fic: Circulation
Title: Circulation
Author: dria1029
Pairings: Minkey
Genre: Comedy/Friendship
Warnings: Other than Minho PMSing? None
Rating: PG
Summary: All Minho wants is know is the fuck the fans are on. Is that too much to ask for?
Word Count: 1,539
a/n: The indigenous in their natural habitat. Also, writing this out of spite because I can only update my other stuff after next Thursday and all this waiting has me twitching. So here. Dedicated to my bb pinecone koukaiaru
The word buzzed on the tip of his tongue.
Shit, he could even taste it.
And it tasted like electrified hair. Or stale rice cakes
Either way, he wanted it out of his mouth, and was willingly prepared to madly wipe at his tongue if it were humanly possible to dust words out of one’s mouth.
But knowing Minho, and knowing what would ensue afterwards from the one currently snoozing in the bedroom he was standing before, all bets were on that the word wouldn’t even kiss the air unless he let it slip in heat.
So instead, Minho banged harder.
“Yah, Key, I know you hear me! Why do I hear the fan?”
“Go away,” a thick voice finally half moaned, half scoffed. “Don’t you know when a person is trying to sleep?”
“Kibum, its 67 degrees in here!”
“Yeah?”
“You have the fan on full blast!”
“Your voice is on full blast too,” the voice shot back, losing some of its grog and gaining an edge. “How about muting it and letting me sleep?” Minho heard (amazing, with what the loud fan and all) the bed creak, indicating that the other man had probably shifted to his stomach.
The word stung his tongue now. Numbing it almost.
“Kibum-ah,” he sang in warning.
“Are you going to ask me if the fan is on again even though you know it is?”
“That’s it.”
The door barreled open and Minho strode in. Bundled to the tee with his comforter as the outer layer, making him like a blue plaid mountain. Eyes blood shot red, he went straight for the bed, where a human candy cane lay, of course, facedown and one thin leg bent inwardly. Yet before Key could protest, a violent hand came crashing down across the back of a blonde fuzz covered skull.
“Ow, you bitch. Fuck.” Key rolled so his indented face met his best friend’s. A deep squint settled in. “What,” he whined deeply, hugging his pillow with his arms underneath it.
“You turned…God its funky in here…anyway you turned down the thermostat so it’s ice age the fucking sequel in this apartment. Why are the fans on in here?”
Key was already groaning before he finished, however, quickly interjecting, “You wouldn’t have even known about the ceiling fan if you didn’t come in here.” And promptly turned so they weren’t facing, sighing in content.
Minho blinked. “Seriously?”
“By the way, it’s not my fault your thermostat is trippy,“ he managed to yawn. “I only turned it down to 70.”
He ignored him. “I don’t get it,” the dark-haired man snapped. “I really don’t. How are you not freezing?”
“Just a hunch, but maybe it’s because unlike you, I’m saving all of my hot air. Now leave unless you wanna get me off.” Key smirked as his shoulders danced, body curling up. “That’ll only put me back to sleep but-hey!
“You can’t have two fans on and the AC blasting at the same time!” He smacked the other’s head a couple of more times with his own pillow until Key shot up and snatched it back, throwing it at him with a yelled, “And why not?”
“Because!”
“Because what? I pay rent too!”
“That’s not the point!”
“Then what is the fucking point?!”
“It-its a waste of , of of-of energy! Yeah!”
“Isn’t that what I pay for?”
“Doesn’t matter!”
“Oh my God…”
The tossed pillow finally bounced off Minho’s red face (and even redder nose, it being so cold) but he didn’t even acknowledge it as it plopped to the floor. “Dude, what the fuck.”
“Look, do I question you about the piss bottle you keep in your room? Or the fact that you sleep with like, ten night lights? Nooooo I don’t, don’t I?”
“But you have both fans on high! And the TV is on! You’re not even watching it!”
Key rolled his eyes at the finger pointing accusingly at the flatscreen. By now he was sitting up with his arms crossed, pieces of hair sticking up in different directions. He looked like… angry Christmas.
“I don’t get how someone so cheap-oh I’m sorry, excuse me, thrifty, can hold so much disregard for electricity usage!”
