Archive of Our Own

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The first time that Lee Minho comes across him is one spring morning, almost at the crack of dawn, after he moves to a new neighborhood. He’s in the middle of his daily jog – he’s been trying different routes over the last several days in an attempt to plot and figure out a regular running route, and this morning he decided to pass through the small park just down the block from his apartment building.

It’s still dusky out; the sun has barely risen and the sky is mostly a dark, gloomy gray with streaks of red orange peeking through the horizon. Nevertheless, Minho spots him easily—his red beanie bright and eye-catching even from afar. He's by himself, seated on the bench situated right along the path, rose bushes behind him, lining the area designated as a small playground.

For some reason, Minho finds himself slowing down as he gets closer and closer to the boy. The latter is probably surprised—or maybe he simply feels self conscious at the presence of someone else, which would explain him glancing up.

Their gazes lock and Minho immediately notices how bloodshot the boy’s eyes are; red from obvious crying. He looks so pitiful—almost pathetic, even, that it tugs at something inside Minho and he finds himself completely stopping once he's right in front of the bench.

The boy's expression contorts into one expressing something akin to confusion; his brow furrows and his lips purse. Minho knows he has no business poking around this stranger's life so he finds himself getting tongue tied. Asking what's wrong is presumptuous, and he's never really known how to be comforting with words so what he does is silently offer a clean face towel instead.

The boy gives him an even weirder look, but it only takes a couple of beats before he reaches to take the offered towel. Minho gestures at his facial area—he means for the boy to at least wipe his tears away with the cloth. Surprisingly, he does exactly that—or, well, he uses the towel to wipe his entire face, rather.

The sun is fully risen by now, and when the boy is done, Minho is able to get a much better look at him. There’s a certain tiredness in his eyes, but Minho can see that there’s also brightness hidden in them—some kind of youthful curiosity sparkling as he studies Minho. His cheeks are full and rosy, and before Minho realises what he’s doing, he’s reaching over to pat him on the head.

Stay strong, is what the gesture is meant to communicate. Fighting. 

And then he remembers that they don’t know even each other, and he awkwardly retracts his hand. Now that the sun is up, Minho notices that the boy is in his school uniform—three stripes on his tie, which Minho assumes to mean that he's in his last year of high school. He hopes he hadn’t seemed like too much of a creep, especially since the boy probably lives in the same area, making them as good as neighbors.

“Feel better soon, kid,” he mutters awkwardly because he doesn't know how else to address him, and he could almost swear that the boy almost laughs. Minho definitely notices the corner of his mouth twitch anyway, almost like he’s holding back amusement. 

At least he made the boy smile—well, almost. That should at least count for something good.

The next time that Minho catches a flash of that familiar red beanie, he’s with Hyunjin and Felix. 

The three of them are grabbing a quick bite at the Burger King down the block and across the street from the dance studio that all of them belong to; his companions are two years younger than him—both of them in their last year of high school, while Minho has just entered his second year of university—but when it comes to dancing, age isn’t much of a consideration for Minho. He gets along with the two of them the most in their little team, so it’s no surprise that they always find themselves spending time together whenever they take a break from dancing.

To be fair, there are times when the age gap is more than felt—like when Hyunjin goes on childish rants about classmates he couldn’t stand, which is exactly what he’s doing at that moment. His favorite person to slander is some boy named Han Jisung; apparently they’ve gone to the same school since third grade and while they were once playground buddies, high school and puberty have effectively driven an antagonistic wedge between the two of them.

“He thinks he’s so great,” Hyunjin is saying now. “Just because he always ranks at the top of the class—he thinks he's always right. If I had a perfect older brother to help me with my school work I'm sure I'd be ranking high too. We were assigned to work on this calculus problem set the other day—and I dared point out an oversight he made while solving one of the equations, and you know what he told me? He told me to just focus on making my graphs neat and presentable!” He scoffs. “So I told him he should focus on making sure his equations are solved properly!”

Hyunjin is clearly strung out and very bothered, but these days Minho doesn't really pay very close attention to Hyunjin’s tirades because one, they can be a bit repetitive; and two, it all feels very high school and while he still remembers how big a deal everything seems at eighteen, he’s more than past that stage now.

So he quietly eats his burger and lets Felix console Hyunjin. 

“I’m sure his life isn’t as perfect as it seems,” Felix, an absolute angel, tries to point out in an obvious attempt to make Hyunjin feel better.

“Yeah, I hope his dinner sucks,” Minho throws in, deadpan. “I hope he finds that the kimchi in his fridge has gone bad.”

“Hyung!” Felix gasps, looking comically shocked; Minho isn't sure if it's that, or his words that has Hyunjin cracking up, but he'd gladly take credit.

And then, as Hyunjin is wheezing in his attempt to hold back from any more laughter, he completely freezes.

“Fuck,” he hisses, breathless and whiny. “He's here—don't look!”

His demand, of course, has both Felix and Minho turning at the same time, glancing at the direction that Hyunjin is now trying his very best to avoid.

This is when Minho notices the familiar beanie sat atop the head of the familiar boy. He blinks in surprise; surely, he thinks, that isn't the infamous Han Jisung he has been hearing about from Hyunjin for weeks now.

“The one in the gray hoodie?” Felix asks.

“I told you guys not to look,” Hyunjin mutters. “But yeah, that's him. Gray hoodie, red beanie.”

