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Motivated was one way to describe Jisung — in fact, there were plenty of other words to describe him; he was talented, caring, spontaneous (which was partly how he had ended up in that situation in the first place), yet careful.
Or well, usually motivated .
Slothful was absolutely out of everyone’s vocabulary when it came to characterising the twenty-two-year-old boy.
Even if, and he'd admit it himself, it seemed to be the perfect wording right now — the white sheet draping his whole body, completely expressionless, almost faceless if it wasn’t for the few holes he had badly cut, giving him a limited view of the people at the party and a hard time breathing.
The lighting wasn’t helping in the slightest, white flashes going on and off, overpowering the red background subdued light — and maybe the alcohol lingering in his system wasn’t in his favour either.
Sure, he could’ve found another costume, if he had had the time to do so, or better yet, come dressed as himself. But the look Changbin had thrown at him not even three hours ago, begging him to accompany him at this early Halloween party, was too hard to resist — especially when he had promised him to treat him next time.
And so, that was how he found himself in a sea of bodies, all too sweaty or drunk for his liking, on a nineteenth of October. He didn’t even know the person hosting it: it was pretty rare that Changbin and him, or well, mostly him , hung out with people that had already left college. Changbin, for the most part, was the type to get invited everywhere, and Jisung, well, Jisung followed him.
It had been that way since forever, and as the two of them grew up together, Jisung simply always looked up to the boy who was only older by a year.
It had been that way since forever, although it had been merging into a slightly different path these latest years: Jisung often being the one saving Changbin from stupid situations he had put himself in.
He knew Changbin by heart, when the latter wasn’t hiding anything from him. He knew his childhood house as if he had lived in it, knew Changbin’s family as if it was his own —or well, maybe not his own. Simply not his own because Changbin had an elder brother, a brother who happened to be Jisung’s very first crush when he was younger. It was childish; he didn’t even know the first thing about Minho back then, too afraid to even try to talk to him that way when he became a teenager. But as of now, Jisung was twenty-two, and a lot of water had passed under the bridge.
And even if he had not actually seen Minho in years, Jisung was sure this silly, little, young and unrequited fleeting romance was what it was: fleeting —in the past, gone and buried.
What was important here is that he knew Changbin by heart.
So how the fuck couldn’t he recognise his best friend through the crowd of people dancing right before his eyes?
Taking a better look at them, he noticed that all of them had taken this Halloween party far too seriously. From a girl wearing a full latex outfit and a catwoman mask to cool guys with witchy hats and monstrous makeups, it didn’t take long for Jisung to feel out of place. His eyes wandered a bit further, to the people talking near the bar —but Changbin still was nowhere to be seen.
At one point (read: after looking nearly in every room of the goddamn house), Jisung had enough of searching after him. Worst of all, it was ticking him off. The other man couldn’t answer his fucking phone to save his life, and all those people looking at him weirdly, as if they had never seen a ghost in their entire life was the last thing he needed.
He quickly went to the bar, filled his cardboard glass (the irony of it all wasn’t even amusing him anymore) with yet another suspicious orangish liquid before downing it in one sip. Another pair of eyes had set on him, probably judging the originality and hard work he had thought of and put into his costume. He tried not to care too much.
Right after, he poured a different cocktail in the cheap glass that, he was sure of, would eventually end up wet and sluggish in his hand before the end of the night. He could feel the beverage staining the sheet around the hole he had made for this purpose, obviously miscalculating the circumference of his mouth. Everything about this evening was pretty much…
“Shit,” he sighed loudly, although it went unnoticed thanks to the loud music coming out of the huge speaker only a few meters away.
Or well, he thought it had gone unnoticed, until he heard a laughter erupt from behind him, a little too close —which was the scariest thing of this Halloween party if he were to be honest; how come he didn’t even notice someone invading his personal space?
He turned around, eyes widening under the cloth, impossible for the person facing him to know that. Considering the costume the person right in front of him had chosen, it was just as impossible for Jisung to guess the stranger’s own expression: since they both had a similar white cloth hiding the entirety of their bodies.
For a second, Jisung doubted this was real and maybe he was just standing in front of a mirror, and wow, he really needed to know what was in that cocktail.
But when the other ghost laughed again, a little louder, or maybe it was because they finally had Jisung’s attention on them, he stopped doubting.
“Changbin?” he asked, feeling a little stupid. What were the odds?
“Jisung?” the stranger asked back, just as surprised, and Jisung couldn’t even remember why he was mad in the first place.
