Indisa09
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Summary
Jisung often dreamed in black and white. He saw keys, a stool, an empty crowd and a piano that outgrew him. And then came the colour, he supposed. Colour in purple bruises, stained bandages and red gloves that suddenly made it all better.
Or Jisung was a prodigy in a life he wanted nothing more than to forget and Minho was now the main event.
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Jisung is an average high school student, and Minho is his "bully," but what do they have in common? A lack of friends and a love for male idol groups and otaku culture!
When they are forced to work together on a school project, they gradually begin to develop a strange sense of what almost resembles friendship. From there, Jisung's world begins to open up, and he's now faced with all new feelings and thoughts.
Minho likes him, and... maybe Jisung likes him back.
(Title from the 12 Rods song, "I Wish You Were a Girl")
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Minho rubbed his thumb against Jisung’s cheek, dimpling it with his nail. “I’m still here, jagi. You’re still mine.”
Jisung closed his eyes and swallowed the grief. After a moment he nodded. “Still yours. You’re still mine.”
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They hadn’t talked at length about the future. Jisung thought they were forever, though, the kind of bone-deep, unfaltering devotion that you would put a match to everything you had for, that turned half-smiles into love songs and drove you a little mad. The kind that could break your heart.
They were forever, Jisung used to think.
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Reaching out, Minho lets his fingertips skim down Jisung’s side. He feels the subtle flinch of muscle under his touch, the way Jisung tucks himself away but doesn’t fully pull back, as though caught between instinct and surrender. It’s in these small, fleeting moments that Minho feels his heart clench— realising all over again just how much he loves him. He would burn the world down for Jisung, an easy fleeting thing.
"Knock it off, hyung," Jisung snaps, but there’s no real bite to his words. Minho smiles, shifting to wrap a loose arm around his waist from behind, his chin resting comfortably over Jisung’s shoulder. When Jisung’s arm folds over his, Minho feels the quiet certainty settle deep within him— nothing will ever come between them. They are halves of the same soul, as Theodopy once described, tied together by the invisible red string of Chinese legend, the embodiment of every soulmate trajectory he’s ever heard.
Jisung is his, as much as he is Jisung’s.