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“I really need to stretch my legs,” Minho announces with a slight wince. He's been driving nonstop for the last three hours, give or take, and Jisung's brother's old, beat up truck, which they have co-opted for this little getaway, is starting to feel incredibly cramped. “How far away is the nearest rest stop?”
“Uh.” In the passenger seat, Jisung proceeds to squint at the road map he has in his hands. “According to this, there should be a gas station a couple of miles ahead?”
Minho huffs, unsure if he can trust Jisung's map reading skills, but it's not like he has any other choice. “Alright—let's hope there's also a diner nearby,” he adds, the rumbling sounds he had heard coming from Jisung's stomach several minutes ago still fresh in his memory. “Besides,” he smirks, and adopts a more teasing tone, “My ears need a break from this!”
He gestures at the car’s sound system and gives Jisung a brief, but very pointed look through the rearview mirror.
“Don't be a hater!” Jisung huffs at him, even swatting at his hand for effect.
Minho laughs. “Look, I love these songs from the new Oasis album as much as you do, but we've been listening to nothing but Liam's whiny crooning for the last three hours!”
“That—” Jisung emphatically shakes his head, “—is an absolute exaggeration!”
It's funny how overdramatic he says that – just as exaggerated as he claims Minho is being. He might have a point, however, because to be fair, Minho is being quite hyperbolic. The cassette tape that's played what has served as the soundtrack of their little trip so far does have more songs on it apart from the one where the Gallagher brothers compel you not to look back in anger – it just so happens that for some he refuses to explain, Jisung has put together a two-side cassette tape mix that had Don't Look Back In Anger playing after every other song. It was a rather eclectic playlist otherwise – which just meant a mix of songs from Jisung's favorite Britpop bands (his new music genre addiction now that he's slowly phasing out of grunge alternative - not that you can tell with his still persistent plaid fashion) with a bonus Spice Girls song at the tail end of side B.
“For maximum variety,” Jisung had explained, head already bobbing when the song first played two hours ago. “Wannabe is gonna be a classic ten years from now!”
“Is that why you still hear the DJ talking over it?” Minho had asked, bursting into laughter when it became apparent that Jisung had simply recorded the track off a radio countdown when the DJ starts rambling about which Spice Girl his favorite is (Ginger, apparently, and Minho had secretly acquiesced to his taste), before the song even ended.
“Shut up,” Jisung had whined. “I wanted to borrow Changbin's sister's album but he kept forgetting! I waited for the TOP40 countdown just so I could record the song. Be appreciative!”
Either way, a cassette tape only had eight songs per side, so Minho would argue that his point about needing a break from the Oasis-heavy playlist – apart from the one song practically on loop, Jisung had included two other songs from their recent album, along with his favorite from the first one.
“Ji, you do realise that we’re in the middle of a six hour road trip to go see Garbage open for the Smashing Pumpkins, and there isn’t a single song from either of these bands on the playlist,” Minho tells him, perking up as they pass a highway sign informing them of a gas station only quarter of a mile away.
“Okay,” Jisung sighs dramatically. “If I admit to having grabbed the wrong tape, would you get off my case?”
“No,” Minho answers with a laugh. “You should have just brought the entire shoebox along,” he says, referring to the box of Converse All-Stars under Jisung’s bed where he knows the younger keeps his personally curated cassette mixes. “At least then we’d have variety!”
“Well—” Jisung laughs, “I didn’t forget! I just said that in the hopes that you’d shut up!” He sticks his tongue out rather childishly at Minho, who gawks and does the same right back.
He’d say more to tease Jisung, but before he could, the latter lets out an excited whoop upon spotting the gas station sign from afar. “I don’t spot a diner anywhere,” Jisung observes with a frown as Minho maneuvers towards the self-service gas pumps.
“You wanna pay inside?” Minho offers after slowing to a stop. “You can ask if there’s anywhere nearby we can eat at—if not, you can buy some candy and bread to tide us over.” He hands Jisung the small red pouch that contains their pooled-in funds; they had earlier agreed that gas and meals will be automatically paid for with that money so that they don’t waste time arguing whose turn it is to shell out cash.
“Okay!” Jisung agrees easily.
They both get out of the truck, and as Minho circles around to the passenger’s side, it isn’t lost on him how Jisung is quick to pull himself up to his full height – which makes Minho laugh.
