Archive of Our Own

Minho

In the past four years of knowing Bang Chan, Minho has been to his hometown a good two times. Australia in the summertime (Minho still gets confused how December could possibly ever be summer) is very nice—the way the soft, salty ocean breeze hits his skin gently, how the air is warm and how everything seems to be more alive.

They’d just gotten back from eating dinner with Chan’s family, where his little sister Hannah kept teasing Chan and saying something that was probably meant to be a subtle hint at something that Minho doesn’t know, because Chan kept glaring at her and kicking her from under the table. It was strange, but every time Minho tried to ask what was wrong, Chan reassured him that Hannah was just being an asshole (his words).

Overall, it was a fun time. Minho loves hanging out with Chan’s family, and ever since they had officially started dating, Chan’s family has been nothing but welcoming to Minho, which he is grateful for.

Chan lives near the beach, and they’d gone on a small walk after dinner, just looking towards the ocean and talking, mostly about Christmas, which is in two days. Minho never celebrated the holiday growing up, as his family are all atheists, but he likes to celebrate with Chan’s family. Plus, even at his grown age, presents are always fun.

“Are you okay?” Minho finally asks, announcing the elephant in the room—or, on the beach. They’d arrived in Sydney the other night, and with each passing day, Chan has continuously grown more and more nervous about something. Despite trying to tell Minho repeatedly that he’s okay, Minho knows his boyfriend well enough to know that’s not the truth.

He’s so antsy, constantly playing and fidgeting with his fingers and practically refusing to even look Minho in the eye. If Minho didn’t know better, he’d think that Chan’s trying to break up with him. He’s been like this for a while actually, now that Minho thinks about it, but it’s gotten continuously worse as the days go by.

Even today, he’s barely even spoken to Minho, which is the oddest thing of them all. Every time he’d tried, he kept stumbling over his words and flushing a bright red before claiming that he had to go do something else.

Chan doesn’t respond to him, gaze still fixated on the tide and how the waves crash onto the shore. They’re sitting so close by, that if Minho scooted a bit forward, his feet would be hit by the water. Chan’s dressed strangely nicely for the beach—nothing overly fancy, like a suit, but definitely way better dressed than Minho is.

“Chan,” Minho nudges Chan’s foot with his own, looking at him with concern. “Channie. Bang Chan. Chan-hyung. Chris. Chan-ah. Channie-hyung. Christopher—“

Finally, Chan seems to snap out of his thoughts, looking over at Minho. Almost immediately, his face flushes, and while that had once been incredibly endearing and cute, now it just confuses Minho. “Huh?” He croaks out, voice rough like he’s forgotten how to use it.

“Are you okay?” Minho repeats.

“Yeah!” Chan exclaims, his voice too high and breathy. Minho deadpans at him; Chan is the worst liar of all time, dating him for four years will teach you that. “I’m— I’m great. I’m fantastic, actually.” Something in his voice makes Minho feel like Chan is telling the truth, just not the entire truth.

“Channie…” Minho’s voice draws up into something that’s almost a whine from all the lack of attention, and he reaches his hand out hesitantly before covering Chan’s hand.

Chan flinches back, but quickly laughs it off, and Minho sighs heavily. Insecurity starts to creep at him, and he pulls his hand back before wrapping his arms around his knees. “Nevermind, I guess,” Minho mutters bitterly.

Chan loves to hold Minho’s hand—he loves to have some sort of physical touch with Minho in general, so this is all very confusing and it’s messing with Minho’s head.

In all honesty, this is all hurting Minho a little—or, more accurately, a lot. Chan won’t even hold his hand. What did Minho do? Is everything okay? He’s tried to ask multiple times at this point, but Chan won’t give him a straight answer, and now Minho is getting frustrated.

Chan is allowed to have his own secrets, to have things he won’t tell Minho—and while Minho loves that Chan trusts him enough to voice most of these thoughts, Minho understands that he’s still human.

But, at this point, if Chan is just so insistent on acting like Minho doesn’t even exist, now Minho just feels hurt.

It must be clear in his body language that he doesn’t want to talk anymore, because he can feel Chan staring at him. Minho forces his gaze forward, not caring if he’s being petty, but he can’t help it. Like, damn, if Chan doesn’t want to fucking hold his hand, then he doesn’t have to.

As if reading his mind, Minho suddenly feels a weight in his hand. His heart blooms a bit with warmth, but he tries not to show it on his face.

“I love you,” Chan suddenly says. Minho’s head turns to look at him in surprise, and skepticism on his face. They’ve said that they love each other before, obviously, but… this is random. Very random.

“…I love you too?” Minho slowly says back, almost like a question, furrowing his eyebrows.

Chan’s eyes soften at the words, just as they always do, but this time, it’s like they go even more dopey than usual. His thumb brushes against Minho’s palm, sure and confident, and he nods. “Good.”

Minho huffs out a laugh. “Good?” The sounds of the waves are calming white noise, and they’re the only people on this side of the beach which is nice. It’s getting darker, though, and Minho can feel himself getting tired.

“You’ve been acting strange, ya’know,” Minho reminds him, giving him an odd glance.

“I know,” Chan admits. “I’m sorry.”

“You can tell me what’s wrong,” Minho says, shifting up onto on his knees. He takes both of Chan’s hands in his, resting them on his knees comfortingly, and he can hear Chan’s breath catch. “Really.”

“Yeah, it’s just that, um…” Chan’s voice cracks with the last word, and Minho can feel his heart sinking a bit more with each passing second of silence.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck—is Chan actually breaking up with him?

Chan keeps talking and Minho's eyes get more concerned with every syllable. “…I’ve been thinking about this for a while—about us for a while, and I don’t want to fuck anything up—“

“Please don’t break up with me!” Minho suddenly blurts out, and he can feel his heart getting tighter and tighter with anxiety. His voice is shaking now, wavering with vulnerability. “Channie—“

“What?” Chan coughs, face going from confused, to concerned, to amusement in about two seconds. “Minho— Minho, no, I am not breaking up with you.” He laughs, holding his hands tighter.

His mouth is saying one thing, but his eyes are speaking an entirely different language, and Minho doesn’t want to hear any more at this point. This entire goddamn trip has been weird, and right now, he can barely think straight.

He takes his hands back, rather harshly on accident, and stands up, brushing some of the sand from off of his pants. “I want to go home.”

Chan’s head snaps up to look at Minho, eyes wide with something that looks a lot like regret. “Wait—”

“Seriously, Channie, let’s just go,” Minho mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. So far, this trip has done nothing but make Minho feel rejected, and like Chan doesn’t trust him—what else could be the reason for keeping a secret so big that he can’t even look at him?

As if in a last attempt to get Minho to sit down and listen, Chan lets out a breath. “I have something to ask you.”

“Ask me tomorrow, then.” Minho reaches down to grab his jacket from off the towel they were sitting on, and shoots Chan a glance. “When I’m in a better mood. And when you can look at me without acting like you want to die.”

“I’m not—” Chan takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes. “Minho.”

“Chan.”

“Minho.”

“Chan,” Minho mocks his tone and rolls his eyes. Sue him if he’s being petty, but he can’t help it. At this point, all he wants to do is go home and go to sleep. He’s sure that tomorrow, after a good night's rest and being able to think, his mind will be clearer.

He is pretty curious as to what Chan has to ask him. Still though, he has to keep up the persona of not caring.

Chan looks up at him with what might just be a pout, and Minho glares at him with that one specific look that says don’t test me. Chan holds his gaze for another five seconds before groaning and looking away, finally obliging and grabbing their stuff. “You’re too good at that.”

