Chapter Text
The wooden table, worn but well cared for, is completely bare save for an empty coffee cup and lanky, crossed arms supporting a face-down head. Tufts of unruly hair sit in waves around two brown ears, the tips nearly touching the tabletop until Minho shuffles into the room and the pale-pink inside of one flicks in his direction.
“Good morning,” he says, and the ear turns back toward the table, where there would normally be two full mugs of coffee waiting. Minho goes into the kitchen and pours his own. He’s learned not to take these things personally. “You’re up early.”
Seungmin grumbles incoherently into his arms. It sounds something like, Don’ttalktomerightnow.
The coffee is too strong and bitter, but Minho can’t will himself to feel anything but fond as he takes careful sips. It’s good that Seungmin isn’t looking; it’d turn to scowling the moment he saw the almost-smile on Minho’s face. While Minho has never had to go to a specialized doctor—Seungmin still refers to it as ‘the vet’ when he’s feeling particularly upset; Minho hasn’t jokingly called it that once since he realized his mistake but he figures the grudge isn’t undeserved—he understands from Seungmin’s retelling of his visits that it’s not exactly the most pleasant experience, which is why Minho always plans these appointments on days when they have nothing else to do.
Wordlessly, Minho takes Seungmin’s cup, no reaction but the twitch of an ear, and places it in the sink before going to the refrigerator to pull out the soup he made last night. He pours it into a pot and leaves it to warm on the stovetop, knowing as unhappy as Seungmin may be about their plans for the day the smell of his favorite soup will help ease him into a somewhat better mood, a tactic he’s sure Seungmin has picked up on but doesn’t seem to mind.
In the bathroom, Minho splashes water on his face and rubs cream into his skin. He dresses warmly. The first snow has come and gone and the city is getting colder by the week, autumn plummeting into frosty mornings and days that don’t promise much more warmth. He pulls out a sweater for Seungmin, who he’d noticed had on jeans and a t-shirt far too thin for the walk to the clinic, a scarf, and his specially-made earmuffs.
Still sitting at the dining table, Seungmin has at least lifted his head. He groans when he sees what Minho has.
“I hate those,” he says of the earmuffs, the same complaint he has every time he has to wear them. He’s particular about his ears, which is one of the reasons he dreads his doctor visits so much; they’re sensitive and he doesn’t like the way it feels when they check them. Once, when they’d first met, Seungmin had a bad ear infection and the nurses had to flush them out and Seungmin yowled like he was dying so loudly Minho thought he had been—was two steps away from breaking down the door until the receptionist stopped him to assure him some hybrids are more sensitive to the process than others and that he was more than welcome to go into the room calmly. (He hadn’t, though. Seungmin had asked him not to, a promise he nearly broke in that instant, so he stood on the waiting-room side of the door through the next set of distressed yowling and waited, promise intact.)
“Okay.” Minho places them on the table. “Don’t wear them, then,” he says simply in the tone of see if I care—which he absolutely does. He would pin Seungmin down and wrestle the earmuffs onto his head before letting him leave the house without them on in this weather.
Seungmin crosses his arms. “You’re mean,” he mumbles, looking down at the table with something close enough to a pout that Minho nearly smiles again.
He walks to the stovetop and ladles soup into two bowls, then goes to sit adjacent to Seungmin at the table. Seungmin drags his spoon through the liquid, eating it half-full spoonful by half-full spoonful, slower than he usually would, until it’s completely gone. Then, without a word, he stands up and pulls his sweater and coat on.
He usually does this: drags his feet all the way to the thing he doesn’t want to do, then hurries into it when there’s no time left to put it off. Minho still finds his let’s-get-this-over-with attitude endearing.
Leaving their dishes in the sink, Minho pulls his own coat on. He puts the earmuffs on Seungmin—who stares at him in a way that would probably give Minho a pretty severe headache if looks could incite bodily pain—and holds the door open for him.
It’s a fifteen-minute walk to the office. That’s plenty long enough for Seungmin’s cheeks and nose to flush red from the nipping cold and for Minho’s to do the same. They don’t hold hands on the way there; Seungmin subtly scowls straight ahead the entire time, chin tucked into his scarf, and Minho knows better than to do anything but walk beside him quietly.
When they arrive, Seungmin signs himself in and sits down in a single chair neighbored by a table and a plant; Minho stands in front of him.
“Earmuffs?”
Seungmin tilts his chin down and Minho takes the earmuffs off. He repeats the process for Seungmin’s scarf and folds it the way he prefers, then sits down in the chair on the other side of the table to wait. When they call his name, Seungmin doesn’t look over at Minho before following the nurse further into the building.
Routine checkups don’t take very long. They check all the same things any non-hybrid doctor would, then the things those doctors aren’t as familiar with: ears, tails, claws. More in-depth details Minho doesn’t know all that much about.
