Work Text:
Home? Where is my home?
An unknown reality
Now within my reach
June eighth of twenty-twenty
Coffee-drunk hours threatened with anguish
Pierced by luminescent smile (etched in heart)
Indigo jeans
Jammed together aboard a pod
Heart beating fast of height (and confessions)
Sunday night
One disaster, one experienced
Desserts rampant (none as sweet as you)
Umbrella weather
Drenched, awful, tears
Thickening haze of my mind (my light cut through)
Nighttime excursions
Stress free, balance, slow and wild
The nights are still young (and we are too)
Gratitude
May I have your hand?
Thank you for being here (for being you)
♡
Home? Where is my home?
An unknown reality
Now within my reach
♡
ONE
June eighth of twenty-twenty
Coffee-drunk hours threatened with anguish
Pierced by luminescent smile (etched in heart)
The week after finals were always days of celebration, endless hours of drinking until the world grew hazy and laughter echoed in their minds, beauty in every crinkle of dying light, and all regard for restraint thrown out the window. Minho wished he was in that mindset, that carefree feeling of intoxication heaving through his lungs as the days wasted by, the pure joy of having completed another year numbing him to sleep.
Instead, he’s up at 12 a.m. in his best friend’s café, stirring what he thought was a chai latte, except that the cup was empty and he was just clinking glass. His brain was fuzzy, his eyes staring off at the ugly bathroom sign hanging in the corner, and he could feel his face was blotchy and red from crying as Chan watched him from the counter.
He didn’t have a shred of decency left, not after he had cried in Chan’s arms for a good hour, who eventually had to serve one of his regular’s, and said regular even gave Minho a sympathetic pat on the back and a green apple lollipop, which only made Minho cry harder because he’d never met the regular before and he loved green apple flavored candy. “People are so nice,” Minho had sniffled out loud to Chan who was cleaning the espresso machine, and then promptly snapped his mouth shut as the realization hit him that he was in this situation because people weren’t all that nice.
It (his dignity) didn’t really matter anyways because Chan had assured him that the green apple regular was always the last customer of the night before the café closed, and so Minho continued his crying, and Chan continued his listening, and eventually Minho calmed down to the level of erratic sniffling, but at least he could think again without his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
And then, ten minutes before closing time, precisely 9 minutes and 56 seconds because Minho had been eyeing the clock for the past hour, waiting for Chan to close up and take him home, the bell dinged open, and Minho turned his face down to look at his sweater paws so that the customer didn’t notice his presence.
“Channie!” a voice rang out, and Minho flinched with such a loud person. Out of the corner of his eye, he stole a peek at the customer—a college student in their university apparel, hair messy, and eyes lighting up the whole room.
“Jisung!” Chan exclaimed, and Minho’s brows knitted together in confusion. “I haven’t seen you in forever!” Chan continued, and the two exchanged in a hug.
“Yeah, sorry,” Jisung said with a sheepish smile. “Exams were ass, but I’m finally done so I thought I’d come to see you.”
“I didn’t know there would be customers though, I should’ve not been that loud when I greeted you.” Minho saw Jisung’s eyes flicker over to him, and Minho’s face flushed with a deeper shade of red.
“Oh—Minho?” Chan asked, watching Jisung’s gaze. “Er, don’t mind him. He’s not really a customer, he’s my friend.”
Minho turned his gaze back down to the floor again, but he didn’t miss the feet that started approaching him. He internally panicked because he was in no state of presentable—he wasn’t sure if he could even talk, or at least his throat would be hoarse from crying, and he was positive he could barely form a coherent sentence, especially in front of somebody new.
“You okay?” Jisung asked as he stopped in front of Minho and crouched down so that Minho was graced with the presence of Han Jisung. “Sorry for intruding...but you look like a wreck.”
“‘m fine,” Minho whispered, and suddenly he could feel the onslaught of tears build up as something lodged in his throat, and he didn’t even know why. Fuck people for being so nice—and assholy too; he was having trouble controlling his emotions because of them.
“You...uh...don’t look fine,” Jisung stated with uncertainty, and then suddenly a tear escaped Minho’s eye, and he turned away from Jisung to rub furiously at it.
“I’m fine, I’m just sensitive, whatever,” Minho said with a firmer tone, as much as he can muster, but he could feel the disapproving glances from both Jisung and Chan, and he could only cry harder because the last thing he wanted at that moment was disappointment.
“Jisung, I’ll be back in a moment to talk to you guys. I need to take these supplies to the back, keep Minho company for a moment?” Chan asked from the counter behind a stack of heavy boxes. Jisung nodded, not like Chan could see, but he turned his attention back to the sobbing boy in front of him.
“Sensitive is—I mean, I wouldn’t call you sensitive, right? People usually use it with a bad connotation, and I’m sure your, um, sources of unhappiness are definitely valid—oh fuck.” Jisung could only wring his hands as he watched Minho cry harder, clueless as to how he triggered it and how to make the situation better.
“I’m back,” Chan said as he rushed back into the room to seat himself next to Minho on the bench against the wall and wrap the younger in his arms.
Minho could feel every sob rip through his body—he had been feeling like this for hours, and it felt neverending. He just wanted to curl up and cry himself to sleep, let the tears tire himself out, but he had just drank some coffee, and during the last few weeks, drinking coffee had been one of his major coping mechanisms. He could feel Chan rubbing circles on his arms as he blubbered apologies for ruining his shirt, and then he was being shushed as he was rocked back and forth, and then the pair of arms changed to a skinnier pair, but equally as warm and comforting, and Minho let his mind break in little pieces, each one shattering as they hit rock bottom. He felt like a baby, an overgrown, undeserving baby, selfish in his ways of garnering attention and ignorant of others’ feelings.
It got to the point that, once again, he didn’t know what he was crying about, only crying for the sake of crying because his emotions were running rampant around his head. He knew he should stop soon, because he had always been told there was no point in crying—that it wasn’t ever going to do anything—but stopping was easier said and done, and after nearly five attempts, he could finally blink his eyes open and face the world again, vision glimmering with tears stuck in his eyelashes, but at least he could open his eyes.
Minho was met by a small “welcome back” whispered by Jisung, who was holding him in a tight embrace. “Chan asked me to comfort you when another customer came, and now he’s closing up so that we won’t be bothered anymore.”
