender thing that he presses as a kiss against the palm of the very hand he’s holding. Felix’s crying has trickled down to the occasional uneven breath and he seems more alert to what Minho is doing and saying. It’s why he’s grown so very aware of every shift on his face. Felix trusts him fully, but Minho doesn’t want him to start questioning too much. Not even a trace of doubt is allowed to exist in his head.

“I think this is divine intervention.” Minho admits. His whispered words hit the heated cheek of Felix’s face, shifting the strands of his long hair that are sticking to his skin. He watches them sink in fully, in the widening of Felix’s eyes and the subconscious way his free hand goes to press against his chest, where Minho knows the cross is hidden and warm. “Didn’t you want kids, Yongbok-ah?”

“I did just… not this early, I suppose.” Felix sounds distracted as he speaks. He blinks slow, stares at somewhere around Minho’s shoulder. His cheeks are flush from his crying, but with the softness to his red mouth and the ghost of a smile, he looks like he’s settling into place. Making peace. Not happy, not excited, more like a puzzle falling into place. Fitting himself perfectly. Minho couldn’t be happier. Then a jolt hits his body, as violently as lightning, and he once again looks upset when he meets Minho’s eyes. “I’m nowhere near close to finishing University. I don’t have an education or any work experience,” he whispers, now clearly worried again. Then, his voice breaks as he adds, “Oh god, Chan-hyung is going to kill me.”

Before he can get himself worked up again, Minho shushes him and finally helps him out of his jacket. He makes him wash his face as Minho prepares lavender tea to calm his nerves. As soon as Felix has taken a seat on the couch, Minho has surrounded him with a thick blanket and the cat shaped pillow he loves holding against his chest. Sitting there, Felix definitely looks more calm again. His face is still slightly flushed and slightly swollen, but Minho doubts that it will go away until tomorrow.

It is far too late for him to be awake still, seeing how he has a lecture early every Friday morning, but Minho still offers to prepare Felix something to eat, still cuddles up to him on the couch, holds him against his chest as Felix drinks his tea, until his eyes start growing heavy with warmth and content. Only then does he breach the topic again.

“Do you think your brother would be against this baby even if God himself wanted this?”

He feels more than hears Felix’s breath hitch against his throat. Then he shifts and pulls back enough to look up at Minho, his eyes now clear and once again looking like a sky full of shooting stars. “I didn’t know Hyung is religious, too.” He sounds amazed when he says it and Minho sees him bite around a grin and look away. His fingers stop squeezing the plushie that’s caught between his arms and reach for one of Minho’s hands instead, pinching and tugging on his fingers. “But you’re right, this must really be a gift. A gift from the heavens. Even Chan-hyung has to acknowledge that.”

Smiling, with his cheek pressed against the crown of Felix’s head, he asks, “So you’ll keep it?”

“Yeah,” Felix breathes. He nods a second later, then settles heavier against Minho’s side. One of his small hands goes to press against his still flat stomach. “Yeah, I will.”

Minho feels the greed in his teeth. The ache, the burn, the need. While his plan is set well into motion now, he wants to see it brought to fruition, too. It won’t do to leave Felix in the dorms, where he only ever eats convenience store food and instant ramyun. University is also too big of a stress factor for him, not to mention that he won’t be needing that degree for what he wants to do in the future.

“You should move in with me,” Minho says. The words are soft, but they jostle Felix out of his vaguely dream-like state anyway. He sits up and meets Minho’s eyes. There’s a furrow between his brows that Minho wants to smooth away. “This is also a perfect opportunity to tell your brother that you don’t want to continue studying, so you don’t need to live in the dorms anymore, either. Besides, I have to make sure you’re eating well. For our child.”

Minho places his hand above Felix’s, right above his navel.

The trap has fully closed. His little fawn had walked right into it, eyes still wide and innocent. Minho will never let him go again.

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Felix’s brother storms into his office with a bravado he loses almost as soon as he makes eye contact with Minho.

