Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Hi cutie,” Minho chirps. Jisung hasn’t seen the other since late yesterday, they missed each other in the morning, barely saw a glimpse of each other when Jisung was running halfway cross school for P.E while Minho had history. Lunch time is a salvation, and Minho spotted Jisung the very second he came through the cafeteria doors with his go-to vending machine lunch—lemonade and two energy bars. 

“Hi,” Jisung hums when he sits down, Minho offers him his half of the sandwich his parents prepare every morning, Jisung thinks they know by now Minho always shares with him. Today they’re having PB&J, Minho also opens his small bag of pretzels and places it between them. 

“You know there’s no nutrition in that stuff right?” 

Minho points it out each and every day like clockwork, he points at Jisung’s bad choices of food, but makes no further effort in explaining how it’s bad for him, Jisung knows. 

“Beats cafeteria food, still traumatized from when they gave us brown goo,” Jisung defends, which he says—the infamous brown goo incident happened over a year ago, and Jisung hasn’t touched the food their school serves since, vending machine lunch is his safe choice. Minho huffs, but knows by now that complaining over Jisung’s choices will lead nowhere, which is why he makes sure Jisung gets something of more substance in his stomach. Today it’s PB & J. Tomorrow he will make sure and ask his mom if she can make him a chicken sandwich, or maybe an Italian one—he knows Jisung loves whatever anyway. 

“Whatchu doing after school?” He asks instead. 

“Probably hanging out with you,” Jisung smiles and turns to Minho, he smiles too—obviously. 

“Wanna hit the skate rink?”

“Do you mean, wanna follow me to the skate rink and watch as I eat shit?” 

Minho pushes him, Jisung laughs, “Mean, maybe I’ll become professional one day, and then I’m not gonna thank you,”  

“Yeah yeah, the next Tony Hawk or whatever,” 

“Eat your sandwich and be quiet, I’ll show you one day,” Minho scolds him, and they eat in comfortable silence, then Jisung shares what he did in P.E and English, tells Minho what questions he had on his pop quiz so Minho can anticipate what will come when he probably has one too, even if the teachers rarely repurpose them, even for the same grades and classes.  

When they’re done, Minho scrunches up his used bag, and rises from the table. Jisung follows him, picking his backpack from the floor. His eyes fly to Minho’s knees, they’re scratched up and red. 

“What’d you do?” Jisung exclaims, same concern as every time Minho shows up with a new cut or scratch. 

“Ate shit on my way to school,” Minho whispers, explaining he tried to do a trick on the pavement, but fell—of course. Embarrassed mostly because he had an audience of four old ladies out for their morning power walk. 

“Did you clean them?”

Minho shrugs—of course not. There are still traces of dirt. Of course not. Jisung quickly looks at the time, then nods. 

“We’re going to the nurse,” He says, prompt. Grabs what’s left of his drink and makes sure the cap is on, before dropping it in his bag. Minho tries to object, to no avail, Jisung takes his hand and leads him away. Curses at him for not being careful, or something like it, it’s the same old same old, Minho sighs. He says he will be—then he’s not. 

The nurse sees them four billion times a week, at a minimum, knows that they’re not there for any emergencies, Jisung knows his way around there already. Grabbing alcohol wipes from the small cabinet, along with a handful of bandaids. She tells him what Jisung has already told Minho, he should be careful, before he ends up with a broken bone or two, Minho groans, and leans back on the small bed. Jisung crouches down in front of him and cleans off grime and dried blood from his knees, listening to Minho wince as he tells him he can’t become the next Tony Hawk if he dies, which Minho really can’t argue with. 

“You boys better hurry if you don’t want to miss your next period,” The nurse reminds them, she checks the watch on her wrist from behind thick glasses. They nod, Minho jokes something about her writing notes for them so they can chill here instead. She looks at him with a small grin on her face, but ushers them away and closes the door behind them when they leave before the bell rings. Minho looks at his knees, still banged up and bruised, but now covered in bandaids. 

“Catch you at the end of school then?” Minho asks, he doesn’t thank Jisung for patching him up, it has become so repetitive, but he knows Jisung knows he’s happy he has him there for it. 

“Forgetting we have biology last period together Lee? I’m hurt,” Jisung cackles, and walks off with a smug expression. 

“How could I? Sorry princess.” He shouts out after Jisung, who waves at him, already on the way up the stairs towards his class. 

Minho likes to claim he hates school—Jisung understands, truly, he’s never met anyone who actually thoroughly likes to go to school. But he also claims he doesn’t like it because he’s not good at it, which is a blatant lie. He’s always been well above average, and Jisung can’t recall that he has ever failed a test, in his entire school career, not even the ones he didn’t study for or the ones he forgot about completely. When Minho sits down next to Jisung in biology class he complains and whines about how much he hates it, even if Jisung knows deep down that he probably doesn’t. He aces everything, has a deep understanding of everything that is going on, and is always keeping up. Even if he will complain, that’s a fact, he is always listening attentively when their teacher talks and is one of the most engaging students in their class. He’s smarter than he ever lets on, Jisung is sort of just waiting for the day in which he admits it. He thinks he should. 

At the end of class their teachers hand out their homework graded, Minho tries to hide his when he gets it, but Jisung gets a peak of it, nineteen marks out of twenty. It’s good. “Be proud of it, stupid,” He wishes he whispers, but he never ends up doing it, They both stuff them into their bags, and hurry out of the classroom instead. Jisung has promised to watch Minho in the rink, he does enjoy it—even if he, more often than not has to act as some sort of medic. He has spent more money on bandaids and whatnot than he has on anything else ever.

In serenity, Minho rides his skateboard, and Jisung on his bike—Minho’s occupied by music, listening to whatever on the small white iPod he got from his parents last Christmas, god knows he brings it everywhere with him, at all times, together with the small earphones that personally hurt Jisung’s ears when he has to wear them for too long. But it seems Minho can’t physically live without the thing.

They arrive after riding around for a while, Jisung stops at a vending machine and gets drinks for them, Minho stops at the next one he sees and buys them M&Ms, they like to compete over who can catch the most throwing them in the air and catching them with their mouth. Jisung has a long-reigning record of thirteen in a row. Minho says he will beat him—it’s complete bull, and he has never even hit ten in a row.

Minho rubs his hands together, at the edge of the rink, he looks over at Jisung on a bench not far from him, he doesn’t even know what he’s doing, never really does. He wants to practice for hours on end, wants to become the next Tony Hawk, or whatever, even if he knows it’s just a stupid childhood dream of his, he’s not nearly as good as he should be, considering how much he rides around on the stupid thing. He never lands the cool tricks the other guys make look like a piece of cake, he falls off the board more than he does standing on it whenever he tries. When Jisung tries to encourage him, he tells him all he needs is practice and willpower—but despite it all, he will never become the cool guy he wishes he was. Probably not at least. 

He isn’t particularly interested in making a fool out of himself, he does what he’s already comfortable with—simple tricks and nothing to show off. He’d rather die than break a bone and get a concussion in front of everyone. He’d never show his face again. Jisung claps and lets out loud “ whoo!’s” whenever it at least looks like Minho does something cool, which helps, boosts his ego a little. If Jisung can’t tell the difference between a nollie and a tre flip he guesses the ten-year-olds that like to watch the older kids skate can’t either, they’ll be excited no matter what, and who is Minho if not a simple guy who likes to impress just about anyone.

The sun setting doesn’t indicate when they have to go home anymore, so Jisung waves at him an hour or so in, and points at his watch—silently saying he has to leave soon to be home for dinner in time. Minho nods, and finishes a jump, before he rides over to the friend.

“Was I cool?” He asks.

“Definitely the coolest guy I’ve ever ever seen in my life,” Jisung jokes, handing the bag of M&Ms to Minho, he attempts to throw a few into his mouth, four out of six falls to the pavement, Jisung laughs at him.