“At what?” Minho hums innocently.

“That— that wife glare,” Chan explains, shaking his hands for emphasis.

Minho cocks his head at him. “Oh? I’m a wife now?”

Chan freezes, entire body going stiff, but then coughs out what must be the the fakest, most awkward laugh ever. “What? No, no— I mean, not no. Because— You know. Like. Because it’s not like we’re married!” He stumbles over the words, backtracking in a panic.

“Probably because you won’t suck it up and propose,” Minho snickers, already walking away. His shoes are in his hand, and the sand is soft underneath his feet. “When are you going to do that, anyway?”

He can’t see Chan, but he can hear the big breath he sucks in. “...I don’t know,” Chan finally answers, catching up to meet Minho. “Would you… you know?”

“Would I what?” Minho asks, looking at him.

“Ever want me to?”

Minho can’t help but smile at the thought. It’s not that he’s one of those guys who are so overly obsessed with getting engaged, and then married, but he’s thought of it before.

He met Chan four years ago, courtesy of his friend Jisung who had invited him to his birthday party. Turns out, Jisung had been having a mixed birthday with his friend Felix, who Minho had never met but apparently his birthday was the next day, and Felix had invited Chan.

They’d hit it off almost immediately, talking for the entire night, whilst Minho got so drunk he could barely think straight. At that point, it was really late, and Minho’s phone had died so he couldn’t call an Uber like he had planned to. Chan had almost immediately offered to drive Minho home after chatting for a good amount of the night, and even in his drunken state, Minho could feel how his heart fluttered with every word Chan spoke.

Chan didn’t try to do anything that night, didn’t even ask Minho for his phone number. Minho was planning to do it himself, but had fallen asleep right there in Chan’s passenger seat before he even had the chance.

In the morning, though, he woke up with a hangover and to a text from an unknown number. Apparently, Chan had asked Jisung for Minho’s phone number, which Jisung gave to him.

Thank fuck for Jisung.

A few weeks later, Chan had asked Minho to be his boyfriend. It was cute, the way Chan had stumbled over his words, flushing red and smiling boyishly at Minho—Minho could practically feel the nerves radiating off of him.

After that, it was just… them. Chan is an amazing boyfriend. He showed up to any and all of Minho’s dance events back when he was the dancer instead of the choreographer, and celebrates with him for every minor accomplishment, and brings him flowers, and calls him pretty and says that he loves him and Minho’s heart is just so full of pure adoration and awe for Chan that he thinks it's going to overflow one day and spill all over his chest.

So, yes. The thought of a proposal, of being engaged, of being married and actually being allowed to call Chan his, just his, has passed through Minho’s mind more times than he could count. He jokes sometimes that Chan is taking too long to do it, but honestly, that’s just to cover up how badly he wants it.

Not even realizing how much he’d gotten into his own thoughts, he comes back to focus and smiles to himself. He reaches out with his free hand, grabbing Chan’s, and intertwines their fingers.

Even after four years of holding hands, of memorizing each callous of Chan’s fingers and how warm his skin feels, Minho’s heart will flutter every single time with just the thought of wow, he really is all mine.

“Well, yeah. Being married to you would be nice,” Minho answers shyly, feeling his ears burn a little with the confession. Just a few moments ago, he’d gotten annoyed with Chan, and now look at him—Chan has always had that affect on him; for all of his life, Minho can remember how he always tries to put up a front that he doesn’t care, that he’s nonchalant and chill about everything, but one look from Chan and all those walls crumble down.

“It would, wouldn’t it?” Chan says, more to himself than to Minho, and Minho can see how his eyes are going distant with the thought.

Suddenly deciding that he’s in a better mood, Minho looks up hopefully at Chan. “What were you going to ask me?” He asks, voice small in that way to make Chan think look at me, I’m so nice and kind and caring and definitely didn’t snap at you five minutes ago.

Chan’s parents’ house is close by the beach, and Minho can see it in the distance. Chan simply hums, tugging Minho closer by his waist and pressing a firm, sure kiss to the side of his temple. “I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he promises, voice a quiet whisper.

Minho hums with faux anger, pretending to be annoyed. “Tell me now?” He asks, eyes wide.

“No,” Chan chuckles against his skin.

“Why?”

Chan brings his voice down to a quiet murmur, “Because you deserve the absolute best.” He says it like he’s talking about something else, and Minho can feel himself getting frustrated again from the lack of context he has.

Minho gives him a sideways glance. “I don’t like how ominous you’re being.”

“Better get used to it then, Sweetheart.”

***

Chan

“So, I’m assuming you didn’t propose?”

Chan glares at his younger sister from across the living room, and cocks his head at her mockingly. “Is this the face of a newly engaged man?”

Hannah groans, the sound turning into a laugh, and hangs her head over the couch cushion. “You’re such a pussy.”

“Screw you.”

“It’s not that hard. You just… get on one knee. Reveal the ring. Boom. Engagement.” She speaks as she gestures with her hands for emphasis, and Chan rolls his eyes. Of course she thinks it’s just so easy.

It’s not easy. Not when it’s Minho you’re proposing to.

Minho is… Minho is everything. He’s Chan’s entire life. Chan would do anything for him. Ever since they met at Felix’s birthday party, ever since Chan’s gaze landed on that pretty boy with the purple hair and with a giggly, drunk smile on his lips, ever since Chan’s heart did that strange step-flutter that he’d never felt before, he knew.

He knew at that moment that he would let that boy ruin his life, then beg for him back just so he could get more time with him. He knew at that moment, nothing else—nobody else—would ever measure up to him. Before Minho, Chan has only dated two people, and sure, he liked them, but with Minho…

Chan never believed in the phrase when it happens, you’ll just know. He didn’t even know he had the capacity to even conjure up what love is supposed to feel like, but Minho taught him. Minho taught him what it feels like to be so secure in somebody that you feel like you will never have that feeling ever again.

He showed Chan why everybody always raves about that specific feeling, about the feeling of your heart feeling so full and warm that you fear it might explode in your chest, why people go crazy over it and fight to keep it, and why all the song writers and all the authors in the world will use up all the words in their system to even describe a fourth of it, because they feel like they need somewhere to put all the feelings that they can’t quite contain in themselves.

But all of the song writers and authors and poets’ words won’t ever, and can’t ever, measure up to how it feels, because it’s impossible to describe. When you’re in love, something in your mind will just click, and all the chemicals will just line up to make sure you don’t fuck anything up, because when you’re in love, it feels like your body can’t even function without that person.

Being in love is so intoxicating, it’s a dopamine rush, it’s something that no other substance in the world can ever possibly recreate. It’s such a specific, special feeling that not even everybody who is in love will feel it the same way; it’s curated to you and that one, specific person.

And Chan is one hundred percent sure that he is in love with Minho. It’s hard not to be. Chan has been planning this proposal for months, ever since he saw how excited Minho was to go back to Australia. In that moment, watching Minho giggle and smile so widely and talk about how exciting Christmas would be this year, Chan’s brain just… clicked.

He needed to lock it down. Four years was enough waiting—they’d met when Chan was twenty two and Minho was twenty one. He told himself that if it lasted, then he’d wait. Wait for Minho to graduate college, wait for them to both find steady jobs, wait for them to feel secure enough.

Chan has felt secure for years, but he needed to make sure Minho feels it, too. Because the thing about Minho is that when he feels scared, or threatened, then he runs; he ignores the problem and wants to move on. He doesn’t like hearing bad news, and he doesn’t like being overly put on the spot.

