Archive of Our Own ^beta

You look at me but with no words. That’s why, oh moon, you are my friend.

Yun Son-Do

Jisung likes stories and he always has liked them so he thinks he’s well-qualified to comment that every story needs a beginning. A strong beginning makes a good story. But the thing about beginnings is that it is impossible to keep track of them especially ones that relate to his own life. How often while eating with his friends, or while listening to his favorite lecturer, or while sitting with Minho, has he looked up abruptly and thought, “woah when did this happen?”

Beginnings fall in line with the daily trot of life, enmesh themselves with it until both are indistinguishable. They’re plowed to the ground by routine. It doesn’t matter most of the time. Why bother with beginnings when you’re busy living?

But this: the pneumatic hiss of a bus door closing behind him, his shaky footsteps following Minho to a seat he has picked, offering Minho the side with windows, settling beside him and feeling the terrible swoop of his stomach when Minho beams at him –

When did this begin?

───────

(I)

“They tried to tell us that we don’t need sunlight!” Minho grumbles, pulling his shirt off. “Sunlight! Can you believe it?”

Jisung studies a photo of him and Minho, smiles at the expression that Minho’s pulling at the camera. “I was there with you when you and Felix spoke to the landlord,” he supplies. He turns to Minho who is now his sweat-stained vest. “I can’t believe you actually got this framed. Ah, you love me so much~”

Minho rolls his eyes then ruffles his hair. It falls over his forehead in wet clumps. Jisung hates that he manages to look rakish instead of rumpled. “I got everyone’s photo,” Minho says, “you aren’t special. Anyway, I can’t believe that we paid more to get a flat with a window. They can argue that this room is bigger all they want, but I know the truth.”

“Think about it this way,” Jisung picks up a photo of Soonie and thirteen-year-old Minho, “this apartment is much better than mine at least. Much bigger too.”

“Sungie, the needs of a person your size is much different than the needs of people,” Minho gestures at where Felix is puttering around the kitchen, “of average height.”

Jisung gapes and then throws the nearest object he finds – a towel – at Minho. It doesn’t even make it halfway across the distance between them, but Jisung gets to his feet and shoves Minho. “Stop behaving as if all your other friends don’t tower over you!” He yelps when Minho jabs his fingers against his side.

“This is entertaining and all,” Felix interrupts, mouth twisting as he tries to hide a smile, “but we need to unpack if we want to actually have the party in two days.”

Jisung steps away from Minho’s reach. “Tell your old-man roommate to stop complaining about sunlight of all things,” he says, dragging Felix into a back hug. Not that he minds. He understands that Minho is a morning person who loves sunlight the same way Jisung loves darkness and nights. But it’s a secret Jisung intends to keep to himself. He glowers at Minho over Felix’s shoulder. “He has been going on and on about it for ages.”

“They told us that we’ll be spending all our time on campus anyway!” Minho puts his hands on his hips, “as if we won’t ever be home and as if we don’t need fresh air every day! Sunlight is so important for mental and phys –”

“God! Let’s go, Lix,” Jisung raises his voice to be heard over Minho and then drags a laughing Felix to the kitchen as Minho chases after them.

───────

Jisung goes to the roof with Seungmin’s aid. He stumbles a lot even though he stares hard at the steps, hard enough to burn the grains of the dusty marble stairs into his brain. “When I was young, I used to jump down the staircase,” he tells Seungmin, yelping when he knocks his ankle against the jut of a step.

“How adventurous!” Seungmin replies, laughing. “Next step, bungee jumping.”

“You’re mean!” Jisung whines and burrows closer to Seungmin when the draft from the open terrace door tickles his skin. “Bungee jumping is evil.” His head spins at the waft of Seungmin’s cologne.

He misses Seungmin’s reply because he hears Felix cackling. It carries in the thin wind, warms his heart. Felix follows a moment later and knocks into him.

“Jisung! Pose with me for photos!” He gestures at Hyunjin’s teetering form, mobile clutched in his hand.

Jisung beams and agrees, lets Felix drag him to a corner lighted by a cheap floodlight and the ambient light of the city. He tries his best to pose, but he misses the timing and Hyunjin makes frustrated noises until he finally gets a photo that he deems worthy.

This is a common happening these days: the simple joy of being fond of someone and knowing that they were fond of him too. It isn’t like he is starved for love or anything, but it’s different finding people and choosing to love them and being chosen in return.

God, his chest is tight.

“Jisung, go get that hyung,” Hyunjin commands from his spot on the floor. Had he been less drunk, he wouldn’t be caught dead there.

Had Jisung been less drunk, he would’ve never obeyed without a fight yet he starts walking without a complaint. Minho standing with his hands on the parapet, his frame blending with the shadows that run alongside the edges of the terrace.

“Hyung!” he calls as he nears Minho. He jogs the rest of the distance and knocks his shoulder against Minho in greeting. “Come on, Hyunjinnie’s taking pictures.”

Minho turns his head towards him with drowsy, heavy-lidded eyes. “We already took so many photos,” he says. When Minho is drunk, he gets softer, mellower and his voice always changes first. He places his head on his arms that are folded on top of the parapet. “’m tired.”

“Those were photos to make the others jealous,” Jisung replies, poking Minho’s arm. It is warmer than Jisung’s fingertips. He shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. “This is for us.”

The way Minho’s cheek is squished against his arm is endearing. Jisung doesn’t understand how softer or sharper Minho’s features become with even a slight change in the way he holds himself. Jisung just looks wide-eyed no matter what he does. Like that phase where he used to clench his jaw to highlight –

“ – afraid when the day ends?” Minho says, eyes far away and tone serious.

Jisung drags his attention back, blinking when his mind offers him a void instead of interpreting what Minho said. “Huh?”

Minho huffs a laugh. “I said, are you ever afraid when a day ends?”

By his estimation, Jisung isn’t that drunk. But his estimations of the distance between one stair and the next wasn’t great either, so what does he know? Anyway, he doesn’t understand the question even though it was spoken in simple, plain language. “I don’t know?”

Maybe he doesn’t understand because Minho looks brittle. Sad. It’s fucking with Jisung’s heart. “But nights are nice,” he continues, nodding to convince Minho. “They’re – safe. You can sleep and wake up to something new.”

He places his hand on the parapet. It is furred with moss and gritty with grime. Jisung grimaces but mimics Minho’s new position: hands hovering over the edge of the parapet, his chest titled forward. The height is dizzying and the light from the traffic below pulses in his temples.

“Is that so?” Minho turns to look at Jisung. His face is half shadowed except for his jaw and lips. “Don’t we lose a day to night?”

Jisung giggles. “What? Yes – hyung, how much did you drink?”

Minho studies him, then laughs as he pats Jisung’s ass. His teeth flash in the dim light. “You’re right. I’m just uh – not making sense,” a shrug, and then he steps away from the parapet. “Let’s go and join the others,” he holds his hand out.

Jisung grabs his warm hand and presses close to Minho to steal his warmth as they walk.

───────

Come morning, Minho is silent and worn with deep creases under his eyes. The fancy coffeemaker –  a housewarming gift from Felix’s parents – gurgles away at the side as Minho tears another omelet on the skillet.

“It’s still edible,” he grumbles when Jisung looks at him in askance. “Fucking dumbass pan.”

“I’ll eat it, don’t worry,” Jisung pets Minho’s chin on his way to fetch mugs, “we can just order in, you know. You don’t have to cook.”

Felix makes what sounds like an assenting noise but could easily also be a death rattle from the floor. It is overpowered by the lilting cello from a playlist that Jisung has switched on.  “Yeah, the smell is too much.”

Minho snorts as he drops the pieces of omelet into a heap on a plate. “You’re the one who decided to get fucked up, Yongbok.” He places the pan in the sink and washes his hands, “now live with the consequences of your action.”

“I hate the person I was yesterday,” Felix replies with great feeling, “Jisung only you can help me atone for my sins by giving me coffee.”

Jisung fills Felix’s mug first. As he bends at his knees to reach down to him, the scent of coffee wafts over his face. “Fuck, this smells good. Maybe I should just keep it for myself.”

“If you behave like a shithead then I’ll have to kick you out,” Felix threatens, making grabbing motions with his hands.

“Yes, I’m terrified of a man who is curled up into a ball because his head hurts,” Jisung says drily, offering the mug to him. Felix sticks his tongue out after accepting it, mug cradled to his chest.

Jisung turns to the coffeemaker again and sees Minho turn his head away. He squints but focuses on filling the other mugs with coffee. Usually, Minho is annoyingly chipper in the mornings and not so still and watchful. Though it could be because he’s hungover; he’s the reason why Jisung isn’t hungover in the first place. The moment they’d entered his room, Minho had refused to sleep until they had both had enough water.

“Here, hyung,” he says, pushing the mug towards him, “all good?”

Minho inhales and his shoulders shift under his vest. The fabric is so faded that the sunlight from the window passes through it, offers a peek of the dip between his shoulder blades. He raises a brow. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Jisung nods, but when Minho takes a sip of coffee, it feels like he’s hiding away from view.

───────

Minho tells him about it when they're out drinking, just the two of them a week later.

"I'd just started dancing," he says, teetering forward till his chest touches the edge of the table, "I sucked. So, I asked the void, 'does dancing ever become easy.' That was when I knew I was the saddest I had been when it came to dancing."

The cheap plywood of the table is sticky beneath Jisung's bare forearms because he had spilled a bit of his third beer while picking it up. "Now look at you."

Minho doesn't bother faking a smile like he sometimes does when he's about to say something self-deprecating that’s dressed like a joke. "It is difficult to believe it even if I rationally know that I'm good enough."

"Man," Jisung replies, picking at the last of his crackers, "if we let rationality rule us then we wouldn't be out drinking on a Tuesday night."

"Absolutely." Minho raises his beer and tips it at Jisung, "no rational behavior for us!"

Jisung agrees and takes a long pull of his beer. “Yeah! But hyung, you’re amazing. Source: the five hundred people who have a crush on you and come to your shows just to watch you.”

“Then what do you come to my shows for? For the free A.C?” Minho sniffs, pinching Jisung’s arm.

A laugh bursts out of Jisung’s mouth before he can stop himself. “Yeah! And for Hyunjin and Felix. I’m always so surprised when you turn up,” he places his chin in the space between his forefinger and thumb, “I’m always like, ‘ooh this hyung dances too!’”

Minho pinches him harder. “Brat! Never darken my doorway ever again!”

“No!” Jisung cries, wiping fake tears off his face, “you’re the only one I have eyes for!”

Minho picks up his beer mug and glowers at him over the rim. “I know your ways, Han Jisung. You can’t sweet-talk your way out of your betrayal.”

Jisung often (in the gloomy, quiet hours when the hand of a clock hovers nervously around 3 A.M. and he is still wide-awake) thinks that the reason Minho and him work well together is that they’re similar in ways that are hard to describe. Like the way, they have both shaped their personalities around guarding parts of themselves that are too soft to be shown to light. But not in an ‘entombed in the deepest parts of my heart’ kind, but in like a curtain maybe. You know there’s something beyond the curtains, but you cannot see what it is.

Minho’s laughing, but his laughter is off. He isn’t looking at Jisung. Everything is slightly blurry and…open. Jisung needs to stop drinking.

“I think you’re the coolest, hyung. I inflate with pride every time I see you on stage,” Jisung says, pushing past the coldness that settles in his belly when he sees Minho’s face twitch at the joking inflection in his voice. “I’m –” he puts his mug away and rubs his neck.