Despite Hyunjin's insistence that they all look away, Minho keeps staring. The gray hoodie is worn with dress slacks, which, to Minho, makes it obvious that underneath it is probably a white collared shirt with the same school patch as Hyunjin’s uniform sewn over his breast pocket—the same uniform he had seen him in just a little over a week ago. Minho thinks he probably should have realised the uniform was familiar seeing as he's seen Hyunjin wearing it countless times before. On the boy's feet are a pair of well-worn, red hi-top All-stars, and Minho catches himself trying to stifle a smile – the boy clearly likes the color red, and somehow it fits him, a color that’s just screaming to be noticed.

He’s surprised when the boy—Han Jisung, he notes that he has a name for him now—turns to look their way. Their eyes briefly meet, and Minho feels his heart weirdly stutter; to get over the strangeness, he clicks his tongue and curves his lips into a deliberate smirk. Just as quickly, the boy is looking away, and he’s hearing Hyunjin scoff next to him.

“He’s so cocky,” Hyunjin mumbles. “Thinks he owns the world.”

“Hyunjin,” Minho glances at his friend. “He’s literally just in line to get food.”

Hyunjin wrinkles his nose. “It’s the way he carries himself.”

Minho wants to laugh, but Hyunjin is pouty enough as it is so he just shakes his head and quietly takes a bite off his burger. When Felix reaches over to pat Hyunjin’s back in a comforting manner, Minho takes the chance to sneak another glance at Han Jisung. 

He ends up looking away immediately when he realises that the boy is already staring at him, looking like he’s considering marching over towards them so that he—well, Minho doesn’t know what for; he’s no mind reader after all. 

And then Jisung and the friend that he’s with get their order—burgers to go, Minho is guessing from the packages they’re handed, and just like that Jisung is making his way out of the fast food restaurant, and next to him, Hyunjin is exhaling with clear relief.

It’s strange how he doesn’t feel surprised when, not a week later, he comes across Han Jisung again. This time it’s at night, past roughly eight in the evening; he enters the convenience store that’s located at the first floor of the apartment building that he lives in and there he is, near the counter, pen in hand as he fills out some kind of form. 

Minho cocks his head to the side, barely taking a second before he makes a quick decision to go ahead and approach the boy.

“Hi,” he says, and he almost giggles when Jisung looks up and shock registers in his eyes when he sees Minho.

“You again,” Jisung says. “Are you, like—stalking me?!” His nose wrinkles, and suspicion flares in his eyes; Minho can only cackle in amusement.

“I live here,” he says. “In this building. Maybe you’re stalking me?”

Jisung glares at him; two beats pass and then he snorts. “Yeah, you wish,” he says, and without another word he goes back to writing on the piece of paper in front of him.

“What’s that?” Minho asks; he can simply lean over and see for himself, but he’s trying to make conversation because there’s something about this boy that compels him to.

“What’s it to you?”

Minho shrugs. “Color me curious.”

“I’m applying for a job,” Jisung answers. “I’m applying for a job here.” It seems he’s finished answering all the blanks because when he looks up, he’s gesturing at the bored looking employee behind the counter who, in turn, promptly reaches for the completed form.

“You’ll probably get a call if you get the job,” the clerk tells him, almost robotically.

“Okay, thanks,” Jisung says, giving the employee a salute; and then he’s adjusting the familiar red beanie that’s (as usual) sat atop his head, and he turns to make a move for the exit.

“Hey, wait—!” Minho calls out to him before he realises what he’s doing.

“Hm?” Jisung looks over his shoulder at Minho; he looks relieved, as if he was secretly hoping that Minho would stop him.

“Have you had dinner?”

“Are you asking because you want to feed me?”

Minho laughs. “Sure. You can pick out anything here,” he says, gesturing around the small convenience store; he had spent most of the evening dancing, and he’s too tired to prepare actual, homemade food so he had stopped by the story with the intention of picking out quick instant food. “I’ll pay.”

Jisung smirks. “I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Lee Minho.” 

“Nice.” Jisung’s grin grows wider. “I’m Han—”

“Han Jisung,” Minho finishes for him. “I know who you are—well, I know your name anyway.”

Jisung lifts an eyebrow. “Right.” He sniffs. “Because you’re friends with that prissy boy Hwang.”

Minho laughs despite himself. “He’s not that bad,” he argues half-heartedly; admittedly Hyunjin can be a little bit of a priss at times, but for the most part he’s alright. It’s not as if Minho would bother being friends with him otherwise.

Jisung appears to be waffling as he keeps his eyes on Minho; eventually he visibly deflates and he nods. “You’re paying, right?”

Minho grins. “Just this once.”

Jisung narrows his eyes at him, and Minho belatedly realises that he has basically just implied a next time.

Jisung gets the biggest bowl of instant jjajjangmyeon, which he pairs with a piece of egg sandwich and a big bag of chips. When they pass the sweets aisle, he notices Jisung almost reaching for a block of chocolates, only to retract his hand when Minho airily comments, “You seem hungry.”

(Jisung huffs at that, and when he stomps off Minho sneakily reaches for the chocolate he clearly wanted to get.)

Minho simply gets three pieces of triangle kimbap for himself, accompanied by a peach yogurt drink. They settle at one of the small tables just outside the store, and Minho refrains from saying anything as he watches Jisung begin to eat.

