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the one they give you when you're in a mood. the one they give when you ask, or when you piss them off enough to bait them into it, or when just discovering that you're ticklish...
or when you're already pinned down/restrained, with them already hovering over you, while you giggle in terror and uncontrollably babble pleas (or curses, whichever kind of lee you are), and their hands already far too close to your tickle spots.
that goddamn SMILE. the evil yet amused and maybe even slightly condescending glint in their eye, that just tells you "you are so cute, and so screwed."
𝙖/𝙣: i know i know i write too much lee know but i missed hoodie okay!!?
also happy birthday @asexualaerosmith!! one of my most close mooties i love you so much i hope you’re happy and healthy this year and for all the years to come!! we should stay mooties forever 🤭
It was an understatement to say that Chan loved Minho. That simply wasn’t enough to describe everything the leader would do for the second oldest.
Chan would saw off his own femur with a rusty multitool, bleed out for three hours, actively set himself on fire for him. And then look up at Minho with hazy, feverish eyes and still ask. “Need anything else, Minho-yah?”
Anndddd Minho would laugh at him. He’s been doing it all day. Rejecting Chan’s affection. Being a general asshole.
The dorm had been quiet for exactly four hours and thirty-two minutes.
That should have been Chan's first warning.
He'd been in his studio since 6 AM, wrestling with a bridge that refused to cooperate, and when he finally dragged himself back to the dorm at half past ten, all he wanted was a shower and his bed.
The living room was dim, Changbin half-asleep on one couch, Hyunjin scrolling on his phone on the other. Normal. Safe.
His coffee maker—the one he'd specifically arranged just so that morning—had been rotated seventeen degrees counter-clockwise.
His protein powder container was sitting in front of the blender instead of beside it. And the dish towel he always folded into a precise rectangle was crumpled into a loose ball and shoved next to the sink.
From the living room, he heard a soft, deliberate hum. He turned.
Minho was sprawled across the armchair, one leg dangling over the side, holding up his phone like he was reading something. But his eyes were fixed on Chan over the top of the screen.
Innocent.
Blameless.
Testing.
Chan took a breath. Counted to five. Reset the coffee maker, moved the protein powder, refolded the towel into its perfect rectangle. He didn't say a word.
Minho's mouth curved.
Forty-seven minutes later, Chan was standing in his bedroom, staring at his nightstand.
His lamp. The one with the specific, exact, necessary angle that pointed the light directly at his notebook, was crooked.
Not obviously crooked. Slightly crooked. The kind of crooked you wouldn't notice unless you were him.
Chan closed his eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled.
He fixed the lamp. He centered the photo.
He sat down on his bed and counted backward from one hundred.
By the time he reached fifty-three, he was already walking back to the living room.
Minho had relocated to the floor, lying on his stomach with his chin propped on his hands, watching something on his phone. He didn't look up when Chan entered. Didn't acknowledge him at all.
That didn’t matter. Chan would make him notice soon enough.
"You," Chan said, very quietly, "are doing this on purpose."
Minho finally looked up, all wide eyes and feigned innocence. "Doing what, hyung?"
“Ragebaiting.” Chan replied, one eyebrow raised. Minho didn’t seem to care at all.
“Now, hyung. I’m not ragebaiting or anything like that. You’re just old, sensitive, and now senile. That’s not my fault.” Minho shrugged.
Oh, that’s it.
“You touched my stuff," Chan said.
"Did I?"
"The coffee maker."
"Maybe."
"The towel."
"Could have been anyone."
"The lamp. The photo. The remote."
Minho’s smile turned sharper. “Well, now you’re just losing it.”
Chan pounced. Clearly, Minho didn’t expect such a sudden action from someone he had just called old, so he squawked as Chan pinned him down to the floor, sitting on his thighs, one hand bracketing Minho’s wrists and pinning him to the floor.
Now, Minho is learning what happens when the leader of Stray Kids finally snaps.
And he's learning it in front of everyone.
“You thought it was funny," Chan says quietly. His voice is soft. That's the scariest part. "The cup. The couch. The monitors, Minho. You touched my monitors."
Minho swallows. "I don't know what you're talking about—"
The first touch hits his stomach, and Minho wails.
His fingers find Minho's belly. That soft, horribly ticklish expanse just below his navel. and he starts scribbling there in fast, erratic circles.
