starryskay
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It is a stupidly terrifying thought to picture Seoul without Nicholas in it. Nicholas has been less of a friend and more of a fact, something Euijoo never considered removable. And now—maybe he is. Maybe tomorrow or February or some terrible soon, Nicholas will shift categories from person I know like a second self to person I used to know.
And if this goes horribly—if Euijoo does what he’s planning and it detonates right in his face—he can always claim ignorance in the morning. He can blame the beer. He can say he doesn’t remember. Because what he’s about to do is stupid. Not just stupid—borderline catastrophic. But there’s another voice, quieter, stubborn: better to look stupid now than to spend the rest of your life wondering what if.
Bookmarked by starryskay
26 Jan 2026
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A sniffle.
Minho turns, confused, and catches Jisung wiping at his cheek.
“…Are you crying?” he asks, frowning.
Jisung blinks at him, glassy-eyed and a tiny bit miserable. He doesn’t even pretend to deny it this time. He lifts his head with the devastated honesty only the heartbroken and intoxicated can manage.
“Yes,” he admits simply. “I’m crying. Because I’m drunk.”
"Oh." Minho blinks, then lets out a startled laugh. “Oh, no.”
or: Jisung is drunk and can't stop talking about Minho's voice– until he starts talking about love.
Bookmarked by starryskay
12 Jan 2026
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“Hyung,” he calls, voice lighter now. “Come here.”
Minho steps closer, his gaze flicking between Jisung’s face and the oranges hanging from the branches. Jisung rolls one gently in the palm of his hand before he lets it go.
“You don’t just grab the first one you see,” he says, his voice soft. “You want to look for the ones that feel heavy for their size. That means they’re juicy. See this? The skin should be firm but not too tough. A little bit of give when you press it—” He presses his thumb against the surface, demonstrating. “That’s how you know it’s good.”
Minho hums, thoughtful, then plucks an orange from the branch, testing it the way Jisung showed him. His fingers press into the peel just slightly, and he nods, satisfied. “Like this?”
Jisung glances at it, then at Minho, and something warm unfurls in his chest— small, quiet, but persistent. “Yeah,” he says, smiling. “Exactly like that.”
(OR: Minho and Jisung, and the start of a summer romance.)
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Bookmarked by starryskay
06 Jan 2026
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“You’re my best friend,” Nicholas says, and Euijoo only swallows.
Or: In the stifling Osaka heat, Euijoo makes a decision.
Bookmarked by starryskay
12 Dec 2025
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“Tell me to leave,” Euijoo finally says, words dripping with barely stifled emotion. “Nicho, tell me to go.”
But Nicholas has always been a slave to his hunger. It was the thing that pushed him thousands of kilometers from home, wrung the last of his childhood dreams out of his soul, landed him on his best friend’s doorstep even after he’d spent the last three excruciating months trying to let him go.
Nicholas, dealing with the aftermath of being abruptly cast out of the fashion industry he’s dreamed his whole life about, ends up having to crash at Euijoo’s. His heat ruins things, and then some.
Bookmarked by starryskay
09 Dec 2025