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Jisung wants to die.
That’s it—he simply wants to end his life, cease to exist, disappear off the face of earth. Preferably in the next forty-eight hours, too, so that he doesn’t have to attend his brother’s wedding.
“I’m sorry, Jisung-ah, but when we invited him, you were still. . . you know, and—and he’s a friend of the family, so—as much as I would do it for you—your mom says we can’t un-invite him,” Nayeon—his brother’s fiancée—tells him on the other side of the call. “But Younghyun said you guys were on good terms, though, right? Or was he just lying to mess with you?”
“No, no, he—Yeah,” Jisung says weakly. Nothing bad about seeing your ex-boyfriend at a wedding. “We’re on good terms. It’s alright. Just fine.”
“Are you sure?” Nayeon sounds uncertain. “It’s really no problem—”
“I am,” Jisung is quick to reassure, even though his stomach is already tied into an anxious knot. “Seriously. Hyunjin and I are the last thing you should be worrying about.”
Nayeon sighs. “Alright. But if you change your mind—”
“I’ll let you know,” he says, wanting nothing more than to end the topic of Hyunjin before he comes back to the forefront of his mind and makes it his home again. “Now go.”
Making obnoxious kissing sounds just to annoy him, Nayeon warns him not to be late or she’ll skin him alive and promptly hangs up before Jisung can say his goodbyes.
At first, he was happy to accept the call—Nayeon is like a sister to him, but much better, and he hasn’t seen her in months, since she and Younghyun live on the other side of the country; Nayeon was confirming that he would in fact remember make it to the retreat before noon on Saturday—so that she can confirm his room reservation—but then came the question: Is it okay if we put you by the same table as Hyunjinnie? Because all of Jisung’s friends are going to sit together. He had said that, No, of course he won’t mind, even though he felt like he would boil from the inside as soon as the words had left his mouth.
Hyunjin was only his first serious boyfriend, it’s no big deal. He was also his first bad break-up; not because they fought and said stupid shit and ruined the remnants of friendship that had existed between them. Because Jisung genuinely thought things were going great—until Hyunjin suddenly suggested that maybe they should take a break.
That break lasted three months and even without either of them explicitly saying it, both of them clearly knew that it would never end. It hurt. A lot, and probably more than it should have, but Jisung has always been emotional and it felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and left to die, gasping on the dirty ground.
Jisung sighs, running a hand through his hair. He takes a moment to stabilize his stupid rushing heartbeat, but the moment he steps out of the kitchen and into the living room, Minho lifts his gaze from his phone and reads him with one look.
“What was that about?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as Jisung plops down on the sofa, giving up on his facade and allowing his lower lip to jut out in a childish pout.
“Hyunjin is gonna be at the wedding,” he whines, throwing his head back against the back of the sofa, but he straightens up when Minho reaches out to poke the side of his neck. His friend doesn’t care about the glare Jisung sends his way, instead keeping that inquiring look on his face. “I’m gonna be forced to sit at the same table as him.”
Minho clicks his tongue. “I thought you were over him.”
“I am over him,” Jisung insists, and he’s not lying; he doesn’t even think lying would be possible under Minho’s scrutinizing gaze; there’s something about him that rips the truth out of Jisung. “We both moved on. And—And he’s probably dating someone by now. Maybe he will even bring them to the wedding. And if he will, then he probably thinks I’m bringing someone, too. Or maybe. . . Maybe he thinks I’m still single.”
“Then he’d be right,” Minho muses, earning himself a kick to the shin and grinning teasingly at Jisung with no shame.
“ At the moment! Which doesn’t mean I can’t score a date at all!” Jisung defends himself. He squints at the wall, letting out a thoughtful hum. “Does he think I haven’t dated anyone since him? I mean, I haven’t gone on many dates, but it’s not because of him, it’s—Fuck, what if he thinks I;ve been hung up on him this whole time?”
Minho’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m sure he isn’t that stupid,” he says, but he looks like he’s pondering that thought. “I mean, you don’t have to date anyone new to move on. He probably understands that.”
Jisung knows Minho is being reasonable, but the stronger part of him, the one that tends to show off how okay and fine and completely unaffected by things he is, wins over anything else.
“But–If I come alone to such an occasion, it’ll seem like that, right? Like I haven’t moved on.” Jisung frantically chews on his lower lip. “Fuck. I need to bring a date.”
Minho’s brows seem to be permanently stuck in the risen position. Jisung wants to tell him he’ll get wrinkles like that, but he’s too busy losing his mind.
“The wedding is in two days,” Minho points out. “And you are currently date-less.”
Jisung scoffs, kicking Minho again. This time, Minho kicks back, and does it harshly enough that Jisung has to rub his calf and pout exaggeratedly to play on Minho’s emotions and make him apologize.
Instead of saying it outright, Minho sighs and reaches out to rub the sore spot on Jisung’s leg, grabbing it a moment later and pulling Jisung closer, draping his legs over his lap.
Jisung doesn’t know why he does that, but he’s comfortable and Minho’s fingers do wonders when they start massaging his calves with practiced ease, so he isn’t going to complain.
But as he stares at Minho, a thought strikes him.
“You know what?” he starts, and when Minho lets out a ‘hm’ sound to let him know he’s listening, Jisung blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind: “You should be my date.”
Minho’s hand stills. “What?”
“Go with me,” Jisung says, shifting a bit closer on the couch and staring at Minho using his big doe eyes without an ounce of shame, hopeful and pleading. “Be my date for the wedding.”
“You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend so that Hyunjin doesn’t think you’re sad and miserable?” Minho asks, tilting his head to the side.
“It does make me seem sad and miserable when you put it like that,” Jisung says through a sigh.
Minho shrugs. “ You put it like that.”
