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And one day we could be
Maybe more than two lost souls just passing by
He meets Lee Minho on a Monday night, close to midnight outside the club where he had been playing at for his gig. The high of adrenaline from performing has long dissipated, and he had come out for air, not feeling like getting wasted on a Monday night. All around him is the reek of alcohol and sweat but then he meets Lee Minho and Lee Minho smells like something soft, sweet, and the night sky is void of stars because they have all relocated into Minho's eyes.
“I like your music,” Lee Minho says, his words drawn together like beads on a string, slurring softly into each other - from alcohol or exhaustion, Jisung can’t tell.
“I’m doing another gig soon,” Is what Jisung says, because it’s past midnight and nothing exists after that time. Perhaps Lee Minho isn’t even real, just a figment constructed by his fatigue, but then he steps closer to Jisung and he is so real, almost glowing in the dimness of the street.
“And I’m a dancer,” Lee Minho says, a smile quirking the corners of his lips up. No relation at all; he’s playing Jisung’s game.
There’s nothing to it, Jisung thinks as Minho smiles at him, for him, but in the next moment there’s a hand tangled in his hair and another at the nape of his neck. All he can smell in his nose is Minho’s scent, drowning out the rest of the club behind them. And it’s him, him who has pressed Minho into the wall, one hand on his cheek and the other at his hip, faces so close that Jisung can taste Minho’s breath. No alcohol.
“Will you come to my next gig if I kiss you?” Jisung asks, just a hint of teasing.
“Why don’t you find out?” Minho returns, once again playing the same game as Jisung, and then his eyes close and his eyelashes flutter over the highs of his cheeks and - there’s nothing to it. Another Monday night, another stranger. (except this isn’t. jisung knows it isn’t. this minho - isn’t just some stranger, won’t remain as just some stranger.)
Jisung leans in, doesn’t shut his eyes until he feels their lips press together. Nothing, he had told himself, but as quick as he thought that quicker does he start to associate insistent tugging in his hair and high, pretty whines with Lee Minho.
And Minho doesn’t stop, keeps feeding these beautiful sounds unfiltered straight into Jisung’s mouth, warming Jisung until he can feel heat pooling in his fingertips. He presses his fingers into Minho’s hip, hopes vaguely that it might mark Minho’s skin even though he knows Minho is wearing jeans.
There’s nothing to it. (except it’s not.)
Minho’s skin is so soft under his fingers; his lips are plush and kiss back into him just as eagerly as Jisung kisses him; his hands are warm, drawing their bodies closer together than Jisung would have thought possible. There’s nothing to it but suddenly all Jisung can think of is Lee Minho and the way he feels, the way he sounds, the way he kisses, the way their bodies feel against each other.
“I’m Han Jisung,” Jisung finally says when they part and his eyes are drawn to the red of Minho’s mouth, shiny with saliva.
“I know you are,” Minho says, and when he looks into Jisung’s eyes there is something there that almost approaches tenderness; almost, but not quite. “And you don’t know what am I, do you?” There’s a length of black velvet wrapped around his throat that Jisung has just noticed, and he moves a hand from Minho’s cheek to trace at the choker, taking his time to reply.
“I don’t, but I could,” Jisung murmurs, because this conversation is not for the world to listen to. “Will you let me find out who you are, Lee Minho?”
Minho laughs a little then, a laughter only meant for their ears. Jisung wants to take that laughter and keep it for himself, keep it in a glass jar where he can listen to it over and over again when he’s lost himself and doesn’t know what it means to breathe. This isn’t nothing anymore. This is Lee Minho.
“Come home with me,” Minho whispers, “come home with me and you will.” It’s a promise made beneath neon traffic lights and fluorescent convenience stores and dim bar signs, and they cast colours over his features; it makes Jisung think of his childhood fairy tales, of elves and dwarves and fairies and everything ethereal. Fairy come to life, Jisung thinks faintly, and can’t help the smile gracing over his own face as he watches Minho tip his head to let Jisung touch his neck.
