So I basically do this thing where I give a tag to a person and I tag the special tag on every post about them. (I don’t have one for everyone yet and they may possibly change as we get to know them better) (And please don’t steal any of them :))
Chan: Dad (cause he is the leader, get your mind out of the gutter)
Summary: What proved to be sweeter than baked chocolate chip cookies at 3 in the morning?
A harsh clatter coming from the kitchen jolts her awake, darkness meeting her sight and she’s reaching out to his side of the bed instinctively, fingers only reaching out to empty, wrinkled sheets.
The bedside clock blinks 3 am and her heart begins to pick up, did someone break in?
Minho, where are you?
She snatches her phone from under the pillow, heaving off the bed to tiptoe across the room, halting midway when she catches the line of dim light through the ever so slightly opened door. A frown waves her groggy face when the clutter of sounds continue on— the tapping of a bowl, the dull rustling of plastic bags, the slow turning of paper against paper.
Nothing clicks and she can’t piece the sounds together, having no clue of what could possibly be going on in the kitchen at this time of night. She draws a short bracing breath, poking a finger to nudge the door a little as she peeks through the gap to get a clearer view into the living room.
Light from the kitchen projects distorted shadows onto the carpet, but she knows him too well to recognize it’s him, pacing back and forth to what seem to be the cabinets, the sink, and the counter. The abrupt scare dissolves the sleep that hung on her lids, now wide awake she trudges out to where he is, doing god knows what.
“What on earth are you doing?” She asks quietly, crossing one arm over the other as she stands by the kitchen doorway.
Minho looks up in a state of shock, bed-head hair unruly in all directions as he holds onto a flour sieve in nothing but a pair of baggy sleeping shorts.
“It’s totally what it looks like—” He lets out a smile too alive at this time of day, and she’s threatened to return it, “I’m making you chocolate chip cookies.”
This afternoon’s antics flash at the back of her head, leftover irritation nagging her still over how Minho had snacked on a batch of cookie dough, twice.
“I know you’re still mad about it.” Minho shrugs subtly as he turns to tap the sieve repeatedly against his palm.
She’s not, not anymore. How can anyone be seeing what she’s seeing right now?
“Minho, it’s three in the morning.” She presses a smile, trailing close to his side and nudges her shoulder to his arm.
“I couldn’t sleep.” He murmurs, concentrating while he scoops out the bicarbonate of soda rather clumsily and she’s grinning from ear to ear at his dedication.
“You’re high on cookie dough and chocolate chips, Minho.” He’s on a damn sugar rush, of course you can’t, you dork.
“You just make the best ones, okay?” Minho turns around and presses a single chocolate chip to the tip of her nose, chuckling deeply when her eyes cross to focus on what it is. “You keep ruining my diet, do you know how much more they make me do when I train? It’s fucking ridiculous.”
“You don’t need to go on one, anyway. Ugh.” She pokes his soft belly, the one she never minded.
Minho scowls, sulking a little, “Don’t you dare say I’m cute, we’re trying out a sexier concept this time and your damn cookies ain’t helping.”
It makes her break out an amused laugh, in all honesty, Minho didn’t need to try because he already is. His taste in chocolate chip cookies and strawberry ice-cream just doesn’t back it up sometimes.
But there’s so much more to him, so much more than what meets the eye and she’s completely head over heels.
“It’s not my fault you love them so much, maybe even more than me.”
“Don’t be silly.” Minho pinches her chin with flour stained fingers, stifling a smile because she has no idea how she’s close to resembling a cookie herself. He leans in, gingerly flicking his tongue over the melted chocolate on the tip of her nose, “I love you more.”
The university library closes early before holiday weekends, which is kind of not awesome. Jonghyun’s got a stack of midterm papers to write. He also has a bottle of painkillers, twelve encouraging texts from Minho laden with emoji, and two extra-super-grande-whatever sized coffees. He can do this. Maybe.
Anatomy is not his strong suit, even with the handful of practice he’s had on underclassmen this year – though that was mostly in the dark, so it probably doesn’t count, he thinks with a frown. He’s got his shoes off, hair mussed, and he’s seriously considering unbuttoning his jeans. Hell, give it another hour and he’ll be adjusting his unseemly bits. No one’s in his corner of the library anyway. The empty table he’s got to himself is proof enough of that. He can hear the aircon whistle through the shelves and he’s pretty sure he saw a giant crumpled-paper tumbleweed roll through twenty minutes ago.
He’s looking out the huge window behind his chair, watching a duck waddle around the “Pond for Peace” (whatever that means), somewhere in the range of two hours and forty-seven minutes into his cram session. Maybe Jinki wouldn’t mind coming down to help him. Jinki finished his papers early, because he’s a smug honors student and he doesn’t have the amazing commitment Jonghyun does to pizza or 90s television reruns. Anyway, he’s distracting himself pretty well when he hears a throat clear in front of him – behind him? He is looking over his shoulder – followed by a weak half-cough.