linopudding
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“And…” Jisung placed the cigarette between his lips. The smell was starting to cloud Minho’s mind. “You meant what you said that day?”
“Huh?”
“About me being too young for you?” Jisung pressed.
“Yes, I meant that,” he muttered. At some point, he realized his gaze had fixed on the cigarette dangling from Jisung’s lips.
“Well, that’s a shame,” Jisung said, taking another drag.
Minho blinked. A shame? What was a shame?Bookmarked by linopudding
20 Sep 2025
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Jisung’s lips stretch kindly around his next words; these words that yank at Minho’s core and quietly request the truth, “You’ve gone so soft on me. It makes me wonder where this Minho has been hiding the whole time.”
This Minho comes from long-sleeves in torrid weather, from sidelong glances to burn the shape of Jisung’s profile into perfect recollection. Heart-shaped smiles framing that one crooked tooth. Hours spent lazing on the bench and strolling down the busy city streets of food markets. Bruises from hands that should heal them, fear flickering in pretty doe eyes at the thought of going back home, and a bed that feels too big now. This Minho comes from the deepest, most terrifying pit in Minho’s heart.
…
Minho doesn’t fall in love.
Red fabric, rouged lips, ruby scrapes. Blue skylines, bubbling riverfronts, broken-hearted homes. All coming together to paint Minho’s world in purple bruises and pink feelings.
Minho doesn’t fall in love. Until he absolutely does.
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Bookmarked by linopudding
09 Feb 2025
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The third picture, Chan is caught red handed.
Minho tells him they're doing silly faces, but Chan's gaze lingers a second too long and he catches Minho's chosen expression. It's his polite cat smile and his blown out eyes, and Chan is gone.
He is so far gone in the picture – moons for eyes and a disgustingly fond smile, not even looking at the camera but looking at Minho, seeing only Minho, thinking Minho, Minho, Minho – that it even sickens Chan to look at himself. The moment he had reaffirmed his awful feelings is immortalised into a photo strip, cradled in the hands of the very person he has those feelings for.
Minho laughs under his breath. It isn't convincing.
"What are you, in love with me, or something?" he teases, thumb grazing the third picture.
He's never said it out loud before.
Chan laughs through his nose and bumps their shoulders together, murmuring, loud enough for him to hear, "Or something."
or the one where best friends Minho and Chan go to the fair and leave as more.
Bookmarked by linopudding
03 Feb 2025
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Bookmarked by linopudding
29 Jan 2025
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Over the dead man’s shoulder, the tip of the sword drips blood onto Minho’s face. Dark crimson stains his bright, moonlit skin. Disgust and guilt run through Chan. He withdraws his sword and tosses the body aside, his mind only on one thing now.
Dropping to his knees, he reaches inside his robes and pulls out his handkerchief. Minho stares at him; though he is neither pale nor shaking, there is no mistaking the animalistic near-panic in his eyes, gleaming with ferality. Chan offers the handkerchief up like a devotee offers a sacrifice at a temple.
“Your face,” he whispers, voice hoarse.
Minho’s eyelashes tremble as he blinks, and then, he is human again.
Bound by honor, Chan marries his brother’s widower after his mysterious death. Though Minho is everything Chan could have ever dreamed of, not all is as it seems.
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Bookmarked by linopudding
14 Jan 2025