“Ah! Sorry – sorry I probably teased you too much,” Minho interrupts, patting Jisung’s hand. “You’re always welcome and… I was just teasing.” He wipes his mouth a tissue, crumples it. “I’m done. Are you?”

Jisung nods but hurries to explain, “yeah but –”

Minho slips off his seat, sways a little on his feet. “I’ll go to the loo real quick.”

Then he’s gone and the Jisung’s words – I’m proud of you – dissolve on his tongue. By the time Minho comes back, they no longer fit the moment, so Jisung lets it be.

───────

“Hey,” Minho says when they’re teetering outside the pub, on the verge of parting for the day, “Sungie, can I crash at your place tonight?” he asks, brows all furrowed and serious, “my house smells like paint.”

Jisung blinks at Minho who looks back at him steadily. “Of course,” Jisung nods, patting Minho’s shoulder, “as you said, you’re always welcome.”

Minho averts his gaze and pulls out his phone. Jisung can see the smile he’s trying to hide. “Thank you.”

They end up taking a cab, creating considerable dents in their weekly budget. It doesn't matter at this moment. Minho scrambles into the backseat with no grace and cuddles up to Jisung in that obvious, insistent way cats have when they decide they need affection. Not that Minho is a cat, but he shows affection like them sometimes. Aloof or insistent depending on his mood. But that’s just the way humans are, isn’t it?

Where is he going with this again?

It is difficult to hold on to any line of thought because not only is Minho warm and solid against his side, Jisung is also drunk. So, he lets his thoughts slip away and watches lights blur outside the window, winces at the extended blaring of horns while Minho hums a ballad under his breath.

“I needed this today,” Minho says, stopping his humming mid-way.

Jisung looks at him, his unfocused eyes unable to move past the slope of Minho’s nose. “Of course,” he replies, tongue thick and uncooperative. He’s sleepy and comfortable, and his worries of the day and for the week dissolve into silence.

Minho smiles and lowers his gaze again.

When Jisung drinks enough, it always seems like the world beyond his fingertips stops existing for a little while. It feels like the world steps away from the wall it has caged him against, stops breathing down his neck for a few minutes. Tonight, the world has receded and left him on the shore, and Minho’s warmth is the security of a blanket over his head after a scary movie.

Shit. He’s teary-eyed. He blinks to clear his eyes and focuses on a man sitting in the back of another cab that’s rumbling beside theirs, face lit blue and white from his phone. He is jabbing rapidly on the keyboard. Jisung wonders if it is his normal speed, but before he can continue the thought, the traffic light turns green, and the stranger in a cab is whisked away from his side.

In Jisung's shitty studio, Minho lumbers to the washroom while Jisung undresses with clumsy, sweeping movements. He's sobering up, but he still stumbles over the air and sundry ghosts on his way to his bed where he flops down face first. It smells like cotton and his shampoo. It’s soothing and so is the sound of running water from the bathroom. Jisung finds his mind drifting.

“Hey, drink water and clean up before you sleep,” Minho whispers just as Jisung’s mind segues into a staticky replay of Minho dancing away at the club they went to last week.

“I’m –  I don’t want to,” Jisung mumbles, turning, the images melting to mist and Minho’s face coming to focus as he blinks open his eyes. “Lemme be gross.”

Minho laughs softly, placing a bottle of water on Jisung’s desk. “Don’t complain if you wake up with a headache and a cotton-mouth,” he says, brushing limp locks of Jisung’s hair back. “And also, you really should brush, your morning breath is hazardous to life.”

“As if your mouth smells like daisies,” Jisung grumbles and swings his feet over the side of his bed. “There’s a reason why your cats don’t wake up like the ones on Instagram do.”

“Those cats are an idealized, airbrushed representation,” Minho retorts, “that account you like so much? I’m pretty sure they make her fur look glossier than what is possible.”

Jisung rolls his eyes. Minho’s gaze isn’t quite fixed and he looks sleepy and soft in his borrowed hoodie and pants. Jisung’s reply crumbles at the tip of his tongue as he watches Minho crawl into the bed and nuzzles the pillow.

“It’s her high-fi raw, organic diet,” Jisung says. Everything is a little shaky and he’s a lot exhausted. “You still feed your cats kibble.”

Minho flips him off. Jisung snorts and goes to the bathroom. He doesn’t register much of his nighttime ritual because exhaustion is slowly flicking off all the switches in his mind. After a dazed blur, he finds himself on his bed, breath mintier and face, cleaner. He maintains a respectable distance between himself and Minho, an invitation to either traverse it or to keep it at any point at night.

He reaches out a hand and shuts off all the lights.

───────

He awakens in the morning to another whisper. He doesn’t hear the words but knows that it is goodbye. He flaps a hand at Minho and pulls the blankets over his head before he can grasp at Minho’s enchanting warmth.

He leaves for college at a more reasonable time, and with as much misery as he can muster. Hyunjin is unimpressed as he thrusts his thermos into Jisung’s hand.

“Please spare me your mid-week blues,” Hyunjin says, adjusting Jisung’s scarf while he inhales the soothing scent of coffee.

Jisung takes a cautious sip and relaxes when he doesn’t burn his tongue. “Please spare me your existence,” Jisung replies. Hyunjin doesn’t react at all, and Jisung has always known that Hyunjin has a terrible sense of humor.

“He’s funny in his own way,” Seungmin replies when Jisung comments on Hyunjin’s absence of a funny bone, “I think. Not sure about you though, Hannie.”

“Hey!”

Hyunjin knocks his shoulder against Seungmin and sticks his tongue out at Jisung. “I suffer every day,” he complains but doesn’t look particularly bothered. “Anyway, I think we should go. Classes will start soon.”

Jisung follows after Hyunjin, leaving the pretty alcove of trees where they cluster whenever time permits. Minho tells him that they all look perpetually shady when they do that, but Jisung thinks that he leads such a blameless existence that he needs a tainted reputation to feel that he’s interesting. And Seungmin and Hyunjin need to be useful, don’t they?

That leads him into a spiral of thoughts as he walks towards the seminar hall where there’s a guest lecture happening. Minho is usually guarded about sore, tender spots that hurt when pressed, but he isn’t secretive either. Over time, Jisung has learned about quite a few of them, and dance has always been the one he speaks about the most.

But Minho always downplays his fears and his worries, so now that Jisung thinks about it, the seriousness yesterday is probably something more serious than Minho is letting on.

He takes out his phone after he finds a strategic seat where he can sleep or pay attention in peace and opens his messaging app.

Jisung: hey hyung. how’s it going?

Jisung: are you hungover? or are you still fuming about your cats not having glossy fur?

He smiles at one of his classmates who takes a seat next to him. He checks his phone to ensure that it’s on silent and then slips it into his pocket again.

The lecture is interesting enough that Jisung doesn’t get restless, and he keeps his sneaky phone checking to intermittent intervals. Not that it matters because all the texts that he receives during this time are of no consequence. He leaves the seminar hall the same way he entered: with no plans and nothing much to look forward to except for teasing his friends.

“Do you want to go to the pub nearby today?” Hyunjin asks, nudging Jisung’s arm with an elbow, “they have happy hours today.”

Jisung frowns and clicks ‘disagree’ on a question in a survey he’s filling out for a friend. “Nah. Minho hyung and I went to the pub yesterday,” he mumbles, scrolling down. “And I have this assignment to turn in.”

There’s an incriminating sort of silence that follows. Jisung looks up and sees Hyunjin’s secretive, knowing smile. The back of his neck prickles. “What?”

“Of course Minho hyung went with you~” Hyunjin sings while waggling his brows, “you’re his favorite after all.”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Shut up. He was –  it was a last-minute plan.” Heat creeps from the back of his neck to his cheeks, and he glowers at the survey to hide himself from Hyunjin’s teasing gaze.

Hyunjin snickers. “And there was no space for anyone else, obviously.”

“He said he sent a text to all of you.” Jisung says, placing his phone down and raising a brow, “so stop insinuating things, Hwang Hyunjin.”

Pursing his lips, Hyunjin stands up and swings his bag over his shoulder. “You both are dumb,” he declares, flicking Jisung’s forehead and snatching his hand away before Jisung can hit him. “If you saw what we see then you wouldn’t call this ‘insinuation’.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jisung complains, trying to swat Hyunjin but he was too far away and Jisung was too lazy to chase after him.

“That you’re dumb,” Hyunjin shoots back. He waves and lopes away, leaving Jisung alone under the shade of bare trees and in the pleasant comfort of a sun-warmed bench.

Jisung: i denounce hyunjin as my best friend

Jisung: you can string him up like a scarecrow if you want

───────

Jisung’s eyes are gritty and his back is stiff by the time he finishes his assignment and waits for the librarian to check out a couple of books for him. As is usual at this time of the semester, the library is empty and he can hear the squeak of his boots every time he shifts.

He thanks the librarian in a murmur and swipes his ID as he exits. The corridor is silent except for the receding footsteps of a group of people. He awkwardly tries to stuff his books into his backpack which he has dragged to his front as he waits for the lift to arrive.

The lift doors slide open and Jisung steps inside. He adjusts his bag as he absentmindedly presses the button to the ground floor when he hears Minho say, “Jisung! Wait!”

He startles and sees Minho jogging towards him. Without quite knowing what he’s doing, he sticks his foot in the space between the closing sides of the door. For a moment he imagines his gruesome, terrible death, but the doors roll back and Minho slips inside.

He jabs the button to shut the door and turns to face Jisung. “I thought I’d missed you,” he pants, “sorry, I didn’t charge my phone last night and also forgot my charger at your place and then I got super busy so I only saw your texts after lunch.”

“Oh.” Jisung shifts, tugs at the straps of his bag, a little dazed at meeting Minho when he wasn’t expecting it. It’s only been eight hours or so since he last saw Minho, but he looks different. Mostly because he hasn’t shaved and his hair is windswept, but also because he looks exhausted. “Long day?”

Minho winces and massages the side of his neck. “The worst. Would you mind if I came along with you to pick up my charger?”

“No, of course –  yeah. You can make us dinner too,” he smirks though his heart warms at the thought of going back home with Minho. Hyunjin’s teasing smirk flashes before his mind’s eye but he flicks it away. He likes being around the people he loves. Just sitting around them in silence soothes him, and such opportunities have become rarer ever since he moved into his apartment.

“I didn’t know I had signed up as your chef,” Minho comments drily, stepping out of the elevator. “I’m resigning.”

Jisung zips up his hoodie to his neck and follows Minho out of the building. A cold wind whips his face and it carries the smell of dust and wet earth. Filaments of gold and pink creep across the horizon. A bunch of crows caw in unison, hidden by the yellowing foliage of the trees that line the walkway.

“It’s too late, hyung,” Jisung shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and tilts his head, “you cannot escape my hold.”

Minho’s mouth twitches for a moment. “But, really Jisung, I won’t be able to cook today. I’m exhausted.”

Jisung blinks and hurries to reassure him. “No problem! I was just joking anyway. You know that you don’t have to cook for me… us. I’m just happy that you choose to – ”

“I know, I know,” Minho laughs, bumping his shoulder against Jisung’s, “I…” he hesitates and looks away. “I know. But not today. I’m having a bad day.”

Jisung turns his gaze back to the road. “We can order in. I need to add references to a paper that’s due today but after that, we can watch a movie and then crash.” A thrill of… something shoots through his stomach. Bright and warm, followed by a trail of affection. “I’ll lend you clothes so that you won’t have to leave early tomorrow.”