None of them took the time to answer the question, either, and Jisung didn’t question why his voice was a little lighter than usual, a bit more playful, as if he knew something Jisung didn’t.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d be dressed as a ghost too when I told you my idea? You know what, never mind,” he rambled, “I’ve been looking for you all night long,” Jisung explained, gripping what seemed to be his wrist through the fabric, pulling him to the nearest (and only) sofa so that they could finally sit.
“You sure about that?” the other man said loud enough so that Jisung could hear him, and his first response came faster than it could be expected from a tipsy Jisung, a slight slap on the other’s thigh.
“Yeah.” A pause. “You’re being weird,” he added, a lopsided smile kept to himself because of the sheet covering him up.
In the meantime, his hand reached for the pocket where he had put his phone in, pushing the white cloth away as he tried to spare a look at his phone, the light radiating from it almost blinding him as he saw Changbin’s name displayed on the screen.
Changbin’s name kept appearing, as if he was apparently sending him messages right now.
Messages asking him where he was and if he had come to the party in the end.
What the fuck?
Jisung lifted his head rapidly, and the stranger’s eyes must have been on him all along as he heard him giggle yet another time. Within a second, Jisung’s hand that was still resting against the other sheet (with lacy details, he only noticed as his fingers touched the pattern) jumped back to his own (very plain one, if anything).
The thought alone could have riled him up again (because how the fuck there were only two people dressed as ghosts and he was the one with the worst bed sheet?!) if the stranger’s laughter didn’t have soothing properties.
“You’re not Changbin,” Jisung said, a little dumb. He was impressed that the person in front of him had even heard him, as the sound came off as a whisper.
“Yeah, I’m not,” Jisung could hear him smile, which was pretty concerning regarding the fact that he had no idea who was hiding under the cloth.
The news seemed to bring a little more sense back to him, sobering up more and more each second passing by. “How did you know who I was then?”
Jisung tried to focus on the stranger’s eyes, the holes in his cloth better drawn and cut than his, giving away more of his features. He saw his eyes form crescents at the question, leaning in slowly, in beat with the nagging notes of the melody playing between them.
“You’re a ghost too. You should know we can read each other’s minds,” he joked.
Jisung chuckled, relaxing as he easily played his game, “Ah, I’m sorry. You know, I’m fresh to death, so I’m still trying to figure out this entire afterlife process,” he gestured, although the bed sheet hid most, if not all, of his movements.
He could see the boy throw a side look, one that Jisung didn’t care to follow, too focused on him as he exhaled a “Ah.”
It could have ended up here, but the stranger didn’t seem to be fond of the idea of leaving Jisung alone. Not that he minded; not at all, actually.
“Then,” he scooted closer even, and if it had been anyone, Jisung would have stood back, but there was something different about the person talking to him right now. Ghost intuition or something. “Would you like any tips?”
Jisung nodded, only verbalising it after he remembered that he couldn’t see him, “Yes.”
“Well, I think the first tip you need to know, and it is the most important one,” the stranger started, taking his role very seriously, “is that no one can see you. Except for ghosts, we can see each other.”
“And read each other’s minds from time to time?” Jisung followed, easily entertaining the stranger with whatever he was telling him.
“Not from time to time. It starts when you’re an experienced ghost.”
Jisung raised a brow under the bed sheet, “What does it take to become an experienced ghost?”
“It depends on your date of death,” he explained, as if it was a known truth.
“You’re telling me wrinkly ghosts have a privilege?” Jisung said. To that, the other person simply laid back as they replied, amusement loud and clear in his voice, “I guess you could say so.”
“When did you die?” Jisung found himself asking, almost forgetting that all of this wasn’t made up.
“Oh, it’s been centuries,” the stranger said in an atrociously quavering voice, and if Jisung had one or two drinks more, he might have been fooled.
“Is that why you’re hiding underneath that lacy cloth? To make up for your ugly rotted face?”
The comment earned him a light tap from the stranger’s elbow on his arm. “Don’t disrespect your elder,” he said, and Jisung could completely hear his clear normal voice betraying him, refraining himself from laughing. “And you, when did you die?”
Jisung pondered. “I think it was yesterday. Or maybe last week. All the days are the same, you know?”
“Yeah, I do,” the man said, words quietly hanging between them as he let the conversation die. Jisung’s eyes travelled the room. Changbin was still nowhere in sight, and Jisung was too lazy (or perhaps, not interested enough) to try and find where he was. Especially now that he had found…
“What’s your name?” Jisung asked out of the blue.