Then, he moves his hand to Jisung’s knee to squeeze it. It’s a comforting gesture, or at least feels like that to Jisung; you’re not sad and miserable to me, it seems to say. The smallest of small smiles Minho is sporting doubles that feeling.
“Why me, though? You’ve got other friends, probably crazier than me and more willing to play pretend.”
Jisung reaches out to move the sun-shaped pendant on the chain of his necklace back and forth. It’s more of a nervous habit, so his mind has trouble catching up with why he’s doing it now—because he isn’t nervous.
He’s never nervous when it’s Minho.
“Because I feel comfortable with you,” he says truthfully, catching Minho off-guard for a second; Minho blinks repeatedly like there’s something stuck in his eyes, and flits his eyes all over Jisung’s face. “And, besides—! No one knows me as well as you do. I’d have to. . . I don’t know.” Jisung shrugs, a sheepish grin gracing his face. “Fill them in on my stupid and embarrassing stories when you’re the one who was there to experience them first-hand.”
The corners of Minho’s mouth lift up and his ears take on a deep, red color. Jisung doesn’t point it out—he wants Minho to say yes, and if he starts to tease him now, Minho will definitely refuse, just to be annoying in his spiteful fashion.
“And. . . Honestly, it’s also about the rest of my family. . .?” Jisung adds, a little uncertain as he averts his eyes to the hands lying in his lap. He’s wearing the ring he thought he lost forever today; Minho found it under the sofa in his apartment last night. “I just want everyone to see that I’m doing okay.”
Minho lets out a soft sigh. He squeezes Jisung’s knee. “As I said—you don’t need to date anyone to feel okay, and it’s no one else’s business to judge your well-being based on something like that.”
Jisung’s heart sinks involuntarily. He knows Minho is right, but then he remembers the way his family insisted that Jisung bring a date to the wedding, to the point they’re saving his plus-one a seat, even though it looks like he isn’t bringing anyone. Minho’s words sound a lot like a refusal.
“I mean,” Jisung mumbles, “you don’t have to do it if it makes you feel uncomfortable.”
He grabs the remote to press play on the drama they’ve been watching on the television, but Minho’s fingers wrapping around his wrist stop him.
“Hey,” Minho says softly, clearly with the intention to get Jisung to look at him. So he does, and he’s taken aback by the smirk threatening to curve on his mouth. “I get to tell everyone I see at the reception about that time when you got chased by seagulls, right?”
Not caring about anything at that point, Jisung scrambles to his knees and wraps his arms around Minho’s neck, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug despite his spluttering and loud protests.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Minho struggles to push him away for a moment longer—and Jisung knows for a fact that he doesn’t actually mind the embrace—before finally letting out a loud sigh and pulling Jisung against his side into a more comfortable position.
“Just be quiet and let me watch,” he says, taking the remote away from him and pressing play.
Jisung stares at him a moment longer, chin resting on Minho’s shoulder, and wonders how the hell he got lucky enough to have him as his best friend.
♡
The ride to the mountain-side resort where the wedding is going to be held is short, just under an hour long, but Jisung is sulking for having to have gotten out of bed earlier than he would like to.
At nine, he’d had to be ready, showered and fully-packed; Minho pulled up in the parking lot shortly after that, insisting that Jisung owed him breakfast for making him do this, and they had gone to their favorite cafe, where Jisung admittedly started feeling better after downing a whole cup of iced-americano.
Now, as they’re minutes away from arriving at the resort, after a ride in the company of Minho’s singing (and cursing, because he hates other people’s driving), Jisung takes out his phone to text Nayeon.
NAYEON
we’ll be there shortly
please come to get us
we??????
ahh my bad
i forgot to tell you
it’s great that you saved that seat for my plus one
:)
HAN JISUNG!!!!!!!!!
“Oh, she’s going crazy,” Jisung muses, chuckling as he leans back against his seat.
He lifts his eyes off the screen of his phone and moves them to Minho, only partially surprised that he doesn’t seem nervous—at all. Jisung is, but he’s hoping the nonchalance will rub off on him.
“Your mom is gonna get a heart attack,” Minho says, eyes focused on the road. The heart-shaped sunglasses he had perched on his nose are now pushing his blond hair back.
Jisung rolls his eyes. “She loves you! But that means she might or might not attempt to kill you for refusing that dinner invitation.”
“That was two years ago,” Minho says, but he sends Jisung a panicked look, like he’s genuinely considering that his mother might be out for blood.
“You think she ever forgets?” Jisung scoffs. “You’ll have to be in her good graces for the entire weekend. Although I don’t think anyone can pass Nayeon as her favorite kid-in-law, you can certainly try.”
Minho does a silly salute motion with his hand. “Will do!”
They pull up in the gravel parking lot of the resort not even five minutes later; there’s his parents’ car and what Jisung assumes is Nayeon’s parents’. He and Minho barely get out of the car—thinking that they can get their bags after they get the key to their room—and Minho only manages to lock the door, before a sudden shout comes from the entrance of the lodge.
“There he is!”
Jisung whips around just in time to see Nayeon run down the steps to meet him. He didn’t expect her to be so excited to see him of all people, but he supposes it’s the adrenaline and general happiness because of the wedding.
He opens his arms, though, and hugs her so tightly that his arms start to hurt and Nayeon begs for him to let go.
“No,” Jisung says stubbornly. He can hear Minho laugh from behind him.
“Come on,” Nayeon whines. “Let me introduce myself to your super cute date.”
Oh, right. She doesn’t know Minho; the rest of the family does, since they’ve been friends since college and Minho visited a bunch of times—with her and Younghyun living away from the city, she hasn’t had the pleasure.
Jisung squeezes her one more time and unwinds his arms from around her. That’s when Minho steps in, charming smile and all. The heart-shaped sunglasses are now tucked on the collar of his t-shirt, unreasonably adorable.
