So yeah, that was the little thing I've been writing. 2 171 words. I wanted to make a smutty one and a clear one but then I just made one… :/

And I can't stop fainting over the fact I have more than 100 followers! Really guys, it means sooo much to me 3 It may seem like nothing compared to 2000 or something but since I never actually believed my gwould be read by more than a dozen people at top…. I… Yeah. So, I just want to say thank you! 3 I love y'all!

Also, I'm taking requests or something… I wouldn't call it request, since I won't be an imagine blog but yeah, you can ask for stuff! :)

Have fun reading this and be aware, this is unbeta'd because I don't have any betas, lol.

Minho was always thoughtful. He never forgot, never missed, and never made a mistake. And it was all good and nice – had he been less smart he wouldn't have lived the day we got together, the night we first made love or the first and only night he got drunk.

I'm sure he'd be more than glad to forget that particular memory.

It all happened a few weeks after Gally first showed us his moonshine. Everyone was suspicious at first and grimaced whenever they smelled the keen spoor of alcohol but after the few brave (or stupid) Glader drank more than one sip and they slowly felt better, the others started asking for a jar of it. I never liked it – I felt sick whenever the stink minded me – and rarely drank more than a few sips when Newt or Minho persuaded me to do so. I preferred to just laugh at the others.

One of these drinking nights was placed before Minho's day-off and for the first (and last) time he decided to drink not only half a jar. He was pretty much boiled.

At first he was attached to me, hands never leaving my body – my waist, hips, thighs or arms – and he occasionally placed a wet, hot kiss on my neck or cheeks. We didn't talk, though – as usual, he was surrounded by his fellow Runners and they were talking about stories which happened in the Maze. How they face-planted, klunked their pants when they mistaken a blade beetle for a Griever and stuff like that. After the first two or three empty jars they were laughing even when someone said 'the' and that was my cue. I excused myself, stating I must go and sleep because I'll have to have a look at the shed of the Bloodhouse. Winston said one of the lintels seemed like cracking and he didn't know why.

Minho tried to make me stay but after a few minutes of nagging me, he realized it was useless and loosened his grip on my hand. When I finally slipped under the sheets, all my nerves were screaming for sleep. Even the quick, hot shower I took couldn't chase away my numbness and I was happy when I could close my eyes and let the boat of lassitude nestle me to the dream-ocean.

# # #

A strong hand pulled me back to reality – a strong, muscled arm which sneaked around my waist, pushing me tightly against a hard, broad chest.

"(Y/N)," Minho mumbled, his alcoholic breath felt like a slap right to my face, dragging me away from the soft drifts of dreamland.

I let out a deep sigh, placing my hand on Minho's. "Is the party over?" He didn't reply, instead nuzzled his nose into my hair and neck, groaning unidentifiably as an answer. "Ya should sleep."

"'don wanna shleeeeep," he grunted, voice raspy and unsure. He tightened the embrace of his arms and pulled my lower body closer to his crotch, a noticeable bulge pressing to my hindquarters. "'m nottired. Imma hooorny."

He pressed a sloppy kiss on my neck, which sent warm rushes of lust through my spine. My mind knew I was way too tired and Minho was way too drunk to actually live out his desires but my hormones knew what Minho could do to me (even in this state). Had my heart been unable to convince my mind Minho wasn't really himself, the rational side of me would've lost the battle over my actions.

"You're drunk," I stated and shifted so I could look at Minho's face. The faint lights of the outside world painted his olive complexion bluish grey and the glint in his almond-shaped eyes was dull. I softly placed my hand on his face, stroking his cheek gently. "Sleep, Min, 'kay?"

Minho furrowed his eyebrows and narrowed his eyes. "'don want toooo."

In a mere second, he had me pinned beneath him. I sighed in pure want as his long, athletic and vigorous body pressed against mine wholly. Usually I never minded it was hard to breathe for me like that with all his weight on me – the way every single inch of me was pushed so firmly against Minho was worth it.

Now, however, it was only distracting.

"I want you," he murmured against my collarbone before flicking his tongue over the skin. I shuddered and drew in a sharp, shaky breath.

"Minho…"

"Ya don' wanna meee?" Though it sounded like a question and his tongue seemed to be hard to move he was sure I wanted him as well. That bloody slinthead. Why was he always right? Okay, maybe this wasn't in the highlight form of his life but it was still Minho.

"Not like that."

"Why-yy?"

"You're drunk!"

Minho swelled his cheeks like a huffy child. "'m not drunk! Whooo said dat? Drunk? Imma as sober as 'm gonna git." The way his tongue got stuck at certain words proved else how but I didn't say it aloud. I was smarter than that and just raised an eyebrow.

"Slim it," I sighed and blew a mop of messy hair away from my eyes before faulting my head back onto the pillow, eyes closed. "Just sleep, okay? I promise I'll love ya in the mornin', yeah?"

I knew bloody well he would be a groaning, grumpy mess in the morning with a steady head-ache – it happened too many times to others already – but I guessed he was too drunk to realize it because he nodded and slowly, ungracefully fell off of me, back to his spot.

When I felt his arm sneak around me I relaxed my tensed body and tried to sleep. Somehow sleep stayed out of my way; minutes passed with me trying to get back to dreamland. I was nearly grateful when Minho spoke again.

"Can ya – wait wait wait – can I kiss ya?"

I giggled softly; he was never this needy for such loving actions when he was sober but I somehow liked it. In fact I liked it so much I turned a blind eye over his horrible breath.