…And Chan accidentally scared him earlier. Fuck. He couldn’t help it, he had been so nervous all day—all week, all month, really—and his body couldn’t help how whenever he was in Minho’s vicinity, then he froze all up and made a fool of himself.

He doesn’t think that Minho will reject the proposal, and he feels especially sure after Minho had indirectly confirmed that he wants Chan to propose to him, but it was so strange—it was like all the nerves in his body suddenly bundled up and made their way to his throat, closing it up and refusing to even allow him to utter the words he’s been dreaming about for years:

Minho, will you please marry me?

God. It was humiliating. And then Minho got annoyed with him, just as Chan finally felt like he could reach a shaky hand into his pocket and pull out the ring, but Minho was already saying that he wants to go home and refused to listen.

Tomorrow, Chan promises himself as he grabs the box from his pocket. He opens it up and stares at the ring for what might be the millionth time since he bought it. It’s December twenty third, and he remembers the exact day he picked out this ring—July seventeenth, after Minho had eyed it at a jewelry store whilst picking out something for his mom, gushing about how beautiful it was, before reluctantly moving on.

Fifteen minutes after they’d left, Chan claimed he needed to go to the bathroom. He went straight to that store. And bought the fucking ring, without even having an actual plan, it was all impulsive. It was so stupid—instead of thinking “wow, I just bought an engagement ring,” the only thought going through his mind as he tapped his card was “I hope Minho’s ring size is still the same as it was two years ago.”

And that clerk had clearly recognized him, and gave him a teasing, knowing smile as he boxed it up before handing it to him and saying “good luck.”

Fuck.

Chan and Minho had gotten home from the beach two hours ago, and true to his word, after showering, Minho almost immediately collapsed in Chan’s old childhood bed and curled up onto his side before falling asleep. Chan was next to him, arms wrapped around Minho’s waist and nose buried into his neck, but despite it being midnight, Chan couldn’t sleep.

He hasn’t been able to sleep good ever since the day of the proposal starting coming closer. He lays awake at night, Minho in his arms, thoughts running around in his mind of all the ways he can screw it up.

And so he carefully extracted himself and climbed out of bed before going into the living room, where he found Hannah watching her show. Thus…

“Chris,” she starts, her voice suddenly a lot more serious as she sits up straighter. She eyes him knowingly. “Seriously. Get out of your head; he won’t say no.”

“You don’t know that,” Chan groans, even though she does, and he knows too. “I got nervous. I froze up. Fuck. I’m such an idiot.”

“It’ll be fine,” Hannah shrugs, walking over to sit next to him on the couch. Despite usually hating on all of his life choices, and being the stereotypical obnoxious younger sister, Hannah does know when to be serious. “Tomorrow. Do it tomorrow.”

Chan sighs and drops his head on her shoulder, nodding. It’s just past two in the morning at this point, and he can feel himself nodding off. “Okay,” he murmurs after a few minutes of silence, picking his head up and smiling at her. “Tomorrow.”

“And you let me watch and I get to jump out after he says yes with confetti canons.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Worth a shot,” Hannah snickers, standing up and stretching her arms over her head. “Goodnight.”

Chan simply hums as a response and sits in the darkness for an extra moments after she leaves, just sitting with his thoughts. Finally, when the exhaustion starts to wear at him, he gets up and walks to his room.

Minho clearly made himself comfortable and is taking up practically the entire bed with how he’s stretched out. Chan smiles to himself as he watches Minho sleep like a creep. That’s going to be his fiancé, right there.

Carefully climbing into bed, Chan whispers under his breath. “Minho. Move.”

Minho hums tiredly and wearily opens his eyes. “Channie?” He grumbles, rolling over to his side to make room. “What are you…”

“Shh, just go to sleep, baby,” Chan murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to his neck, just at his pulse. His heartbeat is slow and steady, clearly relaxed.

Minho doesn’t argue and his eyes flutter shut again, and Chan selfishly takes the moment to stare at him. He’s so beautiful when he sleeps, how his hair is all messed up and his lips are just barely parted with each breath he takes.

He can’t keep up with how his eyes grow more and more heavy with each passing second, the exhaustion starting to wear at him. But, just like every night, he falls asleep with Minho in his mind and also in his arms, and that’s all that matters.

***

He ends up getting four hours of sleep. At six in the morning, he’s staring up at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom, and he really has to pee but he can’t get up because Minho has a leg thrown over him and his face stuffed in Chan’s neck, breathing steadily and calmly.

Every time he has tried to get up, Minho whines and pulls him closer, refusing to let go. Chan gave up twenty minutes ago, but that’s okay, because it’s given him time to think—think of the perfect plan, think of the perfect plan, think of the perfect way to propose.

He can’t do the beach anymore—it didn’t work yesterday, and it only made Minho upset, so that might bring up bad energy. Chan has never thought of himself as a spiritual person, but he really does not need bad energy.

New plan, then. He needs somewhere private, and something… symbolic. Yeah, the beach is too cliche. Too basic. It’s nice, and Minho loves the beach, but surely, Chan can try harder?

Mrs Macquarie’s Point? Cute, and historical. But, no. Too public, too flashy. If there’s one thing about Minho, it’s that he doesn’t like anything public—plus, proposing in public makes Chan feel weird, like he’s trying to pressure Minho into saying yes.

…A ferris wheel? They have some fairs open nearby for Christmas time. And Minho likes going whenever one opens near them.

But Minho is terrified of heights. Fuck! Why is the love of his life so complicated and so hard to please?

Minho actually isn’t difficult to please whatsoever—oftentimes, he actually dogs on Chan’s perfectionism, and says that anything Chan can do is always good enough on the first try. Chan knows this, and understands this, but he doesn’t really care; he needs this one specific thing to be perfect, despite knowing that Minho would probably say yes if he proposed right here, right now, in bed.

…He can’t do that, right?

Accidentally, he lets out a groan of frustration, and stiffens when he feels Minho stir. Minho picks up his head, squinting at Chan with a frown. “What time is it?” He asks, the words slurring together adorably.

“Six a.m.,” Chan whispers back, pushing Minho’s head back down onto his chest gently. “It’s early.”

“Why’re you awake?”

“Just can’t sleep.”

“Why?”

Chan chuckles, threading his fingers through Minho’s hair just how he likes it, and Minho lets out a hum of appreciation. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I do worry,” Minho admits sleepily, and he pushes against Chan’s hand to pick his head up once more before rolling over, stretching with a groan of effort. He relaxes again, laying on his stomach, and turns his head to look at Chan. He nudges Chan’s leg with his foot. “Tell me.”

“Later,” Chan promises, kissing his forehead. “Promise.”

Minho looks at him with what might be a look of annoyance, and Chan’s heart flutters for two different reasons: one, because he doesn’t want Minho to be annoyed at him today when everything has to be perfect and when vibes have to be good.

And two, Minho is really fucking hot whenever he’s mad at Chan.

He looks like he wants to say something back, maybe to demand the truth—the truth he will have to wait until maybe sunset for—but instead just grunts and buries his head into the pillow, fingers curling around it. “‘Kay,” he mumbles.

And just before Chan knows it, Minho is asleep again. Chan catches himself looking at Minho with a dopey smile, and freezes when he catches himself. God, he is so down bad for this man.

Now being free of Minho’s grasp, Chan decides that he may as well get out of bed if he’s not going to fall asleep again. After showering and brushing his teeth, he stumbles into the kitchen, where both his mom and dad are. Hannah is definitely still asleep.