There’s a scream of laughter from one of the groups huddled on the campus green. The streetlamps flicker on. “That sounds perfect,” Minho says. “Thank you,” he adds quietly after a moment.

Jisung knits his brows together and huffs. “Shut up. What are you even thanking me for?” he scoffs. He grabs Minho’s hand in a sudden, impulsive movement and squeezes. “My mom says that the best cure for a bad day is a full stomach and eight hours of sleep.” He drops Minho’s hand.

“So spending time with a noisy man called Jisung isn’t a part of the cure?” Minho raises a brow. “Damn, you are really offering me the short end of the stick.”

“I hope you aren’t able to shower in hot water for a week,” Jisung says, shoving Minho who is laughing. “You’ve hurt me for no reason!”

“It was just a question!” Minho protests, still chuckling.

Jisung sniffs, but he’s smiling too much to give even a microscopic impression of haughtiness. “I hate you.”

Minho nods and pats Jisung’s head. “I’m sure you do.”

Usually, he would fight against such condescension, but Minho is smiling, eyes creased and teeth flashing in the dim light that surrounds them. I want you to feel better, he thinks. Wants to say it too. But they’re almost at the gate, and the noise of traffic - loud, insistent, and incessant - wedges itself in the space between the both of them, dispels the cocoon. So, Jisung lets it go and instead launches into a story about his philosophy class.

───────

Jisung watches the movie while Minho unwinds by watching as many cat videos as he can in the space of an hour. He is warm and solid by Jisung’s side, and as Kiki makes an entrance into Koriko, he wonders again about the uncharacteristic seriousness from yesterday night.

“Hyung?” Jisung whispers as Kiki starts a whirlwind of commotion. “Are you fine? I mean, you seemed a bit sad yesterday.”

Minho glances up at him. Jisung wants to touch his cheek but keeps his hands folded over his chest. “When we were drinking,” he adds when Minho squints in confusion.

“Ah.” Minho locks his phone, and without the bright light of his phone, half of his face is mired in shadows while a sliver of it is lit by the movie playing on Jisung’s screen. “I was being… weird.” A shrug. “Forget it.”

“Being sad isn’t the same as being weird,” Jisung says, tapping on the spacebar to pause the movie. “I didn’t ask you properly yesterday because I was buzzed, but you sounded worried.”

Minho rolls to his side and faces Jisung. “Alcohol affects voice modulation too,” he says in a conspiratorial tone.

Jisung waits and blinks expectantly until Minho sighs. He tries to hide a smile but fails and Minho pokes his stomach.

“Shut up,” Minho grumbles, “I’m just feeling low.” He flops into his back and his hair splays out on the pillow. “And then I just asked the void and the walls ‘why am I not improving even though I practice every day’ like a dramatic sad sack and then I felt worse.”

Jisung’s laptop screen goes dark. His shitty night vision presents him with a grainy, hazy view of Minho’s side profile. “Do you feel better now?” he says, closing his laptop and putting it away on the floor.

Minho kicks up the blanket from the foot of the bed to his chin. Jisung lifts his hips and drags the blanket from underneath him and shuffles until he is under it. Once upon a time, Jisung thinks, sharing a bed was an awkward endeavor. Now, it is a humdrum action, done without any thought because it has seeped into their muscles and gristle.

Well, it would be better if they cuddled, but Jisung supposes that you can't have everything. Minho never really tries to breach the space between them, and even when it happens, he plays it off as an accident. 

Minho yawns and tucks the blankets around crevices and corners of his body. “Yeah. Yeah. It’s something I do when I’m stressed. Just loudly talking about my worries,” he chuckles, “sometimes when you give words to your worries, they seem silly and it makes me realize that I don’t need to bother with it that much. But, yeah, I guess it’s a strange thing to do.”

Look, Jisung isn’t saying that he knows Minho to his atoms, or that he understands everything about him in an intimate, extensive way. But he does know that Minho needs reassurance sometimes too even if he tries his best to not pay any heed to people’s opinions. “I did that once too. I fell on my knees and wailed about the fact that people didn’t clap for me much at my school’s annual day function. Beat that.”

“And did it work?” There’s no change in Minho’s tone, but he does shift closer. He is close enough that Jisung can feel his warmth.

“It didn’t. It just reinforced the idea that I wasn’t as cool as I thought myself to be when I played the guitar.” Jisung clenches his eyes shut, neck prickling. “I wish I have the guts I had at sixteen, hyung. I had no shame. I can’t believe I showed off my subpar guitar playing skills to the entire school.”

Minho laughs and pats Jisung’s shoulder. “One day I’ll find that recording.”

“I’ve deleted it,” Jisung says immediately even though he hasn’t. He’s sure it lurks in one of his hard drives, and he knows for sure that his parents have squirreled away a copy. “I have scrubbed my computer clean of it.”

“Then I’ll make you play once.” Minho’s words jumbled by his yawn. “One day.”

Jisung would if Minho asked. Somewhere along the way, making Minho laugh has become second nature. He doesn’t know when it happened, but he suspects that it slotted into place the moment he decided that Minho made him feel safe. “You wish.”

Car lights stain the wall for a moment and disappear, two different lives, his and theirs, intersecting for a second. Jisung wants to stay suspended here and only here.

“One day,” Minho whispers.

Jisung hums and it is a sound of agreement hidden underneath the nonchalance.

──────

Saturdays are better than Sundays and Jisung is ready to fight anyone who dares to argue with him. If only he could get out of his bed that is, and that’s unlikely to happen.

Since he lives in a building that was occupied solely by college students, it thrums with the reflection of its occupants' lives. Every weekday he hears the clomp of footsteps and the slams of doors starting from 7 A.M. onwards. On Saturdays, there is only peaceful silence, a thrilling change from the routine of five days.

So Jisung lays cocooned in his blankets, scrolling through his phone as his speaker echoes with his morning playlist from the floor. This was one of his profound joys in life: the simple deceit of opening the curtains and hiding under the sheets to thumb his nose at the morning. I’m the adventurous sort, he thinks to himself with a snort as he rubs his sleep-heavy eyes.

He’s eating his breakfast when his phone buzzes with a message from Minho. He pauses the video that he is watching and clicks on Minho’s message. It’s a text from Minho: a photo of a sunrise, pink and gentle against the silhouette of dark buildings. His phone buzzes again in his hand as another message arrives.

Minho: the only good thing about early morning practices is the sunrise

Jisung: sounds awful honestly

Jisung; who wants to see the sun when they can sleep

Jisung: hyung go to sleep

There’s no immediate reply. He watches the screen until it goes dark, then shrugs and switches over to his video again. Minho dips in and out like that, texting when he has time to catch his breath and disappearing when he doesn’t. Jisung usually leaves him a collection of texts and audios messages and Minho replies when he sees them. In a way, Jisung thinks, distracted by a drop of milk that splashes on his t-shirt, their conversations never end.

It’s strange to think that, all things considered. When Minho had first befriended him, Jisung had been a surly mess, unreceptive and jealous by what he thought was an attempt to splinter his friend group. (Side note: He had no idea why he thought that, but he’s just glad that his friends forgave him for his emotional stuntedness.) Anyway, Jisung of the past would’ve never thought that he would be here with such a deep friendship, one that colored all his days with light.

He makes a face as the sheer sappiness of his thoughts hits him. Vaguely embarrassed, he focuses on finishing his cereal and going through his day. Not that he has much to do. An essay that can be shoddy and half-assed, some basic cleaning. Plenty of time to while away.

The next message comes when Jisung is scrolling through a food delivery app, trying to pick something for lunch.

Minho:  can I come over?

Jisung: why are you even asking?

Jisung: you can come here whenever you want

Minho: 20 mins

Jisung: okay, I’ll order food for you

He adds more portions of food to the cart.

Minho arrives before the food does which is a given. He hangs his jacket on the coatrack and groans as he unlaces his boots. “My feet hurt and I haven’t showered yet.”

“Ooh, the smell is from you and not some food that I accidentally left out,” Jisung teases. “Go shower. Food’s not here yet anyway.”  Minho smiles but it droops before it can fully bloom and his shoulders are sloped with exhaustion. Jisung steps forward and pats Minho on the shoulder. “Maybe you can sleep after we’ve eaten.”

“Yeah. That will be nice.” Minho’s voice is small, distracted as he takes a step then pauses. Though he has divested his outer clothing, he still lingers by the wall, half lost to the shadows. He’s just really close and warm, and a touch too intense.

Jisung’s heart is not in his mouth. He shifts a little, unsure of what this sudden silence means. Minho’s eyes are wide, but otherwise even in the dim lights offer nothing. “Hyung?”

Minho flinches and he rearranges his expression with a rapidity that leaves Jisung dizzy. “I’m really glad about this weather. It uh – makes me feel good. This weather. Haha.”

Squinting, Jisung tries to comprehend what just happened. Minho’s ears and neck are blotchy and he’s fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. “Is that what you were going to say?” he asks, reaching a hand out to touch Minho’s ear. “I don’t think so.”

“Shut up,” Minho flicks his jaw and smirks when Jisung yelps. He hesitates for a brief then says, “this is part of what I was going to tell you. It’s – a bit sappy. I thought about it all the way here.”

Jisung stops dramatically cradling his jaw. Minho steps away and hovers near the couch where he drops his bag. He looks awkward like this, arms by his sides and untethered with no object in sight to occupy him. “Oh?”

“It was like this when I used to go to cram school in the evening,” Minho inclines his head towards the window. “Not as gloomy, but like it was a couple of hours ago.”

Jisung has no idea how the clear the skies were a few hours ago since he’d only opened the blinds when Minho had texted him about coming over. He still nods, and makes a sound of encouragement.

“It was cold but I would still feel the sun on my face. You know, it was the same in the mornings too.” Minho’s brows pinch together. “Cold, but with the sun’s warmth following me too. Like a hand on my wrist,” he laughs a little, an awkward, strangled sound. “Otherwise, I would’ve slept on the sidewalk.”

Jisung watches as Minho’s eyes soften. “You love the sun a lot, don’t you?”

“How can I not?” Minho replies. “We seek the sun in both its presence and its absence, don’t we? Day and night. Wakefulness and sleep. I mean –” he coughs, gaze darting away, “but it’s nice to have it around, you know?”

Overcome by fondness, Jisung throws himself at Minho at smacks a kiss on his cheek. “You’re a poet!” he cries, cupping Minho’s cheeks, “sun-lover boy.”

“God, you’re horrible,” Minho scrambles back and pushes Jisung away, but he’s flushed to his neck. He sits down on the sofa. “I – uh…  was just emotional about the weather, okay?”

“You’re adorable~” Jisung is vibrating with uncommon affection, but there’s an undercurrent of… of something being out of place. It is a pinprick burn; a gap that demands to be filled. “You should try being like this every day,” he finds himself saying though his thoughts are clattering somewhere else.

 “You can fantasize about it if you want. I know you’re obsessed with me.”

Jisung rolls his eyes as he walks towards the sofa. He steps over a pool of light, somehow afloat even with the ground under his feet. His stomach is in knots and he rubs it as moves towards Minho’s prone form. “Your head’s getting too big, hyung,” he teases as he takes a seat at the edge of the sofa.

Maybe it’s the way the clouds cover the sun just then, but Minho’s face darkens. Like he’s pained or…frustrated. When Jisung shifts to get a better look at his visage, he finds Minho wearing a normal expression. Still, he asks, “is everything alright, hyung?”