Minho tiredly let his head rest on Jisung’s shoulder, even if Jisung was merely a stranger. His instinct was to trust Jisung when he was in such a vulnerable state, and he hoped to God Jisung wouldn’t tease or laugh at him for feeling like this. He felt completely awful, and he didn’t want to know the state of his face, voice, or Jisung’s shirt.
“Hey, buddy,” Chan said after he returned from switching the OPEN☺sign to CLOSED ☹. “You feel better?”
Chan brought a wet paper towel to dab Minho’s face, cleaning up the tear streaks and snot that had accumulated in the past...two hours? The inside Minho who thrived off attention preened at all the care Chan and Jisung gave, even though another part of Minho was flushed with embarrassment and guilt.
“Better, a bit,” he croaked out, and Chan nudged a cup of tea his way.
“That’s good to hear,” Chan said, smiling warmly.
They sat in silence as Minho drank up his tea, Jisung still holding Minho, and Chan sitting next to Jisung. Minho was glad for the silence, finally managing to even be aware of his surroundings, which he realized was much too bright for his stinging eyes.
“Your parents are dicks, you know,” Chan said after a while.
“They pay for half my college tuition,” Minho reminded quietly. He could sense the cluelessness in Jisung, the shifting of uncomfortableness and intake of breath when Chan used such a vile word.
“Okay, they can be nice sometimes,” Chan said. “They’re nice to me, and Changbin, and Seungmin, you know, but they aren’t nice to you, at least rarely.”
“T-They are nice—to me,” Minho choked out, even though everything in his body knew the truth. “I mean—I just need to try harder. They’ll be nice when they’re proud of me.”
He sniffled. Oh no.
“Thought they’d be proud of me tonight,” Minho mumbled as he once again, was fighting back tears. God, why was he so emotionally riled up, why was he so sensitive, why did he have to cry over every little thing? He just wanted to have a break, to feel numb, or maybe to finally cry himself to sleep.
“T-Thought, y’know, I did well on exams, I thought,” Minho continued. “I thought I did really well, and I really tried on all my essays and projects, and my professor even pulled me aside, said that I was one of his brightest students, and I thought that would put them in a good mood. And so I thought tonight would be a good—a fantastic day to come out, because they’d be all ‘yay!’ over my achievements, and I’d be able to get it off my chest. And I thought they were supportive of the lgbtq community because they supported my trans friend when they came out, but evidently not. I guess I just have to try harder next time.”
“Minho…” Jisung whispered, and Minho turned away from the both of them, blinking fast to escape his tears. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Minho said, forcing a laugh out. “Not your fault, I guess I just chose the wrong day to come out about being gay.”
“You have every right to come out,” Chan said firmly, “and you shouldn’t be verbally disowned because of it. Hey—don’t cry—”
“I can’t just not cry,” Minho sniveled. “I just wanted to make them proud, and I thought they’d be proud, so I guess I just gotta try harder. And be less sensitive.”
“Minho,” Chan said, and Minho could feel the exasperation in his voice, making him curl up into a smaller ball in fear. “They emotionally manipulate you, gaslight you, and they call you sensitive when you get overwhelmed when your feelings have the right to get hurt, this has been going on for years. It’s not because you didn’t make them proud, because if I were your parents, I’d be very proud of you doing so well on your exams and trusting me enough to come out, but evidently your parents have some wires missing in their brains because you’re emotionally distraught in my café on a day where you should be celebrating.”
“Can we just...drop it, can we go home now?” Minho mumbled.
“Yeah, one sec. Jisung, did you want anything? I know I already closed up but if you want I can grab you some cheesecake in the fridge or a cookie or something,” Chan offered. “Consider it a gift.”
“Um, I’ll take a cheesecake,” Jisung said. “Thanks.”
“So, how did you two meet?” Minho asked when Chan went to retrieve some cheesecake. He slowly untangled himself from Jisung, realizing that it was probably really awkward to be crying in the lap of a stranger.
“We met last summer at a music festival,” Jisung answered. “Uh, I also met Changbin too, and we met at this tent all about producing and stuff, and then I realized we were attending the same university. And we were gonna write some songs together, but this second semester got really busy for me, so I couldn’t devote as much time as I wanted. But I hope I'll get to know Chan—and I guess you, ‘cause you’re Chan’s friend—more in the summer.”
“Yeah, I um, I’d like to get to know you more,” Minho said, with a small smile. “I’m sorry for crying on you by the way. I didn’t mean to be so out of it.”
“It’s fine,” Jisung said with a wave of his hand. “I think you really needed the comfort.”
And when Minho crawled into bed that night, resisting the urge to barge into Chan’s room and curl into his bed for the safety, he retraced Jisung in his memories, saw a boy with sparkles in his eyes and a luminescent smile that was now etched in his heart, arms filled with comfort and words brimming with kindness. And even if they barely knew each other, Minho felt that maybe tonight, the universe helped him land a new friend—through being verbally disowned, retreating to a best friend’s café, and crying in the lap of a stranger, said stranger walking away with a box of cheesecake and a green apple flavored lollipop clutched in their hands.
♡
TWO
Indigo jeans
Jammed together aboard a pod
Heart beating fast of height (and confessions)
“Minho, you’ve been grinning at your phone for the past half an hour. We’re getting a bit concerned here,” Chan pointed out.
“Shut up,” Minho whined, but he couldn’t fight the red that tinted his cheeks.
“I bet you he’s texting Jisung. He never looks like that when he texts us,” Changbin giggled.
“‘m not!”
“You’re blushing so hard, Minho,” Chan said between fits of laughter. “Like I can’t even—God I don’t think you’ve ever been this red!”
Changbin’s eyes sparkled as he leaned forward. “Hyung, do you like him?”
“I mean—I thought you guys knew already!”
“We assumed,” Chan answered for Changbin. “But seriously, if you do like him, you should tell him. I mean, it’s been almost nine months since you guys have met each other, and this is like the fiftieth time I’ve caught you smiling at your phone in the past few months, so I think you should tell him soon.”
Minho was quiet for a moment
“I just—I’m really scared,” Minho said quietly. “I know we’re pretty close and all, but like, he acts the same around everybody! So I can’t tell if he’s romantically into me, or just platonically, and I don’t want to screw anything up. And I know we’ve known each other for nine months now, but I still feel like that’s not a lot of time yet, and I don’t want to get hasty and make him uncomfortable or something like that. And...I’m just really scared of rejection in general.”