Almost immediately, Berry comes bounding up to him, panting excitedly near his feet. Chan smiles, crouching down to pet his dog. He should really visit Australia more often; he spends most of his time in Korea, as his producing job is pretty much constantly demanding of him, and it’s not like it pays enough to visit back home that much.

His parents are staring at them with knowing looks on their faces. Of course, Chan told his family about his plans, and honestly, they might be more excited than he is, which both makes this both easier and incredibly frustrating. And humiliating. And very pressurizing.

“So…” his dad starts, but Chan can already tell that they both know his plans last night failed, because if they hadn’t, then they would’ve been awake and ready when he and Minho came home last night. But they weren’t. They were asleep. They could probably sense the patheticness in the air. God.

“Don’t,” Chan mumbles, shaking his head, and he can feel how his ears are glowing red from the humiliation. “Today. Today I will.”

“It’s okay to be nervous,” his mom says comfortingly, and Chan can feel himself breathing a bit easier. His parents always know how to make him feel better, even at twenty six, he still feels like he needs his parents constantly. “But, if you don’t propose to him soon, I will.”

Chan laughs under his breath and weaves his way into the kitchen. His mom is strangely obsessed with Minho—Chan has no doubt that she actually has a crush on him. Minho will probably wake up fully soon, as he has troubles going back to sleep after already being woken up.

Great. This perfect proposal day is already starting off rough—Chan woke up his hopefully-soon-to-be-fiancé at six in the morning. He takes a big, deep breath and opens the fridge to take out the ingredients he needs for Minho’s favorite breakfast: kimchi fried rice. He may as well make up for the shitty morning.

As the kimchi starts to cook in the pan, Chan drifts off in thought.

He is so shitty at this whole proposal thing that Minho thought he was breaking up with him. Meanwhile, Chan was doing what has to be the farthest opposite.

Jesus Christ.

Just as Chan finishes making breakfast, he can hear soft footsteps padding into the kitchen. He turns his head, and the butterflies in his stomach multiplying just at the sight of Minho.

“Good morning,” Minho says tiredly, and his eyes land on Chan before giving him a soft smile. At the sight of the food in Chan’s hands, Minho’s eyes go a bit wider. “For me?”

“For you,” Chan confirms, plating some and setting it in front of Minho.

“Aww,” His dad coos mockingly behind them, and Chan whips his head towards him to glare at him.

Chan sits next to Minho, and almost immediately does Minho try to get Chan to have a bite of his food. He’s always done that with any meal ever, and Chan huffs out a laugh before willingly opening his mouth. He’s a pretty damn good cook; he’ll give himself that.

“So,” Chan says after swallowing. “What do you want to do today?”

Minho just shrugs. “I’m okay with whatever.”

Fuck.

“...Anything specific you want to do?” Chan tries, cocking his head at his boyfriend.

“Not really.”

Oh my God, this boy.

“We can go shopping today,” Chan offers. Maybe by going out, he’ll have an opportunity to pull Minho aside.

“Oh!” Minho suddenly snaps his fingers and looks at Chan. “I want to help decorate today. For Christmas.” He looks so excited about it, and the sight makes Chan’s heart melt a little. Despite only really starting to celebrate Christmas a few years ago, Minho still gets excited over it—like he’s making up for the fact he never got to be the kid excited on Christmas morning.

Great. Chan sighs internally as he tries to rack his mind of ways he can possibly propose today if Minho is so Christmassed out.

“We can do that,” Chan smiles, hoping it isn’t strained. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to propose on Christmas day—the holiday is only special to Minho because he likes to hang out with Chan and his family, and Chan doesn’t want to stain it and make it all about him by proposing. He also doesn’t want it to seem like some sort of present.

Minho smiles at him before going back to eating, and Chan tries to not hang his head in disappointment. Instead, he gets up and goes to pour juice for Minho without him ever asking, because who is Chan if not constantly trying to provide?

Just as he’d predicted, trying to get a single moment alone with Minho today is quickly proving to be impossible.

Chan has been mustering up all of his courage all day, but whenever he can even think about having a single opportunity, something keeps getting in the way.

Case in point:

At noon, Chan tried to rope Minho into his parents’ garden; it’s actually very nice, and adorable, and private. He even got Minho to wear something nice without making it obvious.

And as he stood around, shifting on the balls of his feet, and grabbing Minho’s hands, everything was perfect. It started out great, with Chan telling Minho every little thing he appreciates about him. And Minho’s eyes were going all wide, and his breathing picked up a bit—

Clearly. The garden was a mistake.

Minho got distracted by the cherries growing on that cute little tree.

God, Chan loves him so much. In that moment, watching Minho’s fingers trail gently over the fruit before he picked one and tried it, exclaiming about how good it was, Chan wasn’t even mad that the proposal got ruined.

Still, though, frustrating. Chan couldn’t even start to try the proposal again, because Hannah came out and needed Minho to help her cook something. At least, when Hannah realized Chan was out there, she immediately looked guilty and tried to take it back, saying that she could wait.

But Minho, being his classic Minho self, claimed it was okay and went to go help.

Then, at about three p.m, Chan tried to take Minho shopping. It was actually going great for the first half—they got iced coffee, Minho spent way too much of Chan’s money, Minho saw a stray kitten and spent fifteen minutes crouching on the sidewalk petting it (Chan chose to take this as a good sign from the universe).

Then, when Chan successfully started to take Minho towards this very pretty cliff area that overlooked the city, Minho tripped over a rock and skinned his knee. It was actually pretty bad, and he was in a terrible mood, and so Chan logically decided that he probably shouldn’t propose.

He took that as a bad sign from the universe.

Chan groans as he stretches on the lounge chairs in the backyard, frowning as he looks down at the concrete floor. It’s bloody hot for five p.m., and he’s spent too many winters in Korea to be used to December being hot.

He’s laying on his stomach, the sun beating down on his bare back, and his eyes are fixated on the floor. He is really, really bad at this whole proposing thing. Ridiculously bad—why is it so hard to propose? In concept, it’s so easy, so then why does he keep fucking it up?

“Hi, Hyung.”

The voice makes him jolt, and he sits up to find Minho walking around him to sit on the lounge chair with him. With the proximity, Chan can feel the heat radiating off of Minho, and his eyes almost immediately flutter shut.

“Hi, baby,” Chan mutters into his arms. He can feel fingers in his hair and instantly relaxes, lips parting. “What’s up?” Of course, Minho comes by when Chan is trying to relax from all the thoughts about Minho.

Not that he’s complaining. He will never complain about Minho being with him. The universe is just quite mean to him sometimes.

“…Just missed you,” Minho quietly says, and Chan picks his head up. “Feel like we haven’t actually… hung out.”

“We hung out today,” Chan says, sitting up fully this time. He brings a hand around Minho’s head, thumb brushing against the nape of his neck.

“I scraped my knee. That doesn’t count.”

Chan snickers, bringing his face closer. He can see how Minho’s eyes dart down to look at Chan’s mouth. Minho’s hands creep around to lay on Chan’s shoulders, and Chan is now very aware of his lack of clothing right now.

Minho must be too, because his eyes trail over Chan’s chest shamelessly.

“You also spent all of my money, does that count?” Chan asks teasingly. He doesn’t actually care, he will spoil Minho for the rest of his life—he’ll go into debt for this man.

