Archive of Our Own ^beta

It wasn't often they got off days—rare enough that even a single one felt like a miracle. But to have several stacked together, and all at the same time? That was unheard of. So when their manager announced, right at the tail end of their quarterly meeting, that they'd be granted nearly a week of rest after the tour, the room had erupted in laughter and groans of disbelief.

For Jisung, it was an answered prayer. And he was determined to take full advantage.

He woke up late, later than he had in months. The sun was already climbing higher in the sky, warm light spilling across his room and pooling on the rumpled sheets. He stretched long and loose across his bed, every bone popping in a way that made him sigh with relief. If they were still on tour, someone would've been hammering on his door by now, dragging him out with a scolding. But today? Today no one came. He was free to curl deeper into the blankets, rub his eyes with the backs of his hands, and giggle when the soft fabric of his sleeves brushed over his cheeks.

Not just any fabric either. Last night Minho had dug through a drawer and, with a smirk that carried more fondness than teasing, tossed him a ridiculous zip-up onesie. Cat ears on the hood, paw prints stitched onto the feet. Jisung had blushed crimson when Minho told him it was "perfect," but now, swallowed in its warmth, he couldn't deny how comforting it was.

Dragging his bunny stuffie under one arm, Jisung padded down the hall on socked feet. The apartment was quiet save for the faint hum of the stove fan and a low, steady humming—Minho's voice, soft and unhurried. The smell of something warm and fried drifted into his nose, making his stomach growl.

Minho was already at the stove when he peeked into the kitchen, hair pulled back, spatula in hand, shoulders loose in a way they rarely were when cameras were around.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Minho said without turning, though Jisung could hear the smile in his voice. "Sit down. Food's almost ready."

Jisung shuffled obediently to a chair, hugging his bunny closer as he climbed up. His legs dangled above the floor, swinging idly. The sound of a plate settling in front of him pulled his gaze downward—and his grin spread wide the moment he saw.

Dino nuggets—lined up neatly across the plate, each one decorated with a little ketchup smiley face. Not a usual breakfast food, sure, but Jisung didn’t really care to think about that right now.

"Appa!" he squeaked, voice pitching high in disbelief. Half laughter, half whine.

"What?" Minho ruffled his hair as if the answer were obvious. "You said you wanted fun food. Nothing's more fun than dinos."

Jisung beamed so bright it made Minho chuckle outright. Without hesitation, he snatched up a nugget and chomped the head off a brontosaurus with a tiny growl of victory.

The meal didn't last long—his appetite devoured it too quickly—but the warmth lingered. Afterwards, Minho set a stack of coloring books and a box of crayons on the coffee table, like he'd been planning it all along.

Jisung dropped to the rug, sprawling on his stomach, bunny propped loyally beside him. He cracked the crayons open with more enthusiasm than precision, scattering them across the carpet like treasure. His tongue poked out as he scribbled, cheeks dimpling when the wax dragged across the paper with satisfying color.

From the couch above him, Minho settled into his seat, one leg tucked beneath the other, phone loose in his hand. Every so often he'd glance down, reaching lazily to pass Jisung a crayon just out of reach, or making some dry comment when a streak went crooked.

"Stay in the lines, genius," he murmured once.

Jisung huffed, nose scrunching. "I am!"

The indignant protest made Minho laugh under his breath, the sound low and warm.

The apartment filled with a quiet kind of peace—the hum of the fridge, the scratch of crayon on paper, the soft rustle as Jisung shifted and kicked his feet in the air. No rush, no schedule, no eyes on them. Just silly pajamas, dinos on a plate, and a battered bunny tucked close at his side.

The apartment was warm in a way that only came from people filling it, the air rich with the faint scent of oil and breading still clinging to the kitchen. Jisung sat cross-legged on the rug, his coloring book propped open in front of him, crayons scattered like bright little jewels. His bunny was perched loyally against his hip, one floppy ear bent in a way that mirrored the droop of the hood on Jisung's cat onesie.

He hummed to himself as he scribbled clumsy streaks of green across the page. The rhythm wasn't really about staying inside the lines, but about the gentle satisfaction of moving color where there hadn't been any before. His cheeks were flushed with quiet focus, and the tiny crease between his brows smoothed away every time he leaned back to study his progress.

