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It's been a long day.
This is what passes through Jisung's mind as he watches Minho pick up his underwear, discarded earlier in thoughtless hurry. Minho is more deliberate in his actions now, taking his time as he tugs his boxers up his legs, under the comfortable and plush looking hotel robe that he can't even really be bothered to pull close in the front.
He knows Minho isn't really going anywhere—but that's only because there isn't anywhere else to go to. They're stuck sharing a hotel room—a hotel bed for the night. Such is the predicament they find themselves in.
All things considered, Jisung isn't sure if he's still allowed to be frustrated at the situation, especially since they had just made pretty good use of said hotel bed, because fuck.
Fuck.
He really just had sex with Minho.
With his ex-boyfriend.
“I need to wash up,” Minho had muttered under his breath not even five minutes after they both reached their respective releases. As if Minho was all too eager to wash Jisung off his skin—eager to flush him out of his system.
He doesn't know how to feel about that. Maybe it's warranted.
The door to the bathroom clicks shut, and Jisung lets out breath he hadn't even realised he was holding. He rolls onto his back, arms spread out and he stares at the ceiling.
Fuck.
It hasn't been just a long day—it's more accurate to say that it's been a long week.
Or, well. Who is he kidding, really? It's been a long two months; after all, days started feeling like they were passing by at a snail's pace after he and Minho broke up.
(Granted, they had broken up a few weeks into the summer, just as days were literally getting longer. He digresses.)
Less than 48 hours ago, Jisung had been fidgety—more fidgety than he's ever been since his university days, and he got his degree over three years ago—while waiting for Minho at the airport.
Before that, the last time he had seen Minho was more than a month and a half ago—occasionally scrolling through his Instagram account doesn't count. Especially since Minho has posted around a grand total of three times since they broke up, and only one of those posts had featured his (beautiful) face. (Jisung is thankful for the posts on his cats though; he misses those cats a lot more than he misses Minho.)
(That's a lie. But he refuses to admit that even to himself.)
Here is the thing: Minho broke Jisung's heart two months ago, give or take.
Here's another thing: Jisung's parents are celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary – it's a celebration that's been a year in the making.
And here is the clincher: Minho and Jisung bought plane tickets together to South Korea, just for this event, when worthy frequent flyer deals had popped up six months ago, a good long while before their relationship had met it's untimely demise.
When Jisung's mother rang him up a little over a week ago, he had been in the middle of rushing to work. He was rushing down the sidewalks of the city, doing his best to move through the rush hour crowd, and barely paying attention to the list of things his mother wanted him to buy and take home to Seoul. He assumed she would send him an actual list through Kakao, or by e-mail, at least.
“... and don't forget to tell Minho—” she was suddenly saying, and that was finally when Jisung's attention had snapped into place.
“What?” he interrupted his mother's chattering. “What about Minho?”
“Oh just remind him that summer here in Seoul is warmer than usual this year, so he should pack accordingly,” his mother kept going, without pause or any hint that she's aware of the fact that Jisung and Minho haven't been together for two months already.
And that's how Jisung realised that he never got around to actually relaying that little bit of news to his family.
Fuck.
Who could blame him, though? Breakups are, in general, a sore topic and even though he regularly has a phone call with his mother at least once a week, most of the conversations are spent discussing extended family gossip, and more than that, his mother's lamentations about his older brother's (fast-paced) romantic endeavors.
(Come to think of it, at one point his mother might have said something like— when will your brother find someone who perfectly fits him like Minho with you, only to go on and on about how it would be nice to have grandchildren in this lifetime, which is likely why Jisung had tuned her out and pushed that exchange to the back of his consciousness.)
Coming out to his parents had been quite an ordeal for Jisung, mostly because of the build-up leading to it—at least in his own head.
Growing up, his parents were always traveling because of work, so Jisung (and his brother) were never really able to set roots anywhere. This meant that even though he knew as early as his mid-teens that his attraction towards men was more than simple appreciation, Jisung never really had the opportunity to start dating until he set foot in college. Needless to say, he had gone a bit overboard with his ‘dating life’ during the first few years of college, but even then he never felt the need to go and tell his parents that “hey by the way, I’m not into girls like that just so you know.” It helped a lot that he managed to get into a university in the United States, which meant that at almost any given time, he was close to 7,000 miles away from his parents—add on that he never really got into anything serious, and he figured that coming out to his family would just bring on stress and anxiety that he would rather push as far off into the future as he can.
Until Minho happened.
He met Minho during his last year, when he managed to score a much coveted internship at number two of his personal Top 3 Advertising Agencies 10/10 Would Work At If They’d Have Him. Minho was a new hire—a junior account executive who had been working there for barely a month when Jisung started.