“Timing,” Minho shakes his head. “I –” he scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m tired. I slept at 2 A.M. yesterday.” He rolls his shoulders, “I’m only half-human right now.”

Jisung twists the fabric of his t-shirt around his fingers until it tightens against his waist, hurts his fingers. “Okay… like I said, you can sleep after you eat.” He frees his finger from the fabric, pats Minho’s knee. “Have you been sleeping well?”

Shaking his head again, Minho turns and scoots down until his head is on Jisung’s lap. “No, I have stuff to do. Something or the other keeps coming up and – yeah.” He fiddles with his sleeves, “there’s too much on my mind.”

Looking down on Minho from his angle is devastating. Jisung traces his features with his eyes: the slope of his nose and the jut of his cheekbones, fingers twitching with the urge to touch. He refrains, however, and instead pats Minho’s head. “It’s Saturday now. I think you should just become one with your blanket, you know. Give yourself time to recover.”

Minho sighs, eyes fluttering close. “A good night’s sleep,” he mumbles, lacing his hands together on top of his stomach. “To face the day ahead.”

“Yeah. You can take over the world and stuff,” Jisung agrees as he fiddles with his phone. “Rest your eyes, hyung. I’ll wake you up when the food arrives. Do you want a sheet?”

A minute shake of his head is Minho’s reply. Jisung unlocks his phone and pulls up the article he was reading. Minho heaves another soft sigh and then silence prevails in the apartment.

There’s still an unknown ache in his belly.

───────

“I asked the void ‘why did I choose to go to college’ today,” Jisung says, mopping his forehead. “Because mid-terms are just around the corner and yeah. My preparations are non-existent”

Minho takes his hat off and brushes his hair back. The sharpness of his features distracts Jisung and he freezes with his towel pressed to his throat.

“Why?” Minho whines as he rolls his shoulders. “I can’t believe that you used my shitty coping mechanism.”

Jisung shoves his ankle with weak fingers. He should add more cardio routines to his workout regimens because an hour and a half of dancing with Minho has left him with painful stitches on both sides. “How else am I supposed to find a coping mechanism? Introspection? Yuck.” Jisung drops on the floor and stretches his arms above his head. “Not that it was helpful, by the way. I still don’t know why I chose higher education.”

Minho hums as he bends down from his waist to touch his toes. “I don’t know what you were expecting. It’s a bloody wall that you’re talking to. You need to figure out stuff yourself.”

“Wow! I can’t even complain these days!” Jisung groans, still splayed on the floor. He should get up and stretch, but he is sweaty and his arms feel like they are melting into the wooden floor. “The education system needs to be re-worked from the top down. Like, I already spewed these lies to the admission board about being good at handling stress and stuff, but I hate exams.”

“We have a rising criminal in our midst,” Minho jokes as he switches to a downward dog, “he lies about academic ambitions. How devious!”

Jisung averts his eyes again, rubbing the back of his neck. Minho is just… very intense like this. When he’s in his element and with his face glowing in delight. “Why are you being mean!” Jisung asks as he rolls to his side and stands up. “Also, I’m really proud of my lies. I moved myself to tears.” He lazily begins to stretch his triceps.

Minho snorts. “I believe you. You’re good with words. And stop worrying about your exams, you always figure stuff out by the end.”

Jisung puffs his chest outwards, his arms laced together behind him. “Yeah, but. Ugh. It’s just tiring and we are at this weird spot, you know. Like there’s enough time to do something, but also not enough to do things well.”

A beat then two passes in silence. Jisung looks at Minho in confusion and finds him wringing his towel between his hands. “Hyung?”

Minho startles and drops his hands. He shakes his head and smiles. “That’s… yeah. Yeah, I feel you.” He moves to the corner where they have kept their bags. “Want to grab a snack?”

“Um...sure, yes.” Jisung blinks but follows Minho anyway, unsure of what transpired, and what he’s missed from it. Minho doesn’t seem different as Jisung comes closer because he smacks Jisung’s butt the moment he bends to pick up his bag.

───────

“Hyung, I said, I’ll cook,” Jisung chides, bumping his hips against Minho’s until he’s pushed away from the stove. “Why couldn’t you just sit?”

“You keep me around for making ramen though,” Minho replies, cracking a smile. “Didn’t want to disappoint you.”

His smile is stiff and the set of his mouth is strained. Jisung lowers the heat, but the steaming vapor melds with the wetness of his hair and makes sweat prickle at his temples. “I keep you around for your sparkling company too.” He twists at the towel draped over his shoulders with one hand and reached out with the other to poke at Minho’s cheek. “Is everything alright?”

Minho blinks. He blinks multiple times and it takes that long for Jisung to understand that he’s trying to hold back tears. Minho exhales a ragged breath.

Jisung’s heart lurches. “Hyung…” he takes a step forward. Minho, who is already quite close to the wall, ends up with his back pressed against it. Jisung runs a hand down Minho’s arm, the wall behind him bumping against Jisung’s fingertips. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.”

The rough, wet edges of his voice say otherwise. Jisung’s grips Minho’s elbow, his stomach roiling when he sees that Minho’s eyes are bloodshot. “Tell me what –”

Minho snatches his arm away with an impatient tug. “I’m fucking fine! Let me go!” He steps past Jisung, stomps away. Jisung hears the bathroom door slam shut.

The dusty wall remains stoic and still. The water in the saucepan hisses, overcome by the lack of attention. Jisung bites his lip and tends to their dinner. Perhaps because he never expected to be friends with Minho, it is a jolt to feel the depth of worry in his gut. It has flooded him like a wave, has left him desperate as he tries to wade through it to fight the thing that has clouded Minho’s heart.

But he doesn’t do anything. He remains rooted and waits for Minho to come back. Space is a gift and also an intimation of understanding. He cooks the noodles and stirs them with a ladle that Minho gifted him.

───────

Jisung’s almost done reading a long-form article on a subject that he cares nothing for when Minho emerges from the bathroom. His eyes are red and two lashes are sticking to the top of his cheekbones. He sits beside Jisung and removes the plate that covers the bowl beside Jisung’s empty one.

“I’m sorry,” Minho murmurs, folding his legs so that he’s sitting cross-legged. The bowl in his hand steams gently. “I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“I suppose I cornered you,” Jisung twists his body until he’s sitting with his back against the armrest. “Sorry. I know that you don’t like crying in front of people.”

Minho chuckles but is a faint, flat sound devoid of mirth. His chopsticks remain stationary in his hand. “I was just overwhelmed by – um…”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Jisung hastens to say even though he’s burning with the desire to know so that he can fix it. Shut up, he snaps at himself and instead pats Minho’s knee. “It’s alright, hyung-ah.”

“ – it’s just that I’m responsible for everything,” Minho says in a rush, turning to face Jisung. “Like, I know I can quit or stop something anytime I want, but I also know that the shame will be too much. But they expect me to do the work of three people. Email admin, sort out the rosters, pick the music, get the music, schedule classes, create choreographies, and everything else. I just want to sleep.” He falls silent.

Jisung doesn’t say anything either. He watches the furrow of Minho’s brows and the reddening tip of his nose. He shuffles forward until their knees bump.

“I know that it means they think I can handle stuff and make it means they’ll make me the dance captain but –” Minho clamps his lips and drops his gaze to his bowl. “And then exams too, of course,” a bitter laugh. “It’s just that the past few weeks have been… long and humiliating.” He sighs, shoulders quivering. “I have so much to do and the days are always so short in winter, aren’t they?”

“Lemme go and slap all of them,” Jisung says, rolling his sleeves to his elbows. Minho doesn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitches, just a little. Satisfied, Jisung lowers his voice until the only space it can traverse in the sparse inches between them. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s not his mind that’s driving him forward, but a need to touch, to soothe, to protect. He swallows and pats both of Minho’s knees. “I wish I could make things better for you, but I only have that solution that I told you the other day.”

Minho snorts, finally gathering a bite of his ramen. “That was for a bad day. Would it work for a bad week?”

Jisung suppresses a laugh. “Yeah. The only change is that along with food and eight hours of sleep, you have to spend time with Han Jisung.”

“Do you think I can drown in a bowl of overcooked ramen?” Minho asks in a monotone, peering into the bowl.

“I am not one to question my elders,” Jisung grins. “So, go right ahead.” He squints when there is no reply. Minho is still and silent, mouth open in vague surprise. “Hyung?” Jisung asks, poking the tip of his nose.

With a minute shake of his head, Minho focuses on Jisung. “The void doesn’t talk back like you do.” He shakes his head again, smiles faintly. “I’m going to eat now and then sleep. Cure for a bad day, right?”

Jisung reaches a hand out to rub the corner of Minho’s mouth with his thumb where there’s a spot of soup. He doesn’t know why he does it. He’s just so fond and his heart is so warm. “Yeah. And don’t forget the ‘spending time with me’ bit.”

“I can’t seem to get rid of you,” Minho says and then turns his head to bite the side of Jisung’s hand.

“Hyung!” Jisung shrieks, wiping his hand on Minho’s shirt. “What the fuck! I hate you!”

Minho cackles and all the lines on his face that are wrought by despair fade away. Jisung’s hand stings a little, but to see Minho bright-eyed and smiling – affection jostles his self to the side as it tries to find space in his body.

How am I so lucky that I know you? he thinks as he forces his gaze away from Minho and onto the plate that he’d used to cover the bowl. Condensation covers the underside and they reflect pinprick gleams of the overhead light. If he stretches his imagination then it would seem like a dozen mirrors are held up to his face.

He doesn’t though and instead folds the affection until it is small enough to be tucked away.

───────

Jisung’s distracted gaze drifts across the room and into the kitchen. Minho’s sitting on the floor, glasses slipping down his nose as he types furiously on his phone. His glass of water – the reason for his trek to the kitchen – remains untouched. From the way his brows steeple together because of a frown, Jisung can tell that his studies aren’t going all that well either.

Jisung closes his book, stands up, pulls the fabric of his sweatpants out of sundry crevices. He’s been sitting for too long, grappling with a topic that didn’t require any sort of intellectual effort instead of focusing on the ones that would contribute more to his GPA. Procrastination came in so many flavors, it was shocking. This one was his favorite: illusory goal achievement. Waste time and energy on something that didn’t matter to tell yourself that you did, technically, work.

“Why am I my own worst enemy,” Jisung mutters with a half-smile as he lumbers to the kitchen.

He catches Minho shoving his glasses up his nose and rolling his eyes. It’s an endearing sight and Jisung smiles as he pokes at the food in the fridge. There’s nothing of note, except for the vanilla cake that Felix made the other day. Help yourself :D, a pink sticky note stuck on the lid proclaims, and Jisung makes a mental note to help himself as requested after he eats something more substantial.

“What do you think of my plan to run over to the person who wrote this textbook and decking them one?” Minho asks, pointing at his phone.

Jisung looks at him in surprise and finds that Minho is standing quite close to the fridge. His eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, and his hair is a knotted mess. “Uh – don’t?”

Minho squints before making a dismissive gesture with his fingers. “What if I really want to hit them, Jisung-ah? What if that’s what my heart desires?”

“If you assault someone then you’ll be arrested and you’ll miss that big Stats test,” Jisung says, tugging at an errant lock of Minho’s hair before brushing it away from his face.

Minho squints then types something quickly before shoving his phone into his pocket. His ears are flushed. “Good point. Do you want to go out for dinner?”

Jisung finds himself smiling. Minho is so cute. He gets embarrassed by a list of specific things and sudden, unexpected affection is at the top of it. Jisung’s neck is warm too, but it is easy to ignore at the face of Minho’s cuteness.  “Let me change.”