A moment of silence. Jisung turned his head, meeting the stranger’s eyes for the umpteenth time for the night, enough for them to feel familiar, but not enough to be recognised without a full face. The lights and alcohol might be tricking him, though.
“You still haven’t recognised me?” the man asked, and Jisung couldn’t refrain the sarcastic laugh from leaving his lips.
“Yeah, excuse me for not recognising you when you’re draped from head to toe.”
“Well, I recognised you,” he stated, matter-of-factly, and Jisung hated that he wasn't wrong.
“I’m pretty sure I’m not the only Jisung in this party,” he muttered, but the man in front of him didn’t seem to pay any mind.
“You still have time to figure out who I am,” the stranger said. Jisung rolled his eyes.
As if to soothe his attitude down (as if he knew exactly what to do to carry Jisung away, making him forget his faintest worries), he offered, “If you want, I can give you another tip instead?”
And just like that, Jisung was listening again, as interested as he had been when the man first talked to him, even if it was for a completely different reason. “Sure, give me a good one.”
The man pulled the sheet higher and higher, till his hands were finally in sight. Jisung looked at them intently, as if he had ever been able to recognise anyone just from fingers. He took his glass in hand, a glass in real glass — a detail that would’ve pissed him off if the charming stranger hadn’t been this fun to be around.
“You have to scare the rich kids, ‘cause sometimes they can drop good sums of money.”
The tip wasn’t something Jisung had expected, dragging out an airy surprised laugh from him. “This isn’t very Casper-like of you.”
“Well,” he sighed, more so to add a dramatic effect, “Casper is a very, very distant relative of mine.”
“Isn’t it a pain to live in his shadow? You’re like… the lame cousin or something.”
The man next to him snorted, “Or maybe, I’m the hot sibling?”
Jisung focused on him as if he could see his face. Then, skeptically answered, “If you were the hot sibling, I’d doubt you’d be hiding your face, and your identity to a fellow ghost.”
Just as he was about to answer, words only half leaving his mouth, Jisung recognised Changbin in one of the most horrendous cowboy outfits ever made.
Jisung cut him off, hand on the man’s uncovered leg, the sheet still being up around his waist —and he would have taken a better look at it if he did not have a best friend to scowl right now. “I have to go right now. But be sure I’ll come back to haunt you.”
He could feel Changbin’s eyes on him as the stranger pinched his cloth as he stood up.
“Yeah, don’t worry. It’s not like I can go anywhere. You know, being stuck on earth till I release the pain in my soul or something.”
Jisung chuckled as he tried to smooth the fabric out, “Don’t suffer too much without me.”
“I doubt it is a possibility.”
Jisung was glad his face was covered, because smiling like a fool to the stranger’s comments surely would have been embarrassing.
He started walking towards Changbin, who had definitely understood either one of them was him. As he reached him, and before he could even make a comment about his costume, or the fact he had gone missing for nearly two hours, his best friend beat him to it.
“Jisung?” He asked, and Jisung shouldn’t find it that stupid because there were indeed two ghosts, but still. Jisung surely was the best ghost Changbin knew, lacy detail on the bed sheet or not.
The alcohol still was in his system, but not quite as disturbing as it was at the beginning of the night. If anything, Jisung felt the most lucid he had been all night. It was surely an illusion, but it was nice to believe anyway.
“Who said I’m not the other one?” he said, not even noticing how dumb he sounded.
Changbin mocked him, “You know I can differentiate Minho’s voice from yours, right?”
It took a little too much time for the info to register, settle in his brain and acknowledge that the guy’s identity Jisung had been talking with had just been revealed. His eyes widened.
“Min-Minho?” he stuttered.
Changbin looked over his shoulder, back to the sofa where he had been sitting on a second before, the one Minho had already deserted —as if he was truly a ghost, as if he had not even been there in the first place.
“Yeah, pretty sure you were flirting with my brother over there.”
For the second time in less than fifteen minutes, Jisung was grateful for the sheet on him, covering the heat crippling on his face and nape.
“I-, we weren’t flirting!”
Changbin solely raised a brow, “Yet you had your hands on his leg.”
Jisung opened his mouth just to close it shut again. It wasn’t like that!
“It’s not like that!”
“Yeah, sure,” Changbin said, getting closer. After that, he added, “‘Didn’t know your crush on him was still an on-going thing,” just to rile him up.
Jisung didn’t know what to answer anymore to shut him up —surely, hitting his friend’s arm and rolling his eyes were enough.