“No one cares that your chunky boots make you taller than me, Jisung,” he points out as he casts a glance at the heavy looking Doc Martens that Jisung is wearing on his feet. Barefoot, the two of them are roughly only an inch apart, but Jisung had long ago taken to mostly wearing elevated shoes in order to make up for what he lacks vertically.
“I do,” Jisung announces. “I care!”
“Well, do you care that if a zombie apocalypse happened right now, there’s no way you’re gonna outrun a hoarde of undead with those weights you’re wearing?” Minho smirks. “I’m not gonna stop and wait for you,” he jokes, confident because he’s wearing comfortable trainers.
Jisung stares at him. “I hate you.”
“Sure you do,” Minho hums, trying to keep his lips from curving into an amused smile. “Go and pay for the gas—and remember to get something vaguely healthy to eat,” he reminds Jisung as he shoos him off towards the direction of the gas stop store, which he now notices is curiously named BOOSTER.
Like they sell nothing but energy drinks perfect for exhausted motorists passing by, he thinks to himself with an amused snigger. He makes a mental note to share this with Jisung later – it’s admittedly not a very funny comment but he reckons Jisung would laugh anyway.
He keeps his gazed focus on his friend even after Jisung enters the store; through the transparent wall to wall glass windows, he watches the younger male march straight up to the counter.
Minho finds himself smiling, already imagining Jisung filling a store basket with copious amounts of unhealthy junk food despite his earlier reminder – and then the store doors swing open once more and he notices Jisung poking his head out.
“Minho!” He calls out, waving his hand frantically in a clear attempt to catch Minho’s attention. He’s wearing a big grin on his face—the type that accentuates the fullness of his cheeks. If he wasn’t standing a dozen yards away from him, Minho would have instinctively reached over to pinch them, probably.
“Pretty,” he fondly murmurs under his breath, only to be immediately surprised and confused as to where in the world the sentiment had come from.
“Minho!” Jisung calls again, this time effectively pulling Minho out of his reverie. He meets Jisung’s gaze squarely, and the latter flashes him a thumbs up – a sign that he’s done paying for the gas, and that Minho should start filling up the tank.
So he begins to do just that, turning away from the direction of the store and doing his best to shake off the tingly warmth he’s suddenly experiencing.
“They had sandwiches,” Jisung tells him some minutes later, after approaching from behind. “But they looked rank and soggy so I didn’t get any.”
Jisung’s presence very seldom catches him off-guard these days – a byproduct of years of their friendship is a keenly developed sense of, well, Jisung whenever he’s near. This sensing ability seems to be on the fritz, however, as Minho squeaks and practically jumps in surprise when he realises that Jisung is already standing right behind him, less than a foot away and pretty much crowding his personal space. (Not that there’s such a thing between the two of them – another side effect of the longevity of their friendship.)
Jisung laughs. “You okay?” He pauses, steps forward, and in a low voice, right against Minho’s left ear, he huffs, “Boo!”
He’s obviously teasing, and such behavior isn’t alien between the two of them, but Minho immediately feels his cheeks uncomfortably heat up, and in a tizzy, he moves to push the younger away immediately. “Stop sneaking up on people or you’ll give them heart attacks!”
Jisung only laughs more, and Minho scowls, unable to explain the loud and erratic pounding of his heart against his rib cage.
“Here,” Jisung offers him the one giant slushie cup he’s holding. He had mixed the red and blue flavors, rendering the icy drink a visible swirly mixture of red, blue and purple. It had two straws stuck into the cap, one for each of them so they can share.
“I see you want to give me brain freeze in addition to a heart attack,” Minho teases, but he does accept the drink so he can take a small sip.
They agree to have snacks while parked at the gas station instead of on the road, so after they move the truck to the side parking lot, the two of them hop onto the small flatbed; they sit side by side, their knees vaguely touching despite their shared drink and the plastic bag of snacks settled in between them.
“Let me guess what you got,” Minho declares before Jisung can even show him. “Twinkies and Nerds.”
Jisung makes a face at him, but after a pause – and with a resigned sigh – he reaches inside the plastic bag to pull out three Twinkie bars, and a box of pink and purple Nerds. “They didn't have the red and green ones we both like,” he explains with a pout.
Minho doesn’t really care though, because he’s too busy laughing that he guessed correctly. When Jisung sticks his tongue out at him, he doesn’t fight the urge to reach over and ruffle the latter’s messy mop of newly dyed orange hair. He’s also tempted to keep running his fingers through Jisung’s locks, but he immediately shakes the feeling off, pulling his hand away when Jisung continues to empty his food loot instead of minding him.
