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Jisung is half-asleep on the dance studio couch when he feels his head being lifted and lowered back into a lap. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know it’s Minho. He just does.
His sore body relaxes even more than it already had. They’d been in the studio for hours, multiple days in a row, and everything ached. All of them were tired, but no one had slowed down. Not with a comeback looming and awards season creeping closer every day.
“Have you drank any water?” Minho asks, voice low and soft, meant only for him.
Jisung hums in response.
Minho doesn’t ask again. He never does.
A cool towel presses gently against the back of Jisung’s neck, and he sighs, the sound barely there. Minho adjusts it carefully, fingers lingering just long enough to ease some of the heat out of his skin.
“There you go,” Minho murmurs.
Jisung shifts without opening his eyes, turning his face slightly until his cheek rests more comfortably against Minho’s thigh. Minho’s hand immediately finds his hair, fingers combing through it slowly, unhurried. Not fixing anything. Just being there.
The studio hums around them, music playing quietly from someone’s phone, the muffled thud of footsteps, Changbin complaining about his knees for the third time in ten minutes. No one bothers them.
“You can sleep,” Minho says softly.
“Mm,” Jisung breathes. “Just for a minute.”
Minho smiles, the kind no one sees unless they’re this close. He keeps one hand steady in Jisung’s hair, the other resting warm and solid against his shoulder.
“I’ll wake you,” he promises.
Jisung believes him. He always does.
“He okay?” Chan’s voice pulls Jisung back toward consciousness a few minutes later.
Minho hums. “Just exhausted. He stayed up later than he should have, working on a song.”
“It’s our next hit, I just know it,” Jisung mumbles without opening his eyes, words slurred with sleep.
Chan chuckles softly. “You always say that.”
“And am I ever wrong?” Jisung counters.
Minho snorts. “You’re a brat.”
“M’your brat.”
Jisung doesn’t have to look to know Minho’s expression gives him away. Minho doesn’t take anything from anyone, everyone knows it. Not managers, not producers, not even JYP himself. But from Jisung? He folds every time.
Chan laughs again and presses a gentle hand to Jisung’s shoulder. “Well, since you’re awake, we need to get back out there.”
Jisung groans and finally forces himself upright, blinking against the bright lights. Minho keeps a steady hand on his back, adjusting the cool towel around his neck when it slips.
“Five more minutes, dad?” Jisung whines, tilting his head back against the wall and closing his eyes again.
Chan sighs like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment. “You call me dad one more time and I’m adding another run through.”
Jisung’s eyes snap open. “Threats are illegal.”
Minho smiles, fond and helpless, and gives Jisung’s knee a gentle squeeze. “Come on. One more hour and I’ll give you a massage at home.”
Jisung squints at him. “…Promise?”
“Promise.”
That’s enough.
Chan claps his hands once. “Alright. Back at it.”
Jisung pushes himself to his feet, stretching with a quiet hiss as his body protests every movement. It always does. This isn’t new, none of this is. The ache, the exhaustion, the way he pushes through it anyway. Muscle memory at this point.
As he reaches overhead, his shirt rides up just enough for Minho to notice. He reaches out, brushing the exposed sliver of skin with just his fingertips as he passes.
Jisung catches his hand, smirking. “You never can resist, can you?”
“Nope. Never will,” Minho replies easily, already stepping away and heading back to his spot.
The music starts again, loud and sharp. Jisung falls into the choreography without thinking, muscle memory carrying him through the counts. His movements are clean, precise, tired, maybe, but never sloppy. Sweat drips down his spine, his breathing heavy but controlled.
They finish the run through.
Chan calls adjustments.
And they go again.
And again.
Jisung bends forward, hands braced on his thighs as he drags air back into his lungs.
A sharp slap echoes through the room. A second later, Jisung yelps, jolting upright as realization hits.
He spins around with a glare, already knowing exactly who it is, still fixing his boyfriend with a proper mean mug.
“Not cool.”
Minho shrugs. “You’re the one who stuck it out there. There’s video evidence if you need proof.” He tips his chin toward the cameras hanging from the ceiling.
“Minho,” Jisung whines, rubbing at the still stinging cheek.
Minho steps closer. “Aw, does my bug need me to make it all better?” he teases.
Jisung nods.