He notes how Jisung packs his cheeks full every time he chews, and he's reminded of the hamster he owned for five weeks when he was seven years old.

“You're staring,” Jisung observes after swallowing a mouthful of food.

“I know,” Minho admits, and he almost giggles at Jisung's surprised reaction; no doubt the boy expected to fluster him.

“You're weird,” Jisung adds, looking up so he can stare right back.

This isn't new to Minho – these are words he's heard more than once before; by now he considers it neither praise nor insult. It's simply a fact. “I know.”

Jisung huffs. “Also, you're friends with Hyunjin.”

“We've established that,” Minho points out. “I know.”

“So why are you sharing a meal with me?”

Minho wants to point out that what they're having should barely count as a meal, but he supposes this is dinner for both of them. He shrugs. “That, I don't know,” he admits with a chuckle. “Does it matter?”

Jisung blinks; they haven't known each other for long but Minho can already tell that this is a habit of his when he's organizing his thoughts. “Right now, I don't know,” he eventually answers. “Maybe not so much since you've fed me.”

Minho snorts. “You're easily bought with food,” he comments. “Noted.”

Jisung scoffs, and proceeds to go back to stuffing his face; Minho doesn't understand why he feels completely endeared.

“I like your beanie,” he suddenly blurts out. Minho doesn't know why he says that, but the words are out of his mouth before he realises.

Jisung squints at him, and Minho smiles sheepishly.

“Uh.” Jisung swallows again before speaking. “I like it too. Red's my favorite color.”

Minho laughs. “Yeah, I could tell.”

Unsurprisingly, Jisung gets the job at the convenience store where he's given nightly shifts. Because he's in his last year of highschool like Hyunjin, Minho assumes that he picks hours that have him free after cram school.

He can't complain because it means Jisung is right there almost every evening, after he gets home from his time at the dance studio. He would swear up and down that it isn’t a conscious decision on his part, but as it plays out, Minho starts regularly dropping by the store every night, always choosing an assortment of cheap convenience store food to eat for dinner.

“You know this is kind of unhealthy,” Jisung comments one night as he rings up Minho’s purchase of extra spicy seafood ramyeon and a singular peel sausage. “You should eat a homemade meal every now and then.”

To be frank, Minho does not disagree – he always looks forward to weekends when he’s free enough to go to his family home in Gimpo and eat his mother’s homemade cooking.

Then again, he has a feeling that Jisung probably doesn't have a much better diet than he does.

“What do you usually have for dinner then?” he shoots back.

Jisung laughs, even though good expression reveals that he's been caught. “I usually get one of the lunchboxes,” he admits. “Much more well-rounded as a meal!”

Minho snorts. “Have a proper dinner with me, then.”

Jisung stares at him in surprise. “What are you—?”

“We both deserve a proper, well-balanced meal. So we should have it.”

“Right now?” Jisung gawks. “I'm at work!”

Minho laughs. “Of course not right now. Friday.” He knows that Jisung gets off earlier at the end of the week because he's observant like that.

“Oh. Uh.” Jisung scratches the back of his neck, and Minho lifts a questioning eyebrow.

“Offer is off the table in three… two…,” he counts down. 

“Fine, okay, yes!” Jisung interjects, laughing. “Friday then!” He smiles wide, and only now does Minho notice how his mouth transforms into something resembling a heart when he’s happy.

“Cute,” he thinks—or maybe he mumbles it out loud, under his breath because Jisung looks at him, brow furrowed as he’s handed back his card for his purchase.

Minho makes a point to leave the studio earlier than usual that Friday. Both Hyunjin and Felix are surprised when they realise that he’s leaving as early as half past five in the afternoon, when the two of them had just arrived.

“I thought we were going to practice that new choreography you made, hyung?” Hyunjin asks. “You know—for your audition—?”

“Sunday,” Minho tells them. “I’ll be here all Sunday.”

He doesn’t wait for them to react; he figures they could just plan later – they have a KaTalk group chat anyway. He hurries because he has things to buy, and things to prepare so that when Jisung finally messages him later that evening, all he responds with is his apartment floor and number.

“Holy shit, it smells delicious here?” The words come out of Jisung’s mouth sounding like an incredulous question; he looks around right after he kicks his shoes off by the door, almost in disbelief—like he can't be sure the smell of good food really is coming from somewhere inside the apartment.

Minho can only grin smugly as he beckons for Jisung to follow him to the kitchen area where his samgyetang-slash-mala stew hybrid is just about done simmering in the pot.

Jisung gawks. “You cook?!”

“I'm a university student living by myself,”  Minho points out. “Of course I can cook.”

Jisung scrunches his nose. “I’m pretty sure those things aren’t always mutually exclusive.”

Minho waves him off dismissively; instead he reaches for a plate that he offers to Jisung. “Made appetizers too,” he grins proudly. “In case you’re already hungry.”

Jisung stares at the plate. “Pajeon?”

“Mushroom and scallops pajeon,” Minho clarifies as he hands Jisung a pair of metal chopsticks; it makes him giggle, the way Jisung is still more or less speechless.

The younger male tentatively reaches for the chopsticks, glancing at Minho warily as he picks at the mushroom pancakes. He tears off a small piece, his entire face lighting up the moment it settles on his tongue.