───────

On the way to the tiny snack restaurant that Chan had brought all of them to one by one and then together throughout his illustrious college career, Minho fills him in about his plans after midterms.

“Instead of studying, I made a list of movies to watch after exams,” he says, pressing his hand over the top of his cap to keep it from flying away. “I just want to drown myself in them and not have a single coherent thought for a couple of days before everything starts all over again.”

Jisung nods. He doesn’t have plans, mostly because he’s too lazy to make them. “I’m planning to sleep through the weekend after we’re done with exams,” he says, pressing closer to Minho’s side as a gamut of people exits a restaurant and crowd the pavement.

“You – uh,” Minho begins then pauses. There are too many people, and Jisung has to focus on not knocking into someone or being knocked off his feet. Minho’s hand grips his elbow, a reassuring clasp. “Wait, I’ll tell you later. I don’t want to lose you in this crowd.”

Even if they lose each other, they both know where to go and will find each other anyway. But Jisung’s heart leaps and his mind silences itself as warmth cascades over every limb and rib. His mind leaps to the forefront again. Says, it’s not that deep. Yet, his fingers still tingle because this has fallen into a well and found it very deep indeed.

This bout of rumination presses on something. Something heavy, and discomfiting, out of place. Something similar to what he had felt the other day. But his heart has scarcely started to race when they arrive under the neon-lighted board of the snack restaurant.

“I forgot that today is a Saturday,” Minho laughs, eyes reflecting an orange glimmer from the lights. “Time always passes so strangely when it’s exam time, right?”

Jisung begins to scale the rickety steps. “Yeah, like it’s too slow and too fast all at once.” His words rattle around his mind, sudden and squally, before they emerge outside and to light in the entryway of the restaurant proper. “I think that’s just time.”

“You never know that something is happening until it happens,” Minho says, lightly tapping Jisung’s shoulder to guide him towards an empty table, “that’s what it feels like to me.”

Jisung doesn’t get a chance to reply because the smell of food is making his stomach rumble and squeeze in hunger. He makes a noise of agreement as he picks up the menu card.

It’s towards the tail end of their meal that Minho refers to what he was going to say back on the road. It had actually slipped Jisung’s mind, and it is strange to see Minho fidgeting with his spoon.

"We should do the movie marathon together," he says, flattening his scoop of ice-cream with the underside of his spoon.

Jisung pauses, stares. "Me?"

Minho peers past Jisung's shoulder. "Oh no, I meant Jonathan, the Victorian era valet who haunts you by making you dress terribly. What do you say, Jon?"

Jisung throws his balled-up tissue at Minho's face. "I don't dress terribly! Take that back!"

“The truth hurts, but only a true friend would say it to your face,” replies Minho, ducking away from another ball of tissue that comes his way. “You’re littering!”

“Your words are garbage,” Jisung grumbles, snatching the tissues away from Minho’s hand. “If you want to invite someone to do a movie marathon with you, this is not the way.” Truth be told, he feels jittery and there’s that swooping in his belly again.

Minho casts a longsuffering look at the ceiling and says, “shut up and come over next week. Bring snacks. Actually, even you don’t come, send the snacks over to my flat.”

“I hope you know that I’m going to push you into the traffic,” he huffs, contemplating the molten sea of his ice cream. Molten ice-cream is essentially a milkshake, right? “You’re annoying, you know that, right?” Laughter is an odd tickle trapped in his throat, and his smile is wide enough that his cheeks hurt.

“Yes, I can just see it happening,” Minho snorts. His face is bright and open. He’s wriggling in his seat. Fuck.  “Oh no. I’m scared.”

Jisung’s smile unfolds like a yarn running loose: uncontrollable and messy, but joyful. “You should be. I hide unquenchable rage under my sweet façade.”

Minho tilts his head. There’s a spot of ice-cream on his chin and his ears are red. “I’ll let you live in your dream world.” He touches his ear, bends the cartilage twice, then drops his hand. “I’ll send you the list.”

Jisung stares at Minho, at the distance between them, and clenches his hand around his spoon before he reaches out to pull him closer. He exhales and scoops a bite of molten ice-cream. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbles.

───────

(II)

He hadn’t expected to become friends with Minho.

Oh sure, he had thought that they would be grudging acquaintances because of all the friends they have in common, but it seemed unlikely that they would be friends. Unlikely enough that it is a vague shock to realize that they stay over at each other’s places more often than not. That they have been spending even more time together after that day in the library. That they are in each other’s company so often that they have created a relationship for themselves beyond their friend group.

That Minho has become such an integral part of Jisung’s life that the sight of him stooping over his tiny stove is familiar. Expected.

“What’re you making?” Jisung asks, rubbing his eyes as he enters the kitchen area.

“I don’t understand why you don’t have an electric kettle. Did you know that it would make your life ten times easier?” Minho grouses instead of answering his question. “I’ll have you buy you an entire kitchen set at this rate.”

Jisung spots the mugs on the counter with teabags inside. Jisung has never bought teabags in his life, so he’s pretty sure that Minho must’ve brought them along with him. He fiddles with the thread of a teabag. “I have a ladle.”

“I gifted it to you.”

“Yeah, and I have that spatula that Felix gave me. So, I’m all set,” Jisung replies as the water in the saucepan starts boiling. “You don’t need a fancy kitchen to cook meals filled with love~”

Minho gives him a flat look as he pours the water into the mug he uses. “Instant noodles are filled with MSG not love~” he mocks and smacks Jisung’s hand away from the rim of the second mug before he pours water in that.

“You’re lying. They’re full of love and that’s why I am buff.” Jisung flexes his biceps to prove his point.

Heaving a sigh, Minho picks up his mug and starts walking away. “I don’t even know why I like you. You’re so embarrassing, I’m leaving.”

Along with his baseless suspicion that Minho was encroaching into his friend group, Jisung from two years ago had always been so awed by Minho’s existence. Not only because he was handsome, but by the fact that he always made time for Jisung, dragged him to places that Minho thought he would like. He had blustered and sputtered but had gone with Minho anyway.

 His past self would never be able to believe him now, as he trips over his feet to follow Minho and joke around with him some more.

How did I find myself here? he thinks as he sees Minho picking up a textbook, already tucked against his side of the sofa, mug resting on its arm. “You just don’t want to admit that I’m more buff,” Jisung says instead, sitting beside Minho. “It’s okay, not everyone can be as handsome as me.”

Minho turns a page, but there’s a slant, telling smile that he isn’t quite able to hide. “Whatever lets you sleep at night, Hannie. Also, I hope you know that you have a presentation in six hours.”

“You’re like a daily planner,” Jisung informs him, swiping the mousepad of his laptop with his free hand. He squints against the glare from his screen. “An annoying one. Always telling me what to do.”

He gets a few hearty pinches for his trouble, and then gets tickled. As he screams with laughter and doesn’t try all that hard to push Minho away, a part of him is really glad that things never went the way young Jisung wanted them to happen.

───────

Exams arrive with a flourish, as all evil things are wont to do. Jisung cracks open his PDFs and scanned notes collected from sixty different sources with deep resentment. How cruel that he can’t coast by with whatever helped him excel in kindergarten.

“Should’ve started early,” Jisung grumbles to himself as he sits by lonesome in his home, scrolling through his document. The amount of study time he’d wasted prickles at him. “Next time I drown in work like this.” The promise is limp and drenched with lies, but it manages to push his frustration back somewhat. He recognizes the material but doesn’t know enough to write a paper. That’s the worst.

He stifles a yawn and takes a sip of his coffee. Reads a line. Ruminates over a song he’s working on. Loses himself in it, then startles to attention when his screen passive-aggressively goes dark.

He manages to read a paragraph when his phone pings. He nearly drops his coffee in his haste to pick up his phone. Oh, sweet distraction.  It’s a text from Minho, asking him about his plans for lunch.

Jisung: shedding tears haha

Jisung: studying isn’t going well :(

Minho: come over to my flat and we can study together

Minho: lix made a lot of food!

Jisung stands up and closes his laptop before even replying to Minho. He’ll be free of this dratted material for the length of his walk to Minho’s flat and he kinda wants to squeeze Minho until he squeaks. Jisung takes off in a spirited trot. He’ll manage to get some studying done too because he always worked best with someone’s unobtrusive presence hovering beside him.

And Minho is the best at it, he thinks as he walks to the bus stop. It was soothing to have him around even though he was a right brat when he opened his mouth. With the amount of time they’d been spending together these days, Jisung marvels at the way they tick together from complete, productive silence to loud, pointless arguments.

He touches his cheek, finds the broad edge of his smile. As he waits for the bus, he can hear the cacophony of birds around him and above him, fighting to be heard over the rush of traffic. He is so distracted that he bumps into someone who glowers at him before brushing past him with a pointed sniff.

The bus ride passes in a daze. The moment he steps of the bus, he finds himself unable to remember what he was thinking. He only knows that his irrepressible smile bewilders him and yet his bewilderment makes him smile too. Look, mom, I’m a complex human being. He snorts at the thought and earns a sidelong glance from one of the students who live in Minho’s building.

Minho opens the door with his phone held between his shoulder and ear. He bounds away to the window after a cursory wave. The sunlight burnishes his hair and his skin. Jisung wants to touch his hair just to see if it holds the warmth of the sun too.

“What’re you looking at, Sungie?” Felix asks. The amusement on his face is at odds with the somber light of a winter’s day. “Minho hyung is blocking the view, isn’t he?” He drops his voice, widens his eyes, “or is he the view?”

“Shut up!” Jisung hisses, neck heating. He shoves at Felix. “Don’t you have an exam to study for?”

Felix snickers and folds his arms. “I just want to know why my roommate is never here anymore.”

“Hmm,” Jisung taps his temple and squints his eyes, “there was something about an annoying roommate.”

“Oh really?” Felix grins, “so your solution was to be a homewrecker?”

Minho clears his throat. “Why are you talking about me? Are you that obsessed with me?”

“We were discussing how Jisung basically lured you away from the house you fought hard for,” Felix says as he shuffles to the kitchen, “he said it’s because he’s a homewrecker, but I think Minho hyung just found his –”

“Minho hyung doesn’t want to be the topic of discussion any more,” Minho says, an uneven edge to his voice. “Let’s go.” He grabs Jisung’s hand and tugs him towards his room.

Jisung follows, confused but also amused by the red hue of Minho’s ears. He wants to tease him a little, but his shoulders are tense enough that they warn Jisung away from any intentions to carry out the plan.

Shutting the door behind him, Minho drags his chair out from the desk and settles down with the maximum amount of noise possible. Jisung lingers beside the desk.

“You millennium kids are a pain in the ass,” Minho grumbles. His face is smooth and his tone is joking, but when Jisung touches his shoulder, he finds them as stiff as a board. Minho looks up at him with wide eyes. “What?”

Jisung drops his hand, abashed and unsure. For all the casual touching that they engage in, he feels like he has crossed some boundary. His fingers still tingle with the warmth of Minho’s skin. “You just seemed… tense?”

Minho types his password on his laptop and points at the window that’s open on his screen. “It’s because of this.” The number of tabs that he has open is so many that they look like dots. “I’m fucked.”

Fiddling with his rings, Jisung steps away and crosses the short distance to the bed. An empty mug sits on the nightstand, beside Minho’s spectacle case. A few coins are dispersed on the scratched wood, weighing down a polaroid. It’s a photo of Minho’s cats, and Jisung stares at their paws instead of facing the sudden awkwardness in the distance that separates them. He has never been able to tell if things are actually awkward or if he is imagining it to be so.