He still remembers the first time they talked, when Minho had fallen into step with Jisung just as he was on his way out of the office to get coffee for everyone attending some client pitch meeting in the conference room.
“You need my help more than my team leader does,” Minho told him simply, and Jisung had allowed himself to be grateful especially after it turned out he really did—not only was it hard to remember a dozen different specialised coffee orders, he only had two hands and he didn’t trust himself not to trip somewhere along the way and get coffee on his person instead of delivering all drinks in perfect condition.
Somehow, his relationship with Minho snowballed from there; they started eating lunch together regularly, started taking coffee and cigarette breaks together — eventually they started waiting for each other at the end of each work day, which meant late nights at the office because Minho worked overtime a lot.
Whatever transpired between them could very easily be categorised as a ‘whirlwind romance,’ especially since any and all considerations that Jisung previously had about moving back to South Korea—where his parents had finally settled at after fifteen years of constant traveling—upon getting his degree were suddenly, and quickly dashed.
His parents refused to let such a big decision go without any explanation, and when they visited for a couple of weeks to attend his commencement ceremony, Jisung found himself in a situation where he needed to finally yank open the door and step out of the metaphorical closet he’d been hiding in for a good portion of his young life.
Much to his surprise, his parents were barely fazed. It was obvious that his father felt like he had to say something supportive even though he didn’t really know what words to use, while his mother was a little too excitable, but Jisung felt their love and support when he had expected coldness and rejection. Later on, his older brother would surmise that their years of traveling had played a big part in his parents being more open-minded than their generational peers, and Jisung would agree with him—but at the time, he was shocked anyway.
And Minho, well.
They loved Minho—which made sense, because if you had asked Jisung then, there was nothing to not love about Minho.
With his parents’ approval, it wasn’t long before he was moving in with Minho, right after graduation, and—really. Whirlwind romance is the most appropriate way to explain their courtship, and when you put it all together and you consider how quickly their flame had lit and burned, it’s a wonder that they lasted as long as they did at almost three years.
“Jisung-ah, also tell Minho not to worry about finding a place to stay for the weekend of the party, because your Dad and I reserved a room for the two of you at the hotel,” is another thing that his mother had reminded him to update Minho about.
He could only wheeze quietly from his end of the phone line, at a complete loss how to break it to his mother that there’s no more him and Minho, especially not when she had gone on to talk about how nice it would be to see his boyfriend again because, “the two of you never post on Facebook, sometimes it feels like we don’t know what our own son and his boyfriend look like anymore!”
At that he could only laugh bitterly because suddenly he was thinking about how nice it would have been to have more of a personal presence on social media. Maybe then, he could have easily just updated his relationship status to a simple and curt ‘Single’ and everyone would have known without him having to say anything about it.
Jisung knew he had two options — come clean to his mother (bad idea, because he really didn’t want to upset her, not when she was so busy with preparations for her anniversary celebration), or ask Minho if he’s up for maybe visiting the motherland with him (ha ha ha—an even worse idea, probably).
In the end, it’s his friend (their common friend) Changbin who makes the decision for him after Jisung repeatedly whines to him about his ridiculous predicament for three days straight.
“Mentioned your thing to Minho,” Changbin told him over lunch at work. “He said he’s up for it—since the tickets are paid for anyway.”
Jisung’s jaw had dropped because what the fuck? Surely things wouldn’t be as simple as that? Not when the way things had ended between them—well, they didn’t exactly leave things on very amicable terms.
(“Is Changbin lying to me?” Jisung had messaged Minho later that night; he never deleted his number, just changed his contact name to an ominous looking ‘He Who Must Not Be Called.’
“Depends,” was Minho’s speedy answer. “Changbin tells white lies sometimes.” And then, after a few seconds, he followed up with, “LOL.”
“Seoul Trip,” Jisung returned. “My parents’ anniversary.”
“Oh,” Minho was quick to respond. “Yeah. We paid for the tickets, and it would be nice to visit my grandmother.”
“My parents don’t know we broke up,” Jisung further explained.
“I figured. It’s okay.”
Jisung wasn’t sure what to make of the tightening in his chest brought on by the brief message exchange.)
Jisung not just looks up when he hears the bathroom door click open, he scrambles to get up to a sitting position. When Minho steps out, the two of them immediately lock gazes; Jisung feels a warmth creeping up his neck, straight to his cheeks, but he does his best not to break eye contact. He’d pulled his boxers back on while Minho was washing up, and he’d thrown on his dress shirt as well, mostly because it was closer on the floor and easier to reach for than the hotel robe neatly hanging in the closet.