“It’s okay to be scared,” Changbin said gently. “But at the same time, you never know what’s gonna happen if you don’t ever try. I was scared too remember? When I met Felix? And now see where we are. We wouldn’t be where we are if both of us were too scared to confess to each other.”
Minho knows he’s a bit in love with Jisung. The past few months had been a whir, and all Minho can really remember was that Jisung was a major part of his happiness. Ever since they met at the café, Minho had felt like he encountered Jisung everywhere, and he really didn’t mind.
It started with a movie night at Changbin and Felix’s place, and that was where Minho had learned that Jisung hated horror movies, yet he insisted on joining them instead of playing a Monopoly game with Seungmin and Felix in another room. Minho had spent half of that night trying to reassure the younger that aliens wouldn’t abduct all of them and the other half laughing at all of Jisung’s shrieks.
Shared movie nights became little outings between them two, specifically Jisung asking whether or not Minho wanted to join him every week. Sometimes they took a walk along the river, Jisung beaming as the ducks ate up the bread he gave them, and Minho could only smile endearingly at Jisung’s antics. Sometimes, they went to little coffee shops (not Chan’s) or bookstores to study together; other times to the arcade, the art museum downtown, the karaoke center, the ice skating rink—Minho could only smile at all the fond memories. And recently, Minho had started to teach Jisung how to dance at the studio he worked at—free classes for his favorite friend—and all the children he taught would crowd around Jisung as he played his experimental tracks out loud.
And the memories he cherished most were the ones when they were curled up on Jisung’s couch late at night, watching some Netflix show or kdrama, sharing popcorn and gummy bears between them, Minho feeling every speck of body heat being passed between them. He wished those nights would last, because those were the days he had Jisung all to himself, the days where they shared little secrets in the privacy of Jisung’s apartment, away from prying public eyes. It was here Minho learned that Jisung had anxiety, learned that sometimes he struggled in environments with loud crowds, but here, he also saw Jisung’s determination to fight his fear, determination to overcome obstacles that sat in his path. He learned that they both had rocky relationships with their parents, Minho’s more than Jisung’s, but it was nice having somebody to relate with. And in the darkness of starlit nights, Minho watched Jisung bloom in front of him, watched as the younger grew more comfortable, to the point Jisung even shared his most emotional lyrics written in his little blue notebook—lyrics that no one but Minho had seen.
He thought about these memories constantly, wondered if they meant as much to Jisung, wondered if Jisung lied down in bed each night and played them over and over like a movie in his head. And the night before the special day, Minho’s brain once again switches on a memory of him and Jisung at the ice skating center, hands held together as Minho sped backwards and Jisung forwards, laughing and giggling because that night, they had the rink all to themselves, and Minho felt their happiness could melt the ice beneath them.
♡
“We’re kind of matching tonight,” Jisung said when Minho and Chan approached the waiting group in the parking lot. He instantly linked hands with Minho, a familiar action that did not go unnoticed by the others.
“We are?”
“Yeah,” Jisung said. “We’re both wearing indigo jeans, and we both have striped shirts, but your green is so ick.”
Minho made an indignant noise, and Jisung playfully laughed at him.
Chan had pulled all of them out of the comfort of their homes to go to the amusement park. Minho had never gone to the amusement park—with his fear of heights, there was not much point in riding the rides. Not that anybody needed to know, but the only reason he agreed to go was because Chan had offhandedly mentioned that Jisung was going to.
When they entered the park, Jisung instantly pulled Minho away from the others, choosing to break off from the rest of the group. Minho didn’t mind, but he did glare back at his friends who were whispering little smiles to each other. He kept close to Jisung, knowing that the younger’s anxiety may spike if he wasn’t sure Minho was by his side.
Minho doesn’t remember much of the night, all of it a blur in his brain. The only thing that stuck in his mind was Jisung’s blinding bright smile, the hugs and ‘I love you’’s he received when he won Jisung a little squirrel plushie, which Jisung put in his backpack and let the head poke out. He remembered sharing some churros with Jisung, trying to recreate that scene from Lady and the Tramp, but they giggled too much, and Jisung almost choked on his food. Minho felt the world soften around him, his vision only focused on Jisung and his words, alluring to the point he felt hypnotized. He felt intoxicated, just drunk on Jisung’s giggles, and God, he didn’t want it ever to end.
“Minho, do you want to go on the Ferris wheel?” Jisung asked. It was late, nearing midnight, and the two were just strolling around and taking pictures of weird poses. Jisung was licking a green apple lollipop, one that Minho had won earlier for him, and he was leading them closer and closer to the short Ferris wheel line.
“I-um sure,” Minho answered, willing to do anything.
“Wow, I haven’t been on one in such a long time,” Jisung said excitedly as they clambered aboard.
Minho could feel his heartbeat quicken as their pod swayed back and forth. It finally hit him that he was about to ride a Ferris wheel, and he was going to be completely off the ground in a swinging pod. And then it also hit him that Jisung didn’t know about his fear of heights, and if Minho was in a right state of mind (not one that was drunk on Jisung), he definitely would’ve refused to go on the ride, as much as Jisung pleaded and pulled.
Minho felt his palms start to sweat and hastily tried to wipe them dry on his jeans. Indigo blue jeans. His hands were shaking, just little tremors, and he hoped Jisung didn’t notice, because he didn’t want Jisung to regret bringing Minho on the Ferris wheel. He hoped he could just get it over with and finally be on land.
Except they were barely one-fourth the way.
He tried to focus on Jisung, wishing that his attention could tunnel onto Jisung like it was just ten minutes before. Indigo blue jeans. They were matching. Striped shirts, icky green. The squirrel in Jisung’s lap. Green apples. But the more he thought about Jisung, the more he pummeled himself for not letting Jisung know earlier, and god do all Ferris wheels go this high? He could feel himself swaying, and honestly, he hoped he passed out before they reached the top—
“Minho?” Jisung asked worriedly. He grabbed Minho’s hands to try to steady the elder, seeing Minho’s eyes unfocused and his body swaying. “Minho, what’s wrong?”