“Didn’t eat shit at least?” Minho sort of defends, because he didn’t. Fell off his board a handful of times maybe, but except for a bruise or two, he’s definitely fine.

“Haven’t made it out of the park yet,” Jisung thinks, which is true. If he knows Minho—which he does, eight or so years of friendship under his belt, he knows Minho will attempt a few more tricks or whatnot on the way, and then he’ll fall, comfortable maybe to do so around Jisung only.

“Watchu doing tomorrow?” Minho asks, he rides the skateboard slowly, he’s eating the remainder of the candy, drinking with his only other free hand, what a stupid choice on his part, genuinely. Knowing his track record of being careless. Jisung is walking beside him, leading his bike. They make it across the street, they only have a short distance together before he and Minho have to part ways.

“Hanging with you probably,”

“Cool, movie night then?”

“Sleepover?”

“Duh,” Minho says, obvi.

They fight a little already over the choice of movies, Jisung is annoyed they’ve already watched every single movie Minho owns three times over, maybe even more. At least the ones worth watching. They end the small argument in the middle ground, they agree that they can ride down to the video store after school, and rent something. Jisung says they should just ask the clerk to pick something, Minho rolls his eyes, something that clearly indicates that Minho thinks his opinions outweighs anyone else’s.

Jisung stops in his tracks when they walk past a small alley. “Oh, it’s a little cat,”

“Huh?” Minho huffs, he tries to look back, already sliding past the alley, he turns his head, and means to put his foot on the ground to stop his board.

The board rolls away, Minho is on the pavement on his back with a thud, the commotion scares the small kitten, it runs away in an instant, Minho only catches the orange tail as it disappears behind a dumpster. He groans, when the realization that he has fallen hits him, along with the ache of his elbows and butt, which both took the majority of the fall. Half his drink is soaking into his T-shirt, the other is pooling on the ground, the M&Ms flew all around them, like colorful confetti. It crunches underneath Jisung's soles when he hurries to Minho. Minho huffs instead, and points at his board.

“Get it, get it,” He says, breath knocked out of him. Jisung stands up and runs after it, it’s on its way off the sidewalk. Minho brushes himself off, and sits up, well, head seems fine, not dizzy—probably not a concussion then. He stands up, and Jisung is right back at his side, his skateboard under his arms.

“Are you okay?”

“I scared the cat away,” Minho frowns, it’s the least of Jisung’s worries, he walks around Minho, inspecting him.

“Ah, your arms Minho,” He says, touching him slightly. Minho winces and pulls his arms away from Jisung, he lifts them, tries to see the damage for himself. They’re scratched, practically raw, there are small drops of blood seeping out.

Jisung takes his hand and smacks Minho at the back of his head, “I. Tell. You. To. Be. Careful! And what do you do?”

“Calm down, I’ll survive,”

“You’re bleeding,” 

“Just a little,” 

“No, stand still, here, bend your elbows,” He mumbles, drops his backpack to the ground, he takes bandaids out from one of the pockets, Minho rolls his eyes a little, he’s always embarrassed when Jisung has to patch him up over and over.

“Where’d you get all that?” 

“I took some from the nurse earlier, she said it was okay,” 

Carefully Jisung wipes the small scratches clean. He's done this thing so many times he thinks he could do it with his eyes closed, his fingers map Minho’s arms, he feels around to make sure everything is okay, before he adds two bandaids on each elbow. 

“You’re so stupid Minho,” Jisung whispers, “One day you will really get hurt, like so hurt me and a bandaid won’t help,” They begin to walk. Jisung is staring right at the pavement. 

“It’s fine,” Minho whispers back. He touches over the bandaids. “You’ll always be here for me princess,” He smiles. “Get home okay? Catch you at school tomorrow?”

In the blink of an eye he’s gone, Jisung shouts a weak “yeah,” before he disappears around a corner completely. He thinks he shouted it at least, but sometimes his mouth doesn’t catch up to what his brain really wants to say. Once Minho is gone, he kicks off on his bike too, hurries home. His mom is always mad if he isn’t home for dinner without a proper warning beforehand. Besides, it’s taco Thursday. 

She’s setting the table when he comes through the door, which means he still made it, she greets him and tells him to wash his hands and help her with the rest. She calls out for her husband when the food is on the table. They do their usual “ did you have fun in school today?” thing and Jisung says that it was fine before he asks what they did. He tells them he’ll sleep at Minho's place tomorrow and they tell him it’s fine as long as it’s okay for Minho's parents. It kind of always is, they always treat him good, so it’s whatever. Jisung’s mom tells him Felix called earlier, “call him back alright, make sure he’s okay?” and Jisung nods. When he’s finished he helps his dad clear the table before he disappears into the living room to call Felix. Dials the number without looking because it’s more of a habit than anything else. He plays with the string while he listens to the beeps. 

“Yeah?” Jisung hums when Felix picks up. No hello, or how are you? Clearly, Felix already knows he’s the one who called. 

“Mom and dad are working night tonight,”  

“Wanna come over?” 

“May I sire?” Felix laughs. 

Jisung clears his throat, unsure where his parents have disappeared. He shouts out, making sure it reaches every corner of his house. “Can Felix come over?” He gets a vague “what?” back, from his mom, downstairs in the basement. “Felix! Can he come over? His parents are gone for the night!” His dad comes into the living room, displeased with the shouting, nods as an answer anyway. 

“Yeah, are you sleeping here?” Jisung says quickly into the phone. 

“If it’s cool,” 

“Dad, can he sleep here?” 

“If his parents know where he is,” He mumbles, sits down in his big leather chair, practically reserved for him in this household, he turns the TV on to watch a game. Football or baseball, Jisung doesn’t even know what teams are playing. 

“Call your mom and come over okay?” Jisung hums into the phone, Felix audibly nods, somehow, and tells him he will be over in ten. 

Jisung has known Felix for longer than he has known anyone, besides his own family. Minho is almost right there with him, but not quite. 

They were both seven about to become eight when Felix's parents decided to move into the vacant house next to Jisung—it was three weeks before school was set to start, and seeing as Felix was new and had no friends here, and Jisung wasn’t particularly fond with playing with the other kids in his neighborhood, they quickly became friends. As Felix's parents worked evenings or were away, he’d come around to Jisung’s house half-unannounced-half-not, eat dinner with them and watch TV until either his parents came home and fetched him or until Jisung’s mom suggested he could sleep there for the night as long as he called his parents at work and let them know. Jisung returned the “favor” just as often, often wandering home to Felix instead of his own house when he knew he’d be alone, they’d play with Felix's impressive collection of lego or with his action figures. He and Felix would terrorize his sisters with nerf guns and plastic spiders hidden in their beds. He loved Felix’s dad's cooking. Every Sunday they’d have big family dinners, most of which Jisung was invited to. Once in a while his dad would bring a big steak that he cooked for them and set the table with candles. 

In school they would share food and play football during recess, they’d cheat tests off each other—Felix was an ace at English while Jisung used to be significantly better in Geography. 

When Jisung turned ten he met Minho—and although he shamefully has to admit that he and Minho quickly became attached at the hip by that time, Felix will always have a special kind of place in his heart. Felix is different, he knows secrets Minho doesn’t have a clue about, he knows that Felix’s family will always welcome him with open arms and a smile, just as his family does for Felix. Like a whole nother second family to him. Felix is practically his brother, much much more than a best friend. 

“Wazzup,” Felix shouts when he comes through the back door, he has a bag of crisps with him, that he offers to Jisung when he walks up to him on the sofa. Jisung and his dad are watching the game together, waiting for Felix. Without further thought, he sits down next to Jisung, and asks them to catch him up to speed even if he honestly doesn’t care. 

“Don’t you boys have homework?” Jisung’s dad grumbles, the last innings are just about to begin, Jisung groans. 

