etterathi
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“Your hair’s gotten pretty long.”
The catalyst. That’s what Jisung calls it, at least in his head.
“I haven’t really had the time to get it trimmed,” Jisung had answered absently, his mind fixated on the jellyfish propelling themselves across the screen, like underwater dancers.
“You shouldn’t,” Minho had said, and Jisung could hear him slightly adjusting in his seat, could feel the cushions shifting consequently. “It looks good.”
Jisung didn’t give Minho’s words a second thought, too engrossed by the oceanic scene portrayed on the TV, much too accustomed to his friend’s out-of-the-blue remarks.
Touch is what Jisung felt next. Fingers skimming through his hair, barely grazing his scalp; a fleeting touch. Jisung imperceptibly tensed, startled by the sudden contact.
Now this; this wasn’t normal. Not exactly.
or: Minho takes a liking in braiding Jisung's hair, and Jisung doesn't know what to do with the little tug he feels in his chest every time.
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But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Even if Jisung had left his heart alone, Minho would’ve taken pliers to his own chest and broken his ribs into halves to reach in and give his heart to Jisung all the same.
He knew this from the start.
Ruined.
Minho learns what a soulmate is, and how to let Jisung take care of him, too.
[ 250507 : FIC HAS BEEN REWRITTEN, READ NOTES ]
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Bookmarked by etterathi
18 Jun 2025
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“Hyung.”
Minho kissed him again. Once. Twice. Soft and wet, dew on a rose. “Hm?”
“This won’t change things, right?”
“No, jagiya,” Minho said. “This won’t change anything, not for me.”
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Bookmarked by etterathi
06 Jun 2025
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“Jisung-ssi,” Minho breathes, voice barely audible over the weight of the world pushing down on him. “I know this sounds crazy, but do you believe in fate?”
Jisung smiles and it’s genuine. “No. But you do.”
Minho snorts and sits back in his chair, surprised at the certainty in which Jisung speaks. “I think you’re pushing your luck.”
“I don’t think it’s luck.”
“So it is fate,” Minho teases, cocking his head. He picks up his notepad and takes his pen out from behind his ear, underlining the word ‘romantic’ with two tight lines.
“No,” Jisung says again, big eyes turning sad. “I think things just happen. Even when they’re not supposed to.”
(OR: Minho and Jisung find each other in every life, even when the universe doesn't want them to. It does everything to stop them and they do everything to keep going.)
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Bookmarked by etterathi
23 Apr 2025
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The ballet dancer’s soft voice breaks through the buzzing black and white static that fills Jisung’s mind.
“Hello.”
“Ahh–” Jisung stumbles over himself for a moment, chewing his lip to get himself in order. “I’m Han Jisung, born in 2000. It's nice to meet you.”
Well. Shit. As if he needed anymore proof of how limited his ‘gift with words’ truly was. He shouldn’t have left the house, he clearly can’t be in society.
The dancer’s face lights up in amusement. “Wow, so formal and polite. I’m Minho.”
Minho’s smirk shifts again like mercury.
No, Jisung corrects himself, Minho feels too assured to be quicksilver.
It’s like the seasons. Like the spring melt. A change that brings relief. A shift so steady it feels stablising
Or: Jisung is a poet experiencing major writer's block. He goes out to find inspiration when he finds the ballet dancer Minho.
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Bookmarked by etterathi
19 Apr 2025
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La Scala. One of the most infamous, beautiful venues in Europe. Erected in the 18th century, the theatre is a notorious nucleus of the arts – ballet, classical music, opera. A mecca of creativity and romanticism.
“The season opening gala is on December 7th in Milan,” the Dean says. "That’s not much time to prepare, but I have the utmost faith that the two of you can manage to pull something together by then. Juilliard will sponsor your travel. All of the information you need is in the packet.”
Quietness garlands the room in glittering anticipation; Minho’s mind struggles to encompass all that he’s being told. An invitation to perform at an international event draped in as much glory as this is beyond what his brain can comprehend.
“I’m in if you are.” The voice is novel to his ear – impossibly warm, low. Baked honey spilling past peony-pink lips that are rouge with anxious abuse. Jisung’s timbre drapes Minho in gauzy gumption. He meets the younger’s guarded gaze head-on.
Who is he to say no?
𝄞༺ ₊˚⊹˚₊ ༻𝄢
Minho is chosen for a prestigious, career-changing opportunity. Unfortunately, he's paired with the most insufferable piano prodigy Juilliard has to offer.
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Bookmarked by etterathi
16 Apr 2025