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Summary
As he lays there on his back, on top of Jisung’s probably unwashed duvet cover, Hyunjin comes to a realisation, one that he’s not particularly surprised by, but a realisation nonetheless.
Jisung’s thrusts are sloppy, at such an angle that Hyunjin isn’t really feeling all that much outside of mild discomfort. He’s mumbling under his breath, Hyunjin can’t really make out too much outside of what he assumes are a few anime references. Jisung’s grip on Hyunjin’s hips is a bit awkward. And Hyunjin’s pretty sure he sees tears welling up in Jisung’s eyes.
Jisung has no idea what the fuck he’s doing, does he?