Like he had earlier assumed, Jisung really did buy mostly junk food – cheez curls, the elusive pizza-flavored Combos, and Funyuns come out of the bag one after another.
“And these fall under the category of healthy right?” He asks, grinning as he shows Minho what remains inside the plastic bag – a singular granola bar, two Fig Newtons, and a small pack of beef jerky.
Minho can’t help the loud, booming laughter that erupts from him; it's even funnier because he and Jisung used to debate the health merits of Newtons. (“It has fruit. It’s healthy,” was Jisung’s firm stance.) When Jisung proudly and cheekily beams at him, not only does it confirm that Jisung is remembering those debates from middle school – something abrupt and unnerving also dawns on him.
He’s—he’s in love.
With Jisung Han.
He’s in love with his best friend, Jisung Han.
Well, fuck.
They finish the rest of their junk food (which Jisung insists on calling lunch, but whatever, Minho figures it’s just something to tide their hunger over until they find somewhere where they can actually sit down and have actual meals) in relative silence.
This is usually normal for them – the two of them have a habit of talking a mile a minute (Jisung especially) when there’s an interesting topic on hand, but they also never feel obliged to keep any sort of conversation going when there’s nothing to talk about. It’s a comfortable, companionable type of silence – or, well, it oftentimes is.
For Minho, with his new realisation, the quiet suddenly feels tense and pregnant, and there’s nothing more that he wants to do than fill the air with noise, even if it’s just useless rambling. Except now, he’s too aware of his own feelings and he’s nervous that the moment he opens his mouth, something he isn’t ready to express will come out of it. So he remains mute, while something unidentifiable makes flips and turns in his stomach whenever Jisung would flash him a smile in between stuffing his mouth with gas station treats.
Once they’re done, Minho unceremoniously tosses the car keys at Jisung because as per their agreement, it's his turn to drive the rest of the way.
“I’m gonna take a leak,” he explains, while gathering their trash. “I’ll throw these away, too.”
He does dispose of their empty junk food wrappers, but the first thing he does after that is walk straight up to the store attendant to ask him where the pay phone is. He’s promptly directed to the corner of the store where two pay phone boxes were mounted on the wall, a meter apart from each other.
He reaches into his pocket for a few coins, which he pushes through the slot, hardly waiting for the dial tone to sound off before he quickly enters a number he has long ago memorised.
“Changbin—” He barks through the mouthpiece as soon as the other end picks up.
“Minho?” His friend sounds sleepy, but also confused. “What’s going on? Aren’t you and Jisung supposed to be on the road? Why do you both keep calling—?”
He doesn’t understand what Changbin means by that last bit, but Minho chooses to ignore it for now because he has other, more pressing things he needs to talk to his friend about.
“I need to tell you something,” he says, palm pressing against his chest so he can feel the rapid beating of his heart.
Changbin groans. “I was in the middle of my beauty sleep you twat.”
“Please—no amount of sleep will perform a miracle on your looks,” Minho deadpans, despite his growing nerves. “Besides, it’s half past noon, what the fuck?”
“Aaaaaaand I’m hanging up now,” Changbin threatens.
“Wait, no!” Minho quickly hisses at him. “Listen to me first.”
Changbin sighs. “Swear to God, you and Jisung—I thought I’d finally get a nice weekend to myself without either of you pestering me, but here you are—”
“I think I’m in love with Jisung,” Minho interrupts him, direct and to the point – but only because this is Changbin. He isn’t Jisung, and that somehow makes it easier to say the words out loud; there’s no real stake, no risk of being rejected and losing years of friendship if it turns out Jisung doesn’t feel the same way. Still, when several seconds pass and Changbin doesn’t say anything, Minho grows anxious. “Bin—? Say something?”
“What the fuck Minho, you woke me up for this?”
“What do I do?” Minho asks him; while his friendship with Changbin is one that’s mostly founded on mutual ribbing, he’s still someone that Minho trusts to be sensible and give good advice when needed.
“How about you try telling him instead of me for a start?” Changbin grumbles, and Minho starts to rethink his stance on Changbin’s advice giving skills. “Congratulations on your feelings Minho, it took you awhile to get there, but you finally did! And now I’m gonna go and have lunch since you two idiots refuse to let me have my sleep. Goodbye, be safe on the road, and have fun at your concert!”