“Did you just air quote me?”
“Huh”
“Nevermind. Minho, I’m tired. I have work in like 6 hours. “ He yawned again, his bones weakening as quickly as they strengthened in the short back-n-forth so he was forced to slither back down and make himself one with the bed. “Can we talk-no, actually, I don’t want to talk about it.”
A long, disgusted exhale filled the room before Minho knew it. He contemplated storming over to the fan on Key’s dresser and throwing it out the window, Pooh Bear stickers and all, but opted to just tighten his comforter around him with a grouchier pout.
“Honestly, how can somebody be so, so.” He trailed, damn near sputtering. Knowing what... crap, here it comes. There it goes. “So hypocritical.”
There was dead silence. Then Minho jumped back when the living dead snapped back up, the sheets rustling like they were being ripped. Key squinted at him and smacked his cracked, pursed lips slowly.
“Excuse me?”
Don’t wuss out now. Its just a stare. It could have been worse. He could gutted you with that piece of paper. You know he could have. “You know you never did this shit when you lived with Jonghyun, or even by yourself,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “Why do it when you come with me. Do you think I’m that easy? Am I that easy to you?”
Key snorted, and somehow the snort brought Minho back to his senses. He faced him again, setting his jaw. “Well?”
“You think because I’m a practical shopper…that I worry about conserving…oh wow.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, scoffing into his chest.
“…….”
“You are such a child.” Key crossed his legs Indian style, grabbed his pillow to hug it to his front and beamed up at the other condescendingly with his chin propped on it. “Do you really want to know why I keep these fans on?”
“Only because I’d like an explanation that doesn’t convince me that its stupid?”
“What’s stupid is that shirt you’re wearing. I do it because I need air circulating when I sleep.”
Minho frowned, a spark of exasperation in his glare. “But the AC-
“Leeeeet me fucking finish. Okay?” was the sugary response. Then the blonde cut the perky-lash ogle and rolled his eyes again. “Just so that anyone isn’t left dense, I’m gonna say this clearly. When I say air circulating, I mean…something chopping the air in my general vicinity.” He gestured towards the ceiling fan lazily, as if talking to a half-wit…..*cough* “If the air is stagnant, I can’t breathe right when I sleep. With the fan on, I can knock out no problems. Its all about comfort, not temperature. Also, I can’t sleep in complete silence. Its either white noise or Skins or both. Am I selling this right, Minho?”
“Fuck you.”
“Good, you got it.” He swiped his phone off the nightstand and grimaced at the time.
“But two fans though?”
“But twenty night lights though?” Key mocked, flicking something that suspiciously looked like flaked cum off the bed. “Double the comfort.”
The living teepee sniffed. He shouldn’t be feeling bad. Not as bad as he did. If anything, he should be off preparing his list on how to avoid the blonde for the next three months-because that’s exactly how long it will take for him to live the forbidden word down. “It takes all that to sleep.”
“Its just fans you asshole, I don’t have sleep apnea or something.”
“I still want to know why you aren’t cold,” he went to touch Key’s face and said face crunched up in repulsion, slapping the offensive hand away with a remark about him not knowing where its been. This went on for about a minute more, with Minho growing even more desperate; playful, throaty noises of permission drowned out by Key’s complaints, efforts to (at this point) molest the blonde thwarted over and over until Key suddenly pulled back and went to, not kick, but force his sock foot into Minho’s mouth. It glided in perfectly. Oppa Easy Bake Oven style.
“Bitch please, I lived in London for four years. I self insulate.” He rattled this out as Minho knocked his leg away (foot slamming against his teeth…) and staggered back choking his soul out plus thread balls. The comforter crumbled sadly to the carpet. That of which Key leaned over and picked up to heave at his dying friend, letting out a theatric hum as he lay back down. “Now that baby’s been told his bedtime story, I think it’s time for him to beat it. If he doesn’t mind.”
Oh, but baby did mind. A lot. Enough to where he charged from the room all mummified again, and made his way to the breaker panel in the utility closet. Minho flipped the switch to Key’s room and smugly walked away once a yelled, “You son of a bitch! Oh Choi Minho you bitter son of a bitch!” cut through the apartment.