It’s Minho who looks away first, long, thick lashes fanning against his high cheekbones when he looks down; he keeps moving closer to Jisung anyway, stopping only when he’s at the foot of the bed. Jisung shrugs and gestures for him to sit—Minho winces at that, but he does park himself at the edge of the mattress, and then, once again their eyes meet.
One, two, three, four— five seconds don’t even pass before the two of them are breaking out into laughter. It’s clearly born from awkwardness, but the way they laugh in sync has Jisung relaxing a considerable amount. Minho sounds… like Minho; he laughs like he always has, starting with a soft giggle that slowly builds up to twinkly, melodic laughter. Jisung’s favorite version of Minho's laughter is when it continues from that, growing into wheezing, hacking guffaws that rumble directly from his diaphragm—a foolproof sign of happiness on Minho's part—but this isn’t one of those times because soon enough they’re both trailing off into silence instead.
Jisung’s eyes are drawn towards the junction between Minho’s neck and shoulder, at the cluster of angry looking marks left there calling his attention. It makes him blush, because they’re a blatant reminder of what the two of them had been doing not even an hour ago.
Fact: Jisung has always liked leaving marks on Minho, especially in places he knows would take a bit of effort to hide. He can be passively territorial like that, and he’s never been able to deny it whenever Minho calls him out for it—it never mattered so much, since Minho had the exact same habit.
At this thought, he unconsciously reaches for the base of his own neck, wondering if he's sporting similar bruises on his skin. The action isn't lost on Minho if the way his lips curl into a knowing smirk is indicative of anything.
Jisung opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. Instead he finds himself inhaling deeply, because when Minho turns his head just a little to the side, and the room's dim, fluorescent lighting hits him at a particular angle, Jisung finds his breath taken away.
“You wanna play a game?” Minho's suggestion catches him off guard, but it piques his interest as well.
“What kind of game?” Jisung asks cautiously. A kissing game would be nice, his brain supplies needlessly— embarrassingly.
Minho shrugs. “A drinking game,” he says matter-of-factly; the mattress shifts as he gets up, only to head across the room straight to the minibar. “Truth or Dare?”
“A bit lame with just the two of us,” Jisung points out.
“Truth or Drink?” Minho amends as he steps aside to allow Jisung a glimpse of the minibar's contents.
Jisung squints at him; he's trying to figure out what Minho will get out of this, but instead he ends up with a list of questions he knows he would love for Minho to answer, and—suddenly he thinks that maybe a game of Truth or Drink isn't such a bad idea.
The minibar is stocked mostly with bottles of flavored soju, but what they take out first are the tiny bottles of assorted spirits, ranging from vodka to tequila. They gather them and spread them out on the center of the bed, and then the two of them sit on the mattress, facing each other.
“You want to go first?” Minho offers, causing Jisung to regard him with some weariness.
The truth is that with this kind of drinking game, it’s normal tradition to start with silly questions—anything ranging from something as mundane as ‘mint chocolate, yes or no?’ to something personal but innocent, like ‘tell me about your first kiss.’ But those kinds of inquiries seem even more humdrum when you already know the person you’re playing with inside out, so.
So Jisung goes straight for the jugular.
“Where did we go wrong?” he asks, his voice surprisingly steady despite the harsh pounding of his heart against his rib cage. “How did we get here?”
Minho blinks at him, clearly taken aback that this is how Jisung is choosing to start. “Uh—” he laughs, a hint of nervousness obvious to Jisung’s Minho-trained ears. “Maybe I should have volunteered to go first.”
Jisung purses his lips, and wills himself to gather energy for forced laughter so he doesn’t have to show his disappointment at Minho’s obvious refusal to answer.
“I’ll drink,” Minho announces, randomly reaching for a miniature brandy bottle. “It’s no fun if we open the big ticket items right at the beginning,” he says, easily opening the drink with one hand; and then, in a lower voice—almost a whisper, right before he downs the alcohol in one go, he adds, “Just this one question—you can ask it again later.”
(Minho says that, but once he’s finished with the brandy, he quickly turns to Jisung, and with a massive shit-eating grin—clearly overcompensating after the brief show of vulnerability—he asks, “Have you had sex with anyone else since we broke up?” and Jisung almost chokes on his own spit.
Minho laughs, and then he laughs even more when Jisung snatches up a miniature tequila bottle that he downs in a single shot.
“That pretty much gave me the answer anyway,” he points out; there’s a hint of bitterness in his smile and his tone, and it almost makes Jisung want to snap at him—or kiss him, maybe, because the game is starting to feel really pointless and unfair again.)