“H-hyung!” Jisung, clearly, is even more speechless, just stuffing himself more with the appetizer instead of expressing himself with words. Minho only laughs, happy that Jisung seems to like his cooking so far.

“When you’re done, can you finish setting the table?” Minho asks while checking on his cooking; he points at the cupboard where the plates and bowls are and Jisung, with cheeks still full, nods and follows directions.

“I can’t believe you went through all the trouble to cook all of these for me?” he remarks cheekily, not a half hour later, as he watches Minho portion a serving for him in a bowl.

Minho chortles. “Excuse you,” he clicks his tongue. “I went through the trouble to cook for myself—you’re just a generous afterthought.”

Jisung makes a face, and Minho childishly— giddily, if he’s to be honest—sticks his tongue out at him in turn.

The truth is that he really did feel some kind of pressing need to impress Jisung; if you ask him the reason for this, he wouldn’t be able to give you one—then again, it isn’t as if he would readily admit this to anyone out loud.

Jisung lets out a happy and satisfied moan that effectively pulls Minho out of his thoughts and reallocates his focus back on Jisung. “Holy shit, hyung,” he groans. “How the fuck is this so good? Goddamn, marry me!”

Minho almost chokes on his own food at the comment, laughter freely and uncontrollably sputtering out of him. “You should maybe wait to graduate high school before making such propositions to anyone,” he comments, doing his best to sound nonchalant, although even he can hear the obvious fondness in his own tone. 

Jisung ignores his comment and continues happily eating, which, despite himself, has Minho beaming with pride and joy.

“Well, now you can see that I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself,” Minho comments in between bites; usually he’s good at keeping quiet during a meal—in general, really—but as usual, with Jisung, he strangely feels compelled to be chatty.

“Mhm,” Jisung nods, going along with conversation. “I don’t even know why you bother with convenience store junk when you can cook like this.”

“It’s cheap, quick, and I’m lazy,” Minho admits wholeheartedly; and then, with a twinkle in his eye, he adds, “And the company at the convenience store isn’t so bad either.”

Jisung blinks; he’s just stuffed his mouth with a huge spoonful of rice, but Minho easily notes the pink flush that spreads across his cheeks. 

Adorable, he thinks to himself, a proud grin forming on his own features.

“You never asked me why I was crying.”

It's Jisung who brings it up one day, when the two of them are hanging out; it's a Saturday, and he doesn't have a shift at the convenience store, but the two of them arranged to see each other anyway. They've been doing that a lot recently, over the course of the last few weeks.

After that dinner when Minho cooked for him, Jisung had been the first to message him over KKT. ‘I still can't believe you made that meal from scratch!! I can't cook but if you agree to get coffee with me, I'll treat you!’

Minho initially considered being coy, but ultimately he felt it silly and he quickly agreed—he didn't let Jisung pay for anything, though, which only caused the younger to insist on a ‘next time,’ and this happened again and again and again, until they both consciously and naturally have made room for each other in their respective schedules.

“Are you talking about when we watched that Japanese movie last Friday?” Minho asks; he doesn't need to—he knows exactly which time Jisung means, but he wants to pretend that he isn't hyper aware of every single memory he has of the boy.

“No!" Jisung snorts and gives him an incredulous look. “You know what I mean, hyung,” Jisung clicks his tongue. “That first time we met—at the park.”

It feels like such a long time ago now; it's been a little over two months, and not once has either of them alluded to that instance before now. Minho vividly remembers Jisung's pitiful expression, though.

He sighs. “Well, I figured if you wanted to share the reason why, then you would,” he admits; and then he gives the younger boy a pointed look. “Do you want to share?”

Jisung shrugs. “Want is a strong word,” he muses.

“You don’t have to—”

“But I don’t mind either,” Jisung quickly interrupts before Minho can finish; he flashes a toothy grin that has Minho relenting with a smile.

“Go on then,” Minho urges him, gesturing with his hand for Jisung to continue.

“It was a bad day,” Jisung starts, and Minho chuckles because yes, clearly it was. “A bad week, even. The night before, my parents sat me down and talked to me about my options for the future—about what universities I’m considering.”

Minho blinks; so far, what Jisung is sharing is pretty typical. Even his parents had sat him down to have this talk, although he supposes he’s luckier than most because when he’d told his parents that he wanted to get into a performing arts university through dancing, they hadn’t even flinched and just wished him the best.

“You know I have a brother, but I never told you that he’s in med school, right?” Jisung presses his lips together. “At Yonsei. He’s starting his medical internship next year and my parents are so proud of him.”

Minho nods slowly because he thinks he might know where this conversation is about to go.

“He’s the obvious favorite,” Jisung explains with a click of his tongue. “I don’t give a shit if he’s the favorite—my brother’s alright. He’s smart, and driven—I just hate that I’m expected to be just like him when I don’t know what the fuck I want to do with my life, and that makes me feel like a goddamn failure.”

Minho pauses; he doesn’t know what to say. He’s always been bad at being comforting, and apparently, even with Jisung that hasn’t changed. “Hyunjin tells me you’re super smart,” he treads carefully, only to suck air through his teeth when he notices Jisung wince. Great job Minho, he thinks to himself. He probably shouldn’t have mentioned Hyunjin’s name now, of all times. “I mean, uh—you have interests that you're really into, right?”