“Come on dad, don’t ruin our bonding moment, it’s barely seven PM, please please please let us stay till the end of the game,” Felix giggles beside him, 

“Look me in the eyes,” His dad says, Jisung looks at him—raises his eyebrows and studies the old face. A little wrinkly and grey mustache. “Tell me what teams are playing and you can stay for the last two innings,” 

Jisung tries to see the small TV out of his periphery, “Detroit…tigers? And…”

“Wrong, homework,” He points at them both, and sends them away. 

The entire way down to the basement, where Felix and Jisung usually hang out when they’re there, he complains and curses his dad out, says if they stayed a little longer they probably could’ve gotten away with skipping homework for the night—which they, to be fair, kind of do. Jisung does half an assignment while Felix does his best trying to do his math, but says he is probably just gonna ask some kid in his class for the answers. 

“Wanna watch a movie instead?” Jisung hums, chewing on his pen. 

“God,” Felix throws his head back with a groan, “Never thought you’d ask,” 

“Me and Minho rented Scooby Doo last week, still haven’t returned it, good?“

Felix nods, and rolls around on the two mattresses he and Jisung laid out long before they even took out whatever school responsibilities they had. 

“First one?” Felix asks. 

“Second,” Jisung says, pops the DVD into the old player, and the TV hums when he turns it on. And he rolls next to Felix to get comfortable. 

“Don’t you think it’s so weird to see the guy playing Shaggy play Shaggy after watching Scream?” Jisung comments, raising his eyebrows at Felix, “Like you’ve got goofy stoner on one side of the spectrum and a psycho killer on the other side,”

“I know,” Felix agrees. 

In comparison with Minho, who hates when Jisung talks through movies, Jisung and Felix constantly add comments and jokes and honestly probably missed half the plot points talking, Felix fawns over Fred, says he wouldn’t mind having one himself. 

“On the topic of boys and Scooby Doo,” Felix hums, it’s been quiet for a solid three minutes. “How’s it going, with ya thing? Watched this with Minho last week huh?” 

“Ugh,” Jisung faceplants into the mattress, “Don’t remind me how pathetic I am,” 

“But you’re so pathetic,” Felix laughs and pokes Jisung. 

“He called me princess today,” 

“He calls you princess every day, are you sure he even knows your name?” 

“Shut up,” Jisung swears, and Felix laughs. 

It’s that one secret, the one Minho doesn’t know. He knows that Jisung isn’t a morning person and he knows every single one of his favorite movies and games, in order. He knows each and every single embarrassing thing that has happened to Jisung for the seventeen years he’s been alive. Placement of weird moles and just about any other thing a best friend knows about each other. 

Except for one thing. 

For five years, Jisung has been tragically in love with him. So in love he can’t find himself either attracted to or interested in anyone else. Over the moon, over every single planet in the entire milky way in love. So much it physically hurts, so much Minho is the first thing he thinks about in the morning and the last thing when he falls asleep. The one and only guy he thinks he will ever be able to love in this way. 

Of course Felix knows, one night in ninth grade, after about an entire year of contemplating his feelings, and somewhat coming to terms with them, he told him. Red in the face, embarrassed most of all, “I think I really like him, you know, for real,” and he did. Still does. Still hopes one day that it will get through Minho's thick stupid skull that he does like him in that way, that his feelings will be reciprocated, that Minho will smile immediately like a dummy, maybe fall down to his knees and wax poetry about how much he likes Jisung back. 

Except he won’t. 

Because Jisung has learned, through the years, that Minho’s love is out of his reach. 

“You could just tell him,” Felix suggests. 

“Yeah sure, throw our friendship out the window and ruin our entire relationship and make him hate me, or, I could just stay as a hopeless romantic in love with his best friend forever, what do you think I prefer?” 

“Be miserable then, listen to Minho call you princess and coo at you all the time, never take any risks and die sad and alone because you can’t move on,” Felix huffs. 

“Mean,” Jisung rests his head in his hand, doesn’t want to look at Felix because he knows Felix is entirely right. 

“I’m joking,” He whispers, “Partially,” 

“I know, let’s just finish the movie, ‘kay?”

Felix nods, knowing he pressed on it a bit too far, but Jisung already knows all of this, Felix isn’t interested in painting up a colorful and dreamy ending when he himself isn’t sure it will be quite as happy. He thinks Minho is hard to figure out, not an outwardly overly expressive or emotional guy, rarely talks feelings and shit openly or unprompted. He wishes, for Jisung’s sake, that he’ll get some sort of happily ever after, that he knew that Minho liked Jisung back in the way he likes Minho. But he could never ask without raising suspicion and honestly, he doesn’t want to stick his nose somewhere it doesn’t belong. 

They happily watch the rest of the movie, Felix continues to fawn over Fred and his ascot, Jisung agrees with whatever he says, and tries to naturally forget about Minho—of course, three or so hours later when they’re finally cozying up to sleep, huddled together in the basement on mattresses, listening to the washing machine hum and cars driving by on the street outside his house, the last thing that Jisung can think of before he falls asleep is Minho’s wide smile and his careless nature, his laughter and his shining personality. Hell, Jisung wonders if it will ever stop. 

♕♡

“‘Sup princess,” Minho whistles when he sees Jisung and Felix parking their bikes in the morning. They’re in a wild conversation that has spanned from the beginning of breakfast to the ride to school to now. Jisung barely has his ears open for anything but Felix’s yapping. “Woah, what are you two whining about?” He throws his arm over Jisung’s shoulder, who huffs. 

“Felix made the foolish claim that the second Scooby Doo is better than the first one, which is wrong, the first is a classic,” 

“Well, the second one is hilarious,” Minho butts in. Clearly, his opinion is unwanted from Jisung’s side. Felix, on the other hand, gives Minho a proud pat on his back. 

“But is it better than the first one?” Jisung makes sure to ask. Minho thinks.

“Debatable,” Minho does agree at last, “First one is a classic,” 

“Hah,” Jisung points a finger at Felix, who huffs and turns to go towards his locker. Mumbles something about seeing him later or that he should die in hell. One of the two. 

Jisung goes on a rant on their way to class that Minho should always automatically take his side, no matter what he says, even if he makes crazy claims. Jisung says it’s his duty as his best friend, and Minho ends up admitting his mistake, agreeing that he of course will do just that for the rest of his life. 

They only have their first period together, so Minho salutes him and tells Jisung to meet him at lunch, like he even has to remind him. Minho waves him off when the bell rings for the second period. Blows a kiss, which Jisung makes a deal out of avoiding, he pretends he’s hurt like he’s been shot, pretends to retch, it makes Minho's laugh echo through the halls. Jisung hears it ring in his ears for hours on end. 

“That’s no lunch,” Minho comments when Jisung sits down next to him. Lemonade and two energy bars with him, Jisung sighs and says he knows. But it beats cafeteria food and will always do. Minho offers him half of his turkey sandwich, and tells him his mom can make him as many as he wants when they get to his place later in the afternoon. Minho has tried a million times over to recreate the thing, it should be simple enough, but every time he does, Jisung raises an eyebrow and nonchalantly says it tastes different, so every now and again Minho pleads with puppy eyes for his mom to make them for him Jisung. “He loves them so much I swear I think he cries of joy inside every time he gets a taste,” His mom has a small soft spot for Jisung, it’s the kind of thing that happens when Minho is their only child, when someone else comes around she’s more than happy to spoil them too. So since they became friends a million years ago, and come around so often, she happily coddles him too. 

“Have you put in any thought on what we’re gonna watch later?” Jisung asks. 

“Thought we agreed to leave it up to the video store clerk,”

“Yeah, but if he even dares to suggest, say, a chick flick, you’re gonna laugh in his face and we’re gonna get kicked out, so, be honest, I know you’ve already thought about what you wanna watch, just say it,” 

Minho clears his throat and swallows, “Howl’s moving castle,” 

“Blockbuster has it?” 

