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Lee Chan had no idea how his apartment had gotten this bad.
It wasn’t like he was a slob... at least, not usually. But with their comeback promotions finally wrapped, late-night rehearsals turning into early morning shoots, and the rare free hour spent catching up on sleep, the mess had slowly crept up on him. Piles of laundry sat half-folded in a corner, a few mismatched socks lounging on the couch like they paid rent. Dishes were scattered in odd places—on the coffee table, by the bed, even one lonely bowl on top of his dresser. He didn’t even remember eating there. Chan stood in the middle of the living room, a shirt slung over one shoulder, half-dried hair sticking to his forehead, hands on his hips like that alone could will the clutter away. It was his first real day off in weeks, and he’d decided—maybe stupidly—to spend it tackling the mess. But after two solid hours, he’d only managed to clear one corner of the living room.
One.
Breathing heavily, he leaned against the back of the couch and wiped his brow with the hem of his oversized t-shirt. The place still looked like a mess... an organised mess, maybe, but a mess nonetheless. His arms ached. His brain buzzed from too many cleaning supplies and too little food. He thought about giving up. Maybe lighting a match and starting over somewhere new.
And that’s when his mind drifted to Mingyu.
Kim Mingyu, resident clean freak. The one who always scrubbed down the dorm kitchen after they ate, who always cleaned the dishes that seemed to magically stack up, who made their shared spaces feel like home when they lived together. Mingyu who nagged them for leaving crumbs behind but also quietly refolded Chan’s laundry when he fell asleep before finishing it. Chan sighed, long and loud, like he was trying to exhale the hesitation clinging to his pride. He stared down at his phone. His thumb hovered. Then he pressed the call button before he could overthink it.
Mingyu picked up on the third ring.
“Yo, Dino,” came the familiar voice, warm and teasing. “Watcha doinggg."
Chan rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh… might have made a small mistake.”
“Define small,” Mingyu said, suspicious instantly.
“…I tried to clean my place.”
A pause. Then a low chuckle. “Tried?”
“I’m dying, hyung,” Chan groaned. “It’s too much. My arms hurt. I think my rubbish is multiplying on its own. Can rubbish do that?”
Mingyu made a sound that was half-laugh, half-exasperated sigh. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
“No, you don’t have to—”
“Chan.”
His voice turned firm. That tone. The one that made everyone stop mid-chaos during practice. Chan shut up immediately and sent the address, though Mingyu knew it already.
True to his word, Mingyu arrived not even twenty-five minutes later, wearing sweats, sleeves rolled up like he was going into battle. And battle he did.
“What the hell happened here?” he asked as he stepped inside, eyebrows raised.
Chan winced. “I’ve been… busy.”
Mingyu eyed the coffee table covered in empty ramen cups, a pair of sneakers somehow on top of the couch cushions, and the sad plant in the corner that might have once been alive. “Busy doing what?” Mingyu said exasperated.
Chan flushed. “Hey—”
“I’m just saying. You’ve got a plate under the bed. Why?”
“I don’t know!” Chan cried, flopping onto the couch. “Why does anything happen?”
Mingyu grumbled something under his breath and began moving around the space like he owned it. And weirdly, it didn’t feel invasive. It felt…comforting. Like he was weaving a little order into Chan’s personal chaos. He was annoyingly thorough. He wiped down surfaces Chan hadn’t even looked at, stacked the plates into neat piles. He opened windows for air, fluffed pillows, organized the shoe rack by color—of course he did. Chan watched from his position on the couch, trying not to be too obvious about the way his heart had picked up speed. Mingyu moved through the space like he cared about it. Like he cared about him. Not just fixing the mess, but making it feel like a place someone loved living in. When Mingyu crouched in front of the low coffee table, scrubbing at a mysterious stain with a determined frown, Chan’s chest did something uncomfortable. Or maybe too comfortable. Too familiar. It wasn’t just admiration anymore. It wasn’t just a crush.
It was bad. He was down catastrophically bad.
Mingyu glanced up then, catching Chan staring. “What?”
Chan blinked. “Nothing.”
“You’ve been staring for like five minutes.”
“You’re just… really good at this.”
Mingyu’s mouth quirked into a grin. “At cleaning?”
“At—yeah. That.” Chan cleared his throat and looked away.
He didn’t see the way Mingyu’s smile lingered as he turned back to scrubbing, or the way his eyes softened just a little as they lingered on Chan's flushed cheeks.
---
The apartment, now cleaned and glowing in the late afternoon sunlight, felt like a different place. The scent of citrus-scented cleaner hung in the air, the floor gleamed, and for the first time in forever, Chan could see his own reflection in the TV screen instead of a thin layer of dust. Mingyu stretched, wiping sweat from his brow with the edge of his sleeve.
“Okay,” he said, exhaling deeply, “that’s the cleanest this place has ever been. I deserve a damn trophy.”