They’ve never met in person, but Minho has seen him in Felix's pictures. Briefly, he wonders if Felix had also shown him off to Chan, now that they’re not just two people meeting under the guise of an undefined, unspoken relationship. Now that Minho will be the father of Felix’s child.

Chan seems to battle with the same questions; his face goes through so many emotions within the flicker of a second that Minho has no hope of detangling them. He stands stiff and tense in front of the still open door, then his expression hardens slightly and he turns to close it with a soft sound.

“Lee Minho-ssi,” he starts with a surprisingly gentle voice. Immediately, Chan seems very soft spoken — actually, all of him seems soft. From his cheeks, to his eyes that hold a shyness even in their resolute state. Minho can see him easily through Felix’s stories now. The kind and gentle older brother. One who always worries like a mother hen, who hovers close by so Felix would never fall, would never hit himself, would never hear a bad word. This probably feels similarly to a loss to him.

“Chan-ssi, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Minho responds mildly. He closes his laptop and takes his reading glasses off. “I assume you’re here because you heard the wonderful news?” The words seem to reach Chan with the tenderness of a gut punch. He flinches and his body shifts as he moves forward, closer, comes to stand close enough that Minho can see the sweat on his forehead and where the flush of emotion has started to colour his pale skin a bright red. In that moment the brothers truly resemble each other. Except that Minho has never seen Felix riled up. Sad and upset, yes, but never enraged.

“How can you say that?” Chan asks and he no longer looks as shy, no longer sounds soft. There’s wild enmity simmering under his skin, barely concealed, visible in the obvious tremor that runs through his whole body. “My brother is not even twenty-two, how can you call it wonderful news?” He has started raising his voice, but the shouting only makes his desperation and worry more clear, hidden behind his righteous anger as it is.

Minho exhales through his nose and places his glasses onto his table. Despite the rising tension in the room, it’s easy to remain calm. He had assumed that something like this would happen sooner, or later. Actually, he had kind of thought that Seungmin would be the first one to visit him. He did seem rather like an overprotective puppy. “I understand that you’re upset, Chan-ssi,” Minho starts and crosses his legs, smoothing out the material before looking up at Chan again. “But it’s Yongbok’s choice whether or not he wishes to keep the baby. Not yours and not mine.”

“You told him,” Chan suddenly shouts, arms waving around like he’s trying to make space for the overwhelming emotion he’s feeling, “that it was God’s will! You talked him into it!”

“I did no such thing,” Minho replies calmly. His quietness seems to confound Chan whose breath hitches, movements faltering, like he’s trying to find his footing again. “I’m going to be very honest with you, Chan-ssi. I never wanted children, that’s why I got a vasectomy a few years ago. So, knowing that despite this, Yongbok-ah fell pregnant…” he trails off. It’s easy to summon the same tenderness he felt then, the same happiness. Minho allows it to bleed onto his face as he smiles slightly, eyes soft “It felt a little like fate to me. I had met someone who I love and treasure so dearly and now we’re expecting. I thought, maybe it’s meant to be, you know?”

Chan remains quiet. He stares at Minho with large eyes, his body still shaking, his fists clenched tightly. His eyes move across Minho’s face like he’s looking for deceit, or the truth. He won’t find it, of course.

After a long exhale and with his voice softened once more, he questions, “What if I tell the board about this?”

“You won’t do that.” Minho’s voice is sickly sweet, his smile matching, showing teeth. They’re sharp enough to bleed and by the twitch in Chan’s face, Minho thinks that he must have realised that too. “Think about how upset your brother would be. He’s still in the first trimester and I believe you know how risky pregnancies are in this time period. You shouldn’t be upsetting him further.” And as Minho had predicted, Chan’s need to protect his brother wins out over any ego or stubbornness he might have clung to. His anger is quickly curbed, twisted into guilt. Minho delivers the nail in the coffin by asking, “Or do you want him to lose the baby and be traumatised?”

