Archive of Our Own

It was at age 14 that Jisung decided he hated dancing. He never understood how the rest of his class caught on so easily, how they could just melt into the symphonies, with movements smooth as water, and precise as a pin. No, he never would understand it. How they twisted and turned, gracefully, looking like a falling cat and not an uncoordinated puppy trying to bite it's own butt, as he did.

It was at age 17, that he changed his mind.

Sneaking into unbooked practice rooms at night was no uncommon event- a number of trainees would shuffle about every now and then, looking for somewhere to refine their vocals, rap, and of course, dance. And on this particular night, Jisung just so happened to be in need of a little practice of the latest routine.

He paced up and down the hallways, checking for signs of a busy trainee within the rooms. Sweeps of light from under the doors, soft beats of music, and shoes tapping on the ground. Upon finally finding a room absent of all of those, excitement mixing with dread in his stomach, Jisung inches the door open. It was one of the bigger practice rooms, one that offered much tranquility and space, made for group dances and peace of mind. What luck, that he had managed to score one of the best studios! All for himself! Feeling little more confident and giddy in his fortune, he pushes the door aside and throws himself into the room. Finally, he could get those tricky footworks down, those turns and expressions, peacefully and all alone-

Maybe throwing his whole body into a practice room wasn't the best idea.

Finding himself not in the dark idyll of an empty studio, nor the sheets of his bed after an especially disappointing dream, but rather, the solid gaze of a boy, perhaps younger than him, sitting on the floor in a pink sweatshirt and sweatpants, tying pieces of fabric together definitely confirmed that.
The boy and his intruder stared awkwardly at each other, illuminated only by the light from the former's phone. Embarrassment stinging his cheeks, Jisung forced the only sound that he could muster from his lips.
"Hi."

The boy in the sweatshirt gave him a judgemental look, which could only be interpreted as 'who the hell are you and what are you doing here'

"Can I help you?"
Jisung straightened up immediately, like a bent straw that promptly snapped back to place.

"No.. I mean- um maybe?? Can-uhhh.. Can you forget this happened?"

"Um, no, not really?"

"Well uhhh... Great. Hi, I'm Jisung, Han Jisung. I'm a trainee at JY-"

"Jisung, we're in the JYP building right now."

"Right. Um. I'm.. A rapper??"

And a rapper he was. Jisung thanked whatever God up there that the two were shrouded in darkness. He was fairly certain that the colour in his cheeks resembled that of an overripe tomato, with how much it was burning inside of him, raging and cringing at every detail. Gosh... He really is a mess. His mind drifts back to the time he slept over at Hyunjin’s place, and learned the hard way to always read labels, and perhaps not put laxatives next to the Panadol. The rapper relaxes slightly.

"I was just looking for a place to practice my dance... I'm not that good, and I honestly need to do more work, so I was just... Looking for places to be, I guess."

The boy nods knowingly, and Jisung's heart slows down a few beats. That is, until the boy gets to his feet, and begins walking towards him. A million thoughts race through Han's head, and he freezes, yet his heart takes on a completely new pace. The mysterious stranger approached his figure, and Jisung stood there. Dumbly, he thought. But the stranger avoided him, instead walking around him to hit the light switch. Fluorescent light swathed his being, flooding his vision, and Jisung scrunches his body, covering his eyes with his hands, yelping as he adjusts to the harsh change in environment. The boy however, was completely unfazed by the lights, and seemed to find the his reaction quite amusing.

Out of the cracks in his fingers, Jisung saw the boy sway, chuckling away as light illuminated beauty he had not noticed earlier. Even through tiny crevices, Jisung saw the lips curling into a smile, the perfect complexion glowing underneath smile lines, and the laugh, sweet golden chuckles fluttering against his ears. The stranger before him was so incredibly beautiful, Jisung wanted to see more, and so he tore his hands from his face despite the protests from his sensitive eyes.

"Calm down, it's just some light." the boy said, after he finished laughing.

Jisung said nothing, instead, he nodded and took a good look at the boy whose practice he had just interrupted. The boy had dark hair, messy from practice, his pink sweatshirt resting over his figure, along with black sweatpants that hugged his toned legs. Jisung's eyes flitted to the mirror to compare his appearance with the stranger. His white graphic tee and jeans felt underwhelming in comparison to the boy's beauty, and Jisung cursed himself for not wearing something better. Now fully convinced that the boy was either an angel or an incubus, he took a few steps towards the door. After all, spending the night staring at a hot guy wasn't going to help his dance skills.