Jisung had insisted that they didn’t need anyone from the family to pick them up at the airport, not when everyone was already so busy with party prep. That was what he told them anyway; the truth was that he just wanted a bit more time before his family bore witness to presumed awkwardness between him and Minho—he had a feeling that the 15 hour flight from JFK to Incheon wasn’t going to be enough to truly break the ice, mostly because he knew himself very well.
Minho had been very cordial with him the moment they met at the airport, almost as if the last time they’d seen each other wasn’t punctuated with yelling and slamming doors. (Minho had made sure not to be around when Jisung had moved all his things out; it had broken Jisung’s heart because a small part of him figured they could maybe talk, maybe fix things still—but he’s long learned that reality often diverges from hopes and expectations.) Minho even suggested watching an in-flight movie together, but Jisung quietly declined despite the way his heart skipped a beat at the offer, and he spent most of their air travel time sleeping and avoiding talking to Minho.
He meant to start casual conversation on the cab ride to the hotel, really, but then it was Minho’s turn to give him the cold shoulder, and as they rode together in silence, Jisung’s anxiety at having to face his parents—and his parent’s friends and family—and convincing them that he’s still together with Minho, only grew.
And then his parents greeted them at the hotel’s reception area, and Minho had automatically turned on his extrovert switch; he put on his most handsome smile and he greeted Jisung's parents as if he was their long lost son, asking them how they have been while simultaneously offering just enough tidbits of his life to make them feel like he's welcoming them into his orbit with open arms.
This was a skill of Minho's that has always fascinated Jisung, mostly because it was something he lacked. Jisung is very good with people inside his inner circle—everyone outside of it, not so much. In a way, though, this was also something that always made him feel like he and Minho were pieces of a puzzle that fit perfectly. His weaknesses were Minho's strengths—and he would too think that in areas Minho lacked, Jisung also helped prop him up.
Unsurprisingly, his mother chose to link arms with Minho, eager to catch up with him, when they all head up to the rooms reserved for them so they could deposit their luggage before having lunch.
His older brother, Younghyun, fell into step alongside him, and introduced him to the girl on his arm, Bora (apparently a dance instructor at a studio right across from the building where he works). Unlike with Minho, their mother didn't seem as fond of her, but Jisung wasn't really surprised. Younghyun is a serial monogamist, and despite being four years older than Jisung, he was yet to show any signs of actually settling down with anyone and finally giving their parents grandchildren they've been wanting in their lives.
“I thought you and Minho broke up?” Younghyun asked in a hushed and whispered tone, and oops. Despite his negligence at updating his parents about his current relationship status, he apparently hadn't forgotten to at least mention it in passing to his brother.
He considers explaining the situation because he knows his brother would keep his secret if he asked, but just thinking about how to start his reasoning stresses him out so in the end he just shrugs, hoping that’s enough to get Younghyun off his back.
“How are the cats?” Jisung asks during one of his turns.
Despite his earlier presumptions, they’ve managed to set a pretty mundane back and forth over the last half hour. Minho’s asked him if he’s seen any movies at the theater over the last two months, and in turn he’s asked Minho if he has signed any new clients since they last talked; they’ve managed to turn the game into some kind of genuine catch-up session and Jisung finds that he doesn’t hate it.
“Oh. They’re good.” Minho’s smile is bigger, and much more genuine than it has been the entire evening so far, and Jisung mentally berates himself for not asking about the little felines earlier—he should have known they would be the key to unlocking that incredibly soft side of Minho that he undoubtedly misses. “Dori’s getting bigger now,” he continues to explain, fondness evident in his tone. “I took her to the vet around a month ago to get her neutered.” There’s a pause, during which Minho’s smile turns more melancholic again as his fingers toy with one of the empty alcohol miniature bottles, and then he adds, so softly, “they miss you a lot.”
Jisung almost doesn’t hear it—or, he does, but he almost isn’t able to parse it accordingly. He opens his mouth to respond, but Minho beats him to speaking.
“Do you think your brother is going to settle down any time soon?” He asks, corners of his eyes crinkling as he puts on what Jisung knows is his best, personable smile.
“You sound like my mom,” Jisung snorts.
“Well—” Minho grins and gestures at the drinks scattered between the two of them, most bottles still full thanks to the completely mundane conversation they’ve been having, “—you’re free to drink if you don’t want to answer.”
Jisung scoffs, and picks out a vodka miniature. “I’ll drink,” he announces, not wasting any time before twisting the bottle cap open and pouring the contents in his mouth. He winces as he feels the harsh burn of the liquid pass down his throat, and then he exhales once he’s done. That one would have probably gone down better with a chaser, but what’s done is done. “I did that because this game has gotten incredibly dry,” he adds. “But for your information—I actually don’t even know how long he’s been seeing Bora-noona. He looks pretty serious about her—but when does he not?”