He knows for a fact that Jisung can be pretty passionate about music. When they first started hanging out, Jisung asked to see Minho's MelOn playlist, and then he proceeded to add at least two dozen songs that he thought Minho would like—most of them have soared to the top of his most listened tracks. He also knows that Jisung has an interest in literature—every time he drops by the convenience store and there are little to no customers, Jisung always has a book cracked open behind the counter.

“Nothing I can really make a future out of, I don't think.” Jisung shrugs; Minho doesn't think that's necessarily true—you can make a future out of anything in this day and age, but he also knows that this notion is something that Jisung has to really realise himself. “I do well in school I guess, but that’s more—” the younger male sighs. “The thing is that my brother went to the same high school, and I can feel the weight of each and every one of my teachers’ expectations—they all think I’m just like him, but I’m not. My brother did well in high school because he had a fucking goal. I envy people who know exactly what they want their future to be like.” He looks down and starts twiddling his fingers. “Like you, hyung— you’ve known that you want to be a dancer since you were in middle school right?” He sighs, pauses, and then continues, in a softer tone. “Hyunjin, as well. He’s like that, isn’t he—? That’s how you’re friends.” 

Suddenly, it clicks for Minho why Jisung and Hyunjin have such animosity between them – Hyunjin has the drive and focus that Jisung desires, while Hyunjin covets the way Jisung coasts through school with his natural talent and smarts. 

Grass really is always greener on the other side, Minho silently confirms to himself.

“Anyway, it was silly—but that day when we saw each other at the park, I woke up really early and I just felt really heavy. I couldn’t breathe at home, so I left early and I just.” He glances at Minho, only to wince and look away just as quickly. “Sometimes it helps—crying. I usually feel better after a good cry.”

Minho wishes he could relate. Tears have never really come easy for him, not since he was five years old, probably. Crying takes a certain amount of feeling, and he’s not really one who frequently experiences strong emotions.

Except around Jisung, apparently—that’s what he’s learning now, as he Jisung smiles at him, sheepishly, pitifully, hopefully, and a torrential mix of undefined emotions turn in his stomach—in his heart.  

“Hyunjin told me something interesting,” Minho shares, one Friday evening, when the two of them are lounging on opposite ends of Minho’s couch, remote control in Jisung’s hand as he peruses through the titles available on Minho’s Netflix account.

“Hyunjin? Interesting?” Jisung scoffs. “I highly doubt it.”

Minho snorts, stretching his leg so that he can nudge Jisung's knee with his foot. “Yeah, he told me and Felix that you've been helping him out with his Korean Literature essays.”

Jisung clicks his tongue, but his ears are red which makes Minho giggle. “I just showed him which books he should be reading for his essay,” he grumbles; he looks up and when their eyes meet, Minho gives him a knowing smile. “Fine,” Jisung huffs. “If we sat together in silence at the library and worked on our essays together—well, does that really count as helping?!”

Minho softens; Jisung has many times before implied that he spends a lot of his free time at school, in the library, all by himself listening to music while reading books or working on his homework. He had the impression—both from the anecdotes Jisung shared, and the way that Hyunjin talked about him—that the younger male wasn’t exactly Mr. Congeniality.

“Hyunjin sounds pretty grateful, if he felt like he needed to share with me and Felix,” Minho observes with amusement.

Jisung huffs. “Hyunjin sounds easily impressed and like he has a big mouth.”

Minho can’t help but laugh at that, even though he also shakes his head to show obvious disapproval. He’d tell Jisung off, but the proud smile tugging at the corners of the latter’s lips is more than telling of how Jisung really feels.

“Weren’t the two of you friends when you were kids?” Minho asks.

“That’s a long time ago,” Jisung answers.

Minho snorts. “Like—five years ago?”

“Ha! More like six!” Jisung argues, only to burst out laughing right after. “It feels like forever ago—even though I can’t really remember why we started fighting. I think because Hyunjin—he changed. And I changed, I guess.”

“Right.” Minho holds back laughter. “Puberty.” Jisung tries to scowl at him, but Minho’s grin only grows wider and he reaches over to pinch Jisung's squishy cheek. “I think you’ll make great friends, honestly.”

Jisung is silent for a while, and at first Minho assumes that it’s because he’s processing the truth in Minho’s words. 

“Does Hyunjin know?” is what Jisung says when he finally speaks, and Minho looks at him with puzzlement. “That we— you know. Hang out. A lot.”

Minho blinks. That we hang out a lot; the way Jisung says it almost makes him laugh but he supposes that’s definitely one way of putting it.

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever really mentioned it—did you want me to?”

“Me?” Jisung wrinkles his nose. “I don’t really care.”

His answer gives Minho pause; gives Minho reason to think—does he care? As he thinks about it, he quickly realises that for him, it has always been less about anticipating Hyunjin’s reaction, and more that he simply wanted to keep his moments with Jisung to himself. That’s just how he is—he has always preferred being private about the things that he holds close to his heart. He wonders if that makes him an awful friend, but for now he shakes that feeling off. Now that Jisung has confronted him with this, he’s also realising that maybe he wouldn’t mind so much if Hyunjin knows; if Felix knows—if any and all of his friends know. 

He wouldn’t mind the world knowing about Jisung—about him and Jisung, except— 

“I mean, I don’t think my friends are required to know who I hang out with during my free time,” he begins slowly. “Is that all there is to letting them know though?” He gives Jisung a look—a hopeful one that, in a way, is almost uncharacteristic of him. “Because if there’s anything else, then maybe—”

Jisung meets his gaze, his mouth splitting across his cheeks in his trademark, heart-shaped grin, and Minho’s heart flutters in his chest.