“I um—scared of heights,” Minho muttered. He felt like he was going to throw up. He felt he could throw up.
“Oh my god,” Jisung said, and Minho’s mind shut down when he heard the panic in his voice. This was the last thing he wanted, Jisung panicking over him instead of enjoying the night.
“Okay, uh—” Jisung said. “Okay, okay, can you just focus on me? Until we get to the bottom?”
“Don’t worry about me,” Minho said, gritting his teeth to try and focus. “You—enjoy the Ferris wheel.”
“But you’re not enjoying the ride,” Jisung said with a pout, and if Minho had the energy, he would squish the younger’s cheeks. But the second he let go of Jisung’s hands, he felt the world tilt, and nope—he was not going to let go.
“I’ll try and focus on you,” Minho promised, and he really did. Stared deep into Jisung’s eyes, to the point he swore he saw Jisung’s soul, like he was a seer about to predict the future, and then suddenly, the cabin lurched from a gust of wind, and Minho screamed and grabbed the first thing in front of him, hugging Jisung with as much fervor as he could.
“Hey, you’re going to be okay,” Jisung whispered, caressing Minho’s trembling figure. “Focus on me, just look at me okay? Don’t close your eyes, everything’s gonna feel ten times worse. Just look at me.”
“I-I can’t,” Minho mumbled, “I can’t, I’m gonna, I don’t know—”
“Minho, baby, look up at me please.”
He kind of forgot that Jisung now went around and called the members of the friend group baby. Minho was also subjected to the torture, and he hated how red his ears got and Chan would point it out.
Keep thinking about Jisung and his silly little baby’s.
Minho brought his gaze to meet Jisung’s, breathing in and out. In and out. He felt Jisung caress his cheek, felt the younger scooch closer, and Minho didn’t mind it at all, preferred it actually. Jisung’s eyes glittering in the dark, the only still object in his vision, and Minho wished he had words to say.
God, he looked so pretty. If only Minho could talk.
And then, Jisung connected their lips.
Minho’s eyes fluttered shut, and now his brain was completely swamped with Jisung, completely marshmallow mush as he floated above cloud 9. He’d dreamed of this scene, of their first kiss, so many times, and now it was unreal. Suddenly, the world swept away once again, and he felt floaty, the sense of fear ebbing away as his mind tunneled again. All he could feel was Jisung, one of Jisung’s hands gripping his, the other bringing Minho closer to him to make sure they didn’t part, Jisung’s breath tasting like the green apple lollipop he had earlier, and Minho loved it, was so addicted, he was sure he stopped breathing halfway.
He didn’t know what was going on, except now Jisung was flush against him, having pulled Minho’s body closer, and Minho didn’t object. He could feel Jisung’s pounding heartbeat, and he was sure his was wild too. They parted for a moment of breath, and Minho’s dumb brain asked, why breathe when you can live off Jisung? Exactly, and he dove right back in, relishing in the cocoon of Jisung’s scent that swarmed his senses. Their tongues tangled together, fighting each other, and Minho giggled, too high off of Jisung to realize that they skipped the whole confessing part and went straight to kissing.
When they finally parted, Minho still kept his eyes closed, still trying to live off the lingering wisps of Jisung on his lips. “Minho,” Jisung whispered, “we’re on the bottom now. You can open your eyes.”
He opened his eyes, met with a blushing Jisung, hair a mess and eyes brighter than ever, cheeks flushed with the rosy pink Minho loved seeing. His lips were wet and puffy, and God, Minho wanted to kiss him again, so he did—stole a peck, and another one, until they were both two giggly messes.
They exited with their hands linked together, and then an awkward silence fell upon them. It hit him that Jisung probably only kissed him on the spot just to get Minho to focus on him, and maybe he didn’t even do it out of romantic feelings—
“Did you like it?” Jisung asked. They were once again standing next to each other, close enough for whispers to be heard over the crowd around them.
“Yeah,” Minho said breathlessly, “I loved it.”
“Yeah?” Jisung murmured, his eyes flicking up to meet Minho’s. Deep, dark, glittery. “It was a spur of the moment thing. But like, I really like you hyung. More than friends. I’d love to kiss you again.”
“I like you too,” Minho breathed out, and he felt this weight being taken off his back.
Sometimes, confessing wasn’t that hard. It wasn’t when your crush confessed to you first, which was in this case, sending Minho feeling like a middle school kid again, giggly about their newfound secret, even if he was twenty-two years old. He felt giddy with excitement, excitement that he had an excuse to spend more time with Jisung.
Jisung connected their lips again, and Minho savored every taste. He was sure people passed by and grimaced at the public display affection, but fuck he didn’t care—especially when Jisung tasted so enticing on his lips, especially when Jisung gripped him like he was the whole world, especially when the soft whimpers Jisung made were the only sounds filling his ears.
A buzz of Jisung’s phone pulled them out of their reverie.
“Chan said they’re almost back at the fountain,” Jisung said. “It’s nearing 1 am. We should also head back.”
Minho agreed, and they linked arms. And as they approached their friend group again, he saw the look that Chan gave, a knowing look that saw right through Minho, saw the messy hair, the blissed faces, and the red lips.
When Chan winked, Minho wished he could dunk Chan into the fountain.
♡
THREE
Sunday night
One disaster, one experienced
Desserts rampant (none as sweet as you)
Jisung ♡
im boreddddd
entertain me pls
Minho ♡
i cant :(
i need to bake something for hyunjins bday
Jisung ♡
can i help
please :)
Minho ♡
do you even know how to bake
Jisung ♡
no
but i can learn
PLEASE IM SO BORED
baby please :(
you get to see me :)
MINHO
Minho ♡
fine
Jisung ♡
omw
“Well, I suppose I have another pair of helping hands now,” he murmured. He wasn’t upset that Jisung was coming over, it was just he had planned on also baking a cheesecake for Jisung along with Hyunjin’s cake, and it was going to be a surprise. But now, he guessed, he could teach Jisung how to bake cheesecakes.
“I’m here!” Jisung said, barging into his apartment. For some odd reason, Chan trusted Jisung enough to give him the spare key, which Minho was not fond of in certain times. Sometimes, when he was too lazy to get the door, it was convenient for Jisung to let himself in, but other times, Minho felt like he only got a mini heart attack instead of being welcomed.