Minho laughs—probably more at Jisung’s expression from drinking that shot straight than his answer.
Jisung sighs, and then he meets Minho’s gaze; maybe it’s the alcohol affecting him—between the two of them, he’s definitely had a few more shots—because he feels tired. “Minho,” he murmurs quietly. “Can I ask again yet?”
Minho looks away, but he nods to give Jisung permission.
“Minho,” Jisung repeats his name. “How did we get here?”
“Because you broke my heart, Jisungie.”
Their relationship wasn't perfect; it might have seemed that way for their friends because they had the same humor, and the same interests, and the same taste in food and movies. They never fought over the little things—but maybe that was part of the problem.
They had small quarrels now and then, easily ignored and swept under the rug, squabbles that never really needed apologies, or proper conversations because they simply sorted themselves out.
Those aside, they never fought.
The weeks leading to the unfortunate demise of their relationship, small things had begun to pile up—little things that neither of them noticed, or made a big deal out of, slowly chipping away at the foundations of whatever connection it was they had.
Minho had started a new job at a small start-up company with the help of a friend of theirs, Chris, who was one of said company’s first employees. Despite being a smaller company, it operated with a less corporate vibe and the bosses were adamant that their employees keep a healthy work-life balance. It helps foster more creativity, had been their explanation apparently—Minho wasn’t about to complain.
Except—Jisung had remained at their old agency, still a slave to working ungodly hours in order to satisfy big clients’ whims while chasing a much desired promotion to creative director, while Minho slowly began to adjust to a more regular schedule, and a much healthier body clock.They started operating on what felt like opposite time zones, and Jisung started to feel left out of Minho’s immediate world.
Chris this, Hyunjin that, and even though Minho had willingly introduced his new friends and co-workers to him, every day, Minho felt just a little further away from him.
Still, he refused to acknowledge these feelings, refused to own up to the rottenness of his thoughts, and he'd kept smiling, and pretending that everything was fine—and whenever Minho would ask, is everything okay? he would shrug and complain about the new campaign he's working on, and how the client is far too unreasonable with their demands. It was the easiest explanation because Minho knew better than anyone the pain of ridiculous clients.
The night when everything blew up, Jisung had managed to finally get off work early after two straight weeks of working overtime. His pitch was a success, and the client had been happy with all of his ideas; he wanted to celebrate, and he wanted to celebrate with no one else but Minho.
Except the apartment was empty when he arrived, and Minho wasn't answering any of his messages. Jisung ordered dinner—picked Minho's favorite dishes from their favorite Chinese take-out, figuring Minho would be home early and on time like he always was.
But time kept moving, and soon it was nine in the evening, then ten, and eleven—and it was only until it was some time after midnight that he heard the front door click open. When it opened and Minho walked into the apartment, Jisung could easily hear him humming happily—he was in a pretty good mood, clearly, like he’d just had the best day ever, and when he stepped into the living room, right into Jisung’s view, there was something so content about his expression that it pulled at Jisung’s heart in all the wrong ways.
“Jisungie!” Minho had lit up in surprise when he saw that Jisung was home—understandable, considering the earliest Jisung had been home over the last week was one in the morning. “You’re here!” He wasn’t drunk, Jisung could tell as much, because Jisung was well-versed in the ways of drunk Minho; he was buzzed, though, and it was obvious from the high-pitched tone of his voice, and the slightly slurred quality of his words.
It was completely irrational, but that just added onto Jisung’s frustration. He felt like he was a teenager again, angry and sensitive and hormonal—and worst of all, unable to control his own emotions.
“Minho,” he said, voice low and eerily calm. “Looks like you had a fun evening.”
“Mhm,” Minho nodded; there was immediate caution in his demeanor, because he could easily read that something was off, despite the creases on his forehead showing clear confusion. “Is everything alright—?”
Jisung shrugged. “You tell me? You weren’t responding to my messages.”
“Oh fuckkkk, yeah—” Minho winced; his words were still a little slurred despite the lessened mirth in his tone, and each word that came out of his mouth grated at Jisung’s nerves. “It’s a long story, fuck—” he laughed nervously, “—I’ll tell you later, but my phone is broken, and I think I need to get a new one this weekend—Jisung?” Minho frowned at Jisung’s continued stony demeanor.
“You were drinking?”
“Ah, yeah.” Minho had grinned, looking happier again. “Nailed today’s presentation, so the team and I celebrated—” he laughed. “Jeongin got drunk because Seungmin kept feeding him drinks, and Hyunjin got drunk because, well—he’s Hyunjin.” Minho kept laughing, as if he’d already forgotten that Jisung was clearly upset with him, and Jisung could hear so much damn fondness in his tone as Minho kept talking about his new work friends, especially that damn Hyunjin.