“Hi, I’m Minho,” he greets. “It’s great to meet you, especially since it’s during such a happy occasion.”
Nayeon flashes Jisung a look. “A charmer, huh?” And then she turns back to Minho, gummy-smile and glimmering eyes and everything. “Likewise. I’m Nayeon.”
She waves them over, leads them inside the lodge, and moments later they already have a key to their room upstairs. One room, because Jisung decided to be secretive and they’d have to wait for the remainder of guests to occupy their rooms to see if there’s going to be anything left. But neither of them mind sharing a bed—especially that they’re posing as a couple—so they take what they get and haul their bags up the wooden stairs.
Younghyun isn’t there, having some errands to run in the town, but once they sit at the table in the dining hall for lunch and coffee, Jisung can only watch as Minho charms the rest of the family.
His mom seems especially happy that he’s here, that Jisung has manned-up and asked him to come instead of playing games (whatever that means), and Jisung feels unreasonably proud when he sees how seamlessly his best friend blends into the mix.
He knows Minho would kill him for being cheesy if only he knew, but Jisung can’t help that he keeps thinking, That’s my Minho!
♡
Younghyun doesn’t come back until dinner.
Once he calls, Nayeon goes to get the remote and open the gate for him, and Jisung thinks it’s quite adorable how she waits for him at the front door.
His brother is probably the only person Jisung is nervous will see past their act, always able to detect any lie and read it off of Jisung’s face. Minho must sense his slight anxiety spike—without stopping paying attention to the conversation about fishing he’s having with Nayeon’s father, he moves his hand to rest it on Jisung’s thigh under the table.
He and Minho. . . they're not strangers to affectionate touch.
Still, Jisung’s breath hitches. It’s on instinct that he lets his own hand travel there and intertwines their fingers, reveling in the warmth of Minho’s body, and how nice it feels to have someone at the table—someone that’s there for him. With him.
“No way Lee Minho is the ‘super cute date’.”
Younghyun’s voice reaches Jisung’s ears the second his brother steps into the dining hall. A bright and giggling Nayeon trails next to him, holding onto his arm and smacking him—probably because he’s repeating her words to everyone.
It’s not like Jisung disagrees.
“Keep your wife in check,” Jisung teases, dodging a smack on the shoulder, too. “Minho is a taken man, sorry.”
“About time,” Younghyun says ominously, and moves over to their side of the table to ruffle Jisung’s hair like Jisung is thirteen again, and plops down on the chair next to Minho, easily slipping into the fishing conversation.
Jisung doesn’t understand it, but he likes the atmosphere. He likes that there’s not much pretending. They’re just as clingy as they always are, and they knew no one would ask questions—mostly because half of the people here already know how they met; everyone will have to assume that their friendship felt so right and close that it morphed into a romantic relationship.
It’s not a lie if they don’t say it out loud, Jisung reasons. He doesn’t feel particularly guilty about deceiving his family, either, but that he explains to himself with the fact that he mostly refers to Minho as his date, which is definitely true, and doesn’t deny their assumptions.
It’s at the wedding that they’ll actively pretend.
Or so he thinks.
Because after they move from the dining hall to the terrace and Jisung has his knees pulled to his chest for long enough to make the position less comfortable, Minho speaks.
“Hey, love, can you pass me the bottle?” he asks.
Initially, Jisung doesn’t register the words—doesn’t register that they’re directed at him. That Minho is calling him love. When his exhausted brain catches up with that fact, he whips around with wide eyes, meets Minho’s amused ones, and melts under the warmth of his gaze.
He can feel his skin flush, all the way over his chest and his face, and he sits there uselessly, not able to process anything except for love, love, love.
Minho doesn’t miss it. The corner of his mouth lifts up mischievously as he tries to make it less obvious how funny he finds it that Jisung is taken aback by the term of endearment.
“The wine, Jisung,” he repeats, and this time Jisung reaches over to the table and hands it over, thanking the universe that he doesn’t accidentally drop the bottle.
It’s even later in the night, after they both had a few glasses of that wine, after everyone else leaves to retire for the night and they’re assigned to clean-up duty (Jisung is, Minho stays because he’s nice like that), that they actually get to talk.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Jisung starts, “I know my family can be a bit. . . overwhelming with all their questions and conversations, so if they’re being too much, just. . . let me know, alright?”
Minho sends him a look as he folds another blanket. “They’re not being too much,” he says as his lips upturn in a smile. “They’re nice and welcoming. Everyone is. And I’m having fun.”
Right. Jisung would see it if he weren’t having fun, but. . . still. He would rather make sure.
“Well, then,” he says. “Thank you for doing this with me. For agreeing to this. . . crazy plan in the first place, and for, you know, being such a good fake-boyfri—”
Jisung blinks, and the next thing he knows, Minho is surging forward and cutting him off with a kiss. His hand flies to the side of his neck, firm and warm and unexpected. Jisung lets out a surprised noise in the back of his throat and his heart jumps up, threatening to plunge right out of his body as questions swarm his head, but he’s tilting his head to the side, anyway.
Minho’s lips are soft and taste like wine is all he can think about, along with the idea that their lips seem to fit together just right.
“Oh my god!”
They pull away at the sound of Nayeon’s voice, and Jisung turns towards the patio door where she stands, frozen. His eyes are wide and mouth is parted as he breathes heavily, fighting to stabilize his raging heartbeat.
He can’t bring himself to meet her eyes, too embarrassed and too confused, but he can’t look at Minho, either, so he allows his gaze to flit all over the place for a moment.
But then Nayeon lets out a laugh and walks over just to snatch one of the blankets from the sofa. “Get a goddamn room,” is all she says before she spins on her heel and walks away, still giggling to herself.
Jisung’s embarrassment reaches its peak.
Minho, though, heaves a breath of relief. “That was close,” he says. “I’m sorry I did that. I just heard footsteps, and. . . Well, I don’t think she heard you, but. . .”