Minho’s hand slides around his waist, gentle now as he takes over, rubbing the ache away. “Need me to kiss it better?” he murmurs, leaning in until their lips barely brush.
“Please?”
“Oh my god,” Changbin stage whispers, gagging dramatically. Jeongin fake retches while Hyunjin claps like he’s watching a rom-com.
“Okay, absolutely not,” Chan cuts in, already walking toward them. “This is a dance practice, not whatever that’s turning into. Back in formation. Now.”
Minho lifts his hands in surrender but steals one last look over his shoulder, lips twitching.
“Okay. We haven’t done the next song in a while,” Chan says. “Anyone need to mark it?”
Felix lets out a soft chuckle.
Minho shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Let’s do it full,” Hyunjin says.
Changbin groans. “Of course you two don’t need to mark it.”
Jisung chuckles, silently agreeing, but still nods when Chan looks his way.
The run through goes better than he expects. Cleaner. Somewhere halfway through, it clicks into place for Jisung, the exhaustion dulling, sharpening instead into focus. His body remembers before his brain does.
Jisung grins, sweat soaked and triumphant as the last note cuts out, and heads back toward the couch again. This time, he drops down hard, stretching his legs out in front of him.
Minho sits beside him, shoulder bumping his lightly.
“What time did you end up coming to bed last night?” Minho says, not accusing. Just stating a fact.
Jisung shrugs. “Five? Six?”
Minho shakes his head, practice had started at nine that morning. “Was it worth it?”
Jisung tilts his head back against the wall, eyes closing briefly. “Yeah.”
Minho smiles, small, proud. “Figures.”
They sit like that for a moment, catching their breath. Seungmin lobs a couple of water bottles in their direction, and Jisung catches one on instinct.
Felix suddenly appears and flops down on Jisung’s other side, head landing in his lap without asking.
“Ew, sweaty,” Jisung teases, knocking Felix’s head away.
Felix just laughs and drops it right back onto his legs, deliberately rubbing his wet hair against him.
“Fucker,” Jisung mutters, but there’s no heat in it.
“You love me,” Felix says, tilting his head back to grin up at him.
“Unfortunately.” Jisung squishes Felix’s cheeks together like he’s about to kiss him.
Felix yelps and bats his hands away, and they end up slapping at each other for a few seconds before collapsing back into place, breathless and laughing.
“Your boyfriend is staring at you.” Felix points out.
“I’m literally not,” Minho grumbles.
“You are,” Jisung says, amused, not even looking.
Minho rolls his eyes. “It’s called supervising.”
Felix hums thoughtfully. “That’s not what your face says.”
Minho opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again when Chan calls something from across the room. He takes a long drink of water instead.
Jisung smirks and leans back against the wall, stretching his legs out a little, just enough that Felix makes an offended noise but doesn’t actually move.
“Everyone alive?” Chan asks minutes later, hands on his hips.
“Define alive,” Changbin replies immediately.
“I would like it put on record that I am officially not alive,” Jeongin says from the floor, face-down and spread out like a starfish.
Chan checks the time. “Another hour and we can call it a night.”
“An hour?” Changbin shouts.
Jisung visibly cringes at the volume. Minho notices instantly, spreading a hand over Jisung’s knee in a grounding, wordless gesture.
“Binnie, do you have to be so loud?” Felix whines.
“You’ve known me for over eight years, Innie.”
“Not my name,” Felix grumbles.
Changbin blinks, immediately flustered. “Yongbok. Whatever your name is. You’ve known me a long time. When have I ever been quiet?”
“First time for everything,” Seungmin says dryly.
“Oh, you…” Changbin lunges, looping Seungmin into a loose headlock.
“Okay!” Chan calls out sharply. “If you have enough energy to wrestle, you have enough energy for another run through. Up. Let’s go.”
They all shout at Changbin for ruining their break, which only makes him louder in his own defense. It doesn’t matter. Habit kicks in. Everyone pushes themselves up, a few friendly shoves sent Changbin’s way as they drift back toward the center of the room.
They start marking one of their newer songs, half speed, half hearted, but together.
Jisung shakes out his arms, refocusing. Minho catches his eye through the mirror and gives a small nod, all business now. The music starts again, and just like that, they’re back in it, counts echoing, bodies moving in sync, exhaustion tucked somewhere behind determination.
It’s loud. It’s messy. And somehow, it still feels like home.