“What are we baking today?” he asked excitedly.
“Well...I was going to make a strawberry cake with chocolate frosting for Hyunjin, with cherry filling, covered in chocolate sprinkles and topped with maraschino cherries,” Minho said. “And then, I was going to make a cheesecake for you as a surprise, but you’re here now, so I guess you can help with both.”
“For me?”
“Yeah.”
“And this is why I’m in love with you, Lee Minho,” and Minho felt his ears redden. He didn’t go a day without blushing these days. Perks of keeping a Jisung around.
It turns out that Jisung wasn’t really good at baking. All aspects of baking. Minho made him measure ingredients, and Jisung spilled flour everywhere. Understandable, from someone who had never baked, but Jisung proceeded to spill everything else, to the point he was caked in flour and sugar, and Minho felt like he was watching a disaster more than a preparation. The only thing Jisung seemed capable of doing was chopping up chocolate, having lots of fun trying to cut them into the smallest pieces possible for Minho to melt with cream.
But he also looked incredibly adorable, trying so hard to please Minho.
“I’m sorry for being so messy,” Jisung said, coming up to bury his face in Minho’s chest when they finally managed to get the cakes into the oven. “As you can see, I don’t bake.”
“It’s okay,” Minho murmured. “It’s been a while since you’ve baked, or you’ve never baked before?”
“Yeah.”
Jisung decided to spend the rest of the evening watching Minho bake instead of actually participating. Still, he wasn’t bored, simply entranced in Minho’s attention to detailing as he piped Happy Birthday, Hyunjin! on the cake. Periodically, Jisung would steal some of the chocolate sprinkles Minho was going to cover the sides of the cake with, popping each one into his mouth even if it was a slow process. Random western music played in the background, Jisung singing along when he knew the lyrics, and Minho attempting to dance while washing the dishes.
“The cheesecake looks so good, Minho,” Jisung said after Minho had popped Hyunjin’s cake into the fridge and was letting the cheesecake cool off. “I can smell it—it smells like heaven.”
“You can eat it tomorrow,” Minho said, poking Jisung’s cheek. “I want everybody to also have a piece before you devour it.”
“I’m bored now,” Jisung said. “What do you want to do?”
“Just cuddle,” Minho said, suppressing a yawn. “I’m tired from all the baking.”
Minho changed into a pair of shorts and joined Jisung in the bed. The rest of the night was spent in each other’s arms, slow kisses shared under the small glow of Minho’s lamp. Halfway through, Minho watched a nature documentary with Jisung, giggling every time Jisung squealed about how adorable the animals were.
When it was nearing midnight, and they were both tired but unwilling to fall asleep, Minho wondered out loud, “Did you ever bake when you were younger? Or cook?”
“I…” Jisung said, and Minho felt Jisung shift beside him, curling more into him. “No. Never did anything in the kitchen.”
“Were you not interested?” Minho asked. “I was going to offer to teach you some basics, since you, uh, kind of suck at handling food”—he heard Jisung’s breath hitch—”but if you aren’t interested, it’s fine.”
Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, Minho thought when he felt Jisung tense.
“I just, I’m interested,” Jisung said. His eyes flicked up to meet Minho’s, a wane smile plastered on his face. “Story time?”
“Sure.”
“Truthfully, I’ve always been interested in cooking and baking. Especially when I was a teenager. I like feeling independent with the idea of cooking, but y’know, I just never did anything in the kitchen.
“I’ve always been teased about anything cooking and baking related. It’s so annoying, when people just tell me I suck at cooking, especially from my parents, and yeah? What am I going to do about it? They don’t let me in the kitchen, and then they tell me I suck, and they don’t even tell me how to fix my mistakes.”
“I’m sorry, this is becoming a vent,” Jisung mumbled.
“It’s okay,” Minho answered gently. “I’m listening. That really sucks.”
“We have this pride thing that goes on in my house. Like I used to just ignore their remarks about how I never cook, let alone bake. But as I got older, I really wanted to start because I didn’t want to live off instant ramen and takeout in college, which I was doing until I was blessed with your cooking, so thanks hyung. But anyways, I wanted to start, but I was so scared of failing and being humiliated, and I was too prideful too, and like if I said I wanted to start cooking, my parents would tell me, ‘But you never wanted before? What made you change your mind?’ and probably laugh at me, and I just can’t stand it.”
“Aww,” Minho said, letting his arms wrap around Jisung’s shaky figure. “I’ll teach you how to cook and prove them wrong. You get to learn from the best of the best, Lee Minho, and be a master of the kitchen. And I’ll teach how to bake. Bonus!”
“Yeah, thanks,” Jisung said, laughing quietly. “I really appreciate it. All these things you do for me, hyung. I really do.”
“Anything for you.”
Jisung did eventually learn how to cook. He struggled at first, but Minho was patient, and his patience outweighed Jisung’s frustration. Jisung managed to make it to a level where he could prepare lunch for Chan, and Chan was willing to eat it. Minho loved watching Jisung’s eyes light up when he served a new dish for them to try, and the younger took every criticism, determined to make the best dish to show his family that he could cook, only if they finally let him practice in the kitchen.
♡
FOUR
Umbrella weather
Drenched, awful, tears
Thickening haze of my mind (my light cut through)
Minho felt, excuse his language, really shitty.
37%? How could he have failed that badly?
The whole class had all gotten under 60%, but Minho felt he did particularly worse, especially when he saw everybody around him comparing scores. He wasn’t upset about getting a low score because he had gotten low scores before; more of, he was scared of the effects of it. It was nearing the end of the quarter, and if Minho didn’t pull up his grades by the time finals came around, he definitely would be screwed.
And recently, his parents had been watching his scores more closely. Minho didn’t understand why—he wasn’t even a high school student anymore! He even studied hard for the test, went to study groups (which cut out time with Jisung), and made flash cards and took advice from all the studytubers he watched, yet still, he pulled in another low grade.
And somehow, he ended up wiping his tears away at a bus stop.
Sensitive.
Hey, Jisung said not to say that.
The day had been awful, besides the low score. It was drizzling in the morning when Minho had rushed out, but he couldn’t simply run back upstairs or take the rickety old elevator when he was already running late. Instead, he had bitten his lip and zipped up his hoodie, running to his stop before the bus left.