I'm... Gonna go. Sorry for disturbing you..."

He made it halfway to the doorway before the stranger intercepted him, stepping between him and the door.

"Hold on. You want to practice dance, right?"

"Yes?" Jisung nodded slowly.

"I can help you. I'm a dancer." the boy flashed him a grin, and damn... If Jisung wasn't gay before, he sure is gay now.

"Really?"

"Yes really!" the boy smiles wider. Jisung averts his gaze.

"I'm really bad..."

"That doesn't matter."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh come on Han Jisung, you barge into my room, and leave without at least letting me introduce myself?"
Jisung's eyes snap back up. He said my name... the stranger had a modulated voice, one that he found very pleasant, especially when bent around his name. The realization scales his back that he did not know the boy's name. A nervous titter escapes his throat, and he agrees silently.

"I'm Minho, by the way. Lee Minho. I'm 17."
The rapper's heart skips a beat. The boy- Minho was older than him!

"You can call me Jisung. I'm... I'm 16."

"Nice to meet you, Jisung~"

"It's nice to meet you too... Hyung."

"Let's get started, shall we?"

* * *

Spin, keep your torso steady, and don’t lean forward… Extend your arm sharply... The music! Keep in time with the music… Face wrinkled with focus, Jisung danced his way across the room’s timber flooring. Minho watched from a corner, arms crossed. Step.. step… arm… See the music… The elder had told him earlier, innocence filling his pupils, to imagine the music as if were around him, as if he could see it. Could feel it. And God knows, he was trying. Gotta see the music. What would it feel like if I could really touch it? Like leaves surfing the chilly Autumn wind? Or the first drops of rain in Summer, splicing through the humid temperatures? See the music, Jisung. See the-
The music took a dip, and so did Jisung, slipping on some unknown force. The rapper tumbled to the floor with a screech, and the unforgiving music played on. He sat up, rubbing his hip and elbow, giving noises of discomfort, and Minho was in fits.

“Are…Are you okay?” the dancer called between laughs.

“Ow… I think I broke something…” Jisung mumbles. “Stop laughing! You’re making it worse!”
It was the sixth time he’d fallen that night, and for some godforsaken reason, Minho still found it funny.

“What’d you break?” Minho stifles a few giggles.

“My spirit!”

And suddenly Minho was in fits again.

When the humour of the situation had passed, Jisung just sat on the floor, face buried in his hands. It seemed that he could never get it right. It was too hard. The choreography was just impossible. Well… Impossible for him, seeing as Minho had done the routine perfectly on his ninth try, maintaining his incredulous beauty throughout. He lets out a frustrated groan.

“Ahh!! It’s too hard.” He whined. They had been trying for over two hours now, and he still could not execute it perfectly. Every time, he’d mess up only a little, it was far from bad, but never perfect. It drove him insane, knowing that he was so close, yet so far. Jisung glances at the clock. Two fifty-five in the morning. At least he didn’t have school.

From the corner of his eye, Jisung sees Minho sigh, and pull his sweatshirt over his head to reveal a grey T-shirt underneath. The cloth was tighter, and showed off more definition than the sweatshirt dared to. Was there anything about him that was not beautiful? The thought brought him back to the first time he met Hyunjin, his now best friend. The latter was new at the company, and had a tendency to steal the hearts of everyone who saw him. Unintentionally, of course. He was just so incredibly pretty. No one could deny it, not even Hyunjin himself, though he may have liked to.

“I think you need to take a break.”

Snapped out of his memories by a voice, the voice of Lee Minho, JYP trainee, dancer, incubus, who was currently squatting in front of him, with a concerned look on his face, Jisung blinks twice.

“No… I’m fine, let’s keep going. Sorry…” He replied wearily, shuffling to his feet. Minho followed the gesture, but worry was still evident on his features.

“You need a break.” Minho places a hand on the side of his arm. “We’re taking a break.”

“Hyung I-”

“Jisung.”

Jisung said nothing, only nodded as he looked down at his shoes, black vans and white laces. He subconsciously toed the floor, casting his gaze up to Minho again, who was smiling gently at the younger, the corners of his lips pulled ever so slightly, as furrowed brows relax and the dancer blinks at him.

