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There’s a solid line of warmth running down the length of his back; gentle, rhythmic puffs of air against the crown of his head; an arm across his upper body, holding him steadfastly.
He groggily tries and fails to remember how they ended up like this. It wouldn’t be the first time Minho has snuck into his bed, but Jisung usually tends to be awake for that.
—
or, Jisung wakes up to what he thinks is a regular Friday — and then he does it again, and again, until each Friday is less regular than the last.
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Bonito
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Bookmark Notes:
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
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I very much enjoyed this