The front door clicked open, then banged shut a second later. Heavy footsteps and an all-too-familiar voice filled the silence.

"Yah, what smells like—" Chan's words cut off mid-sentence as he rounded the corner into the living room. He stopped dead, eyes falling on the sight before him: Jisung in his floppy cat pajamas, head bent diligently over a coloring book, with Minho lounging on the couch behind him, plate of dino nuggets balanced on one knee like it was the most natural scene in the world.

A beat of silence stretched, before Chan's lips tugged up in a grin. "Well, don't you look comfortable."

Jisung froze, crayon mid-stroke, as heat rushed to his ears. He tugged the hood of his onesie lower, hoping the fabric might swallow him whole. "Hyuuung..." he whined, muffled, as if the single word could erase the embarrassment blooming across his face.

Minho didn't so much as glance away from his phone. "He is comfortable," he replied, deadpan. "Leave him alone. He's busy."

That only made Chan laugh, warm and fond. "Busy, huh? Looks like important work." He leaned down to ruffle Jisung's hood before wandering off toward the kitchen, humming under his breath.

Jisung let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He went back to his coloring, slower now, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him—tilted just faintly upward.

It didn't take long for the noise to lure the others in. Felix was first, his bright energy spilling into the room like sunlight. "What's going on in here?!" He dropped dramatically to his knees beside Jisung, eyes wide. "Oh my god, is that—coloring?" He gasped so loud Jisung startled, then laughed as Felix reached for a crayon without hesitation. "Can I? Please? I'll be careful."

Jisung hesitated, biting his lip, then gave a small nod. Felix immediately leaned close, shoulder pressing into Jisung's as he filled in a sky with heavy strokes of blue.

"You're not even staying in the lines," Jisung mumbled, more to himself than anyone.

Felix shot him a grin, all teeth. "Lines are boring. Besides, it's art. Art has no rules."

Jisung's laugh bubbled up before he could stop it, small but genuine.

By the time Hyunjin wandered in, the living room looked like a tiny explosion of crayons and giggles. He crouched behind Jisung, tugging at the floppy ears of the hood. "Yah, who let you be this cute? Hm?" His voice was low, teasing, but his touch was gentle, brushing Jisung's hair back into place.

Jisung ducked his head again, cheeks hot, though he didn't move away.

"Careful," Minho called lazily from the couch, "he'll get shy and stop coloring if you hover too much."

Hyunjin smirked but pulled back, settling on the floor beside Felix. He picked up a purple crayon and started adding swirls to a corner of the page, tongue poking out in concentration.

The room filled steadily with the rest of the members, each drawn in by laughter or curiosity until it felt like a small camp, everyone sprawled across the rug in some form. Seungmin arrived with a quiet sigh, pretending to be uninterested, but soon he was hunched over the most detailed page, filling tiny spaces with meticulous care. Jeongin eventually padded in from the kitchen, carrying a second tray of nuggets. He handed it around like an offering, though Minho made sure to pluck Jisung's special smiley-face plate from the counter and place it gently in front of him.

The atmosphere softened into something golden—playful chatter, the scratching of crayons, Felix's dramatic gasps whenever someone colored "wrong." The kind of peace none of them ever admitted they craved, but held onto tightly whenever it appeared.

Eventually, Jisung's head started to dip. His crayon slowed in his hand until it slipped entirely, clattering to the page. His bunny was already tucked against his chest, his lashes low and heavy.

Minho rose without a word, setting his phone aside. "Okay, that's enough masterpiece for today, I think it’s almost nap time," he murmured, crouching to lift Jisung with practiced ease. Jisung stirred faintly, burying his face against Minho's shoulder, still clutching his bunny with both hands.

The others fell quiet as he was carried toward the hall, watching with fond eyes but no interruption. In his room, Minho tucked him beneath the blanket, smoothing the hood back and brushing his bangs from his face. Jisung mumbled something sleepy, just audible enough. "Thank you, appa."

Minho's chest tugged. He pressed a kiss to Jisung's forehead, voice low and certain. "Sleep well, baby. We'll be here when you wake up."

Back in the living room, the others had resumed their chatter, crayons scratching again across pages. The nuggets were nearly gone, but the warmth remained, holding the room together like glue.