“You know what?” Minho said, stepping away from Jisung.

“What?”

“I think…” the older continued, walking towards his phone.

“You think?”

“I think you can sit there, and watch me dance for a while.” Minho unplugs Jisung’s phone from the speaker, and replaces it with his own, hitting play on his favourite playlist. The first song is slow, gentle and soft. The dancer gives a soft ‘Scooch!’ to the younger as he takes the floor.

Piano notes flutter lightly in the air, and Minho slides into place with all of them. Together, they played a sweet, wholesome melody. The dancer’s movements were flawlessly stitched together and perfectly expressive, it really seemed like he could see each note and catch it on his fingers, like tender flakes of snow that would melt if not cradled by Minho’s knowing touch. Jisung stared into the air, trying all his best to imagine what he couldn’t see, as the older guided his body through every note, every beat, every melody. Then as the music takes a higher key, he immediately follows, slowing down and speeding up with the song, letting the music, bitterly sweet, carry his form.

It takes the end of the song for Jisung to realize he wasn’t breathing for half of it, afraid to blow the notes out of place with his own incompetence. Minho takes the time between songs to smile at the breath-taken boy, eyes crinkling in the most delightful way imaginable. As the second song begins, and he breaks into dance once more, Jisung wonders if he would ever be able to achieve a level of dance half as good.

Minutes pass with one boy seated, absolutely floored at the other’s performance. But when the fifth song plays, Minho announces that he is too tired to continue, and roughly seats himself with his back against the mirror next to Jisung.
When the latter makes no attempt at conversation, Minho turns to him.

“How was I?”
Jisung looks at him in admiration and disbelief. A few giggles escape him, and the two smile at each other.

“It was so good, it made me want to try again.”

“Did I fix your spirit?”
They share a brief moment of laughter, and Jisung springs to his feet, groaning as he shakes his stiff limbs. Doing a few quick stretches before heading over to the phone.

“Hyung, what’s your password?”

Minho wipes some sweat off his brow, and God forbid a man look so alluring. He leans back against the mirror and sighs.
“4744.”

Jisung taps the number into his phone, and sorts through Minho’s playlist. The fifth song was still playing over the speaker, a pleasant, light melody, which carried a distinctive vibe. Jisung made a mental note to add the song to his own playlist.

“Hey Jisung,”

“Hm?”

“What’s your favourite season?”

“My favourite season?”

“Yeah.”

“Winter.”

“Really?!” Minho sits up to look at the younger.

“Yeah.”

“But you’re so cheerful, and everything about you just… Just screams ‘Summer’!” the dancer protests.

“You think that?”

I mean, I just can’t believe a person who throws themselves into a dark room to practice their least favourite thing in the world with all the vigor as ten puppies would say they favour something as cold and harsh as Winter.”

Jisung shrugs. “Opposites attract, I guess… And also, Winter is not harsh. It is beautiful.”
Minho was silent for a few seconds, and Jisung was furiously scrolling through the dozens of playlists.

“I really like Winter too.”

The fifth song was just finishing when Jisung found his. He scrubbed up to the start of the choreography, and hit play. Immediately he began to dance, carefully, to avoid another unintended encounter with the floor.
See the music…
Though he probably should have been focusing on his own dance, he couldn’t help as his mind drifted back to the image of Minho dancing, eyes closed as he nails every aspect of dance Jisung thought of.
Step, shuffle, turn.
Those alluring moves, rippling through the air, perfectly capturing each note in taut expression.
Jump… Land softly… Step kick, two steps.
The sweatpants that hugged his legs, and the shirt that clings to his well-toned body, wet with drops of exhaustion.
One two three four, four three, two, one. And a jump. Land softly.
How he jumped, and landed, bouncing into action with no wasted time.
Step, kick, step, shuffle, reach out…
How he had complete control of his facial expression, sombre to match the music’s ashen melody, or excited, as he throws himself into a rapid pace of footwork.
Bend, finish.
The choreography was over as quickly as it began. Jisung remained in his finishing position, breathing heavily.

Standing up straight again, he examines himself. His legs shook from exertion, and he couldn’t hold his hands still even as he reached up to fix his hair. Damp fabric hung at his waist, the white graphic tee had slipped slightly, and he shrugged his shoulders to reposition the cloth. Slowly, his eyes moved up, gaze sliding across the wood, dragging itself upwards until he could see the bottom of converse shoes. They were worn, covered in dust from the floor, and they met the timber in giddy little steps as their owner cheered.

