Jadat
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Jisung blinks. Once. The pink darkens, chiffon blurring into raspberry, into a coruscating kaleidoscope of crimson until he looks how Minho feels. How he’s been feeling for five years.
“What?”
“You are,” Minho repeats because it’s hard to remember why he had spent so long stopping himself from saying these words when they’re at the bottom of the world, all by themselves. “You’re special. To me.”
Jisung lips part. “Oh,” he says faintly.
or: they're in Australia.
Bookmarked by Jadat
09 Jan 2026
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He’s calm. He’s cool. He’s not thinking about the shape of Jisung’s mouth, or how well the suit fits him, or the way his eyes lit up just now, or whether he still smells like bergamot and broken dreams of a lifetime.
He’s fine. This is fine.
This is totally, completely fine.
At least that’s what Minho tries to convince himself about until, from the corner of his eye, catches Jisung starting to walk over.
Now, he is not so sure. Now, he might actually die.
Four years of yearning. Two years together. One year apart.
Minho thought he’d buried the what-ifs– until a wedding, a slow dance, two best men and strawberry champagne remind him just how unfinished some stories can be.
What begins as awkward glances slowly unfolds into painfully familiar tension. But before they can even think about something new, Minho and Jisung have to untangle everything that pulled them apart.
or: Minho thinks it’s over between him and Jisung– but some knots simply take longer to tie.
Bookmarked by Jadat
04 Jan 2026
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He wanted to keep all of this forever: the warmth under the fabric roof of the pillow fort; the patter of the rain against the window panes; the drowned out sound of a Park Hyo Shin song murmuring from Jisung’s phone underneath the ruffled pile of blankets; the purple glow of the children’s fairy lights that managed to turn all of their physical vices into virtues. It would all be torn down in a few hours, this little world they’d made for themselves, and the universe would soon forget it, so for now they kissed, and their hands etched essays of endearment where they roamed, and they whispered each other’s names against swollen lips.
They’d make the universe wait to take this away.
Bookmarked by Jadat
01 Dec 2025
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"Who are you writing all of these love songs about?"
The question is asked in the recording booth before every comeback. Sometimes it's the sound engineer with a laugh. Once it was an intern who had to forward the lyrics to the higher-ups. It's very often Changbin who drops it like a passing joke, just happy enough to have some lyrics on paper before a deadline. And it's almost always Chan, whose eyes light up and dim just as quickly when Jisung shrugs his shoulders, mutters about it being about a friend they hadn't met or about the leads from a drama he was watching.
But when Minho stays in the studio long after he was needed, melts into the hoodie Jisung could swear he had been wearing for the past four days and asks the question as though he were asking about the weather, the very walls of the recording booth begin to shatter.
- Language:
- English
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- 31,755
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Bookmarked by Jadat
27 Nov 2025
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a new slick leaf unfurling (like a fist to an open palm) by hyunnies
Fandoms: Stray Kids (Band)
26 May 2022
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Jisung is in love with his best friend. The seasons change—spring blurs into summer into autumn into winter—but his feelings stay the same.
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Jisung wants to pay for Minho’s bubble tea, but he doesn’t know how to say that without giving himself away—without making it obvious how far fucking gone he is, without romantic intentions tinging the statement, without stumbling over his words—so instead he suggests they play Rock Paper Scissors and the loser pays the bill.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 22,597
- Chapters:
- 5/5
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Bookmarked by Jadat
22 Nov 2025