Sure, he used to have a crush on Minho when he was a teen. But that was years ago, and the last time Jisung had seen him, he was still in highschool, Minho preparing himself to leave for the neighbouring city to study. And from what he had heard by coming to family gatherings (the brothers’ mom jokingly complaining that Jisung was more present than one of her own sons), Minho had found a job there and had decided to stay in the city.
Jisung couldn’t even remember what Minho exactly looked like; apart from his feline features and sharp nose, all other details had gone to waste. Now that he thought about it, it was risible: Minho used to be the one he thought he would end his life with when he was younger, so how come he’d forget about his mouth, or any other details, really.
Changbin made him snap back to reality by putting his hand on his shoulder, the other hand pointing to someone in the crowd Jisung didn’t get the time to see. “Anyway, I’m gonna talk to Chan. I’ll text you when I want to go home, okay?”
Jisung nodded, eyes still having trouble focusing, too lost in his train of thoughts.
What was Minho even doing here?
The question shouldn’t even torment him this much —he was just his best friend’s brother, after all— and yet, Jisung only wanted to find him back, talk to him more, be greedy. But he couldn’t even take another step that a (drunk, Jisung guessed off the top of his head,) stranger had put his arm around his shoulders, pulling him with him to the center of the room to dance, and mayhap, Jisung was still a bit tipsy and he was sure Minho wouldn’t leave any time soon.
He hoped so, at least.
The music had his body moving by its own, in the same crowd of people he despised at the beginning of the night, but well, no one could see him, not really and the two shots he had taken in the meantime made him care even less.
He couldn’t even tell how much time had passed since he had talked to Changbin, nor could he figure it out for Minho.
Shit. Minho.
After a fashion, he finally weaved in and out of the ocean of bodies surrounding him, making the air more breathable suddenly. He tried looking around again, now that more people had left the house, but Minho was nowhere to be seen. It seemed like a family thing.
So like a child waiting for his parents to come get him after school, he sat back on the same couch where Jisung had last seen him, as if it would make him suddenly come back. He lifted the sheet just so that he could finally see and breathe fully. He let the cloth rest on his shoulders as he leaned on the backrest, closing his eyes, just for a second, or maybe a bit more.
And as if Minho’s theory on ghost telepathic communication turned out to be real, when Jisung opened his eyes again, the boy was standing before him, the cloth still hiding his face and body.
Jisung smirked, “You heard me call for you?”
The ghost took an instant to answer. “You were?”
Jisung bit his lip. He needed to learn how to shut up. “Maybe.” He made a mental note for another time.
He heard Minho chuckle again, and now, it seemed so evident it had been him all along. “I’m going to get you some water.”
“Yeah, you do that,” Jisung said, closing his eyes again, although Minho was already gone.
Jisung in the past would have been mortified to be seen like that by Minho, and Jisung from the future would surely regret this interaction, but Jisung from the present couldn’t find it in himself to be more concerned by his image.
Minho came back pretty fast, with, as promised, a glass in hand, giving it to Jisung as he sat next to him. As Jisung thanked him and drank it, he could feel his eyes linger on him —if he was to be asked, he would blame the blush blooming at the tip of his ears on the alcohol.
“You’re okay?” Minho asked, and even though Jisung had never talked to him this much throughout his entire life, unable to spit out three words without a stutter when Minho’s eyes were set on him when he would come play at Changbin’s house; it sounded exactly like what was to be expected from him. Kind and caring, Jisung basked in his attention.
He hummed, but Minho didn’t seem to be convinced. He looked around, “We should put you in a room.”
Jisung didn’t have the time to refuse the offer that Minho was already up again, hand out waiting for Jisung to take it. He tried not to overthink too much of the feeling of his hand against his, nor the way his arm circled his waist to keep him balanced and steady. He was ready to leave the living room, entering one of the long corridors of the house, but even Jisung’s drunken mind knew something was missing, stopping the two of them. “Wait, where’s my sheet?”
Minho laughed, but it was a very serious matter to Jisung. He continued, “How am I going to be able to talk to you if I don’t have it?”
He was sure he heard Minho reply something, a mix of words whispered with a devastating smile, but he failed to catch it.
Minho moved behind Jisung, going from his right side to the left one, extending his body despite the cloth he was still wearing, taking Jisung’s very own in his hand before securing Jisung’s body against his once more.
He seemed to know his way around the house, easily guiding Jisung and opening one of the doors as if he knew no one would be there, turning the light up before he gently dropped Jisung on the bed. He sighed happily as his head hit the cushiony furniture beneath him.
He would’ve fallen asleep there if the ghost behind him had not spoken up again, reminding him of his presence. “Do you know where your friend is?”