Chan grinned, trying to hide the warmth blooming in his chest. “I’ll get you a gold star sticker later.”
“I want fried chicken instead.”
“Greedy.”
“You called me to rescue you.”
“Okay, fair.” Chan tilted his head. “You good?”
Mingyu ran a hand through his damp hair and winced. “Yeah, but I feel gross. Mind if I shower here? I’m already sweaty and probably covered in, like, six different chemicals.”
Chan blinked. His mouth opened, then shut again. Shower. Here. The image hit him faster than he could brace for, and he scrambled to keep his voice even. “Uh—yeah. Sure. Go ahead. Bathroom’s through there.”
Mingyu tossed him a grateful smile, already tugging his shirt off as he walked down the hall. “You’re the best.”
Chan stared after him, momentarily stunned by the sight of Mingyu’s broad back disappearing into the bathroom. They worked out together at the gym, he had seen his hyung shirtless many times, but this new-found crush was eating away at him and making the scene in front of him almost unbearable to look at. Mingyu had lost a little weight, toned up more, he said it was for a photoshoot... and god, Chan looked at the muscles on his back, shining with sweat and gulped almost cartoonishly. He only realized he was still holding a stray dishcloth when it flopped out of his hand and hit the floor.
The sound of the shower turning on was background noise to the absolute chaos in his brain.
Don’t be weird. Don’t be weird.
Fifteen minutes later, Mingyu reappeared in the hallway with a towel slung low around his waist, a sheepish look on his face, and his hair damp, dark curls falling into his eyes. “So… I kinda forgot I don’t have a change of clothes.”
Chan, who had absolutely not been pacing nervously in the living room waiting for this exact moment, looked up—and nearly choked on air.
“Oh,” he said, voice pitched just a bit too high. “Right. Um. Yeah. You can borrow something from my closet.”
Mingyu raised a brow. “You sure? I don’t wanna Hulk out of your shirts.”
Chan’s brain short-circuited. The towel. The water glistening on Mingyu’s chest. The smell—his body wash. His body wash on Mingyu. Mingyu, who was standing in his hallway like a scene from a very specific daydream Chan definitely should not have had.
“I—I’ve got a couple oversized hoodies,” Chan managed, voice a little strained. “Maybe some joggers with a loose fit?”
“Lead the way, Dino,” Mingyu said, patting his shoulder with damp fingers as he passed.
Chan tried not to combust on the spot.
In his room, Chan dove into his closet like a man on a mission, tossing aside t-shirts and hoodies, mumbling to himself as he searched. “Too small… too cropped… way too cropped…”
Behind him, Mingyu leaned against the wall, towel still secure but barely. “You sure you don’t just own stuff in toddler sizes?”
“I’m not that small,” Chan grumbled.
“You’re just fun-sized.”
“Do you want clothes or not?”
Mingyu laughed, and Chan caught the sound in his chest like a hook. It was too much. The scent of his own conditioner curling off Mingyu’s hair, the warmth radiating from him in the small space, the knowledge that just beyond that towel was—
Focus.
Finally, Chan pulled out an oversized hoodie he’d gotten during a photoshoot, ridiculously baggy on him, maybe decent on Mingyu. “Here,” he said, thrusting it at Mingyu without looking directly at him. “Try this.”
Mingyu took it with a grin and held it up to his chest. “Not bad. Kinda cozy looking.”
Chan tried not to stare. Tried really hard.
Mingyu reached for the waistband of his towel, and Chan instantly turned around, eyes on the wall like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. “I’m not looking, I swear.”
“You’re such a gentleman,” Mingyu teased.
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” Mingyu said, laughter in his voice.
And Chan had to admit—he really, really didn’t.
---
By the time Mingyu emerged from Chan’s room, fully dressed, it had been fifteen minutes. The hoodie —black and soft with a cracked print of some band Chan only pretended to know— draped comfortably over Mingyu’s frame, and the joggers, though a bit short, somehow worked on him in a way that annoyed Chan more than it should’ve.
“I think I’m starting a new trend,” Mingyu said, doing a slow spin. He giggled a little as he realised how ridiculous he must look.
Chan, curled up on the couch with his phone, looked up and let his eyes drag over him—briefly. Too briefly. “I hate how that actually works on you.”
“I make everything look good.”
“Cocky much?”
Mingyu flopped onto the couch beside him, thigh pressing just barely against Chan’s. “I cleaned your apartment and look good in your clothes. I deserve a little cockiness.”
Chan rolled his eyes, but his smile betrayed him. “You’re impossible.”
“But useful,” Mingyu added, kicking his feet up. “Now, about that chicken…”
“I ordered while you were in the shower,” Chan said, holding up his phone triumphantly. “Spicy and sweet.”
“You’re perfect.” Mingyu leaned his head dramatically against Chan’s shoulder, damp curls brushing his cheek.