“Yes,” Minho whispers, finally breaking the distance and pressing his lips against Chan’s. It’s a slow, intimate thing, and he can feel Minho smiling against his mouth. Minho pulls back, cradling Chan’s face in his hands, thumb brushing against his cheeks. “I missed you,” he repeats.

Chan is in a daze now, breathing shaky and eyes staring at Minho’s lips unabashedly. “Mhm…”

“Channie,” Minho laughs, and Chan forces his gaze up. Minho gives him a serious look. “Talk to me.”

Chan says the first thing on his mind: “I love you.”

“I love you too. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m going crazy,” Chan admits, trying to be vague, but he does need to get some of it off of his chest.

“Why?” Minho pauses. He looks at Chan with a gaze full of insecurity, and Chan can feel his chest tightening with guilt. “…Is it me? Did I do something?”

“Of course not.”

“Then—“

Chan interrupts him by kissing him, and Minho makes a sound of surprise before melting into the contact. “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you,” Chan mutters against his lips in a mantra. “So fucking much.”

“What is with all of this affection?” Minho giggles, pulling back, and Chan almost immediately follows him, kissing him like he can’t get enough of the feeling.

“Am I not allowed to love you?”

Minho pretends to think. “You are,” he decides.

“Then no complaining.”

“Okay,” Minho huffs out, staring up at Chan with something that is just pure adoration. Chan’s heart melts. He loves when Minho looks at him like this. His fingers run down Chan’s chest. “No complaining.”

“Say it back.”

“Say what back?”

“That you love me.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“Channie.”

“I’m gonna marry you one day.” If Chan can’t fucking spit out the words on one knee, then he’ll at least offer Minho this.

Minho freezes for a split second, but then immediately relaxes, a smile creeping onto his face. “…Really?” He asks, voice shy.

“I promise.”

The only one thing Chan likes more than watching Minho do literally anything is watching Minho get so excited about Christmas.

He’s laughing, and Chan can’t stop staring. His laugh is so fucking beautiful, so captivating, so contagious. Minho is holding some ditsy ornament that Chan can remember hanging up on the tree when he was a child, and staring at it like it holds the secrets of the universe.

“What is this even supposed to be?” He asks, holding it up in front of his face. Its age is very clearly visible with all the deterioration; it’s practically unrecognizable, but Chan remembers it vaguely.

Chan glances back to what he’s supposed to be doing—untangling all of the fairy lights from the box to wrap around the tree. “I think that’s a snowman.”

“…Not anymore,” Minho decides, mumbling under his breath, and Chan snorts.

The Bang Family Christmas tradition has always been to decorate all together, as a family, on December 24th. Honestly, the Christmas spirit had left Chan—and probably the rest of his family—at about age twelve. They only picked the tradition back up when Minho started tagging along.

His parents are both trying to find the step stool in order to place the star, Hannah is trying to stop Berry from tearing into all of the presents, and Lucas is sitting on the couch while scrolling on his phone, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Overall, it’s a pretty average Christmas.

Except for the weight of the ring in his pocket that is becoming harder to ignore by the minute.

He told himself that he’d do it today, but the chances of that are dwindling by the minute. No time feels right, and everytime he tries to talk himself into it, his mouth feels all dry and he can barely even think straight with the nerves bundling in his stomach.

Before he knows it, Minho is crouching down next to him, fingers running along the cords of the lights. “Do you need help?”

“Nah, I’ve got it,” Chan smiles. Minho returns the gesture, and fuck if he doesn’t look beautiful while smiling.

A shadow walking up to them makes the two look up, and Hannah is standing there, a smug smile on her face and some sort of leaf in her hand. She holds it above their heads, cocking her head mockingly. “Oh, would you look at that? You’re under the mistletoe.”

Chan gapes at her, while Minho almost immediately starts to laugh, the sound bubbly and full of joy. “How old are you, again?” Chan asks.

Hannah puts her hands on her hips. “Twenty.”

“You’re such a child,” Chan grumbles. Minho tilts his head at him, faux offense on his face.

“You don’t want to kiss me?” He asks teasingly. “I see how it is.”

“Oh, shut up,” Chan scoffs before tugging Minho towards him, pressing their lips together. He tastes sweet, like the sugar from the cookies they’d just eaten.

Despite being the one who wanted this to happen, Hannah grimaces, making a sound of dismay. “Gross!”

Minho pulls away while laughing, shaking his head and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think we should tone down the PDA and put these decorations up.”

“I also think that,” Lucas pipes up, not looking up from his phone. Chan rolls his eyes at his younger brother but obliges, standing up and hauling Minho up with him.

About two hours later, everything is finally all decorated. Chan’s family are all crowded around in the living room, fighting over with movie to watch—they do this every year, then always land on Crackers—while Chan is staring at the back of Minho’s head like a creep, watching him.

Minho is staring up at the tree, his fingers twisting and playing with his rings. He hasn’t noticed that Chan is behind him.

Chan smiles to himself and walks up to him, wrapping his arms around Minho from behind. Minho startles for a split second before relaxing, tilting his head to look at Chan.

“I really like Christmas,” Minho quietly says.

“I know, baby,” Chan says, kissing his forehead. “It’s adorable.”

“I never got to do this growing up,” Minho continues, diverting his gaze back to the sparkling tree. “I feel like I missed out.”

“You did. You missed prime five years old, running downstairs to open your presents at six a.m,, then being pissed off since your parents say no opening any until after breakfast.”

Minho rolls his eyes playfully and falls silent. Chan blinks as he thinks. Minho never celebrated this holiday growing up, he never had a need to, but he’s not so excited about it just because of the stupid things like decorating, or baking, or presents.

Chan made it special for him, didn’t he?

The thought makes warmth bloom in Chan’s chest, and he subconsciously holds Minho a bit tighter. That’s always what he’s wanted to give Minho.

Minho isn’t a materialistic person—he doesn’t need much to keep him happy, he just needs consistency and care. Chan understands this; he understands that anything he could possibly do for Minho will always be enough if it came from him.

So then why is he trying so hard to make this proposal perfect?

Chan is a perfectionist—it’s one of his flaws. Growing up, everything always had to line up, it had to be the best of the best. Whether it was coloring between the lines in kindergarten, or getting straight A’s in grade school, or perfecting each individual beat of every song he’s ever created—if it isn’t impeccable, then he doesn’t want it, because he knows himself; he can do better, he can always do better.

Minho isn’t perfect. He’s never been the best of the best, he has his own flaws and his own insecurities and his own problems. Maybe that’s why he’s so perfect to Chan. He isn’t complicated. He just exists freely and without fear of consequences.

Chan can’t do better than Minho.

“Minho…”

He turns his head to look at Chan, eyes full of curiosity, and Chan’s heart is beating so fast that he can feel his ears pulsating. Oh, God, is it happening? He feels like he’s about to throw up…

“I care about you. A lot—like, a really embarrasing amount,” Chan starts, running his hands down Minho’s arms. He’s not sure if he’s actually conscious right now—it’s like he talking, but he’s not processing what he’s doing right now. “And… and you make me really happy.”

“You make me really happy too,” Minho says quietly.

“And. Uh,” his voice cracks embarrassingly on that last word, like he’s a child going through puberty. “And I was wondering,” he takes a breath to compose himself. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I was wondering…”

If you would marry me.

If. you. would. marry. me.

IF YOU WOULD MARRY ME.

Come on. Just get on one knee and spit it out already.