“Rode past it yesterday, they have it,” 

Jisung thinks for a moment. He sets his lemonade down on the table and stops chewing. 

“You already rented it, did you?” 

With a small glint in his eyes, Minho tilts his head to look at Jisung with a big smile on his face. Of course he did. 

“You better hope it’s good because if it’s not, I’ll never ever ever let you decide movies ever again.” 

“I’m willing to bet that you’ll like it, you loved Totoro,” 

“Fine, bet what?” Jisung crosses his arms. 

“You like it, you gotta eat the cafeteria food for…a week, no complaints,” Minho holds his hand out. 

“If I dislike it, you do my biology homework for two weeks straight, no complaints,” Jisung takes it, and waits patiently for Minho to shake it. Do so after a few seconds of thinking. Minho ropes him in close to him, hands still clasped around each other. 

“Prepare to lose,” He whispers, turkey sandwich—juice box—cheese crackers breath wafting in Jisung’s face, he recoils, and tells him to chew some gum. Minho laughs again. 

Jisung’s stomach is heavy with it, Minho's laughter rumbles in the halls of school, in the cafeteria, out on the street over the path he rides his skateboard every day, thumps around in Jisung’s head, bouncing around with no intention to ever leave. For the rest of their lunch, Jisung tries to keep quiet, as does Minho, they value comfortable silence over boring conversations. Jisung thinks, always does, looks over at Minho, cheeks full with food and eyes focused on nothing. He’s really pretty—he really is, naturally so. Features sharp and grown into, big dark eyes, always wild with adventure. 

You know, he practically tries to convince himself, if he can hold out, maybe he’ll be able to get over Minho when he leaves for college, they will barely be a long distance from each other, an hour by car at most, but maybe constantly seeing Minho is what makes it so impossible to let his feelings subside. Maybe it’s what made Jisung fall in love in the first place, seeing him day in and day out, pretty face, big heart, kind, a safety net Jisung always knew would catch him. 

“See you after school dork,” 

“Yeah yeah, try not to miss me too much,” 

Jisung is quite observant, when he’s not around Minho or Felix, or just about anyone he is overly comfortable around, he likes to keep quiet, which most people know. Sometimes he thinks they forget he’s there, entirely, which is both relieving and a little depressing. He hears gossip and secrets he probably shouldn’t, most of which he shares with Minho, the other is smart enough not to run his mouth to other people. It’s always a little fun, while he stares down at his notebook and scribbles doodles and mostly incoherent sentences he picks up on the whispers from behind him, hears Minho’s name echo, even if they try to keep as quiet as they can. “Feels like he’s infamous for never making the first move though, if you want it to get somewhere you have to ask him,” One whispers. 

“But I want him to ask me to prom so bad, do you think he’s already planning on asking anyone?” 

“Doubt it, always felt like a go-with-the-flow guy, bet he won’t ask anyone until like, the same week,” 

“Gosh, you’re right,” 

Unable to stop himself, Jisung turns his head to look who it is, they’re both pretty, faces framed by dark brown hair, one of them makes eye contact with Jisung, turns her head down in shame—and Jisung immediately averts his gaze, equally as embarrassed. They know that Jisung and Minho are friends—best of friends, they know if Jisung heard, he would tell. 

But they’re wrong, Jisung wouldn’t dare say this to Minho, maybe he’s afraid Minho would be able to spot the jealousy or he’d get an idea of asking her out—not that Jisung could, or had the right to stop him. 

Thirty minutes later, one of the girls knocks on his back carefully, she hands him a note, Jisung reads it under his desk, she has scribbled “please don’t tell Minho,” on it, and when Jisung writes, “won’t, promise,” on it and hands it back with a ginger smile, she takes a deep breath and nods with some sort of gratitude, she doesn’t have to know that Jisung is doing it out of his own selfish intentions. 

Jisung hasn’t put much thought into prom, he has never been a fan of school dances, or most out-of-school activities that require him to be polite, they always give him headaches and exhaust him beyond anything else. But senior prom is big, it’s like one of those things he knows he will regret if he doesn’t attend, even if he initially doesn’t want to be there at all, especially not if Minho decides to ask anyone there on a date. They haven’t talked about it at all, and Minho has honestly not shown interest in anyone since they were, like at least freshmen, so it’s not like Jisung has to be worried. 

But he guesses the conversation will come up at one point or the other, so he takes a deep breath too, like the girl behind him, and braces himself for it the day once it will inevitably come. But he’s not there yet, tonight he’s watching a movie with Minho and he might as well pretend his life isn’t sort of, sort of not imploding on itself. 

“So, since my parents still believe trans fats will kill you, we need to ride past the convenience store to get something for tonight,” Minho's chewing gum, balancing on his skateboard while Jisung gets his bike, “I’ve got like, eight dollars on me, what about you?” 

Thinking, Jisung feels around his pockets, “Like, six maybe, and billions of coins at the bottom of my backpack,” 

“We’ll go with fourteen in total then, let’s go,” Minho mumbles, Jisung kicks off before him, and Minho puts his headphones in and follows slowly. 

Jisung’s far more careful on his bike than Minho has ever been, he can easily ride with no hands, keep his eyes off the road without much issue—even when they were younger, and Minho's primary way of transportation was his bike, Jisung always beat him. He was fast and swift, in control, always, unlike Minho. And when Minho transferred from bike to skateboard, the injuries that followed and the careless side he always liked about himself took over. Jisung suspects beneath it all, that Minho likes it when he has bruises scattered across his skin, scrapes on his palms and scars on his knees from adventures and lessons. Carries them like trophies, if anything. Makes him free, in a sense. 

“Popcorn, obvi,” Minho hums. Pre-popped so they don’t have to sneak around his parents. Minho scurries around the small aisles, Jisung in tow. “Ooh, I like these, they’re really sour.” He picks up a small bag of candy, watermelon flavored. “And this, it’s rancid, let’s get it,” Minho points at some drinks in a closed-off fridge. Jisung lets him pick whatever he wants, content as long as Minho is happy. He enjoys popcorn and watermelon candy and for some reason he does like the rancid soda Minho is obsessed with. Jisung can never quite place what it tastes like, cherry and cough medicine and a hint of lemon, it’s weird. Has an aftertaste that can’t be described as anything else but artificial and a color that screams radiation poisoning and dangerous additives Minho’s parents would truly abhor. Seriously. And when the company one day goes bankrupt because no one in the world but Minho buys their drinks, Minho will probably host a funeral.

After a successful trip to the convenience store, they head towards Minho’s house, they see both his parents’ cars parked out front, and when they come strutting through the door, snacks hidden in Jisung’s blackhole-like backpack, they greet them with cheers. Minho’s dad is reading the newspaper on the sofa, smoking, Minho’s mom is standing by the fridge. 

“Good day at school?” She asks. 

“Uneventful and boring,” Minho says, Jisung follows up with an agreeing nod and sighs as if it was truly terrible. 

“Is that so, for you too Jisung?” 

“Mrs. Lee, I almost died, really I did, have you heard our English teacher speak? Slow-mo-tion.” 

They come sitting down at the small dining table, Minho has his unassigned assigned seat, Jisung sits down next to him—where he belongs. 

“Well, then you should be happy I made these! Maybe they’ll make your day better.” She puts the plate down in between Jisung and Minho, her infamous, chef-grade, five-star, turkey sandwich. “Minho swore to double his chores for a month if I made them for you today,”

“Wow, really Minho?” Jisung smiles, rests his head in his hand, and looks at his friend next to him, he pretends to be indifferent, his cheeks flush a little, and he huffs. 

“Well, you always hate them when I make them,” He whispers, and both Jisung and Minho’s mom laughs at him. 