“That was perfect!”

There’s an angel coming towards him. Jisung couldn’t help but think, as his hyung jumped up and down like a five-year old on Christmas. Yet the reason why doesn’t hit him, instead it rears, like a wave, high on the shore, towering over Jisung. And when Minho’s excitement bubbles over, and he tackles Jisung to the floor with a crushing hug, the epiphany crashes on him.
He laughs before he can stop it.
They’d been here for two-and-a-half hours.
And he finally did it.

Jisung finds himself tangled in the arms of Lee Minho. The two rolled on the floor in laughter, sweat mixing as black and white pressed against each other. The touch felt strange- they’d only met a couple hours ago, and yet they felt as if they’d known each other for ages.

Maybe they knew each other in a past life.

“Hyung-”

“That was so good!”

Joyful laughter fills the room, mingling with the steady beats of the music, and Jisung wasn't sure whether it was tears or sweat smeared down his face. The two settled a bit, and Minho pushes Jisung to arms length on the floor, holding him by a shoulder.
“Was my dancing that good that it fixed yours?”
Jisung bursts into happy little giggles, wiping his eyes and nodding.
Minho joins him.

And one song was spent just laying there, on the sweaty dance floor enveloped with lazy conversation and a strong bass. They really click well. Jisung thought, through tired, half-lidded eyes. Talking with Minho felt so natural, and he let himself notice the little things, like the way he blinked in time with the music, or how his eyes flitted this way and that whenever Jisung wasn't talking. By the time the song finished, he swore he had an entire book of pretty little things about Minho.

* * *

A song began in graceful, elegant notes. They resonated through the practice room, almost melancholy. Hopeful, yet despairing, and Jisung recognizes the tune as the start of Mariage D’amoure. Minho sits up almost immediately, eyes darting around the room before landing back on Jisung.
“That’s enough lying around,” the dancer tugs on Jisung’s collar. “This is my all-time favourite song.”

Jisung pushes himself up wearily.

“Really?”

“Yeah!” Minho rises to his feet, eager to dance.

“I thought you’d like something fast and hype,” Jisung stands up with a groan “Not something so light and classical…”

Minho shrugs. “I always felt some kind of connection to it. It has such a grim yet hopeful tone, but it’s named after love.”

The rapper hums, wondering how the dancer would translate the music this time. Would it be slow and expressive? Or would he elegantly leap through the bars, light in his step? He decided that, he wouldn’t really mind, as long as it were Minho. Jisung sighed, stretching a little, and observed his impromptu dance tutor beginning to dance, swaying this way and that with the music, rising and falling, caressing each note with care. Recognition washes over Jisung as Minho swept the floor in a graceful waltz.

Minho stepped closer to him, and away again, in time with the flowing rhythm, arms outstretched to grasp an invisible partner. He spun around, and Jisung watched, eyes wide with the wonder of an epiphany.
He finally saw now.
The music.
Music was Minho’s partner, his love, his life. He loved dancing, and in his step, one could see every note, every inch of his being devoted to his purpose, to dance, to feel, to translate the music for people like Jisung. The beauty of music took physical form in the shape of Lee Minho.

And the beauty of music was currently waltzing towards him, weaving and sliding across the timber dance floor. With a finesse he had never seen before, and never would see again in another, they swooped, dancing, waltzing, until they were mere inches apart with Jisung, and then they spoke.

“You’ve been working so hard,” the voice sounded so calm, so poised, and the voice belonged to Minho, the shape of music himself. Jisung knew not what to say, and so he stayed silent. Minho cracked a smile at the awestricken boy, and reached for his hand.
Jisung felt fingers firmly grasp with his own, snatching him out of his trance.
“WOa woa woa okay”

Giggling, Minho snaked his other hand to Jisung’s waist, resting on his side. Jisung laughs nervously, his spare hand grabbing at Minho’s arm.
“What are- What are you doing!?”

“Well, you finally got your choreography right, so I thought we might celebrate.” the dancer says half-heartedly.

That was all the explanation he got before Minho pulled him into the music, and took off into a waltz.