Chan, like a scolded child, seems to shrink into himself. “No, of course not,” he mumbles and breaks eye contact. Not like he is scared of looking at Minho, but like he’s scared of anyone seeing his shame. Shame for not thinking about his brother’s wellbeing. Now that he’s pregnant and has decided to keep it, of course the worst thing that could happen is if he were to lose it.

“Now,” Minho starts and he gets up from his chair, walks around the desk and to a Chan that looks much more unsure than before. Subconsciously, his body must know something his brain hasn’t registered because Chan takes half a step back before Minho can see him steel himself and remind himself to stay put. It’s rather cute. Once Minho stands in front of him, he pats him on the shoulder. “I really, truly understand your worries. I worry about him, too. A lot.” Minho says the last words around a laugh, his mouth pulling into a happy, little grin. “But I’m really doing my best to support him and take care of him. And please believe me, I’m taking this situation very seriously. I’ll be loving and caring for your brother for as long as he’ll have me.”

Maybe Chan wants to question more. His mouth opens and closes a few times like he’s fighting through too many words, or maybe not enough. Maybe he’s thinking about what an old man like him could possibly see in someone so young. But even if Minho were to try and explain, he knows that Chan wouldn’t understand. How could he?

Finally, Chan’s shoulders sag slightly, under where Minho’s hand still rests, and he looks away, at the ground, at Minho’s shoes. He might be older than Felix, but his young age is very clear at that moment.

“I guess,” he whispers his defeat.

When he looks up again, Minho makes sure to show his most loving smile. “Now, since we’re going to be family in the future, how about you call me Minho-Hyung?”

────── જ⁀➴ᥫ᭡⊹₊⋆ ──────

“Yongbok-ah, I’m home,” Minho announces, as he does every day.

The temperature peaked at the beginning of August and remained at its highest point. The outside feels overheated and stifling, suffocating in the way it makes the fabric of his shirt stick to his skin. It’s why the inside of their apartment, permanently kept at a comfortable twenty-one degrees, feels like a drop of water on perched soil.

Minho steps out of his shoes with a sigh and leaves his bag at the entrance. His phone he puts on silent and then places it on the dining table, before pouring himself a glass of water. The rest of the apartment remains quiet, which is a little odd, considering Felix’s location is turned on and Minho knows that he’s at home.

“Yongbok-ah? Are you on the toilet?” Minho takes a sip of water, then places the glass onto the kitchen counter and walks towards their bedroom. The door is slightly ajar and before he’s reached out to push it open, he hears a sniffle. Minho’s heart jumps into his throat. He pushes into the room and finds Felix sitting on the bed, his face in his hands.

When Minho left Felix behind in bed that morning, he had long hair.

It had grown long enough to reach the end of his shoulder blades and Minho rather enjoyed brushing his fingers through it. Felix used to enjoy it too; he’d braid it and pin it and tie it up in intricate and cute ways. But since his pregnancy had progressed and turned to many nauseous mornings and flashes of exhaustion, he had been keeping it tied in a bun on top of his head. Last week he had felt so overwhelmed at the idea of having to wash it and care for it and brush it that he had cried and then Minho had drawn them both a bath and washed his hair for him. He feels bad about finding it as endearing as he did, but it had been nice to sit in the warm water together, all that soft skin that he could freely touch and kiss. The problem of his hair length had also seemed like a one time thing because despite his recent complaints and gripes about it, Felix had never mentioned wanting to cut it.

Which is why Minho is surprised to stand in front of him now with almost all of his hair gone. It’s not just shorter, it’s not even the bob cut that Felix had when they met. His hair is in a messy, little pixie cut that somehow just accentuates the delicate back of his neck and the narrowness of his shoulders. It’s definitely a radical change and while Minho can’t see his face yet, he’s not worried about how it looks. With a face that exceptional, Minho can’t imagine there being a single hairstyle that looks bad on Felix.

“Yongbok-ah?” Minho questions carefully. Thinking that he must be feeling poorly, Minho kneels down in front of Felix and runs a soothing hand along his back.

“Hyu-ung,” Felix whines around a sob, but doesn’t sit up, still remains curled in and with his face hidden.