“Wait—” Minho tries to stop him; he isn’t done yet, and he wants to ask Changbin what he means by finally, and he wants to ask what the best course of action is from here, but there’s already a clicking noise signaling the end of the call. He considers calling again, but he only has two dimes left on him which means he'd need to buy something to break good dollar, and Jisung would probably go and look for him if he doesn't go back soon. He takes a deep breath, and simply makes his way back out of the store.
Jisung beams at him as he climbs into the truck, and Minho is unable to help the smile that forms on his own lips as a greeting.
He’s also unable to help the way his heart starts to race again, and dammit, he thinks, because that is certainly a pesky side effect to being, well— in love, apparently. He’s glad that he’s at least good at keeping the appearance of being calm, and he’s careful as he pulls the seatbelt over his chest to buckle himself in.
“Okay, let’s go!” Jisung announces enthusiastically as he begins to back out of their parking space.
Minho, not wanting silence to take over again, moves his hand to turn on the audio system – except his time, he notices that the cassette tape from earlier (easily recognizable because not only is it lime green in color, but also because Jisung’s scribbles are all over it) is now sitting on the dashboard.
He checks the cassette slot, and finds that Jisung already has another tape inserted in it; he gives his friend a questioning look, and Jisung simply shrugs without taking his eyes off the road.
“Saw that I had another tape hiding at the bottom of my bag,” he explains. “Figured I’d switch it up so you stop complaining.”
“What songs are in this one?” Minho asks, ejecting the tape (an orange one this time – Jisung had a habit of only buying packs of multicolored blanks) so he can check if Jisung has scribbled the tracklist on the tape sticker like he usually does, only to be surprised to find that he hasn’t.
“Uh—” Jisung fidgets in his seat. “Songs—” he offers with a chuckle. “Just put back in and hit play, Minho.”
It’s Minho’s turn to shrug, doing exactly as Jisung instructed and slotting the tape back into the player. He hits play, only to burst into laughter when the familiar introduction to Oasis’ Rock N’ Roll Star fills the car.
“There’s no escape!” He exclaims.
“Oh shut up!” Jisung snorts, head already bobbing and fingers tapping against the steering wheel to the catchy beat of the song. “You used to love this song!”
And it’s true that Minho did – that he still does, really, but teasing Jisung for his repetitive playlists is really the only way he can deal with the barrage of feelings he’s experiencing right now. That and obnoxiously breaking out into a loud sing-along as the chorus comes on.
“Toniiiiiiiight, I’m a Rock N’ Roll Staaaar!”
The two of them sing together loudly, Jisung even going so far as to mimic the smooth yet nasal quality of Liam Gallagher’s vocals.
That's how they spend the next half hour or so – windows rolled down, wind whipping past their faces as they drive down the highway at full speed, with their loud, joint singing echoing around them.
To be fair, the mix this time is actually a bit more varied compared to the last one – track two happens to be a Garbage song, and as Queer starts to play, Jisung proudly throws back Minho’s earlier comment about their on the road playlist not featuring even one song from the bands they’re about to see; and then he launches into a passionate, yet comical monologue about how pleasant to the ears Shirley Manson’s vocal color is. He would probably have gone on and on indefinitely – such is his crush on the vocalist, the reason why they’re taking this six hour drive (multiplied by two, if you include the trip back) to Anaheim even though it's that time of the year when Minho should really be studying for term finals – had track three not been what it was.
“What the hell is this playlist?!” Minho exclaims, laughter spurting out of him the moment he recognises what plays next. “Why is it suddenly Marky Mark—?!”
“Shut up! It’s groovy!” Jisung chortles. “And Marky Mark’s—he’s kinda hot.” He’s practically dancing in his seat, but what makes Minho keep laughing some more is the way Jisung starts spitting out the rap verses of the song, clearly having memorised them, only to adopt a high pitched falsetto as he yells out ‘it’s such a good vibration!’ every time that part would come along.
Eventually, the only thing Minho can do is go along, singing and wiggling his shoulders to the catchy beat of the song.
The rest of side A is just more current pop music – Top 40’s and the like from the last several years that Jisung simply recorded from the radio, and that are easy to sing along to, never mind that one or both of them would occasionally butcher song lyrics. (“It’s sign, Jisung! I opened up my eyes, and saw the sign!” Minho attempts to correct Jisung when Ace of Base comes on, and Jisung keeps singing it as Sun. “But my version makes more sense! I saw the sun!” “The song title is literally The Sign, Jisung.” But in the end, logic and facts didn’t matter and Jisung continued to sing the song how he wanted to.)