Then the news of all the scores, and everything was just so much worse every time Minho’s mind went over with. He wished he had chosen an easier class at the beginning of the semester, but at the same time, he wanted his parents to be pleased with all the challenging courses he took.
Minho didn’t have enough money on him to buy a proper lunch, and it seemed that he had also forgotten his notebook at home for one of his two classes of the day. It was just a day of bad luck, and Minho wanted it to just be over with. Let him go home, take a warm shower, and lie down and text Jisung, and maybe he’ll feel okay.
And then he missed his bus. Which was the last straw for him, setting off his tears, even though all the events in his day weren’t such a big deal. He just wanted the day to end, please.
And Chan was working at the café today, so Minho couldn’t go over and wait for Chan to take him home when his shift ended at 1 am.
It was just simply so frustrating that the whole world was against him, his professor, the rain, which was coming down harder than the forecaster predicted, the bus, just everything. Minho wanted to scream at the world, even if he knew it was an overreaction. In the pits of his mind, he wished somebody would sit down next to him at the bus stop, ask him if he was okay, if he wanted a mint or something, and maybe talk to him, and then he realized that his day wouldn’t sound all that bad if he said it out loud. He was simply stressed, and his brain was overreacting, and he wanted attention, wanted to be doted on.
The concept of ungratefulness wasn’t foreign in his mind. And for the rest of the afternoon, his mind berated him over ungratefulness, for not appreciating the opportunities in his life, for wanting more attention when he already had Jisung watching over him constantly. But lately, his days had less Jisung and more work, and he just wanted the month to end so his schedule could finally free up to the point he can have lazy mornings in bed, sometimes curled up with Jisung, sometimes FaceTiming with Jisung, where he could wake up and make little pancakes instead of living off instant coffee and a granola bar, where he could go back home and bake some desserts or play some video games.
“Minho?” Jisung’s voice cut through all the reprimanding in his head.
“Jisung?” he asked incredulously, turning around and half expecting to see Jisung—wait, he was right there.
“Oh, baby,” Jisung said, rushing over to cradle Minho’s shaky figure. “Hi, I’m here, you’re gonna be okay.”
Minho sniffled into Jisung’s soft hoodie, wanting to just bury himself and never see the light of day again. Jisung, his savior, finally here to take him home instead of having him wait at the cold bus stop for another twenty minutes.
“I didn’t know you missed your bus, baby,” Jisung whispered. “You didn’t text me at all today, so I got worried, but I just got out of a meeting, or else I would’ve known to pick you up.”
“It’s fine,” Minho mumbled. He forgot he started neglecting his texts, but then again, his phone was nearly dead—another one of the bad luck aspects of his day.
“You’re crying.”
“It was a shitty day.”
Jisung took one of Minho’s hands, trying to warm up the cold fingers with his own. He was shivering he realized, maybe from the cold and soaked hoodie, maybe from the lack of food and tiredness. His brain grew fuzzy when Jisung finally stood up and led them to his car, Minho vaguely recognizing an umbrella over his head, his mint green umbrella.
Everything was a haze, from Jisung buckling Minho and making sure he was snug, to Jisung handing Minho hot packs to warm his hands and nose up, even giving him a thermos of warm water. Minho was still shivering, but not as bad, especially after Jisung cranked up the heater when they finally left the parking spot.
“You feel okay?” Jisung asked. “I’m sorry, I don’t have your big fluffy jacket for you. I thought you brought it with you today.”
“I’m feeling a lot better, thanks,” Minho whispered. He wasn’t crying anymore, but his mind did feel bleary with all the energy the day had sucked up. The most he could focus on was Jisung’s hand, gripping his firmly while his other arm wrapped around Minho, leading him through the parking garage of Minho’s apartment, murmuring little comforts when large drafts of wind came coursing through and chilling Minho to the bone.
“Go take a shower, okay?” Jisung said when they finally made it back to Minho’s apartment. ‘I’ll bring in some warm clothes for you. I’ll shower afterwards.”
Jisung left Minho standing glumly in the bathroom. Without his presence, Minho felt empty, the tiredness finally hitting his bones as he recalled how exhausting the day was.
A part of him wished Jisung would stay by his side the entire night, which was an incredibly selfish thought because he knew Jisung probably had homework and was tired from his meeting and classes. Look, he said to himself. Jisung’s world isn’t all you. You can’t have him whenever you want him.
They weren’t necessarily boyfriends yet. It had been two months since their kiss at the amusement park, and they had definitely gotten close, spending almost every day at each other's places. At the same time, they never sat down to talk about their relationship, them in general, didn’t put a label on what they had. And so far, Jisung seemed content with what they had, so Minho hadn’t questioned it.
A part of him sometimes worried that Jisung was playing with him, stringing him along for a few months before utterly dropping him and letting him hit rock bottom and walking out of his life. He knew Jisung wasn’t like that, and of course, he trusted Jisung with his life, but they didn’t have any labels, so technically Jisung could leave Minho whenever he wanted. He was scared of the day he came home to find the apartment empty and no little sticky notes or texts from Jisungs, with his stupid smiley faces, Jisung being an old memory and completely leaving his life, walking out the door and never looking back, and—oh, Minho was overthinking again.
The whiny part of him prevailed, and when Jisung came back with a fresh set of clothes and a confused look, asking why aren’t you in the shower yet, Minho gave a timid smile and asked, “Do you, uh, want to bathe together? I, um, fancy a bath tonight.”
Jisung’s face brightened at the offer, his eyes crinkling like little crescents. “I’d love to,” he answered.
They could be considered boyfriends, Minho was sure if he asked. They’ve never showered before together though, and Minho had always been hesitant to ask. He knew Jisung wanted to take things slow, especially when Jisung shared his fears of being in a relationship after his previous one had left him in shambles. Minho agreed, and they were the types of couples who liked to take each other on dates and shared little kisses and small makeout sessions, some hickeys once in a while, but that was the extent of romantic adventures. And Minho was completely fine with that. He also was glad that Jisung was comfortable taking a bath with him.
As they undressed, Minho began feeling self-conscious. They’ve never been fully naked around each other, and most of the time it was in bed at night, when they were tangled in each other’s limbs and body heat. Now under the bright lights of the bathroom, Minho felt exposed, and he could feel his face reddening.