Part of Seungmin’s unease also comes from the sterile smell and vaccines he has to stay up to date on. He isn’t a fan of needles—isn’t really a fan of people touching him in general when it’s not up to him, nevermind when it’s to jab him—but luckily there are no shots he needs this time. Relative to his other visits, it should be quick and easy. They’ll just look him over, ask some general questions, and send him on his way after the handful of minutes it takes.
Which is what they do—only Seungmin comes out blank-faced.
Minho frowns, watching Seungmin carefully as he first takes the scarf from Minho to wrap around his neck then places the earmuffs over his head himself. He walks outside without meeting Minho’s eyes, and Minho wonders but doesn’t ask. Knows it isn’t the time nor place, two details that rarely ever align—place being the main factor, a sidewalk-full of strangers definitely one of the least ideal options.
Syncing his steps with Seungmin’s, Minho stays as close to him as possible without touching him and doesn’t break until they’re back home shaking off their coats.
“Seungmin?” he says softly, and Seungmin turns further away, hanging his things by the door and placing his shoes in their spot on the rack. His tail is curled around his waist and tucked under his shirt, and when he stands upright his shoulders look stiff. “Are you okay?”
The smallest bit of tension eases from his posture when he finally looks at Minho. “Yeah, Hyung.” It doesn’t seem like an outright lie, but it isn’t entirely convincing either. Seungmin stands there for a moment, not moving, like he’s making his mind up about what he wants to do, and Minho tries to do the same. Checkup days are never particularly good, but Seungmin never acts this closed off afterwards, either. Usually he gets clingy; asks to cuddle, buries his arms underneath Minho’s hoodie, and apologizes for being grumpy before the appointment. This—this is new.
The moment is probably shorter than it feels. Minho watches Seungmin turn to walk to his room and waits another moment before he follows, willing himself to walk past the door Seungmin doesn’t close and to his own room where he changes into more comfortable clothes and reminds himself that whatever is wrong can’t be too terribly serious, otherwise Seungmin would’ve told him right away. Seungmin is a private person, even with Minho who knows more about him than anyone else. He likes his privacy and Minho respects that. Has to remind himself at times like this not to overstep even if he is worried. If or when Seungmin wants to talk, he will. In the meantime, Minho will wait patiently: sit on the couch flicking through an infinite amount of shows that don’t catch his attention until Seungmin comes to join him on the couch, first sitting in the opposite corner with his legs criss-crossed then rethinking his decision and slowly moving closer.
Seungmin’s knee touches Minho’s thigh and Minho spreads his legs to make space for Seungmin between them, expecting him to sit with his back to Minho’s chest like he normally would, but instead Seungmin sits facing him, his legs pulled up to his chest, his face still blank. “Hyung,” he says, “we need to talk.”
“We need to talk,” Minho repeats. Seungmin nods; Minho nods. “Okay.”
A faint sense of unease sits in Minho’s gut as he watches Seungmin play with the hem of his shorts, staring at the fabric instead of looking Minho in the eyes. “I had to stop taking my medicine,” he says to the loose thread pinched between his fingers. Straight to the point. “So my heat is due,” he explains, “somewhere between two days and two weeks from now.”
Since before they met, Seungmin has been on heat suppressants. Minho doesn’t really know that much about them—the heats nor suppressants—because Seungmin never talked about either other than to mention he was on medication that stops his cycle—So we don’t have to worry about any of that, Hyung—and that had been at the beginning of their relationship when Minho was more hung up on the newness of we than worried about something Seungmin had just said they don’t need to worry about. He’d been curious enough later on to do a brief web search that’d taught him the symptoms vary widely from person to person, meaning once he’d closed the browser he still knew next to nothing about heats—and absolutely nothing about Seungmin’s heats.
Which he now has two days to two weeks to learn about. “Okay,” he says. Seungmin glances at Minho’s hand where it’s resting on the couch and Minho reaches for him, unfolds his limbs and maneuvers him closer until he’s comfortably curled into Minho’s chest.
Before Minho can ask, Seungmin mumbles, “It’s embarrassing.”
Minho rubs his back soothingly. “That doesn’t sound like it’ll be much different than usual.”
Punching his chest, Seungmin complains, “Hyung, I’m serious.” He relaxes his hand against Minho’s chest then balls it up again around a fistful of his shirt, white-knuckling the fabric close enough to the neckline that it seems more like he’s threatening Minho than clinging to him for comfort. “They make me act weird, and I haven’t had one in so long…” he trails off, taking a deep breath and shifting like he’s trying to get even closer. He may as well have Minho’s heart in his fist.
“I know.” Minho assures him, “It’ll be alright.” He kisses Seungmin’s temple and holds him tighter, hoping to dispel some of the worry still making his muscles so tight—feeling a little bad about the relief washing over him at this being the news. Even if he had been certain before hearing what was wrong that it couldn’t be something too bad, actually knowing is relieving. Going into heat, as dreadful as Seungmin finds the idea, is still far better than the momentary worst-case scenarios that had flashed in Minho’s mind earlier. “Tell me what they used to be like?”
Loosening his grip on Minho’s shirt, Seungmin rests his head on his shoulder and nods.