“What’s wrong, my fawn? Do you feel sick again?” Minho asks gently, his voice sugary and patient and kind. Felix had been sensitive even before his pregnancy, but the upheaval of hormones had only enhanced it. Which Minho understands and most of the time finds rather adorable. There are only some moments where it worries him more than anything, how much Felix cries. Once he cried so hard he made himself sick and then cried more because of it. Minho felt so bad for him, he had taken the next day off just to pamper him.

Felix lets out another string of sobs, before suddenly sitting up and dropping his hands from his wet and flushed face. There are streaks of black around his teary gaze, which makes Minho think he probably put on some makeup today. Something he hadn’t felt like doing for quite a while.

“Hyung,” Felix whimpers, brows pinched, lips wobbly. “I’m hideous.”

Minho can’t help it, he laughs. A short and shocked sound. “What?”

His reaction is only met with more upset and Felix trying to hide his face behind his hands again. Minho doesn’t let him this time. He takes a hold of his hands and gives his small fingers a reassuring squeeze. When Felix goes to curl into himself despite this, Minho cups his cheeks, instead, and pulls him closer, making him face Minho. He runs his thumbs carefully across Felix’s flushed and freckled cheeks, wiping away the black residue of his makeup. “Don’t hide, Yongbok-ah. What do you mean you’re hideous? You’re my gorgeous, little fawn. How could you ever be hideous, hm?”

He thinks Felix is trying to scoff in disbelief and roll his eyes, but with his whole face puffy and his lips still wobbly, it ends up looking rather pitiful. In a moment of stubborn defiance, he tugs at Minho’s wrists, pulling his hands away. Minho allows it, knowing that sometimes, especially now that he’s pregnant, Felix needs to stew in the upset for a bit before he can allow himself to be comforted. Especially if the root of his upset hasn’t been addressed yet. “I went to the hairdresser and I wanted to surprise you and I thought,” he hiccups around a breath, “I thought it would look good, but, but now I just look like a round baby.” After the last word Felix breaks off into another round of sobs and Minho tries, he really does, but another laugh escapes him, endeared this time. He tries to say ‘you don’t’, but the words are immediately interrupted by Felix loudly insisting, “I look like an egg!”

“Yongbok,” Minho repeats again, this time a little more firmly. He takes a hold of Felix’s face again and doesn’t allow him to pull away this time. It takes a few stuttering breaths and angry, pouting moments before Felix finally meets his eyes again. “You do not look like an egg. Or a round baby. You look beautiful.” He tries to hold eye contact with Felix and sees him squint through his tears, clearly attempting to measure how truthful Minho is being. Not that Felix has ever been able to recognise a lie in anything Minho has said and done; Felix is way too naive and pure hearted to be able to even imagine the depth of his wrongdoings. However, Minho isn’t lying about this. He wouldn’t.

“Hyung is just saying that because you love me,” he eventually mumbles around his pout. The defiance in him is slowly giving way to softness again, though, because he allows Minho to squeeze his cheeks and tug on the soft skin until he no longer looks like he’s sulking.

“No, Hyung is saying that because now he can see and appreciate your perfect little face,” he adds with a smile.

Felix reaches up and runs his fingers through the short strands, before attempting to tuck them behind his ear out of habit. “Does that mean you like it?”

Minho’s smile widens and he leans up to place a kiss against Felix’s lips. “I love it.” He kisses him again, then once more, allowing this one to linger and turn hungry when Felix’s knees part to allow Minho’s upper body to move closer. He’s still not far enough into his pregnancy for the baby bump to be obvious, but Minho still loves placing his hand there, around his waist, feeling the difference from one week to the next.

When Felix’s thighs start squeezing against his chest and his breaths turn into a thin and hitched sound that Minho swallows down, he pulls away. It’s not an easy feat with Felix so flushed, still teary. Part of him wants to strip him down, trace the bruises and bite marks on his thighs, maybe eat him out before fucking him again, but Minho still feels his clothes stick against his drying sweat. He needs to shower first. Eat something. But before any of that, Minho needs to stick to their daily routine of baby bonding.