Jisung’s stomach drops. “Yeah,” he lets out, but it sounds weak when his voice is hoarse. He clears his throat, and adds, “I—I’ll be more careful.”
♡
Jisung calls dibs on the shower first after that, running up the stairs like a child, even though Minho gives up on chasing him rather quickly. In his haste to get to the bathroom first, he forgets his towel, and Minho is gracious enough to bring it over, but not without threatening to toss it out the window.
He’s quite charming.
Especially after he comes out of the bathroom after a shower, with his hair still damp and an oversized t-shirt hanging loosely off his shoulder, exposing the skin of his collarbone reddened by the hot stream of water. He brings along the smell of citruses, something familiar to cling to in the new setting.
After unplugging his phone from the charger, Minho moves over to the left side of the bed and props himself up on the mattress with one knee. Jisung has stretched his limbs as far as they go on purpose, leaving Minho no space just to annoy him.
“Move,” Minho says, voice blank.
Jisung shakes his head, stretching his lips in a smile with a dreamy sigh. “I’m quite comfortable, you know.”
Minho’s face remains nonchalant, but Jisung can see the glimmer in his eyes, how amused he is because of Jisung’s childish playing. He grabs Jisung’s thigh and his arm, and without any trouble as he ignores his loud protests, rolls him over onto his stomach.
Then, patting his butt with one hand and keeping him pressed against the mattress with the other, he easily climbs into the bed. That’s when he lets Jisung roll back over, hair falling into his eyes and all.
“I hate you,” Jisung mumbles, but it only makes a self-satisfied grin bloom across Minho’s face.
He turns to face him and reaches out to push Jisung’s messed-up hair back, gentle and focused as he slowly begins dragging his fingertips over Jisung’s scalp.
Body moving automatically on its own accord, Jisung swings one leg over Minho’s hips and scoots over closer to the middle of the bed—so that he doesn’t fall off, obviously. Minho doesn’t seem to mind it, though, so the plan to annoy him by invading his space falls through.
Jisung feels comfortable like this; he tends to sleep while hugging things, and Minho serves as a nice, warm pillow—and the way he hugs Jisung back makes it even better. It doesn’t come off as a surprise that his eyelids quickly become heavy, especially after Minho flicks off the bedside table lamp and the room disappears in the darkness.
A moment passes, Minho snuggles closer and lets out a content sigh, and Jisung thinks he’s a beat away from falling asleep, too. But then he speaks up, voice soft, barely audible as a whisper.
“Of course you hate me, love,” he says.
He must not feel the way Jisung freezes at the petname—again. He must not even realize that it has slipped out with how his breath evens out mere seconds later. Falling asleep, Minho remains completely oblivious to how Jisung’s heartbeat picks up its pace as he grows furiously flustered.
It’s stupid—he knows that it doesn’t mean anything and Minho is only referring to him as love to be annoying and to keep up their fake-relationship act in front of Jisung’s family members.
But they’re not here, he reasons immediately. It’s just the two of them in the confines of their shared room, half-asleep after a tiring day spent on socializing. Jisung wonders if the fact that it has simply escaped means it’ll stick; if Minho will make calling him terms of endearment a habit hard to break.
He doesn’t know why his heart skips a beat at that, but he chalks it up to the inevitable embarrassment he’ll have to learn to conceal if Minho’s teasing doesn’t stop. It’s not like Jisung minds it, really—of course he doesn’t.
But it makes the inside of his chest feel warm for some reason that his tired brain can’t comprehend.
They feel ridiculous, these thoughts. All of them. But thoughts late at night, when Jisung is a second away from slipping into unconsciousness, usually are.
In the dark, with Minho’s body pressed against his comfortably, on the day before his brother’s wedding, all of it seems as if it could be just a figment of his imagination.
♡
“I’m gonna go for a walk,” Minho says shortly after their late breakfast—which had consisted more of coffee than anything else—and Jisung recognizes it as an extended invitation to join him.
As much as he would love to spend even more time with Minho, Jisung wants nothing more than to go back to bed and catch some sleep before the wedding ceremony later in the day.
He looks up at Minho when the elder pushes his chair back, an apologetic smile on his face. Minho sighs, rolling his eyes, but there’s not an ounce of malice in it, and when he sweeps down to plant a kiss on Jisung’s cheek, he only proves that.
Jisung’s face bursts with color at the ohs and ahs from his family sitting by the table, but the red tint deepens when he meets Minho’s eye and sees him smiling. Fondly, almost.
“I’ll be back soon,” he says, gathering his phone off the table and pushing the chair back in.
“Alright,” Jisung tells him, barely able to tear his eyes away from Minho’s charming smile and how it reflects in his eyes, making them shine. “Be careful.”
Minho only waves a dismissive hand and walks off the terrace steps, heading down the path towards the hill rising behind the retreat. Jisung’s eyes follow him until he disappears behind the corner, and when he turns back towards the table, his and Nayeon’s mothers are sharing knowing looks.
“What?” he asks, a bit lost and a lot embarrassed.
Nayeon only grins at him from the other side, but instead of giving him an answer, she raises her mug to her mouth and leaves him confused.
It’s his mother that says, “Ah, you and Minho-yah. . . so adorable,” and consequently makes Jisung groan out of overwhelming embarrassment.
He’s finding it hard to believe that the simplest gestures make everyone around them swoon and coo, and quietly wonders whether it’s the fact that they’re good at this game or that no one here has actually witnessed the extent of their regular relationship and now they’re mistaking everything for romance.
♡
When Minho comes back, he finds Jisung in their room and, without a single care in the world, he jumps onto the bed to crush him under his weight.
Jisung can whine and groan, threatening his life, but Minho only laughs and continues breathing heavily at the back of his neck to piss him off. Knowing there’s no way he’ll move any time soon, Jisung huffs one last time and accepts his fate.