“That’s not trueeee, they’re just different,” Jisung counters, and while they bicker and argue about their culinary abilities, Minho’s mom promptly leaves them alone. Minho swears Jisung doesn’t have a bone in him that’s able to cook, that he’d burn down his kitchen making a bowl of cereal, and because it’s true, Jisung slowly turns the argument into something else—twenty minutes later Jisung has insulted Minho’s ability in video-games and bicycle riding and just about anything that he can come up with.

Said argument ends with them clearly running up to Minho’s room to battle in Mario Kart, Smash Bros, and just about every game Minho owns for his GameCube. He can only beat Jisung in the stupid Tony Hawk Proskater game, which after taking turns—clearly shows Minho is the ultimate champion, and indeed the next Tony Hawk.

They’re called down for dinner, Jisung fills his stomach to heart's content, and Minho’s dad does his usual, how’s school for you and what are you planning to do after summer questions, he pretends he’s interested when Jisung gives him his usual answers. Then he says he hasn’t seen Jisung around in so long, to which Minho has to remind him he was there the week before, and nothing of interest has actually happened since—which Jisung confirms, same old same old. 

It’s surprising how Minho’s parents always seem shocked when Jisung is over at their house—especially considering he’s been here constantly for the past eight or whatever years. Jisung doesn’t like to have people around at his house—Felix might be the only exception. 

“I don’t want you to come to my house,” Jisung whispered, he had only known Minho for a month when Minho asked to go over to Jisung at the end of the day, especially after Jisung let it slip he got the latest edition of the Spider-Man comics. 

“Why?” Minho frowned deep, a little hurt—as a ten-year-old, he immediately assumed it was a way for Jisung to let Minho know he didn’t want to be friends with him. 

“It’s…I don’t know,” Jisung said, he didn’t want to say that it was because his parents had worked night all week, that he knew there likely wouldn’t be any food prepared for them, because when they weren’t home, Jisung had mostly been spending his time with Felix. Which was what he was planning to do today too.

“Can you come to my house then, we can race home, I bet I’m faster than you on bike,” Minho was adamant and stubborn, which was maybe why Jisung liked to be friends with him. He had scurried to the school office and called his mom. She was clearly a little stressed over having to do a detour in the evening to pick both him and his bike up—but considering how rare it was for Jisung to be with friends other than Felix, she said it was okay. 

They raced after school, Jisung won—it wasn’t even a competition. Minho claimed it was only because he needed a new bike, his old one wasn’t properly adjusted to his height. 

It took a whole year before Minho was allowed to follow Jisung home—he deliberately picked a day when he knew his parents were home, when he had already cleaned his room up and organized his toys, he had purposely placed his comics on his desk and silently hoped the entire day leading up to it that Minho wouldn’t cringe. 

He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. 

Maybe Minho understood why Jisung was embarrassed, maybe he didn’t. He was a child too, and didn't really know much at all. But he was happy, he liked the way Jisung’s mom made soup and he and Jisung gushed the entire evening over comics and characters. They built a pillow fort under Jisung’s desk. It took Jisung two weeks and a mouthful from his dad to take it down and clean up. 

When they grew older Jisung was plain and honest, said he was embarrassed to take friends home, he didn’t know why, said he didn’t like how his house was always messy and how littered with stuff it was. That it was old and long overdue for a new paint job or a renovation here and there. His parents were and are only home half the time he is, always away at work or having to visit old relatives or whatnot, their house is not nearly as clean nor perfect as Minho’s, he knows deep down Minho doesn’t care an ounce about that, but it’s a deep set issue since long, maybe it’s just an irrational fear of not fitting in or being different from other families, it could be jealousy or something entirely unrelated, but at the end of the day, it just makes him uncomfortable, at the very least it used to make him uncomfortable, so when he can avoid it, he does. Even now. Minho said it was no trouble, but he stopped inviting himself over, and waited until Jisung asked him himself. 

Instead, he offers his house or they hang out at the park and take over the world in their own little way. Minho probably doesn’t even know how much it means to Jisung, even if he cares far less about the difference in their lives now than he did when he was younger. 

“I believe, it is time,” Minho smiles, he takes out the DVD, and shows it off to Jisung, he scoffs at him like Minho is a little crazy. Minho fiddles with the tv in his room and the DVD player he somehow never figures out—Jisung opens the popcorn and makes sure they’re not poisonous by taking the fall and tasting a handful or two first, watching while Minho navigates to pick language and whatnot before he presses play. 

Minho doesn’t like to talk through movies, he thinks it’s pointless, he’s watching the exact same thing as everyone else—of course, he doesn’t know why something is happening if you don’t, or who that is or the answer to whatever question is being asked. 

They lay down on the floor of Minho’s room, spread out over pillows and thick blankets, save for one, that engulfs the both of them. Minho yawns and leans half his bodyweight on Jisung’s shoulder, he diligently feeds Jisung popcorn in beats of silence. Minho loves the movie—the general production, which Minho is maniacally obsessed with—the story is cute, as is the music. He knows he said he was sure Jisung would like it because they both liked Totoro, but as the movie climbs closer and closer to the climax—Minho finds he loves it, more than any movie he has maybe ever watched. He glances over every now and again, at Jisung, who’s so caught up in the moment he doesn’t even realize Minho is getting stuck staring at him. 

Eventually, two hours have gone way too fast, the credits roll, and Jisung sighs—it’s his usual, oh that was so good I can’t believe it’s over, sigh. He rolls around, accidentally forcing Minho off him, he goes on to complain about his sore back—Minho squints his eyes at him, trying to figure out if it’s a poor attempt at a distraction or not. 

“Hey—” Minho points a finger at Jisung, who widens his eyes in confusion, and continues to roll around until he’s cracked his back and stretched his neck, Minho stands up, fetches something from a drawer in his closet. 

“What?” He raises a brow, then when he sees the hat in Minho’s hand he looks even more confused. “And what is that?”

“Well, this is a hat my dad bought me when he was visiting Japan a few years ago, remember when I was super obsessed with One Piece?”

“‘Course I do, you were crazy, what’s that got to do with anything?”

“It looks like Sophie’s hat!”

Jisung sits up and crosses his legs, stretching his arms above his head, “So what?” 

“Well, I assume you loved the movie so much you wouldn’t mind cosplaying Sophie, don’t worry, I’ll be Howl,” Minho sticks the hat on Jisung’s head—he giggles, waits for Jisung to accidentally say he liked the movie. 

“Why do you get to be Howl?! You don’t look like him,” 

“Yes I do!”

“Nuh-uh you don’t,”

“See, my hair is really growing out in the back, and my fringe!”

Jisung tilts his head, points directly at Minho, gestures around his eyes and face and hair. “Yeah, and your eyes are brown, and your hair is brown, you haven’t even pierced your ears,” He huffs, “If anything—you know Felix’s friend, Hyunjin, he is Howl, pretty like it too,” 

Minho looks at him like he can’t believe him. 

“Ugh, you think Hyunjin is so pretty you should watch it with him instead,” 

“ Ugh, you’re so dramatic,” Jisung whispers, he keeps the hat on his head when he rises from the floor and moves to Minho’s bed, where he lies down, the other follows him with his eyes, continues to huff as if Jisung has truly offended him. “Not to mention you’re pretending to be jealous just to win a bet,”

“Dunno what you’re talking about, who would do such a thing?” Minho asks, he comes up to the bed, sitting at the end. “I don’t have to pretend to be jealous to win a bet, I already won, you loved it,”

“Didn’t,”

“Did,”

“Didn’t.” Jisung sticks his tongue out in protest. He did. In fact, he liked it so much that he thinks as soon as Minho has returned the DVD to the store, Jisung will be right in to rent it back. 

“You’re—” Minho sits down over Jisung’s knees, he takes his hands in his. Hovers over his face—wouldn’t let Jisung escape even if he tried.”—lying.” 