He places one more kiss against Felix’s wet cheek and says, “Now, let me say hello to our daughter.”

Felix is still shy while doing this, but he allows Minho to tug him closer, to the edge of the bed, allows him to push the fabric of his shirt up to expose the soft roundness of his stomach. There’s freckles there too; next to his navel, one right beneath his sternum. Minho kisses them both, then presses one more kiss against the center of his stomach. Felix lets out one of his high pitched little giggles whenever Minho does this, but he still runs his fingers through his hair.

“Hi, my little tangerine,” Minho coos, saccharine and sticky. “Daddy missed you so much.” He whispers and feels Felix’s shuddering exhale, the parting of his legs and some of his resolve slips. Minho presses one more kiss against his stomach, then further down, to the waistband of his pants.

“You want me to properly say hello to you too, Yongbok-ah? The kiss wasn’t enough?” he teases. Felix somehow still has it in him to look flustered about this, to look as shy and pure as if he had never had Minho inside of him. As if he isn’t pregnant with his child. He whines around a very pitiful, little ‘Hyung’, his eyes still slightly red and glassy. His lips are pink and he still carries the scent of strawberries dipped in milk.

Minho could never deny him anything.

────── જ⁀➴ᥫ᭡⊹₊⋆ ──────

Felix runs his fingers over the box-shaped present. The edges are pointy and the parts where the wrapping paper overlaps are anything but neat, which is definitely its charm. He looks up at Jisung; his lips are pursed into a small pout, large eyes imploring like he’s asking for forgiveness.

“I did it myself,” he explains, sulking. Felix laughs and wraps an arm around him, giving him a loose side-hug. He misses hugging people properly and holding them close, but his stomach has grown large enough that it’s always sort of in the way.

“It’s perfect, Jisung-ah, thank you.” He feels Jisung holding on to him still, even as Felix goes to pull away. His hands are warm and his nose presses into Felix’s shoulder. It’s kind of cute how clingy his friends had gotten now that they’re no longer dormmates.

“Okay, enough, stop smothering him,” Seungmin says from somewhere behind him. He sees movement and then Jisung shouts and pulls away, now holding his ear. The glare he shoots Seungmin’s way is still half-hearted at best. “Here, I brought you another pillow,” Seungmin says to him, voice much softer and more tender as he tucks it behind Felix’s body. The relief of sinking into it makes him sigh. Seungmin’s hand is on top of his head, smoothing through his hair and playing with the short strands until Felix tilts his head back to look at him. “Do you want tea?”

“Can I have hot chocolate instead?” Seungmin considers the request with narrowed eyes. He has gotten a long list of dietary restrictions and recommendations from Minho that he takes a lot more seriously than even his hyung. It’s sweet that he cares so much, but Felix needs at least one person who won’t treat him like he’s made out of glass. “Please?”

Seungmin sighs and Felix knows that he’s won when he traces along Felix’s brow bone with his thumb. “Okay, fine, but I’m not adding any sugar.”

Felix grins. “One spoon?”

“Half a spoon,” Seungmin gives his final offer and then he’s on his way to the kitchen again.

“Can you believe he keeps saying I shouldn’t be smothering you? And this is how he acts?” Jisung whispers, clearly not brave enough to say that within earshot of Seungmin. Felix smiles and his chest expands suddenly, turning his eyes glassy with a fresh onslaught of emotions. At this point he’s gotten better at controlling them, though, considering how much of the pregnancy he’s spent crying for various reasons. Though, missing his friends and their constant presence is definitely one of the more understanding ones.

Trying to curb the waterfalls now, he inhales and exhales deeply and takes a hold of Jisung’s hand, giving it a squeeze. Jisung, in return, takes his smaller one between both of his and presses a kiss against his knuckles. It becomes a little harder to blink the mistiness away now and Felix does feel slightly choked up when he says, “I love you both so much.”