“You were drinking with Hyunjin,” Jisung said out loud, as if he was testing how the statement sounded on his own tongue. He had been so excited to go home early and share his good news with Minho, only to find that his boyfriend wasn’t there, but that he’d been having his own celebration with other people—it wasn’t rational, but it felt unfair.
“With everyone,” Minho corrected.
Jisung scoffed, and he didn’t mean to be so petulant, really—but that did the trick. Minho straightened up, expression suddenly somber, and without any trace of the lighthearted happiness he’d been sporting.
“Am I not allowed to have drinks now, Jisung?” Minho asked, the wrinkles on his forehead even more pronounced now.
“You know that Hyunjin guy likes you, right?” Like everything that had left his mouth in the last five minutes, these were just more words that Jisung didn’t mean to say—but did anyway. And when he heard himself say it, he realised that was part of what had been upsetting him so much—the way Minho talked about Hyunjin, the way he’d seen them interact—the way he saw Minho feature in Hyunjin’s social media, even—all of it reminded him of when he and Minho had first met, and they were just getting to know each other—when their relationship was only just starting out, and everything out of Minho’s mouth sounded fond, no matter how teasing his actual words were.
“Jisung, where is this coming from—?” Minho looked halfway between confused and annoyed.
“You tell me!” He didn’t mean to practically yell at Minho—but he did, and it only allowed Minho to slide more towards the annoyed end of his reaction scale.
“Are you not capable of having this conversation in a normal volume?”
“This is my normal volume,” Jisung argued, even as his voice got louder.
“Jisung—”
“Minho.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Minho pointed out.
“I’m being ridiculous?!” Jisung huffed. “For the first time in a month I’m home at a normal hour, but you can’t even be assed to respond to me, and tell me you’re getting home late?!”
“Exactly! First time in a month!” Even Minho, usually soft-spoken, usually calm, was getting more irate if the volume of his voice turning up a notch was any indication. “Was I supposed to just be waiting around every night, constantly checking my phone for messages from you telling me that— wow, there’s a blue moon tonight and you’re actually going to be able to get home at a decent hour!”
“No, but—” Jisung growled. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“What doesn’t feel right? Your baseless jealousy?”
“It’s not—” Jisung groaned. “I can’t believe you just called it baseless.”
“You’re not exactly making any sense here, Jisung. What do you want from me?
“Love—” Jisung spat out. “Affection.”
Minho blinked at him. “You don’t feel these things from me—?”
“I—” It wasn’t that he didn’t; Jisung knew Minho loved him, cared for him—but with only small windows of time left for the two of them, just knowing didn’t feel enough anymore. Minho was never the most affectionate person—at least not with words; he was the kind of guy that you really needed to get to know in order to understand how he expressed himself. And Jisung knew him; this shouldn’t be a problem—the lack of constant validation, or words of love and affirmation, he should be used to them. Minho expressed himself through acts of service and quality time, but their opposite schedules had done away with those too, and without them, Jisung was at a loss—unsure of what to grasp at. “Maybe I don’t,” he said, voice steely even though a small voice at the back of his mind was yelling at him, telling him to reign in his anger because it wasn’t going to do him any good.
“What I’m hearing is that I can’t give you what you want—what you need,” Minho said.
“Maybe that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
It wasn’t—it really wasn’t, but Jisung seemed to have lost control of his brain to mouth filter. Minho’s expression had deflated—had gone through many different expressions in the span of several seconds: surprise, then frustration—anger, and then finally, resigned sadness.
“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,” he said, after a few seconds of charged silence passed.
When Jisung woke up the next morning, he was met with only a post-it note stuck on the fridge, telling him that Minho was going to stay at a friend’s for a while.
Hyunjin’s, no doubt, had been Jisung’s only petty thought.
(It turned out he was right, but he didn’t take any pride or pleasure in being so.)
(They met again once, briefly, after that.
Jisung was still angry, Minho even more so. It didn’t go well. They yelled at each other some more, and that night, when Minho messaged him on Kakao telling him that he’d give Jisung time to find somewhere else to stay before returning to their apartment, Jisung was quick to respond,
“I’ll move my things out this weekend, no need for any extra time.”)
Jisung’s parents had rented out an entire hotel garden for their anniversary celebration. “Our wedding was very simple,” his father had told Jisung and Younghyun a year ago, when he was explaining why their mother deserved something as grand as the celebration being planned. “We worked hard our entire lives, and your mother is allowed something this extravagant—especially now that you boys are both self-sufficient.”