"No no no nononono—"
"Say hi to the group chat," Chan says flatly. He gestured over his shoulder to where Seungmin was recording.
"I WILL KIHIHIHILL YOUHUHUHUHU!!”
Minho's stomach muscles clench and jump under Chan's touch, trying to escape fingers that follow every flinch.
Minho grunted through giggles, throwing his body away from the spidering fingers. The moment Minho arched and twisted away, those evil nails slid right onto his exposed side and started clawing gently but relentlessly into the soft flesh there.
“AAHAHAHAHA—NO NOT THE SIDES!!” Minho screamed, laughter turning sharper and more desperate as he whipped back the other way.
“Oh really? Well, you don’t get to decide right now.” Chan retorted, sliding his hands down to the hips.
“I CAHAH— I CAHAHAHAHAN’T!!” Minho shrieked, head tossing side to side. His face was burning hotter than the sun. That laugh—god, he sounded so ridiculous. Loud, squeaky, breaking into little dolphin-like squeals every time Chan found a worse spot.
“Oh my god I’m keeping these videos forever.” Seungmin spoke up from the couch. Minho could barely register it.
NOHOHOHO—DELETE THEHEHEM!!” Minho wailed, dissolving back into frantic cackles as Chan zeroed in on his lower belly again, nails scribbling right along the waistband.
Chan let Minho twist side to side, just following the movement like water. Minho twists harshly to the left and Chan digs into that side, following along Minho’s tummy as the younger wailed and squirmed the other way, right onto the other side.
Minho was already shaking his head frantically, hips twitching as he tried to shrink away from the hovering claws. “Please—pleasepleaseplease I’ll do anything just don’t—NOHOHOHOT THE SIHIHIHIHIDESS!!”
Minho’s laughter was loud, frustrated, and completely helpless. He yanked hard on his hands, hips bucking, torso twisting left and right in frantic little arcs.
“YOU’RE SO ANNOYING—AHAHAHAHAHA!! IT TICKLES—IT TIHIHICKLES SO MUCH!!” He wailed, face screwed up in that wide, wide smile he couldn’t control.
“Well that’s what it’s supposed to do, silly,” Chan chuckled in response, eyes gooey with fondness. Walking his fingers right back to the side.
Minho let out a piercing squeal and immediately stopped twisting so wildly. The sides were honestly unbearable. Worse than the tummy. Every time those nails raked across them, it felt like electricity shooting straight up his spine.
He gave up.
With a defeated, teary sob of laughter, Minho forced himself to lie as still as possible, arms stretched taut above his head. He stopped fighting the inevitable and just let Chan’s hand return to his tummy.
“Awhhh, why’d you stop squirming, baby?” Chan laughed.
“Thehehe sihihihides were wohohohorse!!” Minho whined. Cheeks coloring at the statement’s truth.
“Grand finale time!” Chan announced.
Minho’s eyes shot open in horror. “No hyung. NONONONONO—”
Chan dove under Minho’s hoodie, burying his head in the younger’s tummy, and blew a loud and long raspberry.
Minho lost it completely—howling, head shaking side to side, fresh tears spilling as uncontrollable laughter poured out of him in waves. “YOUHUHU BAHAHAHASTARD!! HYUHUHUHUNG I’LL KIHIHIHILL YOU—NOHOHOHOHO!! NOT THEHEHE TUHUHUMMY!!”
Chan didn’t reply. He just surfaced and took another breath, ignoring Minho’s desperate pleading, and ducked down to blow another raspberry. And another. And another. Trailing them up Minho’s stomach, along his ribs, and some down his flank.
“Fuhuhuhuck I cahaHAHAHAHAN’T!!” Minho choked out. “CHAHAHAHAN HYUNG!!”
Chan pulled up. Minho fell back to the floor, residual giggles pouring out of him. “Do you promise to be good?”
Minho nods so quick his head was a blur. “Yesyesyehhehehhes I prohohohohomise!!”
“Good.” Chan eased off with a scribble to Minho’s side, earning him a final giggle.
Seungmin cheers. “My phone storage is dead from this video but it is so worth it!!”
Minho lunges. “Let’s see how you like it, Seungmin!” Chan laughs.
Minho would be back to ragebaiting him in the morning. And Chan? Chan would be ready.