“The weather is nice,” Minho says. “Do you wanna walk around the place?”
Chuckling, Jisung points out, “But you just got back from a walk.”
Minho sighs in that heavy, exaggerated way. “Just say that you’d rather never move from the bed and don’t come up with excuses.”
“I’d rather never move from the bed,” Jisung whines, making him laugh despite not having said anything funny.
But then Minho settles against his side, tangles their legs together, and ever-accepting of Jisung’s unwillingness to move too much, he proposes, “Let’s watch cute animals before we have to start getting ready.” Just before the first video starts, though, he adds, “I saw some cats in the back of the lodge. We should go pet them later.”
♡
More guests arrive at the retreat by the time Minho and Jisung finally drag themselves out of bed—or, rather, Minho drags himself out, letting Jisung lie for a moment longer as he leaves to take a shower.
He’s toweling his hair when he comes out, dressed only in his boxers. Jisung doesn’t even bother trying not to stare, instead propping himself up on his elbow to take a better look. He is allowed to objectively say that his best friend is hot as hell, even if it’s only in his thoughts; Minho doesn’t need an ego boost.
“You can go,” Minho tells him, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Jisung whines. “Don’t wanna.”
“You think I won’t grab your leg and drag you into that bathroom myself?”
Jisung jumps out of the bed the moment Minho takes a step towards him, almost falling on his face and knocking out his teeth in his haste to leave the room. He can hear Minho snicker behind him, but when he flips him off, Minho remains unfazed, his grin only widening.
Jisung takes a shower, brushes his teeth, and uses gel to push back his hair. One look into the mirror tells him that he looks exactly how he needs to feel: goddamn stunning. His suit is hanging in the closet, a simple black-and-white combination with a distinctive splash of red in the shape of his tie, and when he emerges from the bathroom, Minho is already standing in front of the mirror, buttoning up his complementing red silk shirt.
Jisung doesn’t know why the thought of matching with Minho makes him smile, but the way his lips unconsciously upturn in a grin as he dresses up is hard to overlook.
He meets Minho’s eye in the mirror and winks at him before Minho can, earning himself an elbow to the side. It makes him lose the grip on the tie; Jisung groans, because he might be twenty-four years old, but it doesn’t mean that he has ever learnt how to neatly take care of his tie.
Thankfully, Minho makes up for whatever he lacks. The moment he notices Jisung struggling, he clicks his tongue and makes him turn to face him instead of the mirror. He steps closer and—
Jisung can’t take his eyes off Minho’s face. His lips are pouted as his hands work on perfecting the knot of Jisung’s tie, and Jisung stares, shameless and confused as to why his eyes are betraying him like that.
“There you go,” Minho says with satisfaction softening his voice. He pats Jisung’s chest once he’s done and lifts his gaze—catches him watching.
Jisung’s heart leaps into his throat as Minho’s expression shifts into something unreadable. Their proximity is making it hard to see him as a whole and, flitting his gaze all over Minho’s face, Jisung unconsciously lets his eyes fall down to his lips, pink and shining with the glossy watermelon lip balm he uses.
A strange thought crosses his mind. It would be easy to kiss him. To actually kiss him, not have their lips get smashed together in a kiss that catches Jisung off-guard, like that one on the terrace Minho initiated to get him to shut his mouth.
Hell, Jisung really wants to kiss Minho, and wants to kiss him properly.
He doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t know why Minho is kissing him back the moment Jisung presses their lips together, but Minho is kissing him back, gentle albeit firm as he moves one hand to rest it on the side of Jisung’s neck.
He can taste the mint toothpaste on Minho’s tongue, can smell his cologne, and feel the shiver that runs through his body once Jisung’s arms find their way around his waist to pull him closer.
Their lips slot together, fitting perfectly like two puzzle pieces, and it’s almost surprising how in sync they are— almost, because they always seem to work together seamlessly, no matter the circumstances.
Losing all capability of thinking straight, Jisung pecks Minho’s lips one more time after they pull away. He’s panting and his lungs are burning and there’s this sensation of lip balm smeared across his mouth even though he hadn’t put it on himself, but the moment their eyes meet, he can’t help but smile.
“You look really pretty,” Jisung says, breathless and dizzy.
It’s not like he’s noticing Minho’s beauty for the first time, but it’s the first time he feels brave enough to say it out loud without the prickling need to twist it into a joke. (But he isn’t brave enough to look him in the eye.)
Minho chuckles, sweeping his thumb over Jisung’s pulse point, undoubtedly feeling how his blood is rushing under his skin. “Have you seen yourself?” He’s teasing, but Jisung knows that’s his way of being honest. “I don’t think we’re supposed to beat Nayeon and Younghyun as the best looking couple.”
“Well,” Jisung grins, “I’m not going to change, so I guess they gotta suck it up.”
The reluctance to remove his hands from Minho’s body isn’t new, but it holds an unfamiliar kind of weight—it’s in Jisung’s nature to overthink, but this revelation has appeared. . . suddenly, and he’s not quite sure what to do with it, how to care for it so that it doesn’t shatter.
But then Minho says, “We should probably get going,” and takes a step back to examine himself in the mirror again. Jisung watches him, strangely at peace despite the nerves that have been eating away at him slowly but steadily.
The wedding takes place in the vast garden of the retreat, among blooming colors, under the sun just about to begin to set. There’s a platform to dance on, tables to occupy during the reception, and rows of chairs for the guests.
Ten minutes later, they’re taking their seats at the very front, beside Jisung’s parents, skipping all the hellos and how have you beens for the time being.
Nayeon and Younghyun say ‘I do’ with pinks and oranges dancing across the great expanse of the blue sky and swaths of peonies adorning the gazebo above them. The ceremony is beautiful, and Minho holds Jisung’s hand, rubbing circles into it with his thumb as Jisung tries not to weep.
