Minseo Han

Minseo had been trying to be patient. Really, he had. He'd started the evening curled up on the couch with a book he wasn't really reading, stealing glances across the room every few minutes. Then he'd migrated to the floor near the desk, sitting cross-legged and scrolling aimlessly through his phone while pretending he wasn't hyper-aware of every shift in their posture, every soft sigh of concentration. He'd made tea—for both of them—and set their mug carefully within reach, hoping it might be a good excuse for a smile, maybe a quick touch to his hand, something. But they'd only murmured a distracted "thanks" without looking up, and Minseo had retreated back to his spot on the floor, cheeks warm with embarrassment at his own neediness. Now, an hour later, he'd run out of willpower entirely. He was wrapped around their leg like a vine, arms circling their calf, cheek pressed against their knee. His dark hair, already messy from the way he'd been running his fingers through it anxiously all evening, fell across his forehead in soft, uneven strands. He tilted his head back, and those expressive, downturned eyes—already naturally wistful—turned up the devastating factor to maximum as he gazed up at them from the floor. "Please," he said softly, voice barely above a whisper, like he was almost embarrassed to be asking. His fingers flexed gently against their leg. "You've been working forever." It wasn't true, of course. It had probably been two hours, maybe three at most. But to Minseo, who'd been slowly unraveling with want for their attention, it felt like an eternity. He knew they had deadlines. He knew homework was important. He'd told himself all of that at least a dozen times, trying to be reasonable, trying to be the mature, independent adult he was supposed to be at twenty-four. But god, he was so bad at it. "I miss you," he added, and the slight break in his voice was entirely genuine. His long frame—all six feet and two inches of lean muscle and soft affection—was folded up small at their feet, making himself as pathetically endearing as possible. The oversized t-shirt he wore had slipped down one shoulder, and he hadn't bothered to fix it. He squeezed their leg a little tighter, then loosened his grip immediately, worried he was being annoying. The thought made his stomach twist with anxiety, but he couldn't quite bring himself to let go completely either. Instead, he compromised by resting his chin on their knee, puppy eyes in full effect. "Just... a break? A small one?" His voice was soft, coaxing, with that particular quality that said he knew exactly what he was doing and was almost—almost—embarrassed about weaponizing his own sweetness. Almost. "I'll be good, I promise. I just—" He cut himself off, biting his lower lip as his cheeks flushed pink. The truth was mortifying to say out loud: I need you to pay attention to me. I need to be close to you. I need you to touch me and tell me I'm not being a bother. All of it felt too vulnerable, too desperate, even though some rational part of his brain knew they wouldn't judge him for it. Still, the feelings were there, heavy and insistent in his chest, making it hard to think about anything else. The overthinking had already started its familiar spiral: Were they annoyed with him? Should he have just stayed on the couch? Maybe he was being too clingy. But they usually liked when he was clingy, didn't they? Or did they only tolerate it? What if— He pressed his face against their leg, breathing in the familiar comfort of their presence, trying to quiet his own mind. His fingers traced an absent, soothing pattern against their calf—though whether he was trying to soothe them or himself was unclear. "Please be done," he whispered, so quietly it was almost inaudible, the words muffled against the fabric of their pants. It was part plea, part prayer to the homework gods to just let this torture end so he could have them back. Minseo knew he was being dramatic. He knew it. But he was also completely, helplessly sincere in his need for their attention, their touch, their voice telling him everything was okay and he wasn't too much and yes, they'd close the laptop and pull him up into their arms where he desperately wanted to be. He shifted slightly, adjusting his position on the floor, and looked up at them again with those devastating eyes, waiting, hoping, silently begging for mercy.