Jisung coos and wraps an arm around him, pulling him in and pressing their heads together. “We love you, too, Lix-ah. Now open the present, please, so I can stop looking at the awful wrapping.”

Inside the badly wrapped box are cute onesies in soft pastel colours. There are different fruit patterns on all of them and Felix runs his fingers over the soft material of each one, carefully folding them and placing them next to Seungmin’s box of soft toys, when he catches a glimpse of something else that lies on the bottom. It’s made of soft wool and at first Felix thinks Jisung must have bought a beanie, too, but when he picks it up, it becomes obvious that the hat is a little bit uneven and has a slightly funky looking tangerine on the front. When he meets Jisung’s gaze, his round face starts swimming, growing blurry with a new round of tears Felix doesn’t think he can hold back.

“I- uh, it’s not perfect because I had never knitted something before, but I hope you like it? And that you won’t throw it away, so she can see what Uncle Jisung made for her.” Felix can barely see Jisung’s face; he blinks and the tears start falling and his lips are wobbling and before he realises it, Jisung has pulled him against his chest. It’s not very comfortable because they’re sitting next to each other and Felix's stomach is in the way and he’s still clutching the handmade gift.

“Jisung,” Seungmin’s voice reaches him over the sound of his own, soft sniffles, “Why is Lix crying? What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. The beanie was just so ugly, Lix-ah was moved to tears,” Jisung jokes. He’s still rubbing up and down Felix’s back, but allows him to pull back again. Seungmin places the mug of hot chocolate in front of him on the table and takes the seat on his other side. One of his hands immediately reaches up to wipe at Felix’s cheeks, careful and so endlessly tender, he feels like he’s suffocating on all the love they have given him.

The three of them had been friends since Felix moved to Korea when he was eleven and they have always been close. Felix didn’t believe it’s possible for three people to be any more attached, but his pregnancy had changed something. Or maybe the change happened even before then. Seungmin had worried a lot about him once he found out about Minho and then he told Jisung, who has never been the type to outwardly disapprove or tell him what to do, but both of them had started paying attention to him differently than before. Much more careful and more measured. Felix is just glad that despite the disagreements they’ve had, he hasn't lost their friendship.

“Aigoo, Yongbok-ah, you’re going to end up dehydrating with how much you’re crying.” Seungmin’s words are tender as he pats his cheeks dry, then passes him the mug of hot chocolate. “Here, I ended up putting a spoonful of sugar in, so this better make you stop crying.” This small affectionate act alone could get him started again, but then the front door opens and after a few more moments Chan walks in with multiple bags and a big box in his hands.

“Sorry, I’m a bit late, I still had to wrap everything,” his brother starts, then pauses once he has placed the bags on the floor and takes a look at Felix’s face, “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?”

“Jisung is just so bad at doing things with his hands it almost made me cry too,” Seungmin replies instead of him, earning himself a fake-annoyed little ‘hey!’ from Jisung. “How many things did you buy, Chan-hyung? That looks like half of the kid’s section.”

Chan mumbles out a soft ‘something like that’, but otherwise doesn’t react to the jab. He puts the box on the coffee table and shoos Jisung away to sit next to Felix. “How are you feeling, little one? Any pains? Cramps? Discomforts?” As he’s talking, he pets the back of Felix’s head, then down his back. Felix shakes his head in answer, then goes to rest it against Chan’s shoulder. One of his hands reaches towards Seungmin and one towards Jisung, then he smiles when both immediately hold onto him.

Felix is happy.

Truly and whole-heartedly. Despite the worries, despite the anxieties that have plagued him for months, everything had turned out alright. Jisung was the first one to accept it. Surprisingly, his brother came next. Seungmin had been angry up until Minho had met up with him one evening. Felix never found out what they talked about, he only knows that things became easier again afterwards. Now Seungmin is more protective and guard-dog-like than ever. If he could, he would tease him about it, but his friend doesn’t seem to care at all. 