Author: dria1029
Pairings: Minkey
Genre: Comedy/Friendship
Warnings: Other than Minho PMSing? None
Rating: PG
Summary: All Minho wants is know is the fuck the fans are on. Is that too much to ask for?
Word Count: 1,539
a/n: The indigenous in their natural habitat. Also, writing this out of spite because I can only update my other stuff after next Thursday and all this waiting has me twitching. So here. Dedicated to my bb pinecone koukaiaru
The word buzzed on the tip of his tongue.
Shit, he could even taste it.
And it tasted like electrified hair. Or stale rice cakes
Either way, he wanted it out of his mouth, and was willingly prepared to madly wipe at his tongue if it were humanly possible to dust words out of one’s mouth.
But knowing Minho, and knowing what would ensue afterwards from the one currently snoozing in the bedroom he was standing before, all bets were on that the word wouldn’t even kiss the air unless he let it slip in heat.
So instead, Minho banged harder.
“Yah, Key, I know you hear me! Why do I hear the fan?”
“Go away,” a thick voice finally half moaned, half scoffed. “Don’t you know when a person is trying to sleep?”
“Kibum, its 67 degrees in here!”
“Yeah?”
“You have the fan on full blast!”
“Your voice is on full blast too,” the voice shot back, losing some of its grog and gaining an edge. “How about muting it and letting me sleep?” Minho heard (amazing, with what the loud fan and all) the bed creak, indicating that the other man had probably shifted to his stomach.
The word stung his tongue now. Numbing it almost.
“Kibum-ah,” he sang in warning.
“Are you going to ask me if the fan is on again even though you know it is?”
“That’s it.”
The door barreled open and Minho strode in. Bundled to the tee with his comforter as the outer layer, making him like a blue plaid mountain. Eyes blood shot red, he went straight for the bed, where a human candy cane lay, of course, facedown and one thin leg bent inwardly. Yet before Key could protest, a violent hand came crashing down across the back of a blonde fuzz covered skull.
“Ow, you bitch. Fuck.” Key rolled so his indented face met his best friend’s. A deep squint settled in. “What,” he whined deeply, hugging his pillow with his arms underneath it.
“You turned…God its funky in here…anyway you turned down the thermostat so it’s ice age the fucking sequel in this apartment. Why are the fans on in here?”
Key was already groaning before he finished, however, quickly interjecting, “You wouldn’t have even known about the ceiling fan if you didn’t come in here.” And promptly turned so they weren’t facing, sighing in content.
Minho blinked. “Seriously?”
“By the way, it’s not my fault your thermostat is trippy,“ he managed to yawn. “I only turned it down to 70.”
He ignored him. “I don’t get it,” the dark-haired man snapped. “I really don’t. How are you not freezing?”
“Just a hunch, but maybe it’s because unlike you, I’m saving all of my hot air. Now leave unless you wanna get me off.” Key smirked as his shoulders danced, body curling up. “That’ll only put me back to sleep but-hey!
“You can’t have two fans on and the AC blasting at the same time!” He smacked the other’s head a couple of more times with his own pillow until Key shot up and snatched it back, throwing it at him with a yelled, “And why not?”
“Because!”
“Because what? I pay rent too!”
“That’s not the point!”
“Then what is the fucking point?!”
“It-its a waste of , of of-of energy! Yeah!”
“Isn’t that what I pay for?”
“Doesn’t matter!”
“Oh my God…”
The tossed pillow finally bounced off Minho’s red face (and even redder nose, it being so cold) but he didn’t even acknowledge it as it plopped to the floor. “Dude, what the fuck.”
“Look, do I question you about the piss bottle you keep in your room? Or the fact that you sleep with like, ten night lights? Nooooo I don’t, don’t I?”
“But you have both fans on high! And the TV is on! You’re not even watching it!”
Key rolled his eyes at the finger pointing accusingly at the flatscreen. By now he was sitting up with his arms crossed, pieces of hair sticking up in different directions. He looked like… angry Christmas.
“I don’t get how someone so cheap-oh I’m sorry, excuse me, thrifty, can hold so much disregard for electricity usage!”
“Did you just air quote me?”