Although Jisung had half of his mind functioning correctly, the words woke him up a bit, an uncontrollable giggle leaving his lips as he put his weight on his elbows, eyeing the person in front of him. He could see a white light coming from underneath the delicate cloth, Jisung quickly understanding he was on his phone.
“Why don’t you try calling him?” Then he stood up, even if his wobbly legs didn’t allow him to, Minho sprinting to catch him as he almost fell. Once he was secured, in Minho’s arms —he wondered if it was the liquor that made him think he fit perfectly in his arms, or if he just naturally did. “He’s your brother after all, isn’t he, Minho ?”
With the name finally out in the open, Minho’s behaviour seemed to switch, shoulders relaxing, and maybe Jisung was imagining too much, but he could picture him smiling.
“Ah. You’ve finally recognised me,” Minho whispered as he let Jisung’s body hit the mattress again, this time sitting next to him. “And for your information, I tried calling Changbin, but he’s not answering.”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely sounds like him,” Jisung sighed as he closed his eyes. He opened them again when he heard a swift motion of tissues brushing against each other, but he didn’t even have the time to understand what was happening that he felt a tissue on him. He let out a squeak, Minho’s laugh filling up the room, and when Jisung’s fingers touched the textile, he needn’t see it to understand Minho had taken his cloth off.
Soon enough, his fingers made quick work of it, removing it so that he could finally see the other boy.
If Minho was beautiful in his fourteen-years-old mind, he was now even more ravishing, soft blond hair framing his face as if he was the sun itself. His eyes had a playful glint to them, and the smirk on his (fuck, very pretty) lips made Jisung’s breathing stop.
Minho giggled again, “Oh, so now, you can’t talk anymore? I thought in my time away you had learned how to talk to boys.”
Boys.
Boys, as if Jisung had this issue with just anyone. Minho was quite cute, modest to think it happened with everyone. Jisung would have let out a laugh if the truth didn’t come and crush him; the fact Minho remembered him being timid, stuttering on his every word every time they interacted made him want to crawl under the bed and die there. But now was his chance to make a difference, show him that he was different from the little boy he used to know.
“Well. Let’s say I know my way with men now,” he said, already regretting the words as they left his mouth. He shut his eyes, brows knitting together as he pressed his lips in a thin line —forgetting for a second that Minho could see his face clearly. So much for making a better impression. He hated how the words didn’t sound like him in the slightest, his newfound confidence already gone.
He waited for Minho to laugh at his face, waited again and again, but it never came. When his lids parted, he noticed Minho had gotten closer, their faces facing each other, and if Jisung squeezed, he could feel his breath on his skin, eyes falling on Minho’s lips against his will. When he looked up, he thought he had seen Minho do the same, but the liquor might be playing tricks on his brain.
“Care to put that theory to the test?” Minho breathed out, eyes getting lost in Jisung’s as he subconsciously licked his bottom lip. It was just saliva; it shouldn’t be this troubling. But Jisung was at a loss for words, the tension between them suddenly becoming too much to bear.
So he did the thing he did the best: joke about it.
“Hm,” he smirked, pretending to think as he leaned back, creating a bigger gap between them, but not being completely out of his reach either, “I’m sorry, but I don’t do ghosts.”
Then, as he saw Minho’s expression shift to something more playful, he continued, “I’m more of a vampire type of guy.”
Minho was about to respond, but he was interrupted (yet again) by the door opening, Jisung definitely widening the space between when he saw Changbin’s figure appearing after the creaky noise.
The music was penetrating the room, Jisung only remembering now that they were at a party, and that it wasn’t just the two of them. He focused on his fidgeting fingers rather than confront any of the two brothers.
Changbin broke the silence, “I thought Jisung wasn’t feeling well.”
Jisung raised his head, ready to answer, but Minho beat him to it. “Well, that was,” he stopped to check the time, “almost thirty minutes ago. Although I doubt he has completely sobered up now.” He sent a look his way before focusing back on Changbin.
And maybe he was right, and Jisung still was under the influence, because the two brothers shared looks that seemed to be a full discussion, but he couldn’t catch anything. He sat there, eyes getting lost in the void as a wave of fatigue hit him. He really needed to sleep.
His best friend got closer to him, Minho getting up at the same time, Jisung kept out of the loop. “Can you stand up?” Minho asked, in the same gentle tone he had used the entire night, and although Jisung wouldn’t say it aloud, he was grateful he didn’t change his behaviour now that Changbin was here.