Neither of them protested, especially Jisung who knew he’d be too far away to do mundane errands anyway—besides, their mother was the type who loved having a project on her hands, and this was as good as any.
It was a black tie event, and even though Jisung never really felt like himself in a coat and tie, the moment Minho had stepped out and showed himself to him, handsome and dashing in a suit that hugged his body so well—he figured this entire farce between the two of them was sort of worth it.
But then they walked out to the reception area together, and suddenly all eyes were on them—and not all were friendly. He knows his parents are proud of him, and have never hidden his sexuality from their friends—that had been a great comfort after he came out, but that was when he was living continents away, in a city that was as diverse and as liberal as it could get. Being back in South Korea, he’s reminded of the big difference in the way that homosexuality is viewed around the world, and he almost shrinks into himself as he can’t help but imagine what comments about him are circling the reception area in hushed whispers.
And then Minho, without being prompted, had reached out for his hand, much to Jisung’s surprise. He’d turned to the other man in surprise, eyes wide and questioning—but Minho chose not to say anything, and instead simply threaded their fingers together.
That probably wasn’t the best way to curb the judgmental stares, but it worked wonders on Jisung’s anxious heart, and when, after dinner—after short speeches by him and his brother congratulating their parents on their three decades of love—Minho asked him if he wanted to dance, Jisung didn’t even hesitate before saying yes.
And when, over Minho’s shoulder—after the fast songs had transformed into slower ones and he still refused to let Jisung go—his father, who was also dancing with his mother, happy and clearly still in love even after so long, had beamed at him, so proudly, and so much like he thought Jisung was in on a secret only a few men know about, Jisung had felt like he was about to burst with so much warmth and happiness.
But the music stopped, and he was reminded that Minho had long stopped being his, and whatever secret it was that his father thought they shared was nothing but a sham.
So what did he do?
Jisung turned to wine; sweet, full-bodied red wine that allowed him just a bit more courage—just enough excuse to be bolder, so that when he and Minho were alone in the elevator, on their way up to a shared room that they shouldn’t have had in the first place, Jisung didn’t feel shy about putting his hands on him; didn’t hesitate as his hands grabbed at the finely pressed material of Minho’s dress shirt, didn’t pause a single second before pulling Minho towards him and allowing their lips to crash together.
Alcohol gave him enough excuse, but the truth is that he was sober enough to completely remember how he planned it all in his head, step by step, how he was going to make the first move.
Minho hadn’t put up any form of hesitation—he had pushed right back, as eager for the kiss as Jisung was. They had barely reached their room—had barely locked the door behind them—before their hands were all over each other, tugging at clothes in rushed attempts to get rid of them.
As much as Jisung had drunk, as heady as he felt, every touch, every kiss, every mark made by Minho—they all stuck with him sharply, vividly. Things were so easy—so natural with Minho, because they knew each other so well—so especially well , in this aspect, and everything felt so good, felt so perfect, just like they always had—yet at the same time, something felt new.
Just like they always did, they fit together perfectly, satisfyingly—and years of memorising each other, years of learning what felt good for one another, clearly wasn’t going to be undone by a mere two months of being apart.
“Me?” Jisung gawks at Minho; he sits up straight, feeling slighted. “You broke my heart, Minho,” he shoots back, his voice as tight as his heart suddenly feels. You broke my heart, he repeats in his head, as if he needs to drive the point in—to assure himself that he’s more the casualty, and less the aggressor.
He had waited; for two months he had kept waiting for Minho to reach out—to want to talk. He carried it with him that Minho didn’t want to even see him move out, and every time his thumb as much as hovered over Minho’s contact in his phone, he would remember this and his pride would win over all else.
“You stopped putting your trust in me,” Minho says simply, which makes Jisung frown harder.
“You couldn’t even be assed to contact me,” is what he throws back; in his mind this is where things had really gone wrong.
Minho chortles. “You could have contacted me too, Jisung. Called, texted, dropped by—”
“Minho, what the fuck?” Jisung feels irritation and bitterness rising up his chest, and it’s obvious by the way his tone goes up a notch on the whiny scale. He knows that Minho has made a point, which is what gets to him.
“Yeah, Jisung. What the fuck?”Minho echoes in a much calmer tone which only serves to annoy Jisung more; this is one of the things that he’s always disliked about the Minho—the way he always masks feelings and emotions with deadpan delivery.
And yet, as they stare at each other, he deflates. Despite all of Minho’s faults—despite all of his own shortcomings, Jisung can’t deny the burning, all consuming love he feels for this man. So he takes a deep breath, and allows a few seconds of silence to help wash away much of the frustration he’s feeling.