The words won’t come out, and he freezes, tongue going so dry, and his stomach twisting into a million knots. The words are right fucking there, just on the tip of his tongue, so close that he can practically feel how they’d taste. The ring in his pocket feels like it weighs a million pounds, but he feels so helpless.

“If you want to go… watch that movie with my family.”

Fuck.

He hopes that his eyes aren’t tearing up right now with pure frustration. Is this a sign from the universe? That he keeps fucking it up? Is this a sign that maybe he just… shouldn’t propose?

That thought itself is enough for him to feel like he’s about to throw up. He wants to marry Minho so fucking badly; he wants it more than anything else in the world, so then why won’t his body let him even ask?

“Chan…?” Minho says his name like a question and reaches up, swiping his thumbs underneath Chan’s eyes. Only then does he realize that he’s crying. Oh my God. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Chan mumbles, turning Minho so they’re now fully hugging, and he buries his face in Minho’s shoulder. The tears are less out of sadness and more so just pure frustration. “I— I’m sorry.”

“Channie, I know that something is wrong. Please, just tell me.” Minho sounds genuinely hurt, and his voice is shaking now. “I don’t want you to deal with it alone.”

“I’m okay,” Chan promises, picking his head up and wiping his eyes. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Chan!” Minho calls out, but Chan doesn’t look back, and he slips into the bathroom, feeling an embarrassing amount of tears collecting in his eyes and falling freely.

This is so humiliating. Chan doesn’t know what his fucking problem is, but the only thought in his mind is maybe that it’s just… not the perfect time yet. Maybe it’s not the time to propose. Maybe this is all getting screwed up for a reason; maybe he should wait.

But he doesn’t want to wait.

He looks at himself in the mirror and shudders at his reflection. His eyes are red, and there’s obvious tear tracks down his cheeks. He splashes water on himself, hoping to cover up the evidence of him crying. It doesn’t help; he still feels like shit on the inside.

After a few moments of just focusing on his breathing, he feels well enough to go back outside. Minho is sitting on the couch, but he’s not paying attention to the movie playing. Instead, his eyes are focused on the bathroom door, and once Chan and him make eye contact, he immediately glances away and back at his hands.

Screw this shit. Now he’s ruining Minho’s Christmas. This might actually be the worst day ever.

Chan takes a deep breath and walks over to the couch, sitting next to Minho. He reaches for his hand, and Minho lets him hold it, but he doesn’t hold Chan’s hand back.

Careful to not draw attention to them, Chan gently grabs Minho and pushes him down so that he’s slumped against Chan’s side. Then, quietly, he whispers in his ear. “I promise I will tell you. Later. Maybe tomorrow… just once I’m ready.” He’s not sure if he’s talking about the proposal itself or the fact that he was crying over it all.

“I just don’t understand why you’ve been acting so weird,” Minho whispers back, looking at him seriously. “…You’re allowed to have secrets, but we usually tell each other everything.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” The more he apologizes, the more it sounds like white noise in his ears, like they’re just empty words now. He plays with the ends of Minho’s hair comfortingly. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not; I’m scared that I did something to you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Then act like it.” He probably didn’t mean to say it harshly, but it comes out as such, and Chan stiffens up. Minho must notice, because he frowns. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know you didn’t,” Chan says. “I promise. Tomorrow.” He said that yesterday too.

Minho stares at him for a long, hard moment. “Fine. But you better not fuck up my Christmas.”

Chan gapes at him, then huffs out a laugh and tugs him closer. “I won’t.”

Minho

There is nobody in the world more confusing than Minho’s boyfriend, which is so strange, because Chan is usually the most upfront, most predictable person.

Though, for the past few days, he has been incredibly frustrating. Aside from the whole acting strange and nervous, now he’s crying and is still acting like everything is alright.

The movie ended an hour ago, and despite usually being an easy sleeper, Minho finds himself wide awake. Chan is asleep on his shoulder, and Minho is doomscrolling on his phone.

It’s one in the morning in Sydney, which means that it’s midnight in Seoul. Jisung is probably awake—his friend usually stays up really late, and with it being the holidays and all, he most likely has no work to do.

He opens up Jisung’s contact. Their last text is from a few days ago, when Minho was boarding the flight to Sydney. The nice thing about their friendship is that it’s not constantly demanding; no amount of time between talking will ever affect how close that are.

Minho

yo

merry christmas

Jisung

merry christmas hyung!!!!!

Minho

r u busy?

Jisung

nope

i’m just with our friends

omg

hyunjin is so fucking drunk and keeps trying to profess his dying love for binnie

i’ve been losing it for the past fifteen minuets

video attached

Minho snorts and clicks the video. Sure enough, Hyunjin is slurring his words and pointing at Changbin, raving about how hot his muscles are and how obsessed Hyunjin is with him. Changbin, for the record, looks both wildly entertained and equally as terrified. That boy, Jesus Christ—he absolutely cannot handle his alcohol.

Jisung

anyway what’s up?

Minho

idk.

chan is acting rlly weird.

The message goes read. Then there are dots. They disappear, and Minho narrows his eyes at his phone.

Minho

ik you saw that.

Jisung

hmm?

Minho

omg

you know. don’t you.

why he’s acting weird

Jisung

i never said that.

Minho

TELL ME??

Jisung

I CANT

IM SWORN TO SECRECY

Minho

JISUNG.

I WILL KILL YOU

Jisung

GOODNIGHT ILY MERRY CHRISTMAS OKAY BYE

Minho gapes at his phone, texts a few more times just to be left on delivered, then grunts and turns it off. He glares at Chan even though he’s asleep and can’t see.

“You are driving me crazy,” he hisses under his breath, before very gently flicking his forehead, barely even making contact. Chan almost stirs, but stays asleep, and Minho lets out a breath of relief.

Despite Chan driving him insane, Minho wants him to stay asleep; he deserves it, and Minho knows his insomnia is starting to creep back at him lately, so he needs it too.

This is okay. It’s Christmas, so nothing can go wrong, and Minho can just be happy today. No worries about strange boyfriends. Just… chill.

He wakes up with a crink in his neck, and wearily opens his eyes. He groans from the weight on him; usually, he’s the one falling asleep on Chan, not the other way around.

“Hyung,” Minho whines. “You’re heavy.”

Chan stirs, and Minho can feel him waking up. He looks down at Minho, then slyly smiles and hugs him tighter. “Deal with it,” Chan murmurs in his ear, and Minho hates how a shiver goes down his spine.

“It’s my favorite holiday; you have to be nice to me.”

“Not true. Your favorite holiday is your birthday.”

God, this boy. Minho smiles to himself and goes limp, letting Chan practically suffocate him. After a few moments, though, he groans and starts to shove Chan off. “Okay. Off now.”

“You’re so mean to me, ya’know,” Chan mutters playfully, but he spares Minho by getting up. He groans, stretching his arms over his head, and Minho’s eyes definitely do not ogle the muscles in his arms. Nope.

Minho finds his phone on the floor. Wow, they overslept; it’s ten a.m.. Like a child, Minho almost immediately looks at the tree in the other room. It looks very inviting.

And, plus, he wants to know what Chan got him. Minho worked hard on his present—he spent nearly all year taking photos of them and storing it on a digital camera to keep memories of this year. He hopes Chan likes it.

“Let’s go get breakfast,” Chan says, grabbing Minho’s hand to make him stand up. “Like, let’s go out.”

“Out where?” Minho hums, grabbing his hoodie and phone and walking to Chan’s room so he can change.

“What are you hungry for?”

Minho pauses. “Pancakes,” he decides. He’s in the mood for something sweet.