He nodded, his legs still felt a little unstable, but he’d make it work. Changbin held him in the same way Minho did before, circling his waist, holding him while Jisung clawed his sheet, throwing one last look at Minho, “I’ll bring him home. Text me once you’re home, too.”
Minho must have shook his head, as Jisung didn’t hear his answer, not even his head to say goodbye, suddenly overly conscious of his state and how he presented himself in front of Minho. It was embarrassing.
As they left the house and Changbin made him sit in the passenger’s seat of his car, Jisung’s gaze was still lost on nothing, too focused on his own thoughts to mind reality.
Changbin scoffed. “What did you say about your crush again?”
Jisung really, unequivocally, needed to sleep.
。・°°・♡・°°・。
About Jisung not being slothful; maybe it was a lie. Or, to get more technical, partially a lie.
It turns out, Jisung really just was lazy when it came to Halloween costumes —or costumes of any kind, actually. Hence why after putting the cloth to the washing machine (and praying that the cocktail, and other stains he had made on it without even knowing how, would go away) and improving the holes he had cut previously (even adding holes for his arms, and thank God, he could finally see and breathe clearly), Jisung could be found with the same exact costume on another party on October 31st.
Although he’d angrily debate that statement, especially when Changbin looked at him weirdly when he saw him with the cloth on his body. “You’re gonna wear that again?”
Jisung had clicked his tongue, hands pointing to the new holes created in the tissue, “It isn’t the same costume!”
“But it is, though. You just washed it,” his best friend argued, amused. He looked around, searching for something while Jisung rolled his eyes. “You should add those,” he handed him a pair of sunglasses.
Jisung took them in hands, blinking one too many times in confusion, “This is an indoor night party, ‘Bin.”
“Yeah, but it’ll make you look less like a loser,” he sniggered as he left their apartment, Jisung running after him so that he wouldn’t leave without him, the sunglasses in hands, just in case he was right.
The party was nice, nicer than the last, and it absolutely didn’t have to do with the fact that he didn’t have to search for Changbin during half of it, nor the fact that no one judged him for being dressed as a ghost. Now that he thought of it, it wasn’t like anyone had made comments the other night, his anger amplifying the reality of what happened.
But it didn’t matter much either, not when he was having fun with his friends, drinking reasonably this time. It didn’t matter at all, in fact, especially not when he saw Minho cross the door, dressed as a vampire.
He had a very vague souvenir of what happened the other night; trying to find Changbin, meeting another ghost and talking with them, learning it was Minho, drinking a bit more and ending up in a room with Minho, and later on, having Changbin teasing him nearly everyday because of his old crush. If anything, most of the night he remembered because Changbin didn’t allow him to forget —telling him how he had found them nearly kissing, just for the sake of having Jisung riled up.
It would be a lie to say that he had forgotten about their ghost banter, or Minho’s kindness, it was just that Jisung had a hard time situating all of it and realising it was the truth. That Minho had taken care of him willingly, his text to Changbin to ask if Jisung was okay two days after only being another evidence of it.
It was one thing; to have Minho worry about him enough to send a text. But it was another to have Minho entering the room dressed like that, eyes seemingly looking for each other. Jisung wished he could hide, although there was technically no better hiding than his costume, vanishing into thin air so that Minho wouldn’t notice him. But the party wasn’t as big as the one they had been before, the walls of Seungmin’s apartment and its intricate patterns all leading to Minho.
He must have felt the same thing, as their eyes met, the few other people around him disappearing in the meantime.
Of course, Changbin had to ruin it. “Don’t thank me.”
Jisung shook his head vividly as if to snap out of his transe, focusing on Changbin instead. “Thank you for what?”
Changbin simply pointed to where Minho was, Jisung refusing to look that way again. “I told him about the party.”
Jisung was about to argue again, to ask him why, despite being grateful deep inside. He just didn’t expect the tingly feeling in his stomach, nor the shiver crawling underneath his skin as if someone had opened a window to let the autumn cold wind in. He wasn’t used to all this, even less to feel this way because of Minho —it was weird, but nothing he couldn’t come to terms with.
His mind was already going faster than needed. And yet, it was so slow, barely registering that Minho had already crossed the room to join them, Changbin and him falling into an easy discussion as Jisung sipped on his drink silently.
“Anyways, I’m gonna leave you two, Seungmin needs another player for a beer pong,” Changbin declared, and if Jisung wasn’t too impressed to open his mouth right now, he would have called him out on his bullshit; everyone knew Seungmin would have never deliberately chosen Changbin to play with him, he wasn’t even able to score one win at the game.