“I love you,” end up being the next words out of Jisung’s mouth.
Another beat, another pause, before,
“I love you too,” Minho responds. “I never stopped.”
Despite the slight hitch in Jisung's breath when Minho says those words, when they settle, he knows he isn't really surprised—it makes sense, because it isn’t as if two months of estrangement will erase three years worth of feelings in an instant.
And then he thinks how easy it is to say—how simple it is to just say how they feel like that.
He thinks about the original foundation of their relationship—how quickly they had gotten together to begin with, because the two of them worked so well, and fit so ideally. They used to be able to read each other so easily when they had first met, but no one knows anyone perfectly, and the longer they got to know each other, the more they stood to lose if their relationship fell apart, the easier it became to think each other over too much—to second guess their instincts around one another. Neither of them were mind readers after all, and as all of these dawn on Jisung, he almost laughs, because in a way their strength as a couple had also been their undoing.
“I—I should have told you when I started feeling… I don't know,” Jisung inhales deeply, “—neglected.” Even now he cringes, because he and Minho—they aren’t supposed to be that kind of couple. They aren’t supposed to be clingy because Minho is independent, and Jisung likes to be able to stand on his own two feet, and they both hate the idea of having to rely on each other too much—but then again, it isn’t as if they’re even a couple anymore.
They aren’t a couple, but they just had sex—and Jisung feels a little heady from all the alcohol he’s had throughout the course of the evening, so what does he have to lose?
Still, being candid like this—it’s scary, to say the least
“Well, I should have tried to hear you out better,” Minho returns, and this time the soulless, unfeeling tone is gone and replaced with soft vulnerability. “I should have made you talk about our problems, but I didn't want to hound you—that was never our style, or so I thought. So I trusted that we were on the same page still, like we always were, and—” he sighs, “—I guess that’s why when it turned out we weren’t, it felt like you’d done away with that trust.”
Jisung blinks.
This is how he suddenly realises—they were on the same page, because Minho had very similar reservations as he did, and now he can’t help but let out a bittersweet chuckle.
“We're idiots,” he says, and it’s only now, as he tastes salt on his tongue, does he realise that tears have fallen down his cheeks; he sniffs, only to force out embarrassed laughter.
Minho snorts, but he reaches out to wipe away some of it with the pad of his thumb. “Sounds like it,” he agrees with a smile. “Hey—it’s my turn to ask the next question, right?”
“Huh?” Jisung winces, furiously wiping his face with the sleeve of his dress shirt; this makes Minho giggle softly, which makes him feel warm. “Oh. Yeah.” He feels even more flustered, because he’s already forgotten all about the game.
Minho reaches into the pile of miniature bottled alcohol, and plucks out a mini vodka shot which he cautiously holds out to Jisung. You can drink, if you want to, is the unsaid statement.
“So where do we go from here?” is the query that actually leaves his lips.
Jisung laughs—this time, one that’s hearty and filled with genuine happiness. The truth is he doesn’t know the answer, which is why he reaches for the drink that’s offered. Yet, even as he nimbly twists the cap open, he shoots Minho a courageous grin—the lesson he’s learned is to be honest with his feelings, after all. “My entire family already thinks we're still together anyway,” he points out, shrugging before he tips the contents of the alcohol straight into his mouth. The clear liquid stings, but it isn’t a bad feeling—this time, it’s like the sharpness is a wake up of some sort. He hisses once the shot is done, and then he flashes a wide grin. “My family’s also clearly more than ready to call you their son at this point,” he adds, grinning as he reaches forward to place a hand along the curve of Minho’s neck. “So I guess maybe we should just go from there.”
(In the morning, they have breakfast with Jisung’s family—Younghyun’s girlfriend had gone home the night before, and their mother has decided that her new project, now that her 30th wedding anniversary celebration is over and done with, is to get Younghyun to decide that Bora is the right girl to finally settle down with. Apparently, she likes her a lot more than Younghyun and Jisung both realised.
Jisung doesn’t really care; he can’t make himself care, because Minho is seated next to him, their knees touching under the table as they silently—but happily, ecstatically, enthusiastically—picked at the food spread Jisung’s father had ordered for everyone to share.
They're both tired, and it probably shows from the bags under his eyes—between kissing, and talking about everything that made them feel bad about the original course of their relationship, and kissing, and talking some more about their immediate future, and then kissing again—and maybe a bit more after, they're both clearly exhausted.
But it doesn't matter, because even though no one realises it, they have the glow of two people who just got into a relationship; but they didn’t really care about people not knowing that either.
They knew.
And that was more than enough.)
++