There’s something about weddings that takes the sharp edges of daily life and shapes them into something much softer. Seeing his own brother get married feels foreign—like an alternate reality, something a bit surreal. It makes him wonder where all this time has gone, how come Younghyun isn’t paying him to keep quiet as he sneaks out of the house to go on a date in secret, but standing at the altar with the love of his life.
Jisung has never thought about the same thing for himself, not consciously, but this environment. . .
He’s going crazy.
The feeling of being out of reality deepens the moment he notices Hyunjin in the crowd. His dark hair is longer than Jisung remembers, tied back into a neatly-messy ponytail, and he looks unbelievably handsome in that well-pressed, designer suit.
Jisung can’t make out anything else as the guests moving over to the set-up tables obscure his vision, and he loses Hyunjin in the crowd. Although his heart skips a pathetic beat in surprise, he doesn’t feel. . . anything, really. Perhaps just curiosity.
Minho makes sure his thoughts don’t stay focused on that for too long, intertwining their fingers as they remain seated, waiting for the crowd to disperse before they head in the same direction as everyone else.
“Now that Younghyun is married, I’m gonna be the only one pestered with the ‘When are you getting married?’ questions,” Jisung says, resting his head against Minho’s shoulder.
Minho laughs; Jisung can feel it reverberate through his body.
“Are you gonna make me pretend to be your husband now?” he asks, teasing and cheerful as he nudges Jisung in the side.
“If I’m not married by thirty, you’re legally obligated to actually marry me,” Jisung tells him, only half-joking. “You need to save me from my family.”
Minho extends his pinky and waits for Jisung to do the same to link them and press their thumbs together. “Deal,” he says. “But when they start asking for kids, let’s just adopt cats.”
“Deal.”
Jisung forgets about Hyunjin. Forgets about pretending. Forgets about the reception. Forgets about the rest of the world as Minho leans in closer and presses a delicate kiss to the side of his head.
♡
By the time they make it to their assigned table, everyone is already seated and ready to eat. Everyone, as in Seungmin, Changbin, Chan, and. . . Hyunjin. All four pairs of eyes fall on the two of them when they approach, conversations dying at the sight of their joined hands.
Jisung’s heart feels like it might beat out of his chest. He glances at Minho hastily, but the elder only squeezes his hand and shifts his attention to their company for the evening. Apart from Hyunjin, Jisung sees each of them often, so it’s only natural that it’s him his eyes are immediately drawn to.
Jisung feels stupid for going to such extreme lengths only to realize that Hyunjin is here alone, without a date, but. . . one look at Minho sitting beside him and conversing with Changbin tells him he doesn’t regret it at all.
Shame still pricks at his skin, makes the back of his neck feel hot as he asks his ex-boyfriend how he’s been doing in Art School, not to take action before awkward silence settles over them, but rather out of sheer curiosity.
“We’ve got an exhibition coming up,” Hyunjin tells him, clearly happy that Jisung still takes an interest in what he does. “The theme is ‘The Landscape of Abstraction’. It’s nothing big, but. . . still, it would be nice if you stopped by. If you’ve got time.”
Jisung surprises himself when his lips curve into a grin. “I will make time,” he says. “Just text me the details, and I’ll make sure to be there.”
“Be where?”
They both turn to look at Minho when he speaks, but Jisung’s eyes fall to their hands for a split second, joined and lying on Minho’s thigh. He feels a rush of heat course through his body as Minho sweeps his thumb over the back of his hand.
“Hyunjin’s art exhibition,” he explains, willing his body not to suddenly act on its own accord.
“Oh? That sounds cool,” Minho says, shooting Hyunjin a charming smile. “Can I come?”
Jisung turns to Hyunjin expectantly, already thinking about how cool it would be to go there with Minho, talk about art with one another since neither of them actually knows anything about it.
Hyunjin shrugs, but the way his smile widens and eyes turn to crescents betrays his happiness. “I’d be honored,” he says. Then, his attention quickly shifts to something Chan says on the other side of him.
“See, love,” Minho says, squeezing Jisung’s hand, “let’s make it a date.”
His voice is quiet and Hyunjin’s focus is on something else—he doesn’t seem to be saying it for the sake of their pretending. Jisung can’t tell why that thought makes him relieved, but he grins at Minho, happy to have made plans together outside of the day of the wedding.
Soon enough, the arriving food steals the spotlight and the conversations mostly dim. Later on, the garden awakens again with the music brought by a live band—Younghyun’s friend’s brother’s garage band, or something like that—but none of them at the table leave to hit the dance floor.
A drink in, they’re talking seamlessly, jumping from one topic to another. Jisung’s arm is slung over the back of Minho’s chair, their seats scooted over closer for comfort, and Seungmin is looking at them funnily from the other side.
Minho never misses the chance to call him love —to piss him off, probably; to tease him in the company of their friends, completely oblivious to the fact that Jisung’s heart can barely take it, exhausted from all the flips it’s doing.
Two drinks in, Seungmin disappears in the company of some redhead; one drink later, Chan and Changbin are off to dance; another one, and Hyunjin is pulled away by one of Jisung’s cousins.
When it’s just him and Minho, Jisung allows himself to selfishly stare—chin propped up on his hand, attentively listening to every word that falls off Minho’s lips. It proves to be a struggle because he pays a little too much attention to the way his mouth moves, how he smiles lopsidedly and juts it out in a pout; he remembers their kiss and yearns to do it again.
Jisung isn’t brave enough to, but he thinks about it—that in itself is a revelation.
It doesn’t take long for them to move to the dance floor, either. Although initially Jisung thinks he’d rather sit and nurse his mojito, all he needs to change his mind is the laughter leaving Minho’s throat, bubbling all the way in his chest; it makes Jisung feel like he’s doing something right all the while doing all the wrong steps.