“Am not,” 

“Liar liar pants on fire,” Minho leans down further, clears his throat as if he threatens to let a ball of spit out.

“Fine!” Jisung confesses, turning his face away from Minho, genuinely terrified, not so much of the spit, more the fact that Minho was so close—if Jisung dared to, he could’ve kissed him, “I liked it, it was a beautiful movie, I’d kill to have someone love me like they love each other,”

“Knew it,” A devilish smile paints Minho's face. “I hope the cafeteria serves brown goo every single day next week,”  

Jisung retches, he can’t believe he ever let himself get roped into such a stupid bet—especially one he knew he’d lose. “I’m gonna get food poisoning and die eating that shit,” 

“You’ll be fine princess,” Minho assures, he sits back up, but stays put on the top of Jisung’s knees. “You survived for years on that, one week won’t kill ya,” 

Shaking his head at the thought, he sighs—defeat, what a terrible loss. To lose a bet against Minho when the stakes were so high. 

“Can you forgive my punishment?” Jisung pouts. 

Thinking, Minho looks up at the ceilings, oh he’s pondering it over for real. 

“It is not what I can do for you, but what you can do for me in return…what could you possibly offer to make me want to do that?” 

“Hit me with it Lee, whatever you want,” 

“Let me pick movies for the next four—no five sleepovers, no complaints,” 

Groaning, Jisung should’ve anticipated something like it, he thinks it over. Brown goo or potentially bad movies? 

“Deal,” Jisung says, “No complaints,” 

With a proud smile, Minho slides down next to Jisung, he pushes him so he can lay comfortably next to the wall. It’s cold and nice. 

“You planned this all along didn’t you? That I'd like it, lose the bet, and then beg you to change my punishment,” Jisung whispers, he looks at Minho for a moment, his eyes are closed, he’s so pretty. 

Minho nods, “Of course I did, I’m a genius, I wouldn’t force you to eat that shitty food,” 

“You’re evil, a little devil,”

“Of course I am,” Minho laughs, guttural, the sound bounces around in the room with nowhere to go but to Jisung’s heart, he feels warm, and his scalp prickles with happiness. He really wishes he could tell Minho everything, his feelings, every little detail—he would too, if he could be certain Minho felt the same, or if he’d at the very least turn Jisung down nicely, that the confession would be nothing more than a small hiccup in their relationship, but Jisung isn’t certain of that, if he wasn’t so terrified that Minho would never speak to him ever again, that their friendship would be broken into so many pieces no amount of superglue would ever be able to put it back together, he’d tell Minho everything. From the first moment he realized he was in love with him, to everything he does that makes him fall in love a little further.

They lie in bed a while longer, both tired and spent from a full day of school and a long day after it. Minho only forces Jisung to help him rid any evidence of their trans-fat, sugar-explosion endeavor after they both nearly fall asleep. Jisung does help him, they bury the bags and the trash at the bottom of Minho’s rubbish bin, they drag themselves like zombies with no destination to the bathroom to brush their teeth and they lay out a mattress for Jisung on the floor below Minho’s bed. Minho’s so spent that once he has said goodnight, he falls asleep and fills the room with soft snores.

Without fail, like damn clockwork, the last thing Jisung sees before he falls asleep is Minho’s sculpted face and his loud laughter, never short of genuine and melodic.

♕♡

Minho’s face is twisted in disgust, green and enraged. He’s usually not much taller than Jisung himself, but it seems he’s towering over him, tens of feet tall even. The size of a building. Jisung can’t recall what he said, no—he takes that back, he does remember. There’s a bouquet of flowers on the ground, a box of chocolate, Minho takes a step forward, he plants his heel on the box, makes sure to leave it crumpled up, not a piece left of it intact. 

“You dare tell me that huh?” Minho laughs, but it’s not his usual laugh, nor is the smile that soon paints his face the one he usually bears, disbelief and mockery are the only two words Jisung can think of to describe it. “You think just because you were my friend you can say that? That I would fall to my knees as pathetically as you and profess my love.”

Jisung can’t speak, he is indeed on the ground, knees muddy and hands shaking. 

“We are not the same Jisung, there’s not a single universe in which I’d feel anything for you but pity,”

He walks away, Jisung isn’t upset because of what he said, not even for ruining the bouquet or the chocolate he so cautiously prepared. He’s upset because Minho is walking away and it’s the last time he will ever see him again. 

♕♡

Jisung sits up panting, he feels his chest, afraid his heart isn’t beating, that the dream was a trial of hell. The room is dark and the night is still far from over, Jisung can’t distinguish anything in the room, but the faint frame of the window above him, dark against the navy sky outside.  

“Princess, can’t sleep because of a pea?” Minho mumbles. 

Minho has always been a light sleeper, he easily wakes up if a door shuts in the hallway outside his room, if anyone is the princess and the pea, it’s Minho. Jisung isn’t surprised he woke up when Jisung was punched out of dreamland like a truck hit him, heavy breathing, the commotion may have been small, but, well, Jisung has known Minho for so long it should have almost been predictable that even the rustling of duvets is enough to wake Minho too. 

“I had a nightmare,” Jisung mumbles. 

“Ah, poor princess,” Minho is clearly tired, but he still talks to him, “Wanna talk about it?” 

“I—I feel like I’m forgetting it already,” Jisung lies, “The world was ending I think, I was dying,” 

“Come up here, you can sleep with me if you want, the world won’t go under if we’re together,” 

“You don’t think we are too old to share a bed just because of a nightmare?” 

“Never too old for that, don’t be ridiculous,” Minho says, he lifts his duvet, and refuses to lower his arm until Jisung comes to him. Of course, Jisung has to comply, even if this too feels like a second trial in hell, different perhaps, but it causes Jisung a neverending turmoil. 

He brings a pillow from the mattress, comes to lie down next to Minho. They don’t quite hug, like they did when they were kids, but Jisung is close, he feels Minho’s warmth, even his breath on his face. 

“I haven’t had a nightmare in a really long time,” Jisung says, “It really just, shook me,” He tries to laugh. 

“It’s okay, they bubble to the surface every now and again,” 

“Guess so,” 

“When I was a kid and had nightmares, mom used to help ground me—look,” Minho searches for Jisung’s hand, he takes it in his, and brings it up to his face, “She used to let me study her face,” He’s gentle when he presses Jisung’s fingers to his forehead, “Take my focus away from the scary feeling to her face, I’d drag my fingers over her eyebrows and her nose and I used to think of how I have the same nose, I did it for ages, until I was so tired I just passed out, in her lap or if she let me sleep between her and dad in bed,” 

Jisung nods, he follows Minho’s features slowly, the t-zone, over his cheeks, maybe because of Minho’s gentle permission, he even drags his fingers over his cupid's bow and his lips. Jisung counts his eyelashes, even if it’s hard in the dark light, one, two, fifty, a hundred. 

“Thank you,” Jisung whispers, Minho hums in reply.

It’s no shocker Jisung thinks about him when he once again falls asleep, ten minutes later, unbearably tired—the nauseous feeling of the dream seeping away with every minute that passes. It’s no shocker Jisung thinks of him without break constantly, not when Minho treats him like he does. 

♕♡

“I dunno what to do,” Jisung mumbles, he and Felix are lounging in his basement, Felix is passing on the nail-painting abilities his sisters have taught him to Jisung. He brought black and pink and yellow colors from his house, and when Jisung expressed his indifference towards the colors, Felix went with his own little ideas. He listens to Jisung speak carefully. 

“I don’t know either,” He answers—honest, even when Jisung probably hopes that Felix will magically have some answer. 

