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“I just hit on you and you turned me down. Our friendship would be tainted before it even started,” Jisung explains it like it’s a hard science.
“That’s ridiculous,” Minho says.
“Is it? You'll spend our entire friendship wondering if I'm still into you and I'll be wondering whether you changed your mind about turning me down but are too afraid to say so. See? Ruined,” Jisung sounds so certain he almost convinces Minho he’s making any sense.
Still, Minho doesn’t know how to argue with Jisung’s logic. He doesn’t find Jisung unattractive at all—if he looks past his rude manners and at times insufferable personality, that is. The whole drive, Minho hadn’t been able to shake off the memory of Sujin mentioning that Jisung was just his type when he suggested they’d ride together to Seoul. Still, between his recent breakup, his new job and the six hour free trial he’d had of Jisung, Minho knows he has no time to ponder about sexual attraction or—God forbid—romantic infatuation.
or: After a tumultuous first impression, Minho doesn't think he'll ever see Jisung again. The years following prove him wrong.
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“Then he said the sex was mediocre and that it was because of me,” Minho seethes, pacing back and forth across his dorm, phone held up to his ear. “And that we could try again tomorrow.”
On the other end of the line, Changbin seems to be in a fit of laughter. Minho is much less amused, lips pressed into a tight line while he waits for his best friend to console him.
“Oh, that’s brutal,” Changbin cackles. “Well, will you?”
“No,” Minho hisses. “It was one hundred percent mediocre because of him, and we will one hundred percent not be trying again tomorrow.”
or: Minho has what may just be the worst one-night stand of his life. Jisung takes every opportunity afterwards to make it up to him.
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“Hey, can I ask you a personal question?”
Minho was scrolling through his phone, and he hoped he wasn’t bothering him.
“Shoot.” He didn’t look over at him as he nodded.
“How did you know that you liked guys?”
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He approaches his phone as if it’s a wild animal, gently tapping the screen to wake it up as the display begins to dim. Yup, definitely still there. He checks the name at the top of the chat just to make sure he’s not tripping and he’s read the name wrong. Nope. The picture is definitely from Jisung. He’s trying really hard not to stare at it, but his eyes keep getting drawn back to the picture in the middle of his screen. The picture that had made Minho nearly choke to death on his spinach and mushroom omelette. The picture of Jisung’s dick.
Or: Minho accidentally sends a text to his straight best friend asking for dick pics and he actually sends one back. Panic ensues.
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“Shit, god, we’re—we’re moving onto the bed,” Jisung pants, voice faint.
Minho raises his brows, blinking in confusion, but compiles, crawling onto the bed to join Jisung making himself comfortable against the bed frame. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, ‘s just,” Jisung inhales, slowly, grounding himself, “I’m so, so gay, bro.”
【𝐨𝐫】Han Jisung—a music genius, epitome of all that’s sexy, and... very straight. Lee Minho—Jisung’s bandmate and a dancer, without a single straight bone in his men-loving body. Inconveniently, Han Jisung falls under the ‘men’ category—Minho is utterly, thoroughly, fucked.
At least, until Jisung doesn’t get an idea.