Chan froze.
Not because it was the first time they’d ever touched like this—they’d been close for years. But because now, with Mingyu wearing his hoodie, smelling like his body wash, and pressed warm and relaxed into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world—Chan felt like he was in a dream he’d accidentally spoken into existence.
“I’m gonna fall asleep,” Mingyu murmured, voice thick with comfort. “Your couch is too cozy now. We made it nice.”
“I made it nice.”
“I made it nicer.”
Chan smiled softly, letting his shoulder rest just slightly more into Mingyu’s head. His pulse thudded beneath his skin, loud in his ears. He could feel every place they touched. He could smell the faint hint of vanilla and citrus that clung to Mingyu now, and it was his scent. That knowledge made something bloom and curl in his stomach. He allowed himself to indulge in the moment, allowed himself to think that maybe Mingyu did like him back— although he knew that wasn't true.
“I still can’t believe you cleaned all that without complaining the entire time,” Chan said quietly.
“I did complain.”
“Yeah, but not enough. You didn’t have to help, you know.”
Mingyu shifted then, lifting his head just enough to meet Chan’s gaze. His voice dropped a little. “You called me. Of course I helped.”
Chan’s breath caught.
“And if you ever call me like that again, I’ll come running. No matter what,” Mingyu added, eyes steady on his. “You know that, right? You're our maknae, allow yourself to be taken care of.”
Chan nodded, heart skipping in his chest like it was trying to leap out and confess everything for him. The doorbell rang, breaking the moment, and Mingyu stood, stretching with a lazy grin. “Chicken's here.”
Chan exhaled, chest still tight, and watched him walk to the door—still barefoot, still wearing his clothes, still leaving chaos in his wake even in a spotless apartment.
Chan's heart beat quickened at the sheer domesticity of it all, finding himself getting a little too comfortable. Just one night, Chan muttered to himself, allow yourself this for just one night.
By the time Mingyu returned with the chicken box in hand, the sun had dipped below the skyline, leaving the apartment lit with a warm haze from the standing lamp in the corner. The space felt intimate now—quiet, cozy, like the world outside had agreed to pause for them.
Mingyu dropped the box onto the coffee table and flopped back down beside Chan, this time even closer. Their thighs pressed side-by-side, warm through the fabric. He popped open the box like a man unveiling treasure. “Ohhhhhh yes,” he said, already reaching for a piece.
Chan watched him with a lopsided smile. “You act like you didn’t eat three hours ago.”
“That was burned during the cleaning,” Mingyu said through a mouthful of crust. “This is my reward.”
Chan grabbed a piece, leaning back, their shoulders now fully brushing as he took a bite. The silence between them wasn’t awkward—not even close. It was filled with soft chewing, occasional satisfied groans, and the subtle hum of the city outside the cracked window.
Somewhere between the second and third piece, Mingyu tilted his head toward him, a bit of sauce still at the corner of his mouth. “You ever think about moving into a bigger place?”
Chan blinked at the sudden shift in topic. “Uh. Sometimes. Why?”
Mingyu shrugged. “Dunno. Just… this place’s nice, but it’s small. Cramped.”
Chan arched a brow. “You are half a foot taller than me. Of course it feels cramped.”
Mingyu smirked. “Just saying. If you ever get sick of the space… maybe you could find somewhere with a second bedroom. Or just a bigger one.”
Chan tried to play it cool, but his brain tripped over itself. “Are you trying to tell me I should get a new place so you can crash here more comfortably?”
“I mean,” Mingyu said, nudging him gently with his shoulder, “I’ve already got clothes here now. Kind of a big step in the relationship, no?”
Chan coughed, nearly choking on his chicken. “Hyung.”
Mingyu laughed, brushing nonexistent lint off the hoodie he was still wearing. Wearing that relaxed, perfect smile that showed his endearingly sharp canines. “Relax, Dino. I’m just messing with you.”
But he wasn’t. Not really. Chan could feel it in the way Mingyu looked at him a second longer than necessary. In the way his thigh stayed pressed against his. In the faint glimmer of something unspoken in the air.
Chan leaned back and let his head rest against the couch. “You know,” he said slowly, eyes on the ceiling, “it’s kind of unfair.”
“What is?”
“You walking around smelling like me. Wearing my clothes. Being in my space. And acting like it’s all normal.”
Mingyu tilted his head. “It’s your fault. You let me in.”
“I didn’t know I was signing up for this level of domesticity.”
“You did call me.”
“Biggest mistake of my life.”
Mingyu leaned in, voice lower now, softer. “Feels like the best decision to me.”
Chan turned his head to look at him. Mingyu was close. Closer than he’d been all day. The scent of that citrusy soap drifted between them again, heady in the warm, dim room. His eyes flicked down to Chan’s lips, just briefly—just enough.
And that’s when Chan knew.
He wasn’t the only one holding something back.