“Do you think he’s this oblivious, or is he playing dumb, every day I swear I can feel myself cracking, I’m gonna accidentally like—kiss him,”

“He’s definitely not playing dumb—I think he just is,” 

“Hey…” Jisung looks up at Felix, like the insult jabbed at him too. “He’s not dumb, he’s just, unaware,” 

“I knew before you told me, you can’t be sure he doesn’t unless you ask,” 

“Well you knew because you and I basically have the same brain, Minho’s different,” 

“Different and stupid,” Felix argues, he blows on Jisung’s nails and admires the different designs he has drawn. A heart and a bee, that was about what he had the ability to do. “It sickens me whenever I occasionally sit in the cafeteria with you, he gushes on and on about how you don’t eat enough and ugh you have a crumb in the corner of your mouth and “please Jisung come with after school and watch me do my best to impress you with all my stupid skateboard tricks,”” 

“He isn’t like that,”

“Yes he is,” 

“Don’t fill my head with that stuff, I’ll start believing you,” Jisung huffs, he looks down at his nails too, they’re pretty he guesses, but he’s still unused to the sight. Felix instructs him to sit still, so he does, like a statue, waiting for it to dry. 

“Fine, but you don’t usually like it when I punch you in the stomach with some hard truth either, so I don’t know what to tell you,” 

“Just tell me it’ll be fine,” 

Felix scooches in next to Jisung on the couch, he hugs him as well as he can, knowing Jisung can’t really move, and hug him back, both afraid of the polish smudging everywhere. 

“It’ll be fine,” He says, and releases Jisung from his hold, suggests they watch Titanic, they deserve to cry over tragic love stories and handsome men, men other than Minho, Felix emphasizes. “And tragic love stories that aren’t mine,” Jisung huffs, Felix smiles, and it’s a little pitiful, but he tells Jisung he’s right. 

They’re both holding back tears when Jisung’s dad comes down to the basement, he looks at the scene on the old TV and then at the two boys sniffing and drying their eyes as if to pretend nothing is happening, and lets Jisung know Minho is on the phone upstairs, Jisung nods and hurries up, while his dad stays in the stairwell. “Not much studying going on here,” He mumbles, looking at Felix with an eyebrow raised, “I would say this is highly educational,” Felix argues. 

“Hello?” Jisung picks the phone up and hears Minho’s breath on the other end, he seems startled, which makes Jisung wonder how long he’s been waiting. 

“Whatchu doing?” 

“I’m hanging out with Felix, we’re watching a movie,” 

“Ah, what are you watching?”

“Titanic, the ship just hit the iceberg,” Jisung sniffles. 

“You’re such a crybaby—you’re crying aren’t you?” Minho laughs, when they watched it together Minho didn’t shed a tear, even when he tried to claim it was a very sad movie. 

“What, you called just to insult me?” 

“No, I’m just calling to see if you wanted to go swimming tomorrow, mom said the weather would be good,” 

“Yeah, sure,”

“I’ll come by your place, we’ll go to that river, you know—”

“The one we used to go to when we were kids?” Jisung laughs. 

“Yeah, it’ll be nice, no one is ever there either,” 

“Fine, just don’t come too early, I’m sleeping in,”

“You’re always sleeping in,” 

“So what?” Jisung huffs, “I gotta go before the old couple dies, see you tomorrow?” 

“Don’t cry your heart out princess,” Minho mocks him, but hangs up first. 

Jisung trudges back down to the basement, tells his dad to stop harassing him and Felix, to let them watch the movie and weep in peace. The old man scoffs, brushes his mustache like it’s a habit he can never break, he lets them, even if he has opposing opinions on how they should spend their time—doing their homework for one. 

Intrigued by the phone call, Felix asks what it was about, Jisung tells him as it is, Minho wanted to go swimming. 

Although there is a part of Felix that is tempted to poke fun at him, claim that it’s a date, like he usually does, Jisung has probably had enough of it today. They’re both aware of the limits, how many jokes are too much, when silly banter becomes harsh reality, so Felix smiles at him and says it sounds like fun, Jisung hums in agreement, and focuses on the movie. 

♕♡

Minho tiptoes into Jisung’s room, it’s not nearly dawn, noon if anything. Jisung lies buried under his sheets, not even a small sliver to breathe, it’s the Jisung way. 

“Hey princess,” He whispers, pokes at a lump on the bed, hoping it’s his head or the curve of his shoulder. 

“One more minute,” Jisung mumbles, practically incoherent. 

“Hey, you’ve slept in enough,” 

“One more minute,” Jisung uncovers himself, blinking at the light—it’s basically blinding him, even Minho is, he stands there above his bed like an angel surrounded by a bright-like halo. 

Shaking his head, Minho rips the duvet off Jisung’s body, “Nope, no more sleeping,” Minho huffs, dives down towards Jisung, pokes at sensitive spots on his waist, torturing him into erupting laughter, that at the very least wakes him up. After a few moments of begging Minho to stop, especially with the promise that he’ll be changed and done in less than five minutes. 

Agreeing, Minho steps back, he watches as Jisung brushes his hair with his finger to tame it as best as he can, he picks up a change of clothes and stuffs it in his bag—searching for his swimming shorts from last summer, once he picks them out, he looks back at Minho, unsure. 

“Can you turn around?” Jisung asks, although he’s quiet. 

Laughing, Minho does as he is told, “You do know I’ve seen you practically naked before right?” 

“Whatever, don’t peek,” 

“Won’t, of course.” 

Glancing back at Minho whenever he can, Jisung quickly gets dressed. He grabs a banana from the kitchen, but Minho promises him he bought some sandwiches his mom made too, even bought lemonade on the go—the same brand as the one Jisung buys every day in the cafeteria. 

The river they used to go to is a twenty-minute bike ride from Jisung’s house, they were practically living there in the summers before, usually racing to see who could get there first. They’d swim laps and play games until their skin was red and tan and their limbs so tired they could barely make the ride back home. They haven’t been in a while—if you wanted to be with friends or whatnot, the beach is much better, with cafés, mini golf, and ice cream stands enough for every person and more. The river is a bit bleak, with no real sand, and muddy bottom, but when they want to be alone, it’s ideal. 

Idyllic even. 

“I don’t know why you insisted to go swimming,” Jisung shivers, “The weather might be great, but the water is still freezing,” He complains, even when he wades around in the water, Minho is swimming around him, pretending to be a looming crocodile, he doesn’t mind the cold at all. 

“It’s fun,” Minho argues, “You get used to it,” 

“Hmph,” Jisung walks where it’s deeper, the water reaches his chest, he yelps at the cold with every step he takes, until Minho decides he has had enough, charges behind him, and tackles him into the water. 

Gasping from air and with goosebumps raising all over Jisung’s skin, “Are you crazy?!” He screams, jumping towards Minho—they wrestle around in the water, fighting. Minho’s much faster than him, agile and tactical, all Jisung has against him is furiously splashing water at his face, anything to take down his defense. 

They continue, until Minho, albeit reluctantly, holds his hands up in defeat. Declaring that Jisung wins. They’re both cold, lips turning a purple red and fingers shriveled up, so—after swimming around a few more minutes, peacefully, they drag themselves back up on the grass, hug their bodies tightly with their towels. Both silent and tired of talking and playing. 

Minho stares—Jisung is always surprised when he turns to look at Minho to already find him staring, eyes hanging low and unmoving, he studies, Jisung thinks. Still, considering Jisung is the one in love, he’s the one who’s supposed to be stealing glances and looking at him shamefully. 

“Do you have a staring problem?” Jisung asks, pouting, he looks at his pale feet, yet to be tanned by the summer sun. 

“What? I can’t look at you anymore princess?”  

“You can look at me, but you’re staring,” 

“Like you don’t stare at me constantly,” Minho huffs, he pulls out the packed lunch from his backpack, gives half of it to Jisung, when he looks at him, Jisung looks baffled. Baffled he knew. “You don’t think I notice? Sometimes I wonder if I have lettuce stuck in my teeth or a giant pimple on my forehead, you stare so much,” 

“Ah,” Jisung doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t have a good reason for it, “I wasn’t aware, I space out,” He lies, instead. It’s the best he can come up with, just a few seconds to spare before the silence would give him away. 