“Hi,” Minho said again, making Jisung take a better look at him and his costume. Just like the expensive cloth he had the other night, the costume looked nice; black and red cape framing his shoulders, the white fangs drawn on his lip matching the silky fabric of his shirt. Jisung didn’t even want to acknowledge how good the vinyl pants looked on him, embracing his thighs as if it was a second skin.
“Hi,” he tried to stay focused. Minho smirked. He definitely needed a little bit more of liquid courage before he’d be able to look at him in the eyes again.
“You’re dressed as a ghost again?” He could hear the amused tone in his voice, but contrary to his brother, he didn’t seem to judge him for it. Jisung made the sunglasses slip from the top of his head to the bridge of his nose in what, he hoped, was a cool motion.
“Don’t they change everything?” Jisung tried, not being convinced himself.
It was ridiculous; the fact he had not seen Minho in a couple of years, but once he did again, he felt the need to prove him he wasn’t the loser he used to be. Even more embarrassing, he was failing at it.
Minho didn’t seem to mind, his smirk not faltering in the slightest. His lack of answer made Jisung nervous though, unable to stop the awkward words tumbling out of his mouth, “Well, this might be the same costume, but I pimped it up. It’s better, okay?” A pause as Minho’s lips twitched. “And I’m a changed ghost,” Jisung added, for good measure.
“You are?” Minho entertained, raising a brow as he waited for Jisung’s explanation.
“I am. I’m… what did you call it again?” Jisung’s heart was pounding through his ribcage.
“An experienced ghost?” Minho supplied.
“Yup. That. Exactly.”
Minho’s mouth cracked into a smile, teeth showing, contrasting with the false ones, or even with the fake blood dripping from it. Jisung had no notion of boundaries, deciding now was the time to finish his drink in one shot.
Minho’s eyes widened at the suddenness of the act, not making a comment on it either. Still, his eyes remained on Jisung’s lips despite the cup having left them. It was only his second drink of the night, and Jisung usually denied being a lightweight, but it was getting hard to focus on something else than Minho’s lips either.
“You know,” Jisung started, dealing pretty poorly with that tension between them, the same feeling that they basked in in that bedroom last time they saw each other, “I actually wanted to dress up as something else first. But yeah. The ghost is a safe bet.”
Minho chuckled, as always. Then, he hummed, interested. “What did you want to dress as?”
Jisung thought. He had said that as a way to make a new conversation, one that would imply less or not obviously show Minho Jisung would do anything for him, yet. “I don’t know, I think I’d look dope as Harry Potter.”
Minho didn’t seem to think the same, given the look he gave to Jisung; something between disgust and confusion. “Don’t tell me you’re a Gryffindor.”
It was now Jisung’s turn to frown, “Of course, I am. What’s your house?”
Minho’s face changed, sporting an air that seemed haughty, nearly mean if Jisung didn’t catch a glint of mischief shining in his eyes. “Slytherin, obviously.”
Jisung’s face nearly fell, Minho’s laughter invading his ears. Without taking the time to think a tad more of what to say next, his odd feelings spoke for him, “This is why I’d never date you.”
He nearly zoned that saying it, eyes unblinkingly staring at Minho with the most serious tone he had taken all night long. Minho could have taken it badly; he could have left Jisung for being an unasked for jerk, or he could have gotten mad —but it was to be expected of Minho to know better and react accordingly.
So again, he laughed, body getting closer to Jisung, bringing back to reality as his cologne hit his nose. Why did he have to be this charming?
His mouth reach Jisung’s ear, close enough to whisper, “Who said I wanted to date you?”
When he leaned back, Jisung noticed he was still smiling, nearly (if not completely) betraying him. Jisung mirrored his expression so easily, it made him wonder if this could keep going on outside of the party bubble they established, in another context than Jisung being a little tipsy and brave. If Minho could see something in him, on a daily basis.
For now, he’d stay content with being able to reach Minho, even if it was just for a night.
His hands flew to the silky fabric of Minho’s shirt, playing with the frill of his collar, “I did tell you I was into vampires and suddenly you’re one.”
There it was again; Minho’s soft expression —not as provocative as his confident aura, but just as devastating. It seemed rare to make Minho flustered, but Jisung was greedy, already making it an objective to do whatever it would take to see him like this more often.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply here,” Minho refuted, but the crimson colour on his fair skin begged to differ.
Maybe Jisung needed to be more honest with himself (and with Changbin, ultimately). He wasn’t just looking at Minho just for the sake of looking at a pretty face —underneath all of that, there were underlying feelings asking, imploring to be acknowledged.