“It’ll be –”

“When I was young, I couldn’t comprehend time-zones,” Minho says, turning his chair until he is facing Jisung. “I couldn’t understand how it could be day somewhere and night somewhere else.”

“I – I didn’t understand how films were made?” Jisung finds himself saying, for no reason other than to chase the stilted silence away before it seeped in again, “I thought people with cameras just stumbled onto those scenes and… videotaped it.”

Minho chuckles and it’s a shade that’s similar enough to his usual laughter that makes Jisung relax. “Now, I feel better,” Minho teases. “But – then I thought to myself a couple of days back that even if it’s night time here, it’s morning somewhere else. I used that as motivation to pull an all-nighter.”

“Hyung…”

“And then I conked out after two days of experimentation,” Minho shrugs, “I’d just woken up when I texted you.”

Minho sits with his hands on his knees. A shadow sweeps across the floor and then disappears when it reaches the way. Outside traffic rumbles away in a steady hum as Jisung gropes for something to say. Minho beats him to it though.

“Sometimes, I’m afraid of the night.”

Jisung is startled to action by that. “Why?” he asks, ready to – to do something. Something that will make Minho feel better.

With a shake of his head, Minho turns his chair. “There are so many things to do,” a click and a video starts playing on Minho’s laptop, the audio held in the confines of his earphones that are dangling down the table. “And so little time. What if I never do what I have set out to do and lose everything? What if I fail anyway? When a day’s done, it’s done.”

He should say something, but Jisung has no idea what to say. He has an impression that he’s gaping like a fish out of water or goggling like those creatures in paintings that Hyunjin shows him and tells him is art. He does know what to say – but that’s how time works, hyung and it’s not all that bad. Days pass like that and as it does, it soothes the sting of life and glues you to your life and people; provides you with a ballast.

Days and nights are what we’re made of. Don’t be afraid of the night. I’m here at all times.

That leaves him feeling naked and too hot in the tepid climes of Minho’s sunlit room. So, he holds his tongue as Minho turns away – as he always does – from Jisung’s failed attempts to tell him what he thinks about him.

───────

The sky is colored with the deep plum of dusk. Seungmin’s apartment smells of lavender and its source is now a guttering flame, nearly drowning in a puddle of wax. Jisung stares at the window because his eyes refuse to focus on the bright screen of his laptop anymore.

“I’m going to sleep,” Hyunjin says. “I’m twenty-one but I feel as creaky as an old man.”

Jisung turns to look at him with bleary eyes, attention caught by the takeout order Felix placing over the phone. He checks the clock and is shocked to find that he’s been here for four hours already. He gropes for his phone, finds it under Seungmin’s couch. He flops on his back and scrolls through his messages.

He frowns at Hyunjin when he pokes Jisung’s stomach with his toe. “Why are you bullying me?”

“Shut up, it was barely a poke,” Hyunjin pokes him again. “So, what are we doing when our exams are? If you say you’re going to sleep then I’m stomping on your hand.”

Jisung raises a brow. “Our exams have barely started. Secondly, who says I want to hang out with you?”

Hyunjin presses his lips together and tries to scowl but his little dimple gives him away. “Hey, Seungmin. Jisung doesn’t want to come along with us. Good riddance.”

“I told you that reverse psychology always works on him,” Seungmin exchanges a high five with Hyunjin.

“Felix, they’re bullying me,” Jisung wails, grabbing Felix’s ankle as he passes by him. “Protect me!”

Raising his hands in front of him in a placating gesture, Felix says, “Don’t bully him, guys. Let’s just talk shit about him in secret like we always do.”

“Prick!” Jisung smacks Felix’s calf, “I always knew that you only kept me around for comedic purposes.” He yelps when Hyunjin aims a kick at his ribs.

“Your jokes went stale three months after we became friends with you,” Seungmin raises his voice to be heard over Jisung’s pained groans and Hyunjin’s action movie sound effects, “but we’ve still kept you around for three years, haven’t we?”

“Woah! Has it been three years already?” Felix asks, surprise coloring his voice. “I still feel like…” he tilts his head, “like barely any time has passed even though it obviously has.”

Jisung feels the same way, too. Even though the passage of three years is marked by the calendars and in the age, he writes in forms, it still feels like he stepped off the edge of time and is now here with people he calls brothers. “I don’t know how the years went by so quickly,” he says, thinking time glues people together, gives you a ground under your feet. The candle on the coffee table snuffs out and a thin wisp of smoke curls upwards.

“And how we managed to do so much without even realizing,” Hyunjin adds, waving at the photos that line his walls. “Wow. It’s been three years.”

Seungmin stretches his hands over his head and groans. “I guess time passes quickly with idiots like you.”

Jisung harrumphs and tickles the underside of Seungmin’s socked foot. “Since you care so much about us, why don’t you take us out for dinner after exams?”

“I thought you didn’t want to come,” Seungmin says, dragging his leg up away from Jisung’s reach. “So, you’ll only come running if there’s free food, huh?”

Jisung sits up and props his chin on his cupped hands. “Me? I love you so much Seungmin but you always think the worst of me.”

“All this shit that works on Minho hyung won’t work on us, Hannie,” Felix comments, now sitting on the arm of the sofa. “We don’t think the sun shines out of your ass, so quit it.”

That causes the others to roar with laughter. Jisung is frustrated by the way his cheeks burn. Still, he tries to bluff his way out of the spotlight of teasing. “You’re just jealous,” okay, that sounds childish, “that I’m cute enough to melt everyone’s heart.” Still bad.

There’s a short silence where the three of them exchange tired looks. Jisung is about to bluster some more, but he stops himself. Sometimes, it is better to not stoke a fire.

“It’s exhausting to have friends who are mutually pining.” Hyunjin rubs his chin, “you know how in dramas and all they show that it’s exciting to watch your friends pine and then figure stuff out? Yeah, I’m just tired and bored. How is he so dumb?” he points at Jisung.

“No one’s pining,” Jisung yelps, though the thrill of it is a kick to his gut. He rubs his stomach, tries to glower. “Shut up.” He swallows, embarrassment rumbling through his body with the strength of a storm cloud. It feels like everything is out in the open. Like the affection that he had folded and tucked away in his heart the other day, has unfolded for all to see. That the gap created by something shifting out of place is calling out his name loud enough that the others hear it too.

“Tell yourself that,” Seungmin rolls his eyes, “but it’ll only be true if you both stop behaving,” he gestures with his hand, “the way you do now. Anyway, what do you all want to eat?”

Jisung rubs his necks, tries to trace the thrum of his blood rising to his skin. The conversation thankfully flows away from him, leaves him free to turn towards the window and greet the deep night that has taken dusk’s stead.

───────

It’s two o’clock and he’s swimming in a gritty sea of exhaustion. His brain has long stopped working. Minho is humming under his breath, so softly that half the tune dissolves before it passes his lips. All lights in the room are blazing and the highlighted text in Jisung’s PDF is a dusty hue because of the night vision setting in his laptop. His eyes burn. He hears Minho change the tune. The sound trails into silence.

Jisung touches Minho’s shoulder. Minho turns to him and takes out an earbud. “Was I being too loud?” he asks. “Sorry.”

“No –” Jisung’s voice is grainy; sand beneath toes. “I couldn’t hear you.”

Minho’s eyes change. There’s a light that creeps beside the bloodshot redness. “Yeah,” his lips purse as he tries to hide a smile. “And why do you want to hear me?”

His first instinct to scoff and to shove Minho away. But he’s so exhausted. “It’s soothing,” he admits instead, “you have a nice voice.”

The way Minho’s eyes widen sends a thrill shooting down Jisung’s spine. He wants to egg him on. To say, I like your voice. It’s so pretty, hyung. Just like you. Jisung curls his toes and looks away, tongue wetting his lips.

“You have a nice voice, too,” Minho says when the silence is brittle enough to snap. “Why don’t you hum?’

He should abide by common courtesy and go along with Minho’s obvious attempt to give him an out. Yet when he turns his head towards Minho again and sees a peculiar smile on his face, Jisung wants to push and –

He exhales. The thundering of his blood transforms to a gentle thrum. Without its deafening rush in his ears, he finds himself unable to say what he had thought of a second ago. “Let’s just sleep,” he suggests, eyes dropping to the deep v of Minho’s shirt. He averts his gaze. “I’m exhausted and your eyes are puffy as hell.”

“Good idea,” Minho says, leaping to his feet as if he was just waiting for an opportunity to set aside his work.

Jisung wonders – for a breathless, giddy moment – if Minho was waiting up for him. Or perhaps it’s his sleep-addled state causing him to see things that don’t exist. As Minho flicks the switches off, Jisung powers down his laptop and closes his eyes against its light as it bluescreens.

“Come on,” Minho’s hand touches the crown of Jisung’s head, “enough for tonight. You’ll pass and that’s what matters.”

Jisung places the laptop next to him and stands up. In the dark with his vision speckled with bright spots, he stumbles against Minho. When Minho’s hand drops on his waist to righten him, the frisson that sparks under his skins makes a hot, guilty flush rise to Jisung’s cheeks.

“Um – let’s go.” Minho is warm and his sweater is so soft. Jisung slumps against Minho a little more. “I need to wake up early to revise.”

Minho stepping away is a relief and senseless loneliness all at once. He follows Minho, trying to keep himself from plastering himself against Minho’s back. When they are side by side on the bed and Minho switches on his horror podcast, Jisung peers into the darkened ceiling as he crosses the space that they’ve left between them. 

Minho presses closer still without a word. 

Maybe it’s time to shoot another question to the void. When did this happen?

As sleep pulls him into murky depths of dreams, he thinks that a void is the presence of emptiness. The absence of anything. But this. This is the presence of everything and of space that shouldn’t exist.

He falls asleep before he can understand what he means.

───────

The thread of the conversation he had with the others snags around the edges of his mind. What he wants to tell Minho sticks to him, to the crevices of his waking hours. But he finds himself thinking about it a couple of days later.

But it blurs and blends against the backdrop of his crowded days. Peeks at him when he’s thinking of a way to pad his long answers, disappears when he leaves the exam hall and trudges with the others to another night of studying. Minho comes with him more often than not, teabags tucked into a side pocket of his bag. Jisung finds its helplessly endearing, but never finds the words to say it and instead teases him.

“It’s like you turn into a grandpa when you don’t have dance classes and stuff,” Jisung looks Minho up and down, for his own satisfaction and also to make a point, “I mean, cardigans, glasses and herbal tea?”

“Don’t make me pour this on your head,” Minho threatens, raising his mug and tipping it a little.

Please do, I deserve it. “I can’t even share opinions in my own house now,” Jisung pouts. The cup is warm in his hands and his heart is ablaze. “You’re very cute though,” he says without quite meaning to sound so fervent. “Very… uh – cuddly.” Mom, why did you teach me how to speak?

Minho scoffs, making a show of writing something on his book. “Cuddly? Is that why you leave space enough for the seven seas between us on the bed?” His fingers freeze. “You’re only trying to get into my good books, aren’t you?”

His ears are bright red and Jisung’s head is a little bit woolly. Usually, he tries not to push topics when Minho signals that he doesn’t want to talk about it. Yet, here he is babbling, “I – well. I didn’t want to… latch on to you? I thought it’d be more polite to give you the choice?” He trails off. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.