He’s genuinely having fun, especially after he lets himself loose and enjoys Minho jumping and twirling around. They dance through what feels like thousands of songs, their feet are hurting, and yet Jisung doesn’t think of sitting back down at all.
He can’t help but wonder if he would have half as much fun if Minho weren’t here; he concludes that absolutely not.
Despite his surprising eagerness to stay on the dance floor, Jisung needs a drink. He leans in to tell Minho that, an arm slung over his shoulders, and stays pressed against him for long enough to hear him say, “Bring me something, too!”
By the bar, he gives himself a moment to breathe. That minute or two is enough for him to find Minho in the crowd—still dancing, but now with one of Jisung’s aunts instead of him—and enough to get approached by his uncle, an elderly guy that Jisung sporadically sees during events like this.
It must be out of curiosity that he asks, “Who are you looking at?”
Jisung chuckles; he must look a bit strange, standing there, leaning against the bar with a glass of champagne in his hand, smiling at the sea of dancing bodies.
Minho has just dipped aunt Eunji; her laughter could be heard even over the music and the general noise of the wedding.
“Ah, it’s—just my boyfriend,” Jisung says without skipping a beat. “The guy in the red shirt.”
“Oh, he’s a dancer, isn’t he?” Uncle Junseo nudges him in the side. “What a charming guy you got there. I haven’t seen Eunji move like that ever since the 80s!”
♡
“You guys weren’t together a week ago,” Seungmin points out out of nowhere as Jisung plops down on his seat after Minho leaves to the restroom.
Eyebrows shooting up, Jisung forgoes digging into his slice of cake. He looks up at his friend and debates what to say. Unable to lie when Seungmin’s eyes are drilling holes into his face, Jisung sighs and says, “We’re not together now, either.”
Seungmin looks flabbergasted. “I—I thought—”
“Yeah, that was kinda the point,” Jisung says, rubbing the back of his neck. He needs to loosen his tie, or better—get rid of it like he did with the jacket of his suit a while ago. “Uh—We’re. . . kind of pretending to be together.”
Caught between wanting to laugh and pulling a shocked face, Seungmin ends up grimacing. “I want to ask why, but I’m getting a feeling that it has something to do with one particular ex-boyfriend,” he says. “You are insane.”
Jisung whines. “I know! And Minho said the same thing. But. . .”
“But you guys are pulling it off,” Seungmin says, twirling his orange drink around in the glass. “You’re convincing, and that’s a lot considering you literally can’t lie, Jisung.”
Jisung rolls his eyes pointedly at the remark, but his reaction only makes Seungmin grin. He kind of looks like there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he’s forcing himself not to say. Jisung isn’t one to make him speak, but—taking into account the topic of their conversation—he’s mildly curious.
“I wasn’t that surprised to see you two together,” Seungmin finally admits, taking Jisung off-guard. “It made sense in my head for some reason. You guys are close, so. . . I don’t know. I guess no one suspects anything.”
He shrugs, shifting his eyes and sweeping them over the wedding guests, all the while Jisung’s throat goes dry and his skin starts feeling hot.
It made sense.
“That’s exactly it,” Jisung groans, slumping over the table. “Everyone believes us. My parents, Nayeon’s parents, aunties and uncles and Hyunjin and you. Everyone thinks we’re actually in love.”
Seungmin draws his eyebrows together. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks. “Your plan—whatever the hell it actually is—seems to be working fine to me. How is that a bad thing?”
Jisung’s throat leaps to his throat. How does he explain that everything they do now, everything they used to do and didn’t mean anything, now has changed and means something?
Friendly touches cause a spark course through his body, the words of casual affection make warmth rush to his face, easy smiles directed at him and him alone leave him weak in the knees, and his heart races madly when he turns to look at Minho and finds him already staring.
He’s probably looking too much into it, but it leaves him with ideas nonetheless. Which feels wrong—it is wrong to think all those romantic thoughts of Minho when Minho is just doing him a favor, and Jisung is getting in his own head about it and making it weird.
“It might be working a little too well,” he says eventually, and grabs a bottle of wine to pour himself a glass. “I just think. . . Sometimes I lose myself in it all and believe us, too.”
Seungmin’s expression softens. “Oh, Jisung-ah—”
“It’s nothing.” He forces out a chuckle. “Once the wedding ends, we’ll go back to how things were, and maybe my brain will fix itself then. You know, it’s probably just the. . . atmosphere that’s making me confused. Yeah.”
Seungmin doesn’t look convinced, but he lets Jisung go.
Jisung thinks he’s right; once the wedding is over, when they get back to the city, Minho will go back to his job, Jisung will go back to his studies, and they will go back to a friendship they had before. They will go back to no kisses, no ‘love’s, no longing stares.
Jisung can only hope the butterflies in his stomach will go away, too.
He lets the chatter of the wedding melt into background noise as he sips, and sips, and sips his tall glass of red wine. He refills it some more, and sips again. At least until Minho comes back from the restroom with a charming smile and a squeeze to his shoulder, and sits next to him, stealing the glass out of his hold.
Despite it all, Jisung seeks his warmth; he leans into Minho’s shoulder, ignores the look Seungmin sends him from the other side of the table before he stands up to head back to the dance floor, and decides to enjoy being love-struck as long as he can.
He lifts his eyes just enough to look at Minho and he’s immediately met with his smile, pretty and warm and familiar. It’s no different from all the smiles Jisung remembers receiving from Minho even before the whole wedding date fiasco, albeit softer.
As he absentmindedly draws circles into Minho’s palm, a foolish part of Jisung wonders whether Minho is having these thoughts too. If this whole thing is messing with his brain. If he simply doesn’t care.