“Valentina’s?” Chan asks. They usually go to a breakfast place called Valentina’s whenever they come here.

Minho nods.

Chan seems like he’s in a better mood than last night. He seems lighter now, like what had been bothering him isn’t there anymore. Minho looks at him suspiciously from across the room.

He’s keeping a secret. A secret that Jisung knows. A secret that—Minho suspects—Hannah knows.

Yet a secret that Minho doesn’t know.

It’s incredibly frustrating. Minho doesn’t like being in the dark about things; clearly, this is also important too if so many people know and if it’s driving Chan this insane.

God, why won’t Chan just tell him? He promised while they were on the beach that he’d tell him yesterday. Yesterday passed. Then he said that he would tell Minho today, but at this point, Minho doesn’t really believe him.

He understands that Chan will come to him once he’s ready, he really does, but fuck, he is curious.

Breakfast goes well—they talk as they normally do, and so Minho suspects that this secret weighing Chan down for so long is starting to lift off of him. The place is pretty busy as it’s Christmas morning, but luckily, their food didn’t take too long to come.

True to his word, Minho ordered pancakes. They arrive with a small dollop of whipped cream on top, and he almost immediately eats it first thing.

Chan laughs—that squeaky, giggly laugh that Minho has memorized after hearing it so often—and stares at Minho, eyes crinkled with joy.

“You have…” Chan trails off before leaning over the table, swiping the corner of Minho’s mouth with his thumb to wipe off some excess whipped cream. “There.”

Minho is sure that he’s blushing, and he instinctively reaches a hand up to feel his mouth. “Thank you,” he mumbles, diverting his gaze, and busied himself by pouring syrup over his pancakes.

“Today will be fun, hopefully,” Chan says, sighing and sticking his fork into his side cup of fruit. His eyes light up once he takes a bite, and he lifts his fork up. “Ooh. Pineapple.”

Minho snorts. Chan’s weird obsession with pineapple is something Minho is, unfortunately, exposed to practically daily. He’s surprised Chan isn’t part pineapple with how much he eats.

“You’re weird,” Minho informs him.

“Your weird,” Chan corrects, raising his eyebrows. Minho promptly rolls his eyes from how cheesy that was, but he can’t help but smile.

He kicks Chan’s foot gently from underneath the table, laughing around a mouthful of food when Chan pretends to be annoyed.

But, no matter how good this morning is going, Minho seriously cannot help but ask: “Can I know now?”

“Know what?” Chan asks, chewing mindlessly.

“Your secret.”

Chan chokes on his food. Minho gives him a strange look, and once Chan recovers, his face is bright red. “Um…”

“I know you have one. And I know Jisung knows it. Spill.”

“Fucking Jisung,” Chan mutters under his breath. “Knew I shouldn’t have told him.”

“Chan-ah,” Minho groans. “You’re killing me here. Is it, like, some big present?”

Chan raises an eyebrow, looking like he’s thinking. “…Kind of?”

“Oh my God, I’m going crazy!” Minho exclaims, and he looks at Chan desperately. “Please?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No!” Chan laughs. “You’re so nosy!”

“You’re so annoying!” Minho shoots back, but Chan knows the insult is in good faith. “How are you just keeping this from me?”

Chan swallows down another bite of food. “Like this: stop asking about it, I will tell you eventually.”

Minho glares at him, and Chan holds eye contact. This time, though, Minho is the one looking away first with a grumble. Reluctantly, and rather aggressively, he cuts another piece before shoving it into his mouth.

He points his fork at Chan threateningly. “If you don’t tell me by the end of today, I am going to lose my shit on you.”

Chan seems to take this seriously, because he just awkwardly laughs and shifts in his seat. “…Understood.”

They come back home at around noon. Once they walk through the door, everyone is in the living room, just sitting together, and something in Minho’s chest shifts.

He knows that he’s a bit childish about the entire holiday, but honestly, it’s less about the holiday itself and more about how everyone always comes together.

Minho didn’t grow up with a rough family life, per se, but they never sat together, and they were never really emotionally involved with one another. Minho honestly didn’t even know that families actually did this stuff in real life, not just the movies, until Chan first invited him over.

He likes it. He likes to just be able to exist freely and not be judged—that’s not a fear of his ever, really, that’s more Chan’s thing, but he still wants to measure up to this family and be a part of them. Given how they’d welcomed him in, he thinks that he’s done a good job.

“Not to be, like, the child,” Minho says as he sits down, announcing his presence. Everyone looks up at him and smiles—he’s pretty much always the child in this situation, and seventeen year old Lucas is sitting right there. “But how do we feel about opening presents right now?”

“I actually got you a really good gift, so I am,” Hannah responds, raising her hand. Minho smiles before he can stop it. Chan sits down in the floor underneath where Minho’s legs are spread out, and Minho’s hands come down to play with his hair.

“Let’s do it, then,” Chan says, clapping his hands together.

Hannah’s gift was, in fact, hilarious. It hadn’t been something physical, but she screenshared her phone to the TV and played a voicemail that Minho had no clue existed—apparently, she’d been sent it forever ago and just knew to save it for future purposes.

It was Chan. At age 22. And according to him, in the voicemail, he met Minho three hours ago and was absolutely in love. He spent about the entire four minutes and twenty seven seconds of the video gushing on and on about the pretty boy he’d met at Felix’s birthday party. He’d definitely exaggerated a lot—but it was really cute.

Chan never showed Minho this audio. In fact, the second the audio played, Chan stood up so fast and chased Hannah all the way into the kitchen, the sounds of her laughter and his playful yelling echoing through the house.

“No— I promise, it was sweet,” Minho says, trying to stop his lips from quivering with laughter. He’s currently trying to comfort Chan from the embarrassment of the entire present, holding his hands in the kitchen.

The problem is, he can’t say it without laughing, so how comforting is he really being?

“You keep laughing.”

“Chan-ah, it was a lot. But it was so cute!”

“It’s so embarrasing!”

“It was adorable!”

“Minho!” Chan groans, snatching his hands back to rest them on Minho’s waist, and he tugs him closer. He playfully glares down at the bit in his arms. “Stop it. No more laughing.”

“I’m not laughing,” Minho says… voice very shaky with held back laughter.

“That was a laugh.”

“Mm, no it wasn’t.” Chan makes a noise of surprise when Minho makes a happy sound and kisses him. Chan returns the gesture happily, kissing him back. Slowly, Minho pulls back, looking up at him. “See? No laughing. But.”

“But?”

“I want my present now.”

Chan smiles and grabs Minho’s hands to drag him towards his bedroom. Minho frowns. “Chan, if my present is sex, I’m about to be really mad.”

“What?” Chan snorts, flushing a bright red. “Don’t say that. Of course not.”

“Are we sure?” Minho asks, deadpanning and putting his hands on his hips. He turns his head to look at the door. “Because you dragged me away from your family and shut the door.”

“Just because I know that they’ll eavesdrop, and I want this to just be for us,” Chan hums, opening his closet door to grab the gift.

When he’s standing around, though, reaching for it, he pauses just as his fingers brush the spine of the scrapbook he made.

He brings his hand back down to his side. Just like the other days, his heart should be pounding right now and echoing through his head and making it hard to think. But it’s not—actually, he seems weirdly… at ease.

“Minho,” he calls out.

“Hmm?”

“I have to ask you something.”

“What’s up?”

Chan is staring at his closet floor, and he hadn’t expected his breathing to be so steady but he’s just… breathing. Like a normal person. Finally, he crouches down and moves some of his shoe boxes, taking out the ring box.