Jisung stumbled a few steps, unable to follow the dancer’s grace. Eyes cast down at the older’s feet, attempting, however feeble, to keep up with Minho’s flair. His stress must have been apparent, as the dancer slowed down for the younger to adjust.

“Relax. Just relax.”

But he could not relax. Who could, when they were ballroom dancing with Lee Minho?

“Look at me,” Minho’s voice cut through the piano, “Don’t look at my feet, look at me.”

Hesitantly, with the encouragement, the rapper brought his gaze upwards to meet Minho’s. His gaze tenderly held Jisung’s as they danced. Their steps slowed, and the rapper tread carefully to avoid stepping on his partner.

Jisung felt like melting. It was bliss, melting into song with someone he’d met mere hours ago, feeling more grounded than ever, wrapped up in the shape of music, yet so aloft as he allowed himself to get lost in those eyes. Was this what music looked like? How had I never seen it before? How is it that I, someone who makes music, had been so blind? The questions dragged disappointment through his mind, yet by the time he blinked next, rounded pupils focusing on Minho’s, the feeling was evanescent.
The pair waltzed across the floor, their clasped hands held high. Jisung came to rest his hand on Minho’s shoulder, while he held him close by the waist. Ethereal piano notes hung in the air around them. Minho guided Jisung around with each step, and he grew confident in his strides.
A warmth spread through Jisung's chest, gradually at first, then all at once. It
tickled his throat, and a giggle broke the silence between the two. He couldn’t stop smiling.

“Is there something on my face?”

“Only beauty"

For the first time that night, Minho was the one to be flustered. A light shade of pink dusted itself across his cheeks and ears, like the flowers Jisung’s grandmother grew in summer, and his smile faltered for a second before returning twice the size as before. Adorable. A spark of pride rose in the younger. He made Minho blush.

“Confident now, aren't you?” the elder laughs. “Well, let's step it up a level.”
Tugging the younger’s arm, Minho guided them into a faster pace, their bodies rocking heavily while they waltzed. Jisung inhales sharply as he adjusts to the new rhythm. For a few milliseconds, he felt them detach from the music's flow, before plunging right back in. Like a fish jumping out of water, breaching the serenity only to reseal it. The motion felt so surreal, so unlike himself. It was all so strange. How they danced, the way he felt in that moment, so… Happy.

Ah, that's the word. Jisung was happy to be dancing. Draped like cloth over the shape of music, frayed edges skimming the timber, he felt happy.
When Minho pushed him out by his waist, unravelling them up to the tips of their fingers, he felt happy.
When he felt the light tug on his hand, and he spun them back together, he couldn't stop the grin.
When they took matching strides, confidently, in every direction they wanted, he even laughed.
When Minho gave control to Jisung for a moment, and he pulled them over into a dip, he never wanted to stop.
When Minho brought them back up, and a few moments were spent in comfortable recalibration, he forgot everything about Minho only to learn it again.
And when the song ended, leaving Jisung to realize their hands had interwoven at some point, heat flushed through him, burning a mark in his heart.

Maybe dancing wasn't so bad after all.

Minho smiled at him, and Jisung returned the gesture. Breaths falling heavily on his lungs, he drove himself towards the mirror before crashing against it, Minho following suit.
Against the mirror they lay, enveloped in humid air, and the smell of sweat. Their intertwined hands grew warm in the fluorescent lights, reminiscent of their shared dance.
Jisung's mind flew. To the start of yesterday, where he woke up after only a few hours of rest, promptly washed up and left for the company. He'd walked in through the doors like any other day, greeted Changbin, Felix, Woojin, and Chan passed out on a desk somewhere. After hours of work, he hugged Seungmin when the latter arrived, and soon, Hyunjin and Jeongin too. He and the 3racha members worked a bit on songs together, and then it was back to practice.

No, today wasn't any different. But as he sat there, etching the details of the hours into his mind, etching Minho's image and their dance into his mind, he couldn't shake off the feeling that this day, this night, marked something unremarkably remarkable.

“Oi, Jisung, what's the time?”
Jolted out of his small flashback, Jisung ran his spare hand through his hair. Sighing and mumbling that his phone was on the speaker, he stood up agonizingly. Muscles screaming like age-old metal, he slips out of Minho's hand and shambles awkwardly towards the speaker as the dancer stifles a few laughs behind him.

“It is…” Jisung picked up his phone, “Oh my gosh, it's almost twenty past three.”