“Hyung—you do know that I—that I like you, right?” Jisung doesn’t stutter, but his tone has a shy quality to it that only serves to endear him more to Minho. 

“I mean… I’m pretty likeable,” Minho jokes anyway, an obvious attempt to deflect; it doesn’t work too well as the laughter he lets out is at least a pitch higher than normal. His ears also feel incredibly warm, as does his face and he has no doubt that he’s probably the color of a red tomato.

“I’m not sure that’s how you say insufferable, and yet I’m here, tolerating you,” Jisung chides back with a click of his tongue. “So cut the crap hyung,” he laughs, “are you going to acknowledge the confession I just made, or—?”

His question has Minho tongue-tied; he likes Jisung because of course he does. He’s been drawn to the boy since that first morning he ran into him months ago, and he wants to express this but the words are lodged in his throat, desperate to come up but stuck there for some reason. He’s older, and in some ways perhaps he’s also wiser, but among the things that he envies Jisung for—among the things that he really likes about Jisung if he’s to be honest—is the way that the younger male’s extreme emotions always compel him to be so honest and straightforward. He cries when he needs to, laughs when he wants to; he’s rude when he dislikes you, but best of all is that he’ll let you know—he’ll show you when he likes you.

Minho has always been bad at dealing with feelings; he’s always felt a need to keep a calm and composed front that there are days when he thinks he’s forgotten how to show emotion even when he feels them. He’s also very, very bad with words.

In the end, he smiles and does his best to shake off all his mental inhibitions. He reaches for Jisung, palm cupping the latter’s soft, round cheek, his thumb gently sweeping along the curve. And then he leans in, gentle in the way his lips finally press against Jisung’s.

Immediately, he tastes the artificial flavoring of the deep red cherry ice lolly that Jisung had been sucking on earlier, but Minho doesn’t mind. It reminds him of the red that his brain has long associated with Jisung; familiar and sweet, and a taste that he’d willingly have more of.

On the day that Jisung takes the CSAT, Minho shows up outside his testing center and waits for him to finish. When he spots Jisung walking out of the gates, he’s pleasantly surprised to see him with Hyunjin, the two of them looking like the good friends they’ve somehow become over the last couple of months. If he’s to make a guess, he’d say the two of them are seriously comparing test answers—but Minho thinks it also wouldn’t be a stretch if it turns out that Hyunjin is seriously defending the merits of the dog food brand that he gets for his precious Kkami.

“Minho-hyung!” It’s Hyunjin who spots Minho first, and it’s only when he calls out that Jisung turns to glance towards his direction as well. A variety of emotions pass through his features one after another, going from surprise to confusion to absolute joy all in the span of a couple of seconds.

“Hyung!” he echoes, happily waving. “Miss me already?” he teases, once he and Hyunjin reach Minho.

“Nah, I’m just hungry,” Minho retorts, right before he turns to Hyunjin to nod at him in greeting.

“And you’re here to… eat Jisung?” Hyunjin looks like he doesn’t know if she should laugh or not; generally though, as they have found out over the last several weeks now that Jisung and Hyunjin are getting along, this seems to be the overall combined effect that Jisung and Minho have on him.

“Hwang Hyunjin—in the time you have known me, when have I ever given you the impression that I’m a cannibal?” Minho shoots him a glare, and Hyunjin shrinks behind Jisung – quite a feat, considering he’s a good several inches taller than the latter.

“Don’t answer that,” Jisung quickly instructs, laughing as he holds up an arm in supposed protection of Hyunjin. 

Minho scoffs because he still remembers when the two of them only had bad things to say to each other, but in reality the scene quite warms his heart. Not that he’s about to voice that feeling out loud.

“Anyway—” he waves off the mood, and goes on to clarify, “there’s this tonkatsu place that I read about. I wanna check it out so I thought I’d ask you to go with me.” He turns to Hyunjin, his smile quite genuine. “You’re invited too. We can celebrate you dipshits finally being done with the suneung.”

Hyunjin laughs. “Yeah. Wow. Invited as an afterthought as if we weren’t friends before you even met this guy!” He jabs a thumb into Jisung’s chest, and the latter makes a dramatic, obviously exaggerated expression that neither of them buy. “While I’d love to third wheel, I have plans to meet a bunch of soccer teammates for dinner—” Hyunjin claps Jisung’s shoulder. “I was gonna invite him but,” he nudges the smaller male towards Minho with a cheeky grin, “he’s all yours, hyung.

“Feeling objectified here,” Jisung cracks, but he steps towards Minho anyway. “But if hyung is treating, I’m in.”

“Fine,” Minho says, sounding exasperated as if he’s only agreeing because he has no choice, when in reality that was always the plan. “I’ll treat because they have a discount package for test takers anyway.”

“Pfft.” Jisung snorts, and that’s how Minho knows that Jisung can see right through him. In turn, Minho rolls his eyes and reaches over to tug his red beanie down right over his eyes, which causes the younger male to cry out.

“Serves you right,” Minho hums.

Next to them, Hyunjin clicks his tongue. “Hello, I’m still here—?” He laughs and shakes his head. “This is why I’m not going to dinner with just the two of you,” he adds, and makes shooing gestures with his hands. “Go and have fun you lovebirds!”