“Huh”
“Nevermind. Minho, I’m tired. I have work in like 6 hours. “ He yawned again, his bones weakening as quickly as they strengthened in the short back-n-forth so he was forced to slither back down and make himself one with the bed. “Can we talk-no, actually, I don’t want to talk about it.”
A long, disgusted exhale filled the room before Minho knew it. He contemplated storming over to the fan on Key’s dresser and throwing it out the window, Pooh Bear stickers and all, but opted to just tighten his comforter around him with a grouchier pout.
“Honestly, how can somebody be so, so.” He trailed, damn near sputtering. Knowing what... crap, here it comes. There it goes. “So hypocritical.”
There was dead silence. Then Minho jumped back when the living dead snapped back up, the sheets rustling like they were being ripped. Key squinted at him and smacked his cracked, pursed lips slowly.
“Excuse me?”
Don’t wuss out now. Its just a stare. It could have been worse. He could gutted you with that piece of paper. You know he could have. “You know you never did this shit when you lived with Jonghyun, or even by yourself,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “Why do it when you come with me. Do you think I’m that easy? Am I that easy to you?”
Key snorted, and somehow the snort brought Minho back to his senses. He faced him again, setting his jaw. “Well?”
“You think because I’m a practical shopper…that I worry about conserving…oh wow.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, scoffing into his chest.
“…….”
“You are such a child.” Key crossed his legs Indian style, grabbed his pillow to hug it to his front and beamed up at the other condescendingly with his chin propped on it. “Do you really want to know why I keep these fans on?”
“Only because I’d like an explanation that doesn’t convince me that its stupid?”
“What’s stupid is that shirt you’re wearing. I do it because I need air circulating when I sleep.”
Minho frowned, a spark of exasperation in his glare. “But the AC-
“Leeeeet me fucking finish. Okay?” was the sugary response. Then the blonde cut the perky-lash ogle and rolled his eyes again. “Just so that anyone isn’t left dense, I’m gonna say this clearly. When I say air circulating, I mean…something chopping the air in my general vicinity.” He gestured towards the ceiling fan lazily, as if talking to a half-wit…..*cough* “If the air is stagnant, I can’t breathe right when I sleep. With the fan on, I can knock out no problems. Its all about comfort, not temperature. Also, I can’t sleep in complete silence. Its either white noise or Skins or both. Am I selling this right, Minho?”
“Fuck you.”
“Good, you got it.” He swiped his phone off the nightstand and grimaced at the time.
“But two fans though?”
“But twenty night lights though?” Key mocked, flicking something that suspiciously looked like flaked cum off the bed. “Double the comfort.”
The living teepee sniffed. He shouldn’t be feeling bad. Not as bad as he did. If anything, he should be off preparing his list on how to avoid the blonde for the next three months-because that’s exactly how long it will take for him to live the forbidden word down. “It takes all that to sleep.”
“Its just fans you asshole, I don’t have sleep apnea or something.”
“I still want to know why you aren’t cold,” he went to touch Key’s face and said face crunched up in repulsion, slapping the offensive hand away with a remark about him not knowing where its been. This went on for about a minute more, with Minho growing even more desperate; playful, throaty noises of permission drowned out by Key’s complaints, efforts to (at this point) molest the blonde thwarted over and over until Key suddenly pulled back and went to, not kick, but force his sock foot into Minho’s mouth. It glided in perfectly. Oppa Easy Bake Oven style.
“Bitch please, I lived in London for four years. I self insulate.” He rattled this out as Minho knocked his leg away (foot slamming against his teeth…) and staggered back choking his soul out plus thread balls. The comforter crumbled sadly to the carpet. That of which Key leaned over and picked up to heave at his dying friend, letting out a theatric hum as he lay back down. “Now that baby’s been told his bedtime story, I think it’s time for him to beat it. If he doesn’t mind.”
Oh, but baby did mind. A lot. Enough to where he charged from the room all mummified again, and made his way to the breaker panel in the utility closet. Minho flipped the switch to Key’s room and smugly walked away once a yelled, “You son of a bitch! Oh Choi Minho you bitter son of a bitch!” cut through the apartment.