“Really?!” Minho replied in disbelief.

“Yeah! We've been here for more than three hours!”

“We've met for three hours.”

“Happy Anniversary!! What a milestone! Three hours, gosh!” Jisung chuckles softly in his exhaustion. Minho joins him. The moment passes, and it would only be later that Jisung realizes how much he loved making Minho laugh. As he leans over to pick up a water bottle that they'd sat on the floor next to the speaker, his smile doesn't falter.

“Get me my phone while you're there, will you?”

“M’kay”

Before returning to mirror, the younger takes a moment to examine himself. White graphic tee. Ripped jeans. Black converse with white laces. Rounded hazelnut pupils and chubby cheeks. His hair fell into a mess, pushed back by his nervous grooming and sweat. He was still Jisung on the outside.

But something definitely changed.

Slumping against the cool surface next to Minho and handing him his phone, he sat there pondering how today was any different from yesterday, sans his (very talented) new friend next to him, and perhaps he had ramen for dinner, not rice cakes. When he could not decipher the strange change, he decided he'd ask Seungmin or Woojin later, and Chan, if he had time. They always knew what to do.

But for now, he'd settle for staying here.

Minho scratched the side of his neck subconsciously as he stared at the light on his phone. Jisung couldn't help his boredom.

“Who're you textin'?”
He asked, leaning closer to Minho.

“A friend.”
He replied, flashing a quick smile at Jisung.

“You probably know him.”

“Huh?”

“I'm texting Jungkook.”

“HUH?!”

“Jungkook? Like the Jungkook?”

Minho nods curtly, as if revelling in his reaction.

“Oh my god.” He's not human. “You know him?”

“I was a backup dancer for BTS.”

Definitely not human.

“That's crazy.”

“It sure is,” Minho smiles at him between texts “Almost as crazy as throwing yourself into a practice room at 12 am and then proceeding to dance the person who was in the practice room for three hours.”

They share a chuckle. But that's how all good friendships start, isn't it?

“Hey uh, I gotta go. But I hope I helped with your dancing.”

“Oh,” Jisung begins, a bit of sadness begins pooling at the bottom of his heart. All good nights have to end sometime. “Then I better be off as well. Thank you so much, Hyung.”

The boys stand up, and Minho starts packing up his things, tying them into a tight little bundle. He was really a strange person. Who makes bundles anymore? Jisung stands, holding the door open with his body, watching as the elder trots over with his bundle cradled in his arms.
They walk out together, down the hallway and into the elevator. Chatting as they listened to the soft music.

“We could totally dance to this weird elevator music.” Jisung quips.

“We totally could. The question is whether or not we should.”
The elevator dings as they approach ground floor. The doors slide open, and they start making their way to the entrance of the building.

“Hey hey Jisung, do you think elevators have feelings?”

“What?”

“I said, do you think elevators have feelings?” Minho gestures wildly. “And they get offended when you put too many people on them, they can't deal with the workload and have a breakdown?”

“Uhhhhhhhhh… Sure? Why do you ask?”

“just felt like it.”
Jisung laughs.

“Okay.”

* * *

“Rest well!”

“You too!”
His smile looked so bright in the steady streetlights.

“Rest well!”

“You too!”
His smile looked so bright in the steady streetlights. His hair was messed up from their impromptu rendezvous, and a bead of sweat trickled down his face.

“Rest well!”

“You too!”
His smile looked so bright in the steady streetlights. His hair was messed up from their impromptu rendezvous, and a bead of sweat trickled down his face. They smelt of Minho’s perfume and the dusty practice room. Their hands were still warm despite the cold morning air.

“Rest well!”

“You too!”

Jisung sighs. Playing the scene again and again in his head, he almost forgot to condition his hair. Toweling himself off, a groggy Jisung steps out of the shower, hissing at the cold. Almost crashing into the door, he wraps the towel around him and turns off the lights.
When he found his way to his bed, reaching for a pair of earphones and his phone, Jisung crashes into the soft sheets. Smiling at the comfort of his bed, his music, and the soothing darkness, he drips into unconsciousness, first his legs, then his hands, his body, his neck, and lastly, his-
Oh my God.
Jisung jolts himself awake for a moment, slipping out of his rest. Doused with sleep, his mind summons one thought.

I forgot to get Minho’s phone number.