Minho childishly sticks his tongue out at Hyunjin, but he doesn’t hesitate to grab a laughing Jisung’s arm so he can start leading him away. “Have fun with your friends, Hyunjin!” he calls out with a wave.

He hears Hyunjin’s laughter grow threefold. “You two—don’t do anything that I wouldn’t!”

“I don’t know about that!” Jisung calls out right back, and that’s what tips Minho over the edge, his own laughter echoing all around them and earning them weird looks from the throng of people they’re surrounded with.

The restaurant that Minho looked up is located right near the base of Namsan Tower – which may or not be on purpose on his part when he was totally not planning this dinner. Jisung seems quite satisfied with dinner, both of them ordering various dishes to split between the two of them.

“Want to go up the tower?” he asks Jisung when he's given back his credit card by the waiter after he pays. “It's still early.”

The way Jisung is looking at him— studying him—it's obvious that he knows that this evening is more planned than Minho is letting on but he just smiles and shrugs. Minho is thankful for not being called out, if only because it shows more appreciation on Jisung’s part.

As they make their way up the tower, Minho starts feeling the usual excessive thumping of his heart against his rib cage—it's always like this when he gets a little too far up above ground. Jisung slips their hands together, and he smiles at Minho, warm and soothing. They're at a point in their relationship where Minho knows Jisung's fears almost as well as his own and he knows that Jisung isn't particularly keen on heights himself, but his expression is a picture of calmness and as he feels his own heart rate normalise, he allows himself to believe that this is simply the kind of effect that they have on each other.

He squeezes Jisung's hand, and the boy grins even wider.

“We should hang locks,” he boldly suggests after they step off the elevator.

Jisung laughs. “Really?”

Minho nods. “Yeah, why not, right? We're already here anyway. We should take pictures too.”

Their hands don't let go, and Jisung just nods. He looks happy, and Minho's heart once again starts racing—this time clearly for a different reason. They avail of two locks from where they're being sold—red for Jisung, and green for Minho—and only then do they separate.

“What's your wish, hyung?” Jisung asks, trying to look over Minho's shoulder as he unpacks his lock.

“I haven't written yet,” Minho says laughing and elbowing him away. “Go away and do your own thing!”

“But I wanna see yours!” Jisung whines.

“No cheating! Are you going to show me yours?”

Jisung shrugs. “Sure, why not?”

Minho snorts; he's a lot more open with Jisung than most people in his life—he always has been. Oftentimes, he wonders if it's because of how their first meeting had gone. If it's because the first time he met Jisung, the latter was at  quite low point, and that's why Minho has always felt like it's okay not to put on an act when with him.

“Fine, what are you writing then?” he asks as he uncaps his felt tip marker.

Jisung hums and stares down at the lock cradled in his palms. “Do you remember me telling you about these two guys I met online?”

Minho nods slowly. "Bang Chan-ssi and Seo Changbin-ssi?"

Around a little over a month ago, Jisung had made a public Instagram account where he would post bits and pieces of original poetry. It was a way to destress for him, he had told Minho. A way for him to get his thoughts out there. It was meant to be anonymous, but two weeks into handling the account, he was messaged by a stranger who had nothing but wonderful things to say about his words. Bang Chan had asked if Jisung was willing to let him and a friend use his words as lyrics to music they had composed, and somehow that entire affair had snowballed into the three of them creating music together.

As much as Jisung was in love with words, Minho knew that music was held in just as high regard by him. He had been really busy with preparing for the CSATs the last couple of weeks, but he has more than once expressed to Minho how excited he is to delve more into the creative process of music production.

“Yeah,” Jisung nods, and then he flashes a big, bright smile at Minho. “I think—” his breath hitches and Minho automatically places a soothing hand on the small of his back. “I think I might want to pursue music with them. They're serious about this, and... I think I could be, too.”

Minho had a feeling that was where Jisung's head has been at recently, so he returns the smile. He hopes it's as encouraging as he wants it to be.

“So yeah,” Jisung continues, uncapping his own pen now and starting to write on his lock. “I hope I get a song to top the MelOn chart one day—that's what I'm writing,” he says laughing, despite the sheepish way he ducks his head—as if he's embarrassed to be dreaming so big. “Your turn, hyung!”

Minho smiles quietly, and writes down on his lock — ‘I hope to become a professional dancer and an amply paid choreographer.’ He adds a silly dancing cartoon at the bottom and then he shows the lock to Jisung who laughs.

“Mine has a second part,” Jisung whispers to him, just before they hang the locks.

“Hmm?” Minho, who had been absentmindedly looking at the plethora of locks—most of them clearly hung by lovers and other dreamers—glances at Jisung.

Shyly, Jisung holds up his padlock, and turns it around so that Minho can see the other side that he hadn't earlier. ‘May Lee Minho and Han Jisung's dreams come true together, side by side,’ is written in Jisung's scratchy handwriting.

He thinks if they weren't in public, he would have pulled Jisung towards him and kissed him silly. Alas, they aren't alone, so all Minho does is laugh and show Jisung the other side of his padlock as well.

‘May Lee Minho and Han Jisung's dreams come true,’ is what's written with a collection of hearts surrounding it that had made Minho blush earlier when he was drawing them on.