Minho occasionally steals glances at Jisung, appreciating his happy and excitable demeanor, while silently marveling at how beautiful his smile is, and how bright he looks from the angle that the sun is hitting his face. It dawns on him now, how Jisung naturally brings so much light and enthusiasm into his own life – all the younger has to do is be there, and everything would just feel… right.
The crazy thing is – it’s always been that way, ever since the two of them first met at Korean Sunday School, when Jisung was only 9, and Minho was 11 and he still went to Church to appease his parents. Jisung was always the bright spot of those Sunday School sessions, the one friend that kept Minho looking forward to the so-called day of the Lord, even after he started to become more and more skeptical of what they taught him there.
When he thinks about it this way, it’s a bit of a wonder that it’s only now that he’s realising he’s in love with Jisung, because as he watches and listens to Jisung sing about liking the way you work it, No diggity (and truly, at this point, Minho gives up on trying to find a particular theme for this playlist outside of simply being Songs That Jisung Likes) , he realises that these feelings are nothing new.
He’s been in love with his best friend for years and years, and it’s ridiculous that it’s a moment as mundane as watching Jisung skip his way towards a gas station convenience store in the middle of nowhere, that’s triggered this realisation.
And to think he used to consider himself to be a pretty self-aware person.
Minho gets lost in his own thoughts as he tries to trace back to the beginning of these feelings, only to snap out of it when side A runs out of tape, and Jisung lets out a confusingly panicked squeak.
His hand quickly goes for the audio system, fumbling nervously as he tries to eject the cassette tape.
“What are you doing?” Minho questions him with a weird look, hand grabbing hold Jisung’s wrist to place his hand back on the wheel. “You know it’s an automatic reverse flip player.”
Jisung winces in response; his happy-go-lucky nature from just a few minutes ago has now made room for anxiety, which Minho doesn’t get.
“Was just taking a bit too long,” Jisung mumbles, his grip on the wheel visibly tightening.
To be fair, it does take a while for anything apart from static to be heard, and even Minho starts to think that maybe he should reverse the cassette tape manually. Before he could do anything, however, there’s a soft throat clearing noise heard through the car speakers, and then,
“Hello, mic check, 1, 2, 3?”
It’s Jisung, Minho notes with surprise. Jisung clearly recorded something on the tape, but when he glances at him for clarification, Jisung remains still and silent, eyes trained on the road. Minho has a lot of questions, but he isn’t able to vocalize any of them because soft, acoustic guitar strumming starts to play, and it’s a tune – a melody – that Minho instantly recognizes.
And then Jisung’s voice follows – smooth, clear, yet soft to fit the mood of the recording.
And all the roads we have to walk are winding
And all the lights that lead us there are blinding
There are many things that I would like to say to you
But I don’t know how
Because maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me
And after all,
You’re my wonderwall
Jisung’s fingers are tap, tap, tapping against the wheel as his personal rendition of Oasis’ Wonderwall plays, but Minho can’t find it in himself to comment about that; he’s too absorbed in Jisung’s singing, and too focused on trying to calm down his once again rapidly beating heart.
He can’t help but wonder what this means; what Jisung is trying to accomplish by performing this song and playing it for him.
When it ends, there’s only white noise, and Minho once again looks at Jisung, waiting for him to explain. He still doesn’t say anything, nor does he look away from the road; and then, finally, his voice comes out of the speakers one more time.
“Hello,” he begins; there’s a pause, and then, “Minho,” he exhales softly, almost inaudibly. There’s anxious laughter from the actual Jisung, which makes Minho smile, especially as he fixes his gaze on him, and notices that his cheeks are now dusted with a pale shade of pink. “That song, uh,” more chuckles echo out of the speaker, “people are debating what it’s meaning is and who Noel Gallagher wrote it for, but uh—the thing is, for me, what matters is that… the first time I heard it, I thought of only you.”
Minho gasps softly; in a way, from the moment that Jisung’s voice first came out of the recording, a part of him had figured out that something like this was coming – and yet, the confession still catches him by surprise.