“Are you embarrassed?” Jisung asked with a teasing smile, opting to also strip when the tub was filled with warm water.
“Shush,” Minho grunted, but he couldn’t stop his body from flushing up because yes he was embarrassed, and this was the first time Jisung saw him fully naked.
“Don’t be shy,” Jisung said, coming up from behind and wrapping his arms around Minho’s waist, head choosing to rest on Minho’s shoulder. The whisper into his ear made him shudder.
“Gosh, your skin is cold. Let’s get you into the water,” Jisung murmured, and the two slipped inside, Minho instantly relaxing. He let Jisung maneuver them so that Minho was resting on Jisung’s chest, letting Jisung pool water over the tops of his shoulders.
Minho could hear Jisung cooing at him, about how adorable and half asleep he looked, eyes closed in serenity as Jisung took care of him. Minho’s mind grew blank, simply resting on the warmth of Jisung’s words. Later when Jisung drained the water, the younger took the time to work the shampoo into his hair and soap into body, ridding Minho of all the stress that had accumulated in the past few weeks.
He was so fucking grateful for Jisung
When they finally stood up, exchanging slow kisses and nose boops, the two of them not wanting their shower session to end, Jisung asked, “You love being doted on, don’t you? Especially by me.”
Minho's ears reddened, and he buried himself into Jisung’s chest. “Shut up,” he muttered, but of course he loved the attention, and Jisung giggled.
“I like to take care of you too,” Jisung whispered.
They were so compatible, it was insane. If somebody gave, then the other took, and it was a sense of balance they found early in their relationship. He couldn’t imagine his life without Jisung, without somebody who understood him wholly, without somebody by his side.
When they both had some instant ramen for dinner, the two being too lazy to cook and eager to cuddle, they wrapped themselves around each other in bed, Jisung playing with Minho’s hair, and Minho lazing in his embrace. Minho felt like a couple, felt like he could stay like this forever—he never wanted to leave. Ever.
“What are we?” he mumbled. “What are we, Jisung?”
It was a tentative question, one he had always been scared of asking. He wasn’t sure why, probably because of the fear that Jisung didn’t want anything more than just being two very close friends. He hated that he was so fearful, so untrustworthy when he knew he could trust Jisung completely, guilty because of this fear.
But he also wanted to know.
“We can, we can be anything you want,” Jisung said. “We just never sat down to discuss labels, but I always assumed we were boyfriends, or somewhere along that line.”
Minho’s heart swelled with happiness hearing the word boyfriends coming out of Jisung’s mouth, and yes, indeed, they were boyfriends. Everybody around them saw them as together, and he wondered why he felt so fearful in the first place—overthinking really got you sometimes.
“My boyfriend,” Minho whispered, tangling Jisung’s hand with his.
“My boyfriend.”
♡
FIVE
Nighttime excursions
Stress free, balance, slow and wild
The nights are still young (and we are too)
After six months, Minho decided to move in with Jisung.
And the years went by.
Minho’s favorite time to spend with Jisung was during the night. The nighttime offered everything to them, seclusion, beauty, greed, and they cherished it.
He remembered Jisung taking him out to a night market. Hours were spent shopping, buying little trinkets to decorate Jisung’s drab apartment, eating street food that Minho hadn’t tasted in years. They wore indigo jeans, both very fond of their matching clothes, and as they sat down to share green apple ice cream, Minho’s memories brought back the day at the amusement park, the day of indigo jeans and first kisses.
They laughed because they were so young back then, even if it was only a few months ago. And nothing had changed, only they have grown older, the seasons have grown colder, and they were ever so much closer.
They attended festivals, dancing and singing until the rays of dawn peaked over the rooftops, uncaring, because there were no consequences when they were together.
Minho no longer talked to his parents. They had parted ways a few months ago, after the disaster that had occurred when Minho tried, once again, to come out to his parents who had constantly invalidated his sexuality. He even brought Jisung, thinking nobody could hate Jisung because he was the sweetest human being ever—apparently he was wrong. Now he may have to pay for his full tuition, but he was happy with his lover and his friends, and Minho was so grateful for Chan and Jisung talking him into not listening to his parents.
Minho loved Jisung’s parents. Jisung had told him that they had a rocky relationship, but it had gotten better throughout the year. They absolutely adored Minho, and even brought him along on a camping trip up a mountain. Occasionally, he even rode the subway over to deliver some desserts for them, knowing they shared Jisung’s love for cheesecake.
A few weeks ago, Jisung and Minho had even gone to the animal shelter to adopt a cat, which Chan had nicknamed their baby, and Minho would wholeheartedly agree. Dori may be a menace like some children, but Jisung and Minho loved him with their whole hearts.
Minho felt the months blur by once again, the days filled with Jisung and his happy presence. There were so many firsts with him—first time drinking when Minho had always refused alcohol before, first time travelling abroad and alone, taking a little trip to Paris in the summer (wrong decision, it was immensely hot), first time stargazing, where Jisung flexed his constellation knowledge by constantly pointing out Orion’s Belt, first time attending a waterpark because yes Minho had never gone to a waterpark as a kid, which left Jisung dumbfounded. Their lives were filled with adventure, scrap booked both in their minds and on the numerous photo albums in their apartment because Jisung had a knack of making pretty things.
And for Minho, his first time being together with somebody intimately, in the dark hours of the night when they had each other to themselves, when they could worship each other in the privacy of the apartment, bodies connected with Jisung rocking into him, sending Minho seeing stars and feeling pleasure coursing through his veins, pleasure he had never felt before, breaths panting as they exchanged loving kisses, love curling in wisps around them. And Minho felt so eternally happy that he had met Jisung back at Chan’s café.
♡
SIX
Gratitude
May I have your hand?
Thank you for being here (for being you)
“I’m so nervous,” Minho whispered. “I want to scream so bad. And pee my pants. And run around and smack the wall.”
“Hey, don’t do that,” Changbin said. “I like my carpet. You’ll be fine. Come on, he’ll be here in a few minutes. Hyunjin just texted.”
“I know, but oh my god, look, what if I fuck something up? This is his perfect day, I might bite my fingers off because I’m so nervous.”