“Great minds think alike,” Jisung announces, not even fazed by the cheesiness of it all.

“Hyung, um.” Jisung's breath hitches as he pulls off his trademark red beanie; it's weirdly still as bright as Minho remembers it from the first time he met Jisung, but upon a closer inspection it's very clearly worn out.

Jisung's hair—recently dyed blonde—is sticking out all over the place. Adorably, if Minho was to say so himself, and he doesn't hesitate to reach over and ruffle it to mess it up even more.

“Hyung!” Jisung huffs and leans away as he tries to swat Minho's hand. “Stop that!”

Minho just keeps laughing, and this time he uses both hands to pat down Jisung's nest hair. “There,” he says with a proud grin. “All better.”

He's trying his best to keep the smile on his face—on their faces. It's a little hard though, considering they're at Incheon Airport, about to say goodbye for at least six months straight. The dance crew that Minho (along with Hyunjin and Felix) recently got signed on to be support dancers for a K-Pop group touring all around the United States and Europe. The actual tour is only four months, but the dance crew also signed on for an intensive dance program being held in New York over the summer.

“Hyung,” Jisung tries again, and Minho can tell that his smile is faltering.

“'Sung,” Minho interrupts him. “Don't make that face,” he implores, even though his own smile falls a bit as he pinches Jisung's cheeks.

“Let me talk then!” Jisung barks, followed by soft laughter. “I just—” He huffs, shakes his head, and before Minho knows it, Jisung is suddenly fitting the red beanie over Minho's head. “Take this.”

Minho takes it off and makes a show of sniffing it and making a face. “Smells like dry sweat,” he comments.

“Oi!” Jisung laughs and snatches it away. “Fine if you don't want it—”

“No—” Minho smiles and takes it back; this time he's careful as he properly fits it over his head. “Do I look as much of an egg as you now?”

“An egg dipped in samyang.” Jisung rolls his eyes. “Not as cute as me though, unfortunately.”

“Well." Minho nods. "It's true. It’s hard to be cuter than you,” he says simply, while tickling Jisung’s chin.

A light red spread across the apples of Jisung's cheeks, and it makes Minho happy, how he's still able to catch Jisung off-guard with simple compliments every now and then.

“I'm going to miss you hyung,” Jisung murmurs, looking down at his feet. His eyes are vaguely bloodshot—so much like the first time Minho had come across him, and yet different.

“Are you crying?” he whispers, cautiously tugging at the hem of Jisung's shirt.

“No—” Jisung scowls, but one can easily hear the sniffling in his tone which almost makes Minho laugh.

“Don't stop yourself on my account,” Minho tells him with a chuckle. “Weren't you the one who said a good cry always makes you feel better?”

Jisung sniffs and nods at once; Minho's expression softens and once again he tugs at the hem of Jisung's shirt. This time he pulls a little harder though, so that Jisung is yanked forward and straight into his arms.

“Hyung,” Jisung repeats—no, sobs right against Minho's chest and all Minho can do is wrap both arms around his boyfriend.

“I'm gonna miss you too Jisungie,” he tells him softly, directly into Jisung's ear. He isn't sure how comforting that is, however, as Jisung only sobs even more. It's almost funny, the way Jisung is shaking in his arms and crying directly onto his shirt, but it also isn't because Minho is realising that his own cheeks are also damp.

Fuck, he thinks, because Han Jisung is making him cry as well.

“Hyung?” Jisung pulls away and looks up. His eyes are big, bright and shiny from tears. “Are you—?” he lowers his voice in an almost conspiratorial manner. “Are you crying, too?”

Minho scoffs and uses his shirt collar to wipe his eyes. “And if I am?”

Silence takes over for several seconds—and then Jisung bursts into laughter.

“How long are you two going to say your goodbyes?” A familiar voice cuts into their moment. Hyunjin is staring at them, arms folded across his chest. Beside him is Felix, who, unlike Hyunjin, looks pretty touched at the scene and like he's about one step away from bawling himself.

Jisung rolls his eyes at him, and then he smiles up at Minho. If his own tears made Jisung feel better about his, then Minho supposes he'll readily cry a river the next time they meet again.

“Fighting, hyung!” he says, and then he pats the top of Minho's beanie covered head. “Miss me a lot, but not too much!”

(When they meet again, at the same airport, a little over six months later, it's Minho who has bloodshot eyes from jet lag. Still, even tired and lacking sleep, he spots Jisung easily in the crowd—as if they're connected to each other by an invisible red string.

“Lee Minho!” Jisung calls out, his megaphone voice echoing through the airport.

“Han Jisung,” Minho returns, but not until they're standing right in front of each other, the two of them looking into each other's eyes.

“You need sleep,” Jisung observes. He's staring hard at Minho's face, as if he's mapping out Minho's features, making sure that this is his Minho. And then he smiles and reaches up to pull off the red beanie on top of Minho's head. “I'm taking this back,” he announces, and then he envelopes Minho in a warm, excited hug and Minho doesn't have the heart or energy to counter.

He allows himself to lean into Jisung's touch; allows himself to remember how it feels to love and be loved by Han Jisung. Like red, the color he sees when he closes his eyes under the sun. Warm—so warm that it permeates through his skin and into his bones, his pulse.

He feels as if something inside him is jump started—he supposes that's how it always has been since that spring day he met Han Jisung.)

fin.