“‘Ve got stuff to pack up, pretty,” Jisung says regretfully, his responsibilities starting to leak back into his mind. “Unless you want to wait for me for another good hour or so.”
“I think if I had somewhere to be I would already be there,” Minho says, and pushes himself off the wall, brings the hand that’s tangled in Jisung’s hair to smooth it out then down to put it over where Jisung’s hand is on his hip. “I’ll be the pretty one on your arm tonight, hmm?” He tangles Jisung’s hand with his as they walk back inside the bar, instantly overtaken by the loud of the music and the wild of people drinking and dancing.
“If I had my way,” Jisung says, stopping in the middle of the crowd and pulling Minho close to him, almost serious as he looks into Minho’s eyes, “you would be the only pretty one on my arm every night.”
“I try my best to be pretty,” Minho says, laughter imbued in his voice, but in the next moment he is tender and he cups Jisung’s cheek in his hand, pressing the softness gently. “Tell me when and where your next gig is.”
Jisung nestles into the warmth of Minho’s hand, doesn’t want to forget it. This isn’t nothing anymore. “Same place, next Friday, from 9,” He breathes, hot and warm into the humid club air, and lets Minho trace the shape of his bottom lip.
“That’s still some time away,” Minho says, and makes a little sound that Jisung can hear even through all the bass of the club music. It’s such a small sound of disappointment that Jisung wants to wrap Minho up, make sure he never gets that disappointed, wants to keep Minho with his laughter and smile. Wants Lee Minho.
“I know, pretty, I know,” Jisung says, eyes raking over Minho’s face, commits it to memory. Decides he should try and remember his voice and laughter as well.
“Lucky for you, I dance,” Minho murmurs, coy little smile on his face.
“I hope you do. We’re in a club,” Jisung remarks, dry, but he can’t help the fondness bubbling up in his chest.
“Come and see me,” Minho requests, voice like honey in his ear as they’re made to press closer together by the thronging crowd. “Wednesday, Base Play studio. I’ll be dancing there for a class in the afternoon.”
“Pretty wants me to see him dancing?” Jisung breathes, taking Minho through the crowd and up beside the stage where some of his bandmates are loitering, slowly packing up. “Or do you just want to see me again?”
“Come and find out,” Minho repeats, smile still coy and mischievous, eyes bright. There are promises in his words and Jisung wants to listen to him, wait for him to spill each one, trace the words over and over again until they’re indelible ink and Minho has a permanent space in his heart, his life.
“Jisung.” Behind them, Jisung can hear Changbin calling for him.
“Changbin-hyung?” Jisung questions, body just turned halfway, still holding onto Minho.
Changbin looks surprised when he catches sight of Minho. “You’ve got someone with you? I’ve never seen you pick up anyone…”
Jisung feels Minho squeeze his hand.
“Anyway, we need to pack up. I’m beat, and we have to start preparing for the next one already.”
“Gotcha, hyung. Gimme two seconds.” Jisung turns back to Minho, fishing out his phone. “Can I have your number, pretty?”
“Of course.” Minho takes his phone, types his number in. Jisung can’t help it when his heart warms when he sees how Minho types - his fingers are laced together on the back of the phone, and the light of the screen casts highlights on his face.
“Does this mean I have to leave?” Minho asks, handing the phone back to Jisung and watching them pack up with wide eyes.
“If you have somewhere else to be,” Jisung says, then realises the time. “Are you okay going home alone? Did you come with friends?”
“I came with some friends, I can go home with them,” Minho assures him, but doesn’t move from his spot. Something in his gaze reminds Jisung of what he said earlier. Come home with me.
“Hey,” Chan says, coming up to press on Jisung’s shoulder, “you can go with him once you help us get all this in the van. If you want to, that is.”
“Wait for me?” Jisung asks Minho quietly.
“As long as you need,” Minho promises, then sits down on the edge of the stage, out of the way and watches them with fascinated eyes.
“So, who’s your boy?” Changbin asks, nudging Jisung’s side with his elbow as they move their stuff into the van in the car park. “You guys seem really close already.”