I turned around to face him and placed my hands on his chest. His kiss was sloppy and slightly uncoordinated but despite these and the ugly taste it was really sweet and slow. His lips were softer than usual and moved passionately against mine. Minho's hands wandered over my chest, kneading my breasts over my shirt. It was instinctual, I guess, and he meant no sexual suggestions but still, warmness spread in my chest like fire on a searing.

A dull sparkle of lust started to glisten up in me so when Minho pulled away from me with a wet smacking sound I felt disappointed. He kept looking straight into my eyes, his gaze a mix of emotions I couldn't really recognize.

Minho licked his lips which were slightly parted. "(Y/N), I…"

"Yeah?" I smiled up at him and stroked his hair.

"'m gonna puuuuke!"

"What?!"

My shout was muffled by Minho as he jumped out of the bed and ran to the window with loud thumps. He nearly tripped and practically banged into the wall before opening the window in a hurry just in time. He leaned outside and the sounds of throwing up, gagging and spitting made me grimace. After putting myself over my own nausea I forced my leg to move and hurried to Minho. I stood sideway next to him, placed my hands on his shoulders and dared not to look out – I hoped no one was standing down there, though.

"Min, ya alright?"

"What d'ya think?" Oh, yeah. Here came the Minho we all knew and wanted to slap sometimes. I put my awakening grumpiness aside and patted his shoulders as another wave of nausea hit him.

It was bloody grotesque for me to watch as Minho – strong, cocky, big Minho – shake as he emptied his stomach.

I wanted to kill Gally.

I knew it was mainly Minho's fault since he was the one who couldn't restrain himself but it was bugging hard to blame him when he looked like the newest Greanbean. So unsure, so weak.

We stood at the window for another few minutes in complete silence. After he stopped gagging, Minho seemed to get better and the cold air added to his slow recovering. I wanted to help but didn't know how. He wouldn't let me support him on his way back to the bed so I couldn't do anything else than just watch him in case he falls. I made him drink some water, though – I was groping in the dark both figuratively and literally: I've never treated drunken boys before. They either just slept or if it was too bad than they were sent to the Med-Jacks'. I just tried to make Minho feel well enough to sleep.

The greyish dark didn't help and neither did Minho's state.

# # #

Apparently alcohol brought out the emotionally honest side of Minho.

"You'rrre purrretty, ya know dat?" he mumbled, eyes closed. We were on the bed, me sitting with his head in my lap while he was lying. He was sweating quite heavily, nearly as much as he did when he ran to the very end of his section and back the other day.

I shook my head, smiling, and ran a gentle hand through his jet-black, soft and slightly wet hair. "Don't talk, Minho. Please, just try to sleep."

"You're not only preeeettyyy," he continued without actually hearing what I just said," but, like, shuckin' gorgos… gorus… george… Like, SO pretty! Yeah, especiiiiiially yourrr eyes. Your eyes are like honey… I love honey."

"That's nice, sweetie. Now, sleep."

Minho's eyes snapped open, a huffy fire in them. "Don call me dat."

C'mon, you're supposed to be drunk, ya know. I rolled my eyes and kissed his forehead.

"Would ya just sleep?"

"I love you."

These three words rang so clearly for a moment I even forgot about his drunkenness. My heart stopped beating only to start again and quicken its pace multiple times. A bright, wide and honestly amused smile made its way to my lips.

"Ya do?"

Minho nodded before furrowing his eyebrows. "Yeah, 'course. You'rre…"

"'Purretty'," I cut in, mimicking the way he said 'pretty' in his drunken state. Still, despite the mocking tone, I was shocked – we've never said 'I love you' before.

I wanted too, many times but eventually I always backed up, afraid of how he will react. Confessing emotions… It wasn't something Minho was good at. When we're talking romantically, I mean. I didn't want to scare him away or something but now that he had said it first…

"I love ya, too," I whispered before leaning down and placing a quick, soft peck on his lips. It was a bit odd, kissing him upside down but everything in the lovin' situation was strange and new and never known by me before so it kind of fitted into the image.

"Yeah, ya dooo," he said in a sing-sang tone, giggling – Minho never giggled. An unhidden yawn escaped his mouth and he looked up at me with sleepy eyes. "You said dat you will looooove meh tomorrow, right?"

# # #

Eventually, he fell asleep with me promising to love him in the morning. I got up earlier than him the next day which wasn't a surprise – actually, he didn't even open his eyes when I got up from next to him and when I came back a few hours later with light breakfast and a bottle of water he was still lying in the bed, face buried straight into the pillows.

"Rise and shine, sweetie!" I exclaimed cheerfully. An animalistic, grumpy-as-hell groan-flood came from Minho's direction.

So he's not dead yet. Nice.

I placed the breakfast on the makeshift bed-side table and squatted next to his side.

"C'mon, Sleeping Beauty, the bloody head-ache won't pass unless ya wake up and take the medicine I brought with me," I interpreted, fondly stroking his hair. Another groan and then slowly he turned his head so he was facing me. It took another good minute until he finally cracked his eyes open, making his eyes look even more 'sliced' than they were usually.

If I'd have been making a dictionary I would've totally put Minho's face next to 'hangover'.

"I'm gonna kill Gallyyyyyy," he groaned, his voice scratchy and throaty from lack of sleep and his more than possible head-ache.

I laughed gingerly and ran my fingers through his messy hair, regularizing his locks. He hummed or something and closed his eyes, either enjoying my actions or just trying to get back to sleep. I placed a kiss on the tip of his snoot, making him wrinkle his nose. It was adorable.

"…Do ya want me to love ya?"

Another groan and Minho muffled himself with the blanket, his groaning and my laughing forming an airy, mocking melody.

Nevertheless to say: Minho never got drunk afterwards.