He opens it up and stares at it one final time—a final time before it hopefully finds a new home on Minho’s finger. It’s not anything overly fancy, but it’s elegant. Minho doesn’t like flashy things, but Chan will be dammed if he hadn’t gotten something nice.

It has a gold band and a pretty opal laying in the middle. Minho stared at it for a while in that store, so Chan has no doubt that he would like it.

“This isn’t your gift,” Chan starts, walking outside of the closet. “Just to make that clear.”

Minho cocks his head to the side, but gestures with his eyebrows for Chan to continue speaking.

And, so, he does. He takes a deep breath to clear his mind. Strangely enough, he feels completely at ease right now, like he can say anything and won’t freeze up.

“I’ve told you this a lot recently,” Chan says, swallowing a bit as he reaches Minho. He brushes some of Minho’s hair from out of his face. “But I love you. A lot. I care about you, and I love how you always make my days better even whenever I’m in a bad mood.”

Minho’s eyes blow wide. In that moment, looking into his eyes, something in Chan’s mind just clicks. Minho’s caught on—finally. And now it’s too late to take any of the words back.

“Chan?” His voice is shaking.

“And I’ve been a bit of an asshole to you lately, and I’m sorry for that. The truth is… that big secret that I’ve been keeping, and the reason I’ve been so tongue tied around you is because of how nervous I’ve been.”

Minho takes a tiny step back. “Chan.”

“And I really, really love you. A lot. And if this fucks everything up, then I don’t know what I’m going to do, but…” He swallows down all of his nerves and finally, finally does it.

Chan has spent his entire life thinking he has to be perfect. Minho has spent the past four years trying to get Chan to love himself for who he is.

And maybe, who Chan is, is proposing on his childhood bedroom floor, on Christmas day, right after his sister completely humiliated him.

And maybe—this didn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be what Minho loves the most, when Chan does something the way he wants to rather than trying to be the best.

“I really want you to marry me, Minho.” Chan doesn’t wait for a response before he’s speaking again, practically rambling at this point because he really needs to stall if Minho’s response is no. “And— I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Because I can’t imagine even spending another day without you, and—“

“Fuck, get up, you idiot,” Minho gasps, tugging Chan up. Before Chan can even process it, Minho has his hands threaded in Chan’s hair and is kissing him so deeply that Chan groans from the sensation. Chan’s hands hover uselessly in the air for a moment before falling on Minho’s hips, tugging him closer.

Chan’s not sure how much time passed before Minho is pulling back slowly, eyes still shut like he’s relishing the moment for as long as possible. Chan shudders and opens his eyes. “So,” Chan clears his throat, “…is this a yes?”

“Obviously it is a yes.”

“I’m just checking!”

Minho laughs breathlessly and just shakes his head before reaching down, opening Chan’s hand to take the box. Chan makes a sound and takes over, opening the box himself to reveal the jewel.

“This is…” Minho ogles the ring for a moment before narrowing his eyes. “Where have I seen this before?”

“That ring store at the mall.”

Minho’s eyes snap up to meet Chan’s, now clearly recognizing the ring. “You bought it? It was so expensive—“

“Don’t worry about that,” Chan murmurs, catching Minho’s lips again gently. Just as he’s pulling back, he reaches for Minho’s left hand. Carefully, he slips the ring onto his fourth finger.

Perfect fit. Chan lets out a breath of relief.

“Do you like?” Chan asks hopefully.

“Yeah— yeah, I like,” Minho’s voice breaks on the last word, and he looks away in embarrassment. Chan’s heart breaks a little when he can see tears collecting in his eyes.

“Minho,” Chan huffs out, smiling and wiping the tears starting to fall. “Baby.”

“Stop. I’m embarrassed.”

“Yeah? I just got down on one knee,” Chan chuckles in an attempt to make Minho feel better. Minho immediately lets out a wet laugh, which Chan takes as victory.

“Chan,” Minho says, shaking his head. “We’re engaged?”

“We’re engaged.”

“Like, for real?”

“For real.”

“What the hell?”

“What the hell,” Chan laughs, kissing him again. And again. And again. His heart is racing so fast, but out of pure butterflies and excitement rather than nerves, because he… did it. Just like that.

What had he been so nervous about? Fucking it up? He doesn’t think that he’s capable of ever screwing anything up with Minho. They fit together perfectly.

Minho pulls back and gives Chan a playful look. “Okay. So I love the whole engagement thing,” he gestures to it like it’s just another piece of jewelry, and Chan lets out a bark of laughter. “But can I see my actual gift now?”

“Nothing's enough to please you, hm?” Chan asks teasingly, and Minho innocently shrugs his shoulders.

But because he’d do anything for Minho, he immediately turns around, walks back into his closet, and grabs Minho’s goddamn Christmas gift—because who is Chan if not a complete fool for him?

One week later.

Minho

“Holy shit, Minho!” Jisung exclaims, tackling him into a hug. Minho lets out an oof sound before laughing, pulling back.

He’d flown back from Sydney just two days ago, and has finally had an opportunity to see Jisung and officially confirm that he has upgraded from boyfriend to fiancé. He and Chan agreed to keep it a secret from their friends until they were back home.

“It’s so pretty!” Jisung gushes, holding Minho’s fingers to stare at the ring, putting it in the light. “Look at this. Okay, I see you.”

“Shut up,” Minho laughs, flicking Jisung’s forehead gently. He flops into Jisung’s coach properly this time, staring at the jewel himself for the thousandth time.

Chan really outdid himself, did he?

God, Minho should’ve suspected a proposal as the first reason Chan was acting so strange. How could he have been so blind? Then, on the beach, he practically dangled the carrot in front of Chan by asking when he is going to propose.

Fuck. Him and Chan could’ve been engaged for two more extra days at this point if Minho hadn’t snapped at him on the beach that day. But, everything worked out, didn’t it?

Minho stares off into the distance, mindlessly reaching for some of the snacks Jisung put out and chewing. “I have to plan a wedding now.”

“You’re going to be a complete control freak about it, aren’t you?” Jisung asks knowingly.

“Absolutely. And Chan can deal with it.”

“He already knows that he’s a control freak; that’s why he proposed to you.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Minho says, dumbly smiling to himself, and Jisung rolls his eyes.

“God, I need alcohol if you’re going to act like this,” Jisung mutters, standing up and walking to the kitchen. “Then we can find a wedding theme!”

Minho laughs to himself. Despite basically setting them up, Jisung always acts like his and Chan’s relationship is this horrible, cringe thing—all in good faith, of course, but still.

As if on cue, Minho’s phone rings. He picks it up, and smiles when he sees that it’s Chan.

Is Chan’s display name now Fiancé? Sure. Beyond the point, though—let Minho be obnoxious. He picks up the phone, holding it to his ear. “Hi, Chan.”

“Hi, baby. So, let me tell you what happened with my new client…”

And as Chan goes on and on, talking about this obnoxious, stuck up, teenage singer who he weirdly has a soft spot for, Minho cant help but zone out.

Chan is just… talking to him. About his day. And all Minho can think about is “wow, I’m going to marry this man.”

Though, this time, the thought is for real this time. He takes one final glance at his engagement ring, and his heart swoops just as it always does.

Because Chan gave it to him. Because Chan got onto one knee and professed his love for him.

Because he’s actually going to marry that man.

“Chan?” Minho interrupts him.

“Yeah?”

Minho pauses, then says what’s been on his mind practically all day. “I love you.”