By now things have settled into a new normal. Jisung and Seungmin will visit daily, his brother will drop by at least twice a week and all of them have grown closer with Minho, too. Felix knew that they would. His Minho-hyung is an amazing person after all — gentle and endlessly kind and incredibly smart. After all, only a person who’s truly loving and patient and amazing would react the way he did to Felix’s pregnancy. He has been so understanding and indulgent from the beginning, never pushed Felix to get rid of the baby, even if children had never been in the plans for him. Felix thinks that, if he hadn’t loved him with his whole heart before, the day that Minho told him that it must have been fate would have been the day that he had dedicated himself to his Hyung. 

If this was just a year ago, Felix would worry about whether or not he is deserving of all these good things happening to him, all these blessings he has received. But God must truly be favouring him to give him a child and a loving family and friends. 

Later on, when Minho has finally gotten home from work and Hyunjin has also dropped by, Felix feels another onslaught of emotion. It’s hard not to become choked up as he watches everyone move through the space he’s started to call his home because it’s so easy to imagine this lasting for a long, long time. He imagines a bigger place, a house, maybe. He imagines two children and two cats, running around the garden. In this fantasy his friends are still a part of his life and so is his brother and — even if he was wary of him at the beginning — he can see Hyunjin have a space there, as well. It has taken Felix a few months of warming up to him, but by now they have gotten close enough that Felix doesn’t just feel comfortable around him, but also enjoys spending time together. Once the ice started cracking, he noticed that the two of them got along surprisingly well. Especially because Hyunjin is most indulgent of Felix’s love for arts and fashion. 

When everyone leaves, Felix curls up next to Minho. He lets him press kisses against his face, his hands and shoulders, his stomach. As he does every day, Minho greets their little tangerine and starts whispering to her about his day, asking her if she ate well, if she’s treating Felix right. 

It strikes him with an overwhelming clarity how if Felix had tried to dream up a more perfect partner, he couldn’t have. 

“I took the next semester off,” Minho says to him once he joins him in bed. “The faculty said I can have the whole year off, too, if it’s needed. I think I’ll take them up on the offer, just to be able to help you out at home.” As he does every night, Minho moves closer and opens his arms, waiting for Felix to curl up against him. With his stomach pressed against Minho’s side or front, he can feel whenever the baby kicks, but Minho insists that he likes it and he doesn’t mind being woken in the middle of the night to feel her move. Oftentimes, having Minho rub his stomach actually helps her calm down. And if he was honest, it makes Felix feel some type of way, seeing how good of a father he already is. Although that might also just be the hormones. Minho presses his cheek against the top of Felix’s head and sighs, long and deep and content, before he continues, “I know your brother and friends will be around as well, but I want to be there for my daughter and you.”

“I also want you there,” Felix replies and thinks about how far he’s come from being too shy to properly look at Minho to easily making demands. He had spoiled Felix rotten, but seems rather happy with the result, never one to complain, no matter how unreasonable Felix’s requests get. Minho mumbles out an ‘of course’ against his forehead before pressing a kiss there. One of his hands comes to rest on top of Felix’s stomach, then further up, against the base of his neck. Felix feels the warm fingers trace his necklace and he feels himself smile. “I think I decided on the name.”

“Yeah?” Minho asks, but his voice has grown slightly slurred. Sleepy.

“I like Boksoon,” Felix stifles a yawn against Minho’s shoulder. The steady heartbeat underneath his ear is calming and although he feels like he has been wide awake just moments prior, he can feel Minho’s even breaths bring a sense of drowsiness with it. “How does that sound?”

There’s a pause where Felix thinks that Minho has fallen asleep already and that he won’t reply anymore. He had to wake up early after all and although Felix doesn’t tend to think about their age difference a lot, he can definitely tell by Minho’s lack of energy as the day progresses that he’s got quite a few years on him. Felix can feel himself start to drift as well, his eyes closed and the sensations around him blurring. Just before the last tendrils of sleep have fully encased him, he can feel Minho shift, his fingers moving along Felix’s necklace and down to where the cross rests, just underneath his collarbones. From far away, muffled and vague, he can hear Minho’s smile as he says, “It sounds perfect.”