Back in middle school, it seemed impossible for Jisung to confess: he feared Changbin’s reaction more than Minho’s. He didn’t want to appear as if he was betraying his friend, plus, he was pretty sure would have rejected him back then, if he even had a crumb of confidence to ask first.
However, now, things seemed different. In his favour, almost.
So when Jisung took Minho’s hand to guide him through the different rooms of the apartment, knowing his way the same way Minho did in the other house the other night, things didn’t feel weird. He didn’t even care about the eyes on them as Minho squeaked and as they walked through the living room, finding refuge in a dark corridor near the kitchen.
Jisung dropped Minho’s hand there, leaning his back against the wall after taking the sheet and the sunglasses off, letting them fall to the floor as he tried to fix his hair rapidly. Once he was done, he could feel Minho’s eyes on him, making him feel hotter than he already was.
As he stared back at Minho, his eyes adapting to the darkness around him, he tried figuring out Minho’s face as his heart pounded in his chest. It was about to burst as Minho’s finger silently found Jisung’s again, with no other words pronounced.
Their eyes seemed to be telling a hundred stories, but Jisung needed something real; something he could feel and never let go off. “I’m not implying anything,” he murmured, Minho growing closer to him to hear him better, “I’m just stating a fact.”
He took Minho’s second hand in his other hand, bringing him nearer, as close as they had been almost a week before. “You dressed as a vampire for me,” he finished, still whispering.
The music was still faintly playing in the background, but it didn’t phase them. Like last time, it felt as if it was just the two of them, everything else fading away as Jisung looked at Minho’s eyes. Which were on his mouth. Jisung laughed.
“Guess you’re the one who can’t talk to boys anymore?” He teased, left hands leaving Minho’s to linger on his arm, travelling up till it fit in the crook of his neck. Minho didn’t seem to mind, worse even, as it made Jisung’s insides swarm with butterflies, he smiled.
“You’re annoying,” he laughed out, turning his face the other way, Jisung meeting his perfect profile.
“Maybe,” Jisung smiled, Minho facing him once again. The tension between them could be cut with a knife. “Do you want to know a secret?” Jisung said lowly, and Minho simply nodded, focusing on every bit of Jisung's face as his empty hand found Jisung’s waist.
He leaned in, whispering in his ear, “As an experienced ghost, I can now read your mind.”
Minho snorted. “Oh really?”
Jisung stood back, smiling uncontrollably, closing his mouth only to hum and nod. “I can see you don’t think I’m really that annoying. Or maybe, you do, but you don’t despise it this much.”
Minho’s smile widened against his will as he cast a glance to the side. “Maybe,” he answered simply as he looked at Jisung again. “What else can you see?” He asked, licking his lips without noticing as he focused on Jisung.
“Hm,” Jisung took a moment to ponder, to take a better look at Minho’s bangs falling on his brows, long lashes and playful eyes, the mole on his nose and defined cheekbones, just to end on the soft and plump lips. “I can see you want to kiss me,” he finally settled on, words barely a whisper.
It might be wishful thinking, but Jisung wasn’t going to wait for Minho to go back to his city and continue his life without him. This time around he wouldn’t wait for his feelings to go away till he forgot about it.
Minho kept looking at him without saying a word, and for as long as his hands were on him, Jisung still was in the race.
“Maybe,” Minho breathed out again, eyes searching for Jisung’s, as if to ask if he wanted it, too.
“Then, what are you waiting fo-”
He stopped talking when Minho’s lips were on his, warm and sugary from the drink he had before. Their hands left each other’s, both of Minho’s now resting on his waist as Jisung’s circled his neck, fingers holding his face tenderly.
Soon enough, the kiss intensified, Minho’s tongue licking into his mouth sweetly as if it was a habit to act this way with him. Jisung wanted this to become a habit, unable to know how he would be able to live now that had experienced this.
They would have kept going if Changbin didn’t cut them, again . His laugh resounded in the corridor, making the two of them separate. “Oh yeah, you don’t have a crush on him, Ji!” He said loud enough for him to hear, for them to hear.
Jisung couldn’t even answer that Changbin had already left, leaving him to blush, eyes widening as the words.
“You what?” Minho said, a teasing smile displayed on his face.
“Shut up. Kiss me instead.”
Minho laughed, but easily complied, the kiss being less fiery than the ones before —his lips on him feeling as light as those of a ghost would be. Jisung would take this anytime, and for once, it seemed Minho would, too.