“His name is Lee Minho,” Jisung starts. Pauses; thinks about what Changbin’s just said. “I know this is weird, hyung, I don’t even just start talking to strangers but he said he liked my - our music and I just… I don’t know. He feels - right.”
Changbin finishes sliding the amp into the van and turns around. “Gut instinct,” Is all he says.
“What gut instinct?”
“Trust it. Trust yours. Take another chance at being happy, Jisung-ah.”
Changbin’s words stay with Jisung until he finishes packing up, until he waves his hyungs goodbye and assures them he’ll call, until he goes back into the club and finds Minho waiting for him by the stage.
Take another chance at being happy, the words remind him as he sees Minho’s face light up when he approaches.
“Are you done?” Minho asks, and Jisung has this urge to just… hug Minho. Really tightly. “I - woah!” He does.
Minho still smells just as soft and sweet when they were kissing a while ago, and Jisung feels like he’s recharging, hugging Minho like this, one arm around his shoulders and the other round his waist, face buried in his neck.
“Jisung?” Minho asks softly, arms winding around Jisung’s body as well.
“Nothing,” Jisung says, muffled into Minho’s skin, but he doesn’t mean that. He means everything. He means the night sky and the stars and neon lights and laughter and pretty eyes.
“Come home with me?” Minho requests once more, words traced onto the side of his neck.
Jisung pulls back, looks at Minho. Thinks that Minho looks pretty underneath this neon lighting. Thinks about what the flutter in his chest means. Thinks about the spark in Minho’s eyes.
“I would love to.”
In the ten minutes that it takes for them to walk to Minho’s apartment, they’ve managed to hold hands and stick together so tightly that the coldness of the twilight doesn’t bother Jisung.
“Why did you come here?” Jisung asks as Minho directs them down a residential street, “Like, the bar, I mean.”
“My friends made me,” Minho says, and as they pass under a streetlamp Jisung can see that he’s pouting. “I didn’t wanna go out but they made me go out cause they said they had enough of me being lonely in my apartment.” Then he looks at Jisung, smiles so brightly that it’s like the sun just rose in front of Jisung’s eyes, and says, “I’m glad they made me go. I’m glad I met you.”
Jisung squeezes his hand. “I’m glad I met you too.”
Minho guides him into his apartment, runs up the stairs before yelling at Jisung that it’s a challenge, and has his apartment door open when Jisung bursts out of the stairwell, panting a little.
“Unfit,” Minho says, scrunching his nose then laughs when Jisung pouts, shoves him so they topple into Minho’s apartment.
“My place,” Minho says, a little breathless, and he just looks like he belongs there. There’s a cat mug left on the counter and the hallway light Minho switches on gives everything a dim glow. It smells like detergent and flowers and something like perfume - a scent diffuser, maybe? - and it all just feels so much like Minho that this isn’t just nothing anymore.
“It’s almost two,” Jisung notes, coming closer to draw Minho into his arms.
“We should sleep, then,” Minho offers.
It’s so simple, Jisung thinks. When he had kissed Minho, when Minho first asked him to come over, he had expected them to come back and do something, for hands to touch his belt and mouths to leave marks on his body, and yet -
He still feels that simmering arousal in his belly, but that doesn’t matter right now.
Right now, he’s got Minho soft in his arms and smelling sweet around him and his smile glows like moonlight and Jisung has to think about the thump of his heart one more time.
“Baby,” Jisung murmurs, the endearment appearing without much thought, and he’s delighted to see Minho’s cheeks pinking when he says it.
“Star,” Minho returns, and kisses the corner of Jisung’s mouth.
Jisung quirks an eyebrow, moves to kiss Minho’s mouth properly.
“Because you were shining on that stage,” Minho explains quietly, right against Jisung’s lips. “You shined so brightly. You still do.”
Jisung slides a hand under Minho’s chin, tips it, then closes the small gap between them. Kisses Minho again. And again. And again and again and again until Minho is whimpering small noises and when they separate his mouth is swollen red but his eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering.