Chan came up to hug Minho. “You’ll be fine. Relax, it’s his birthday. Pretty sure he already suspected that you’re hosting a surprise birthday party for him because you’ve done it every year before—”
“But that’s not the point! Because this year is supposed to be special—”
Minho clamped his mouth shut when he heard a knock at the door.
“Get in your places!” Chan hissed as quietly as he could, and Minho ducked behind the counter, watching everybody find their respective hiding places: Chan and Changbin behind the couch, Seungmin dipping into the closet, Jeongin and Felix behind the curtains and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.
The door swung open.
“Oh, um, looks like he isn’t home,” Hyunjin said.
“Maybe he’s setting up for my surprise birthday party with Minho,” Jisung suggested. “Unless—”
“Surprise!”
Minho jumped out from behind the counter, holding up a big poster with happy bday Jisung (dummy) ! as Hyunjin flicked all the lights on. Chan and Changbin jumped out with horns and party hats—looking incredibly silly Minho would add—and Felix and Jeongin stepped out from behind the curtains, one with a camera and one with a party hat for Jisung. And lastly, Seungmin revealed himself, holding a large birthday cake with candles for Jisung to blow out.
They’ve done this every year for Jisung, and every time Jisung would immediately tear up. Minho rushed forward to envelope him into a hug, running his hands through Jisung’s hair as the younger tried to speak.
“It’s so funny—because I mentally prepare myself each year, knowing you’re gonna give me another surprise birthday party but I always end up crying,” Jisung said, trying to laugh his tears away as Minho smiled endearingly down at him.
The day was filled with everything that Jisung loved. The cake, specifically a lemon cake with strawberry frosting and filling, topped with an assortment of fruits, was made by Minho, who threw all of Jisung’s favorites together. There were little cookies set aside to munch on, a pile of green apple lollipops for everybody, and guava juice because Jisung absolutely loved guava juice. The games, including countless intense rounds of Mario Kart (“No! Please, I beg you, don’t hit me with that red shell—fuck!”) mixed with a round of truth or dare (in which the group learns a bit too much about Minho and Jisung’s sex lives and mayhaps scarred Jeongin) topped with the longest Wii Tennis match Minho had ever sat through—but it was Jisung versus Felix, and of course, he had to root for his boyfriend.
When the night rolled around and they all prepared to leave for a fancy dinner for Jisung’s birthday, Minho grew increasingly nervous. He had one last small surprise, one that nobody else knew, the surprise that he almost blurted out before Jisung arrived, and even if he was excited, his nervousness definitely overtook his thoughts.
Even Chan had noticed something was up, gently caressing Minho’s shaky fingers as they waited for their food.
Breathe.
The dinner was beautiful. That’s all Minho remembered. Truthfully, he could barely stomach his raviolis, but he made sure Jisung didn’t notice.
Minho was so glad that he had booked a reserved room for their group because no way was he about to show his surprise in front of the group, Jisung, and some strangers trying to enjoy their evening.
“I, uh, have a speech,” Minho said, clearing his throat and standing up when everybody’s desserts were almost finished, and there was a lull in conversation.
He took a deep breath.
Clasped his shaky fingers.
“To Jisung,
“A while ago, I wrote a poem for you. I am...not the best at poetry, or writing in general, but it’s just to show my appreciation for you, your existence, your everything.
Home? Where is my home?
An unknown reality
Now within my reach
June eighth of twenty-twenty
Coffee-drunk hours threatened with anguish
Pierced by luminescent smile (etched in heart)
Indigo jeans
Jammed together aboard a pod
Heart beating fast of height (and confessions)
Sunday night
One disaster, one experienced
Desserts rampant (none as sweet as you)
Umbrella weather
Drenched, awful, tears
Thickening haze of my mind (my light cut through)
Nighttime excursions
Stress free, balance, slow and wild
The nights are still young (and we are too)
Gratitude
May I have your hand?
Thank you for being here (for being you)
“June eighth of twenty-twenty. I met you. I was crying, I had just gotten in an awful fight with my parents, and the first thing you did was comfort me. It was what I needed that night. Thank you.
“Indigo jeans. That day when we rode the Ferris wheel together and had our first kiss. And ever since, we wear our indigo jeans together. Thank you.
“Sunday night. When we first baked together, and when I first started giving you cooking lessons. Look at you now, a professional chef just like me. Those were wonderful days. I love them. Thank you.
“Umbrella weather. Once again, another day I needed you. And you were there for me the whole time. And that was the day we were official. Thank you.”
“Nighttime excursions. Every night for the past few years we’ve spent together, and you’ve always sent me on an adventure. I love every single one of those seconds. Cherish them so much. Thank you.”
Minho could feel tears starting to slip down his cheeks.
Fuck himself for being so emotional(ly in love with Jisung).
“And gratitude. It is the most important thing in my life. I am so eternally grateful for you. I was always taught to never take things for granted, and it has always stuck by my side. But truly, I now understand why my parents told me that. It is one of the few lessons I still hold onto from them. You, just being by my side, I’ve realized I don’t ever want to be apart from you. Ever. I hope that doesn’t sound obsessive, but I simply mean I love you, and I wish you by my side for the years to come. When I look past on our memories together, ever since that fateful June 8th, I lie awake in bed just thinking about how kind the universe was for bringing you into my life. How much I cursed it that day and many other days, but the universe was showing me that I already had found happiness—with you. You are the sun of my solar system, the star that shines the beacon in my life, the light at the end of the tunnel that I constantly seek for, you are my everything, Han Jisung.
Deep breath.
“So, Han Jisung, would you be my husband and continue being my light?”
He sank down on one knee, grateful to be so much closer to the ground because God, he was shaking so bad, from relief that he managed to pull this speech off without passing out, from hopefulness that Jisung would answer, and from all the smiles he could feel beaming at him. He was so so incredibly happy for being there, at that moment, surrounded by all his supportive friends, right in front of Jisung.
And his trembling hands opened the ring box, the blue leather case that flicked open, revealing a band with a shiny little diamond, glittering under all the stars in Jisung’s eyes.
“I-I would love to,” Jisung whispered.
He brought the ring up to Jisung’s hand, guiding it onto his finger, and it was all over, and he breathed the largest breath ever since that morning, enveloping Jisung into the tightest hug he could ever give. He was crying—he knew Jisung was crying too, and around them, there were cheers and awws, and Minho felt like his world was once again, wrapped around Jisung.