“There—” There’s more laughter from recorded Jisung, but it’s easily recognizable, especially to Minho, as his nerves getting the better of him. “There really are so many things that I want to say to you, but—well. I don’t know how! So I figured… I figured I’d do it like this. You mean a lot to me, Minho. You mean the most to me—and if you don’t feel the same, well—this is embarrassing, but we can just throw this tape out and pretend this never happened!” He groans, and laughs some more. “Anyway—we should be on the road right now, so—drive safe—keep me safe! And at the very least, let’s have fun. At least if I get rejected, Shirley Manson awaits me…”
There’s some more rambling, mostly about Jisung’s excitement about the Smashing Pumpkins concert they’re attending and what songs he wants to hear them play. Totally unrelated to his confession, which makes Minho laugh because it’s so typical Jisung; it’s even funnier when, after he stops talking, Blur’s Girls & Boys starts playing mid-song, making it evident that Jisung had simply recorded over the tape, probably at the last minute, just the night before, if Minho would guess.
Jisung groans, the first audible noise he’s made in person ever since side B of the cassette had started playing. “I called Changbin as soon as we got to the gas station,” he murmurs. “Because I almost chickened out of playing that for you, and I needed some kind of pep talk so he—he told me, ‘its now or never you shitwad!’” He even mimics Changbin’s gruff tone, which makes Minho chuckle lightly. “And then he proceeded to hang up on me, that ass!”
His own conversation with their mutual friend from less than an hour ago is replayed in his head, and it all clicks together; now he gets why Changbin had kept alluding to Jisung having called him as well. Minho snorts, finding it funny that Changbin apparently knows how he and Jisung feel about each other. He must have seemed like such a fool when he admitted his own feelings.
“Since… When?” He finds himself asking, because if he understands what Jisung is saying, then Changbin knew about this planned confession, which would mean it’s a safe conclusion that Changbin has known about Jisung and his feelings for a while now. He wants to know how long that while has been, and bracing himself for a sincere conversation, he promptly turns off the audio system.
“Remember when you had your furry awakening?” Jisung asks, after a beat.
“Jisung!” Minho groans, unsure if he feels frustrated by Jisung’s clear attempt at beating around the bush, or endeared because despite the playfulness geared at Minho, Jisung is the one who is the same color as a bright, red tomato.
Still, Minho knows exactly what time Jisung is referring to: a couple of years ago, summer after Minho graduated high school, Jisung had finally gotten his driver’s license, and the two of them had celebrated by watching The Lion King at a drive-in theater. Minho made the unfortunate slip that he thought Simba was a handsome looking lion, and Jisung had quickly jumped on that. (“You a furry now, Minho?” He had teased with a smug smirk that was soon followed by obnoxious laughter.) Even almost a year after that, right around when Minho was finishing his freshman year in university and he’d decided to move into a cheap, off-campus apartment that allowed him to adopt a stray cat, Jisung had been quick to name the kitten for him. “Call him Simba,” he’d declared with a snigger while he fondly cradled the feline in his arms. “After your memorable furry awakening.”
“That was a fun time,” Jisung points out; soon his playful smirk is replaced with a more wistful expression. “That—that was when,” he continues, his tone more subdued now. “I kept—” he chuckles, but Minho knows him well enough that he’s able to detect the nerves hidden in the projected mirth. “I kept teasing you about Simba because I was an idiot sixteen year old who had his own awakening regarding his feelings for his best friend.”
“That’s over two years ago,” Minho observes, gentle but matter-of-fact.
“Mhm,” Jisung hums, and Minho has to bite back a smile when he notices that Jisung’s blush has yet to subside. “What’s funny is that—nothing special really happened. We were just watching a movie, sharing popcorn, and Pumbaa and Timon were singing about having no worries for the rest of their days, and then—” Jisung laughs, “—and then we reached into the popcorn bucket at the same time, so I glanced at you, and I—” He takes in a deep breath, and then he exhales with a loud huff. “Just like that, I knew. I don’t know if that even makes sense but—well. It was like that.”
Minho blinks; he processes Jisung’s explanation and slowly, he lets a smile form across his lips, because not only does it make perfect sense to him, but he finds it quite relatable.
So, pretty simply, he tells Jisung, “I know exactly what you mean.”
“Huh?” Jisung dares to shoot a look at his direction, which Minho catches, their eyes locking for a brief second; and then Jisung quickly averts his gaze, the red on his face deepening yet another shade.
“I guess I’m kind of late, but I had that exact moment—around maybe two hours ago.”