A fleeting expression passes through Minho’s face, too quick to be discerned. He laughs and the strained sound echoes in the studio. “I was just joking, Jisung-ah.” With a slow nod, he pats Jisung’s arm. “Don’t worry about it.”

Jisung blushes. “Yeah – but I’m just clearing the air.” Not that it helped because the air is so heavy with awkwardness that he can’t even see in front of his nose. “I’m not averse to cuddling. In case it wasn’t um… clear.”

“Okay… then we’ll cuddle tonight.” Minho’s hiding behind his mug. A curlicue of steam disappears into his hair.

The silence stretches and Jisung studies his tea. He always steeps it too long, apparently, but he has no has idea how long he’s supposed to steep it anyway. He inhales and wills his ears from falling off, the way they’re burning.

That’s not what I wanted to tell you, Jisung wants to say. But Minho is starting to relax again, so he sips his bitter tea and washes his words away.

───────

(III)

There’s a Sunday between their fourth and fifth exams. Minho stays over and they’re on the bed, pressed close together. Jisung can feel the warmth of his skin and if he applies himself enough then he’s able to pick up on traces of Minho’s moisturizer as well.

He is so frustrated and mortified that he wants to combust.

Minho seems unbothered. Light flickers on his face as he watches a video on his phone and the blankets are pulled to his chin. The space heater – Jisung’s only household indulgence – drones softly, a soothing presence at the fringes of his room. They’re in the dark with only a sad little nightlight casting a dull, orange glow in the room. Noise bleeds from Minho’s earbuds.

“It’s getting colder these days,” Minho says, suddenly, taking off his ear-phones. “Look how cold my feet are!”

He presses his freezing toes against Jisung’s foot. “Ya-owch!” he yells and snatches his foot away from Minho’s reach. Not that there’s much space to safeguard his limb since they’re packed like sardines under the blanket. “Why are you like this?”

“Because the world needs someone like me to keep things interesting.” Minho turns to his side and Jisung follows. “You make funny faces when you’re annoyed.”

“Why are you so obsessed with me, huh? Why do you always want a reaction from me?” The orange light softens the sharp edges of Minho’s face. Jisung is befuddled by the way Minho seems so gorgeous even in terrible lighting. He seems to melt with the darkness and yet his eyes are twinkling.

Minho runs a hand through his hair. “Stop copying me.” He flicks a hand. “I’m not giving up on free entertainment especially when it comes with special sound effects.”

The idea of being someone’s jester shouldn’t make his heart trip like that. What the fuck? “I’m going to let the whole world know that you stare at me all the time!” Jisung wags a finger. Yeah! Projection always works.

Is it his imagination or did Minho just stiffen? He’s about to ask, but Minho continues studying him. “Sungie.”

There’s a crosscurrent beneath Jisung’s feet. This is where Minho has to snark back, give as good as he gets, keep the sarcasm notched up until they’re both giggling with hands clutching their stomachs.

But Minho lowers his gaze and says, “you know how I was being weird about days and night and stuff? About always feeling like there’s not enough time for everything I want to do?”

“It’s not weird if it bothers you,” counters Jisung. He taps Minho’s feet with his own. “I mean – it is an overwhelming feeling.”

Minho fiddles with the top of the blanket. It is an uncharacteristic action for him. “But sometimes even with all the time I have, I just – remain frozen.” It sounds like an admission of guilt. “I let time flow by me and…” a frustrated noise, “don’t do anything.”

“I think that not doing anything is very important.” There’s nowhere to hide, Jisung realizes, but the general ease of night-time and the shield of his bed makes it easier to speak. “And not being able to do something at a particular moment doesn’t mean that you’ll never be able to do it.”

Minho rolls onto his back, laces his hands behind his head. “No – what if it’s something that I should do because it is important, but the only reason I’m not is because I’m frozen with fear?” He exhales a long breath. “As much as I want to be unbothered and assertive, it’s hard sometimes. Sometimes, it is easier to cower away. Let time flow.” There’s a beat of silence. “Being unbothered by things happening until it happens.”

It is not recriminating, but Jisung’s heart drops all the same. He feels too small, too caged. How had he not recognized himself in Minho’s words all those days back? “But – that’s how days pass and as it does, it makes the – uh soothes pain and – and glues you to your life and people. Helps you make a space for yourself!”

“Days and nights will always bleed into each other,” Minho says quietly, “that’s inevitable. But, Sungie, don’t you think we need to act within –” he shapes a circle with his fingers in front of his face, “within the uh – spectrum of inevitability? Give it our meaning? Try to do what we want?” He tuts, glancing at Jisung “am I even making sense?”

Jisung stares at Minho, mouth rounded in surprise. He’s so cold even under the warmth of his blankets. All the things that he has not been able to say echo – for one reason or the other… awkwardness? embarrassment? What? – echo in the darkness of the room, dance against his grainy night vision. “Sometimes you don’t even realize that,” he croaks, breath catching in his throat.

Minho shrugs and drops his hands on the top of the sheets. “And sometimes you know that the fear is foolish.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything, eclipsed by the enormity of his realization. Realization of things that he needs to do. He brings his knees up to his chest, loops his arms around them. It’s a good thing that he’s in his bed and the dark, he muses, because otherwise his feelings would be telegraphed for everyone to read.

There’s continued silence from Minho as well. Jisung surmises that the conversation is over. So, he closes his eyes, tries to chase sleep that is swept away by the turbulent waves of his mind.

───────

Stories have a beginning, a middle, and an end. As many detours as a story might take, it always reaches a point where at least some of its threads come together. A point where the things that happened before start making sense.

A story is satisfying when it carries the characters and deposit them at a destination and you think, ah! This is where you were meant to be.

Now, the question is, do stories unfold around the characters, or do they unfold the story?

───────

“Do you want to see this cat video Minho hyung sent me?” Jisung asks Hyunjin when they’re at his flat under the pretext of studying together.

Hyunjin pauses with his mouth poised over the rim of his glass of water. It’s just the two of them since Seungmin has abandoned them for a quick nap.

“You want me to see a cat video while we’re dying,” Hyunjin says, eyes squinted and voice flat. “Are you for real?”

Jisung shifts, embarrassed. “It’s Minho hyung’s cat,” he explains though he wishes he hadn’t brought it up. But Soonie is such a mood. “He’s really cute.”

“What I need is alcohol so that I can forget that I’m always third-wheeling,” Hyunjin tells him. “Even when Minho hyung isn’t here.” He groans as he stands up. “You know what, I’m going to go and order take-out. What do you want?”

Jisung quickly rattles off what he wants just so that he wouldn’t have to address the third-wheeling comment. Hyunjin stumbles away and Jisung turns back to his phone, smiles when he sees the video again. His texts are a bit sloppy because he’s exhausted, but he thinks that he gets the point across that he is deeply invested in Minho’s cats’ lives.

Minho sends him another video in response and Jisung sinks into conversation with him. The warmth simmering in his blood sings and swoops at the way Minho laughs at the multiple hearts and stickers that Jisung sends. He is very proud of the fact that Minho seems to like that new sticker pack that he has purchased.

“You know that we’re studying, right?” Hyunjin asks when he returns and hands Jisung a glass of water. He raises a brow, “and you know that you’ll see Minho hyung tomorrow?”

Jisung locks his phone with a guilty click and shoves it into his pocket. “Soonie was really cute,” he says, accepting the glass, “and you aren’t a third wheel with me anyway,” he adds.

Hyunjin gives him an unimpressed look. “You both are gross,” he sighs and places his glass down, rubs his forehead. “Wake me up in twenty, okay?”

Jisung nods. He doesn’t bother defending himself because what can he even say? He suspects that his friends are right, that he has been behaving like this long before he had a name for it. Long before he noticed the incremental changes. Long before it became the roaring flame that it is now.A flame that is familiar and strange all at once.

This morning, he had woken up half on top of Minho, his hand beneath Minho’s shirt, pressed against his stomach. He had carefully extricated himself before sneaking to the kitchen and had stared at his distorted reflection in a glass of water until his phone vibrated with a call from Minho.

“Why are you up so early?” he had demanded in his raspy, sleep heavy voice and Jisung’s innards clunked downwards so fast that it left him dizzy. Yes. They had clunked.

A lot had unfolded around him without him paying heed to it. Though he knows that couldn’t have blindly walked through all of that, he does know that he wants to construct a beginning for himself this time.

His phone buzzes with another text from Minho. It’s another cat video. I’ll say something, Jisung tells himself as he clicks on play.

───────

The document he’s reading blurs and the words and characters break their lines and dance on the page. He fiddles with his pencil and frowns hard to make himself focus. A person is loudly murmuring to themselves some distance away and the monotonous hum is a drill bit pressed to his attention span. He heaves a sigh and raises his head, finds Minho already looking.

Minho’s eyes widen for a second before he schools his expression. “Stop distracting me,” he demands in a whisper, before dropping his gaze to his laptop.

“I’m not!” Jisung hisses with a kick to Minho’s ankle, even as sparks race up and down his spine. “I was thinking!” He kicks again when Minho doesn’t react.

Minho picks up a book he’s using and waves it at him. “Han Jisung, I’ll make you eat this book.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared,” Jisung says and slaps a hand over his mouth when his voice echoes in the library.

There’s a moment of terrible silence and then someone says, “can you both please stop talking.”

Cheeks burning, Jisung hunches his shoulders. Minho’s eyes are so bright with amusement that Jisung’s heartbeat is shocked into a pattern that he is sure isn’t good for his heart.  

His foot remains suspended mid-kick. “Hyung, let’s go to my place.” He bites his lip, unsure of his impulse to say it today itself. “I’m too jittery to sit still right now.” The conversation that they had in Jisung’s room lingers like a suspended weight in his mind. He spins his pen between his fingers, “we can take a break and then continue studying.”

Minho raises a brow and shakes his head. “I know you always want to be with me, but I think we’ve been spending a lot of time together. And I know you like to decompress alone.”

“I don’t mind if it’s with you,” Jisung shrugs. He tilts his head, “being with you helps me decompress actually.” He pauses, caught by the expression on Minho’s face. Wistful… almost hopeful. “I –”

“Guys, please. I’m getting the librarian,” someone hisses.

A beat passes. Minho starts shoving his things into his bag and Jisung follows. This time he doesn’t mind the shame of being held responsible for public disruption because Minho’s ears are red but his shoulders are quaking. The secretive, exasperated grin he shoots Jisung is a sends affection blazing through his veins.

It’s difficult to feel embarrassed when he’s smiling so much.

───────

Stepping into the bus creates a distance between them. Jisung’s musing about friendship and time and his feelings are swept aside by more prosaic matters like the progress he has made in his studies. It is not much and Jisung plugs his earphones into his phone.

Minho sits beside him and near the window. Fading beams of light fall like lost puzzle pieces on his face and neck, never intersecting. He is focused on his phone and doesn’t notice the way Jisung’s eyes rest on his face a little too long as his fingers scroll his playlists based on muscle memory alone.

He wants to press close to Minho and follow the path of light down his face with his fingertips. Minho makes a face at whatever he is reading. Jisung’s heart bursts with fondness and his thoughts are mired in half embarrassment and half desperation.

He exhales slowly, cheeks coloring. It feels odd to think of Minho that way, and yet it doesn’t. It is familiar, but only now seen head first instead of being buried under the humdrum of life. He casts a hesitant glance at Minho again, and his eyes trace the curve of his brow, the flutter of his lashes, the slant of his nose.