“Sleepy, baby?” Jisung asks, voice hushed.
Minho nods. Opens his eyes, makes a request. “Kiss me in bed instead?”
How can Jisung say no? He follows Minho to his bedroom, changes into a soft t-shirt and softer pyjama pants and giggles because it’s too large on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the smooth of Minho’s legs when he changes out of his jeans and wonders once again about how easily he bruises.
“Star,” Minho calls, and his voice is so sweet that Jisung thinks he wants to listen to Minho calling him like that for a long, long time.
“Baby,” Jisung says, one knee on Minho’s small bed.
Minho shifts closer on the bed until he’s in front of Jisung, then reaches up, pulls Jisung onto him as he lies down. Jisung ends up bracing his knees on either side of Minho’s hips, hands planted by Minho’s shoulders, and when he looks at Minho his throat dries.
For one moment, with Minho sprawled under him and features lit up with lamplight and not moonlight, Jisung thinks he looks beautiful. Thinks that if he hadn’t stepped out for air he would have not met Lee Minho. Thinks that he can make one more space in his heart for Lee Minho, together with his friends and bandmates and music.
“This might be weird,” Minho murmurs, as he reaches up to cup Jisung’s face, “but you feel… you make me feel less lonely.” His eyes sparkle with all the depths of the galaxies, and then when he speaks again it’s feels like Jisung is listening to honey, “And I’m not just saying that but I actually do feel like it.”
Jisung looks at Minho for one more moment. Thinks that from tonight, there will be two less lonely souls in the world.
“I know,” Jisung whispers. It’s too fragile to speak any louder than that. “I know what you mean.”
There’s nothing else to say, because this is their everything now. Minho’s hands are still warm on his face, gently stroking over his cheekbones and the look on his face is so tender that Jisung’s heart hurts a little. Lowering himself onto his elbows so more of their bodies are pressed together, Jisung kisses Minho’s nose, then his cheeks and his forehead and over his eyelids and then his chin and the corners of his mouth before coming up to look at Minho again.
Thinks that maybe, possibly, he would have met Lee Minho anyway, despite everything.
He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, pressed close to Minho and slowly kissing each other, teasing out the prettiest sounds out of Minho’s mouth. Perhaps they both fall asleep at some point, or maybe they keep kissing despite their exhaustion, Jisung doesn’t really know. All he knows is that it’s warm, and it smells like safety and being lonely almost feels unfamiliar.
“Look,” Minho suddenly says, voice all breathy, and he’s staring out his bedroom window.
Jisung turns to look as well, and then he sees it - the slow change of the dark indigo into pale blue, then the dawn of the sun, shining golden bright onto the city. Buildings, casting shadows and creating nighttimes as the day dawns, and everything is so dazzling gold that Jisung can’t help it, starts smiling.
“You look gorgeous,” Minho murmurs, watches how the sun starts to shine into his bedroom, threads it’s way through Jisung’s hair and make his skin golden. “My star. My sun.” He says the words so delicately that Jisung feels his heart threaten to break with all the fondness he has.
“And you,” Jisung says, pausing to kiss Minho. “My baby, mine.” Mine, to love and spoil, to treasure and cherish, to protect and return to.
“If you will let me,” Minho says, and his eyes shine with a thousand promises.
“I will,” Jisung says, and cannot stop himself. “I will, I will, I will.”
This isn’t nothing anymore. This is his whole world now, in the span of a night that felt like time did not pass. Lee Minho, no longer a stranger, but his to kiss and hug and fall in love with; Lee Minho with his beautiful eyes and pretty smile and bright laughter; Lee Minho, another lonely soul that like his, is a little less lonely from this day onwards.
The dawning sun is warm, but Minho’s presence is warmer and Jisung has found where he wants to be.
Come home, Minho had said, and as Jisung watches Minho fall asleep with his own eyelids heavy, he thinks he has. Home, where his happiness is, where he will return to. He's found home.