“Um. Say what again—?” There’s a nervous twinkle in Jisung’s eye, and Minho reads him well enough to realise this means Jisung is processing – and is having a hard time digesting that Minho seems to have admitted to reciprocating what he feels.
So Minho goes against his natural instinct of guarded denial, and he tells Jisung exactly what he means. “I also have a lot of things that I don’t know how to say, but the simplest thing of all is this—I like you too, Jisung. I don’t know how, I don’t know when this started, but halfway through this trip I had the startling realisation that—” He inhales deeply, hand palming his chest as his heart threatens to explode right then and there, with too many emotions clamoring to be expressed. “I’m in love with you, Jisung, and I seem to have been for a while now.”
He clearly hears the way Jisung exhales – with relief or something else that's indeterminable, but the sparkle in Jisung’s eyes is brighter now, happier, and it fills Minho with a satisfied sort of glee.
Jisung remains quiet, but after a minute of driving, he suddenly pulls over to the side of the road, much to Minho’s bewilderment.
“Jisung?” He questions.
After Jisung sets the truck into parked mode, he unbuckles his seatbelt, and twists his body so he can face Minho. “Say that again, please?”
He looks so eager, that Minho feels shyness and embarrassment creep up on him. “Nope,” he shakes his head. “You heard me well enough! And why did we even stop in the middle of the highway?!”
Jisung laughs. “Well, you can't expect to say what you did—”
“Which you clearly heard and understood!” Minho interjects.
“Hmm,” Jisung hums, ignoring his words. “You can’t expect to say you’re in love with me—” he repeats, breath hitching as if he still can’t believe that Minho really just returned his confession – it’s quite endearing, really, “—and not expect me to need time to focus and process.” He looks up, eyes meeting Minho’s, who recognizes that the twinkle in his gaze has now morphed into something more mischievous. “Also,I’ve been incredibly patient for two years so, I’m kinda gonna need you to kiss me now.”
Minho almost gawks at Jisung’s demand, but then Jisung flashes him a toothy grin, and something inside him melts. So he undoes his own seatbelt buckle so he can lean over towards Jisung, who barely waits to meet him halfway, lips crashing against Minho’s own.
The kiss starts out a little awkward in its eagerness, but Minho anchors Jisung carefully, head tilting a bit to the side as he reaches up to place his hand on Jisung’s neck; almost as if his touch is magic, the simple gesture is all it takes for Jisung to slow down, humming as he reigns himself in, allowing for the kiss to more naturally escalate this time around, from a succession of quick, chaste smacks, to Jisung parting his lips open to eagerly welcome Minho’s tongue when the latter licks into his mouth.
They kiss for a while, one of them always dialing it back whenever it starts to get a little too heated; they almost lose track of time, at least until they both finally have to break away for air and they’re simultaneously reminded that they’re just parked on the side of a highway.
“We really should get back on the road,” Minho murmurs, sighing and giving Jisung a quick peck on the nose, if only because, despite his suggestion, he’s eager for some more kisses. “We can do more of that later.”
“We should,” Jisung agrees with a quiet giggle; he moves forward so that his forehead is leaning against Minho’s. “And we could—but say it again first though,” he says, grinning cheekily.
“You’re a brat,” are the words that come out of Minho’s mouth instead, together with fond, uncontrollable laughter as he leans away so he can buckle himself again in his seat. “Start driving if you don’t want to miss any part of the concert!”
Jisung chortles. “You’re more important to me than Shirley,” he declares in a sing-song manner, but he does buckle in as well and soon enough is driving back onto the road. “My wonderwall,” he adds giddily, and it’s so shamelessly cheesy, but also so incredibly genuine that Minho can’t help but inwardly swoon.
He can’t help himself, he realises – fact of the matter is, he doesn’t believe that anybody feels the way he does, about Jisung now.
Minho laughs, because the song is definitely stuck in his head now; and when Jisung casts him a sideways glance, he simply reaches out to take Jisung’s hand, nevermind always keeping both of them on the wheel at all times when driving.
“I love you,” he says, giving Jisung the repeat confession that he’s been wanting; this time he says the words direct, clear, and dripping with sweet sincerity.
“I know baby,” Jisung responds, grinning lopsidedly and squeezing Minho’s hand. “I love you too, my wonderwall.”
And that, Minho thinks as he bursts into laughter, is incredibly cringe-y, but he finds that he doesn’t really care at all.
fin.