Jisung drags his gaze away before he is caught and focuses on the person in front of him. The back half of the bus is fuller than the front where they’re sitting. Jisung pauses his music, let's the ambient sound fill him. A child is recounting a story in full volume. A couple of people are whispering. It is so dark outside; a true winter’s evening.

Jisung wonders how his life would’ve turned out had he not met specific people at specific times. Perhaps if he had chosen a different seat on a particular day, then maybe he wouldn’t be sitting here. Or maybe if he had chosen not to speak when he had, then he wouldn’t have a repertoire of worn, comfortable inside jokes with Minho.

The people in his life have put their hands alongside fate and circumstance on the potter’s wheel, and shaped his life as much as he had. What he is looking at now wasn’t something that he could’ve ever designed.

Minho himself is an example of that. Now that he thinks about it,  it feels like Jisung’s world is partitioned and that Minho exists as a constant entity in the hazy folds of his life. That he exists at the tail end of a hard day. In the soft ache of waking after a restful night. Against the wooden edge of a table at a pub. Over the screen of a laptop during exams.

That’s not true, of course. They go out together almost every weekend. Over time, their friend groups have become acquaintances with each other too.

The amount of time they spend together is not something that he could’ve ever imagined. Or the fact that Jisung, who has to retreat from the world for a considerable amount of time every day to recover his energy, feels the same with Minho as he does in his cocoon of blankets on his bed. The truth is, Minho shines the brightest in the time that Jisung holds sacred.

When did this happen?

He had never imagined that it would happen, that he would find this as he trudged through his days. But it has happened and now, he wants to shape it without giving space to fate.

I will say something, he reminds himself.

Jisung stomach heaves. He clears his throat and sneaks a look at Minho again. Light from every streetlight and shopfront that the bus passes fall on Minho’s face and transforms it into a kaleidoscope of colors.

Minho turns to face Jisung. “Is something wrong?”

Startled, Jisung shakes his head. “No – uh – I was just lost in thought.” He turns to face the front of the bus again, unplugs his earphones.

“Oh okay. You looked really serious for a moment.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Jisung reassures him though his heartbeat gallops even as he says it.

The bus deposits them at Jisung’s stop. A couple of people get down along with them. Jisung watches them disappear into a fog of refracting traffic lights and wonders what they’re walking towards, at what awaits them. He shakes his head. Late evening sentiments. Still, his eyes linger on their retreating forms as he waits for Minho to tie his laces.

“Do you know sonder?” he asks when Minho stands up, “why does sonder hit me so hard at night?”

“Sonder?”

Jisung shrugs. “You know, it’s from a site full of made-up words. For feelings that don’t have any names,” he shivers as tugs at the lapels of his jacket, "sonder is when you realize that everyone has a life as complex as ours is. Isn't it strange how lives intersect even with all this complexity?"

"I think people find people the same way the night finds the day. Or light finds shadows, etc." Minho's eyes crinkle as he leads the way towards his home. "Also a feeling with no name? I’ve been thinking about that a lot.”

“And what feeling is that?” Jisung’s fingers are numb, and his legs wobble after being bent and tucked under a bus seat for so long. He feels like he’s going to burst with all the commotion that’s happening inside his body. Night and day, huh?

“It’s one without a name,” Minho says with a wink. “Let’s get something from that roadside vendor next to your place.” He fixes the strap of his backpack so that it settles comfortably on his shoulders. He gives Jisung a withering look, “I refuse to eat ramen again. You eat that way too much.”

“It’s a trend these days to complain about things that are easy and cheap,” Jisung sniffs. “I ordered in yesterday,” he confesses in the next breath, “because I got bored of ramen. The leftovers would be enough for the both of us.”

Minho sighs. “If you stopped being so dramatic for one day…”

Jisung steps into the foyer of his building. The familiar scent of it soothes him, rings a bell in his hindbrain that announces the end of a day. “Then what?”

“Then you wouldn’t be yourself,” Minho pokes Jisung’s temple, “annoyingly dramatic is your factory setting, I think.”

“I think you should shut up,” Jisung teases and steps out of the way from a smack to his head.

Once he unlocks the door, they fall into complementary movements. They orbit around each other. Jisung never bothers with unlacing his boots and just shoves them off his feet then flicks on the required lights and hangs up his jacket. Minho puts their shoes away with a huff and Jisung fetches a bottle of water.

The apartment is only half-lit. Shadows and light merge, tinge everything gray except for the deep forest green of Minho’s t-shirt as he walks to the bathroom to clean up first. Jisung stands in the middle of the living area, bare feet chilled by the cold floorboards, and contemplates the meaning of such an intricate dance.

“What.” The word is rough and loud in the silence. He feels foolish, talking to the void. Inside the bathroom, Minho turns on the shower. Jisung wrings the half-empty bottle of water in his hand and turns towards the kitchen. “What do I say?” he asks softly. The walls nor the void respond. He’ll have to grope his way in the darkness, then. As always.

He sighs and goes to the kitchen to heat their meal.

───────

They settle on the floor, at a spot where the kitchen and living area are in communion. Dishes lie in front of Jisung in a row and he dreads the washing up. Since he doesn’t have a microwave, he has to heat his food in a pan and Minho refuses to eat straight out of it.

“You know how we spoke about going with the flow and stuff?” Jisung rolls a bottle of beer between his palms, watching Minho pick a morsel of food. “About that.”

Minho pauses, fried rice raised halfway to his lips. “What do you mean?”

Jisung shrugs, unsure of how to say I am trying to confess and I didn’t plan anything at all. “Just,” he nods at Minho, “you know. About not having time and stuff, but also how time always flows too?”

The shadow of confusion on Minho’s brow is as deep as the night that’s falling outside. He takes a bite, and mimicking him,  Jisung takes a swig of his beer.

“I mean, yeah. Time does slip away from you. Sometimes I feel really afraid and worried about… everything even if I try to tell myself that it is irrational.” Minho says. His eyes are fixed on the dishes. “It doesn’t make sense, but it sneaks up on you nonetheless. The feeling that everything will go wrong. It’s tiring.”

Jisung knows. Sometimes it feels like that’s all there is in life since he turned twenty though right now, he has been leading a pretty idyllic existence. “Yes. The future is pretty scary,” he says and winces at how trite it sounds. “I mean – things are scary because you never know what’s going to happen and it feels like we’re on a deadline.”

Minho sighs and he waves his chopsticks in the air. “I am on a deadline too!” He rubs his forehead. “The days are too short. It’s night time before you know it and…” he picks up his beer. The apartment is silent enough that Jisung can hear the squeak of his fingers against wet glass. “There are so many things that I have to do,” Minho’s gaze flickers up to Jisung. “All the stuff that I set aside during exams. I don’t know what will happen to our movie night.”

Blinking, Jisung tries to clear the sticky webs of confusion from his mind. “Are we talking about feelings… you know… deep feelings or – uh. Work?”

Minho freezes and his hand is frozen midway near the dishes. His mouth hangs slightly open and it makes his front teeth look more prominent. Jisung picks at the label of his beer bottle as his thoughts tangle around soul-crushing embarrassment and ridiculous amounts of fondness. 

“I do have a lot of work,” Minho admits as he straightens up. “It’s – it’s deadening.”

“The cure for a bad day is a full stomach and eight hours of sleep,” Jisung finds himself parroting even as his insides melt and pool around his feet with the scorching heat of shame. He can’t feel his face, but he supposes that it’s beet red. He can’t feel the beer bottle either. “I’ll fight –”

“And you,” Minho says at the same time, his face flushed. Silence. “Being with you – always make me feel better after every long day. Always has.”

Silence is a physical presence in the foot of space between them. Jisung’s mind is blank and only the noise of static echoes there. Minho is wide-eyed, pink-cheeked and his smile is frozen on his face.

Jisung frowns and rubs the bridge of his nose. “What?”

“It’s called flirting,” Minho supplies, tugging at his earlobe. “Unless I’m reading this wrong then… well, it’s still the truth.”

Jisung bites his lower lip and continues staring at Minho. His brain recognizes that his hands are clutching a bottle of beer, so he places it to his side. Then all coherent thoughts make a peaceful exit once again.

“I was going to say it during our movie night.” Minho places his chopsticks down too. “But then I understood where this was going, so I decided to fast track it.” He sweeps his hair out of his face. “Unless I’m really wrong, but… you have been staring at me with a lovesick expression for too long now and I’m tired of – always chickening –”

“I like you a lot! I want to kiss you and stuff!” Jisung shouts. He clamps his mouth shut and clenches his fists. “It’s my confession!” he adds in a heated whisper.

Minho rears back, shock written all over his face. Then like the flick of a switch, his expression changes. “No! It’s mine. Do you know how many times I have tried to confess? I mean – I was even ready for rejection!”

“Oh yeah? Well – I was going to sweep you off your feet.” Jisung stands up and marches towards Minho. He looms over him with his hands on his hips. “I went through an entire character arc!”

Minho gets to his feet and pokes Jisung’s nose. “I compared you to the warmth of the sun!” He covers his face with his hands. “And you just…” he screeches.

Tugging Minho’s hands away from his face, Jisung rattles them in the space between their bodies. “Wait – what? Oh my god! Who tries to confess with a metaphor, hyung? Anyway, I feel really safe and warm with you always and I want to kiss you. Beat that!”

Minho is shaking with laughter. Jisung stands right there, face aching as he tries to maintain his composure. He’s torn between laughing and crying, but he doesn’t get to decide on either one of them because Minho steps closer and presses a quick kiss to Jisung’s lips.

It lasts for less than a second and is as brief as a whisper lost to the wind. Yet it blankets any lingering coldness and settles as a comforting haze in his mind and as a storm in his chest.

“I was the one who kissed first,” Minho says and cackles like a goddamn hyena again.

Jisung squawks and then grabs Minho by his hips to pull him closer. “You! I’ll be the one to kiss you properly,” he says and does just that. Tilts his head and slots his mouth against Minho's lips. Feels the last quivers of Minho's laughter fade under his hands, feels him ease into the insistent press of Jisung's mouth with a soft noise.

A sound catches in Jisung's throat when Minho's teeth scrape over his lower lip and the world beyond his fingertips recedes, leaves him alone with Minho's warmth and the night that's falling outside.

───────

The moment he opens his eyes, Jisung knows that Minho is awake too.

He knows that it’s early because his annoying alarms haven’t uttered a peep yet. He pops his head out of his blankets and blinks at the ceiling with sleep crusted eyes and listens to Minho shift on his side of the bed.

“Why are you up so early?” Jisung whispers. His blood is out of sync with the ticking of the clock, and the words make no sense to him even as he speaks them. “It’s early. We still have time left.”

“I’m going back to sleep,” comes the reply, and it is caught in the hair-width of space between their bodies. “You should go to sleep too.” Minho’s hand sneaks past the edge of Minho’s t-shirt, and Jisung closes his eyes when Minho gently pets him once. “Sleep.”

His hand retreats but Jisung follows it with seeking fingers, wraps them around Minho’s palm. “Why are you up so early?”

Minho’s snicker echoes in the silent room. “I wanted to see the sun.”

“I take back my confession. Show yourself out,” Jisung grumbles even though he’s smiling. “You’re gross as hell, hyung.”

“Yes, but you like it.”

“I like you,” Jisung mumbles, dropping his hand that’s slackening with sleep.

Minho hums and presses a kiss to Jisung’s forehead. “I like you too.”

“Good.” Jisung retreats into his cocoon of blankets, and the room falls silent. In the comforting darkness and with Minho by his side, sleep comes easy.

───────

Set wide the window. Let me drink the day.

Edith Wharton