The questions pound his head even as they head to the dance floor again. He’s dizzy from all the alcohol he’s had and the confusion only adds to the strange ache weighing him down. It’s not a surprise that it shows on his face; it’s not a surprise that Minho easily picks up on it.
“What’s that look for?” he says with a light chuckle, digging his finger into Jisung’s cheek and successfully ripping him out of his thoughts. He wraps his arms around Jisung's neck, lowers his voice, and knits his eyebrows together. “Are you feeling okay?”
Jisung knows that although they don’t usually have those deep conversations, there’s nothing he couldn’t tell Minho. That there’s nothing in this universe Minho wouldn’t help him work out. But this—the dance floor—doesn’t particularly feel like the best place to ponder his feelings.
He shrugs in response, and then says, “After this song. . . or the next one. . . Can we go look for the cats?”
The request would seem strange to anyone else, but this is Minho who understands Jisung like no one else in this goddamn world. “Of course,” he says softly, but he fails at keeping the concern out of his voice. “I hope they didn’t get spooked by the music and people.”
“Mhm. Let’s get some snacks from the kitchen beforehand and maybe they’ll come out,” Jisung tells him, resting his head on Minho’s shoulder and pulling him even closer.
The crease between Minho’s brows doesn’t disappear as he stares at Jisung throughout the dance, worried as they sway across the space. Even when the song fades out and he takes Jisung’s hand, intertwining their fingers, and Jisung’s heart skips a beat, Minho’s expression remains a little tight.
Jisung feels guilty for it, but he can’t control Minho’s emotions.
After a quick detour to the kitchen, they make their way to the back of the lodge; the door of the boiler room has a pet flap so that the strays can come in and warm up whenever they please, and—after a fair amount of calling—an orange tabby emerges from inside.
They sit on the steps and Jisung opens the cat treat, letting the ginger slowly approach him and get a taste; after that, the cat begins steadily licking at the food, and even trusts them enough to let Minho pet him.
Another cat comes out a moment later, and then another and another. In the end, the four of them finish all the treats and only two of them—the orange tabby and a black one—stay around.
When the black one rolls over onto his back and lets Jisung rub his tummy—just to claw at his hands a second later—Jisung finally gathers enough courage to say, “I feel like the boundaries here are getting a little fuzzy.”
Minho lets out a ‘mhm’ sound to let him know he’s listening, but a moment passes before he responds. His fingers are buried in the orange cat’s fur and he’s smiling down at him, even though the animal is trying to bite his hand.
“You mean between us.”
Jisung hums. Although his heart rate has picked up, he doesn’t feel anxious about this conversation; if he has learnt anything over the four years he’s known Minho, it’s that his friendships last —that he doesn’t let frivolous things break his bonds with people. That he wouldn’t let anything break theirs.
Not theirs. Jisung likes to think that what they have is much stronger than that.
“I don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore,” he admits quietly. His voice could almost die in the sound of the music resonating from the other side of the lodge, if only Minho weren’t listening attentively.
“Everything can be real if you want it to be.”
Jisung sucks in a breath, cheeks turning red. Minho has always been like that—straight-forward and understanding. It doesn’t mean that Jisung has gotten used to it over the years, though.
“I’m. . . scared,” he admits. “I’m scared.”
Minho tilts his head to the side. Pokes the cat’s tummy and consequently makes him roll onto the other side. Smiles down at him.
“Of what?”
Jisung forces himself to look away when the black cat starts pawing at his wrist, but he knows that a minute won’t even pass and his eyes will travel back to Minho.
“What if. . . What if it’s all just because we’re pretending? What if we don’t actually. . . romantically like each other?”
Minho lets his head loll forward. His cheeks are pink, and his ears are too, and he’s so clearly embarrassed that it takes Jisung off-guard. “It’s not like that for me,” he admits. And then, after a beat of silence, he finally says, “I’ve liked you even before all of this.”
Oh.
“You have?” Jisung asks foolishly, blinking and blinking and blinking. He’s not dreaming. He might be a little tipsy, but he’s probably not hallucinating.
Minho chuckles, breathless. “Yeah, yeah. And—And I don’t expect you to like me back, or anything, so you don’t have to force yourself to do that just because we’re friends and you’d. . . feel bad not reciprocating my feelings,” he says, briefly looking up, although Jisung can’t bring himself to look him in the eye. “I’d rather you wouldn’t lie to me about that.”
“I wouldn’t,” Jisung says. “I’m a bit—I don’t know. It was confusing to me ‘cause I had no idea if you were just acting or. . .” He shrugs. “But now that we cleared that up—”
Minho tugs at his flushed earlobe. “I wasn’t acting,” he mumbles in confirmation. “And—Well, if it’s something you’d want, we could go out on a few dates. See how things unwind.”
“Leading you on is the last thing I want to do, but—” Jisung nudges Minho in the side. “I can only be so strong. You’re easy to love. Easy to fall in love with. I don’t think there’s any other path to go down here.”
Minho groans. “Now you’re just being cheesy,” he complains. “I’m starting to regret this.”
“No, you’re not.” Jisung is pushing his luck when he leans in closer and nuzzles his nose against Minho’s cheek, but he can’t help himself.
Minho heaves a sigh, but he looks so bright, so happy, that Jisung’s chest feels like it’s about to burst.
“Yeah, I’m not,” he says. “But you will, just so you know.”
Jisung shakes his head just before he scoots over closer and rests it on Minho’s shoulder. “Nah. I don’t think I will,” he says, voice taking on a teasing tone. “After all, I’ve been loving my free trial.”
Minho tries to push him away, but Jisung holds on. He holds on and clings to Minho and he realizes that he made the best decision when he asked Minho to accompany him to the wedding, that it was exactly the push he needed to realize that most of the time, you have to help and gives relationships the means to grow and develop into something even more beautiful, no matter how scared you might be to leave the comfortable zone of familiarity.