“I know, but I like you despite it all, the tedious staring and the whining about which movies we watch and the always looking after me,” 

“Hey, if I don’t look after you, who will? You don’t care if you scratch your knees bloody or break bones, but I do,” 

Minho leans forward, stretches over the grass, Jisung doesn’t know what to do with the space between them, a few inches, if that. He fiddles with the end of his towel, trying not to drown in the dark eyes. 

“Thank you for that, but really, stop buying me the bandaids with superheroes on them,” 

“What do you rather want?” 

“Princesses,” 

“I’ll see if I can customize any with my face on them,” Jisung whispers, small glint in his eyes, he’s joking, partially, and Minho laughs big, says he will expect some, joking, partially. 

They eat their sandwiches diligently, Jisung is delighted to find out it’s Minho’s mom’s famous turkey one, once Jisung has taken his first bite, he asks if Minho helped her. “I don’t dare to even go close in case you can taste the difference with my presence soiling it,” Jisung thinks it’s funny—he’s never once claimed the ones Minho makes are bad, he has just said they were different. And they are. Less mayo and thicker slices of tomato, he salts and peppers them more, he thinks. But they’re never bad, no, the knowledge itself that Minho walks into his kitchen and puts ten minutes of his time of day to make them for him, there, Jisung can taste something he can’t taste when Minho’s mom makes them. Love. Or something. 

It’s too cheesy to mention out loud, but Jisung can really taste it. 

They lay in the sparse sun, spread out over the grass, giggling at it tickling them where their skin is bare, Minho plays music with his iPod, it’s not at all on par with what Jisung usually listens to, but he allows it, if that’s the word for it, to hear Minho belt out in song and scream his heart out with the lyrics. As the sun rises higher in the sky, their laughter gets louder and it echoes and echoes through the trees. Minho dives into the water again, when Jisung begins to whine about leaving, he floats around in the water, like a log with no direction. He talks about life, and when Minho’s eyes are closed, Jisung stares, and he listens. 

Minho is mostly on and on about grades and upcoming finals, says he’s nervous about college, doesn’t want to leave Jisung. “Well, I won’t disappear, an hour by car dummy,” 

“Maybe I’ll finally get my license, I’ll come see you every day,” 

“Yeah,” Jisung whispers, it cuts a little, he wouldn’t dare to say he doesn’t want to see Minho every day, he doesn’t know how to tell him that he can’t let him go with him by his side constantly, but he doesn’t have the heart to say that he can’t cut the ties between them either, how could he? Minho is everything a person could wish for. 

“You should come up from the water, you’ll get hypothermia,” Jisung says, I like to look after you, if I don’t, who will? 

“Okay,” Minho rolls his eyes, but comes up shivering, he asks Jisung to toss him his towel. Despite the sun being at its highest, shining the brightest, being in the forest surrounded by trees giving shade, doesn’t help them much. 

“Should we head back?” His hair is already drying, he doesn’t find it appealing to swim, of course—he always has that looming feeling of not wanting to leave. Everything is quite contradicting, Jisung is aware of that. He wants Minho to leave him alone so he can get over him, he can’t go a day without seeing him without feeling miserable. 

“Are you getting tired of me?” 

“I don’t think I can,” 

Minho smiles and nods. doesn’t say it out loud, but he feels the same. 

“Wanna watch me do some tricks on the way back? I’ve been practicing,” Minho ruffles his hair with his towel, hurries to put a t-shirt on, Jisung stares at the goosebumps on his arms. 

“Are you gonna die doing them?” 

“Of course not, I’m like Tony Hawk,” 

Nodding, Jisung stands up, he follows Minho out of the forest clearing, the twenty-minute ride back to Jisung’s house takes an hour—with every trick Minho does, he also explains it thoroughly, how to do them, as if Jisung would ever step a foot on a skateboard and attempt it himself. But that’s not why Minho does it, he talks about it because he knows Jisung listens, not many people do. 

Minho only stumbles to the ground thrice, which is impressive, Jisung would say. He doesn’t scratch himself bad, and seeing as he doesn’t bleed out on the pavement, and he’s run out of bandages in his backpack, he gives Minho the options of either following him inside to let Jisung clean him off when they get back to his house, or to promise Jisung that he’ll do it himself when he gets back home. 

“I’m helping mom with dinner tonight, so I’ll opt out of the embarrassment of having your parents be concerned for me, I’ll put some bandaids on when I get home, ‘kay?”

“Promise?” Jisung drags out, who’ll look after him if he doesn't?

“I promise princess,”  

The next time he sees Minho in school, he’s got superhero bandaids covering his arms—he shows them to him, almost proudly—says it’s a product of both the show he put up for Jisung, and that he, late the same day, took a trip to the skate rink when it was as good as empty. Through laughter, he tells Jisung it could’ve easily been the day he finally broke a bone or two in his arms, but he didn’t. 

♕♡

“You know there’s probably as much nutritional value in that as like a handful of gravel from the parking lot outside?” 

“You listen to your parents too much,” Jisung mutters, he’s cranky, annoyed far beyond the point of feeling even remotely okay. 

“I’m just sayin’” 

“You are saying that every day,” 

Minho is confused, he raises an eyebrow, leans down, and close to Jisung, he studies the face. Carefully, Minho pushes a little of Jisung’s hair out of his face. 

“Why are you in a bad mood?” He deadpans, he is rather concerned, but he doesn’t let it show. 

Jisung’s eyebrows are furrowed together tightly, but he can’t relax, “I had another nightmare, I couldn’t sleep, and now I—I can’t think, my head is throbbing,” 

“I saw you first period, why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Thought it would pass,” Jisung mumbles, he rests his head in his hand, he looks down at the lemonade and the two energy bars, they make him nauseous. It didn’t pass clearly, in fact, he thinks if he breathes too hard or moves too fast his head will explode. 

“What was the nightmare about?” 

“The world was ending again,” Jisung says, which is maybe partially true. Prom creeps closer, Minho is still yet to ask anyone out, he doesn’t even talk about it, but Jisung keeps on picking up on girls in his class staring at Minho, he keeps hearing whispers and wishes, it drives him insane. So he dreams of Minho and a particularly pretty girl he knows dancing, over his grave, Minho laughs, and he kicks flowers from Jisung’s tombstone. 

“Should we go to the nurse, maybe she has some aspirin, for your head?” 

“I dunno,” Jisung whispers, he opens one energy bar with shaky hands and convinces himself if he eats a little he’ll feel better, drink something, whatever. Minho looks at him, and after ten seconds of silence, Jisung nods, defeated. Fine. 

“I’m not the only one who needs looking after sometimes,” Minho says, of course, he offers half his sandwich to Jisung, but he declines, dissatisfied, he ends up peeling an orange for Jisung, and urges him to eat it, at the very least. 

When they waltz into the nurse's office, end of lunch, she expects it to be Minho that’s in need of some care, used to the sight of bloody knees or scraped up palms, but Minho stands there, right behind Jisung with his hands on his shoulders, determined. “Miss!” He shouts, determined. She takes a look at Jisung, he looks fine, maybe a little pale and down. 

“Do you have an aspirin? Jisung has a headache,” 

She looks at them, a little bit of pity covering her smile. “I can’t give out medication without parental permission,” 

“Can we go and call his parents, from the reception?” Minho asked. 

“I really need a written permission slip, I’m sorry,” 

She looks at them, nods—not quite smiling, asks quietly if she can just talk to Jisung alone for a second before class. Minho is surprised, but nods and disappears out of the office and shuts the door behind him, he’s curious about what they’re talking about, but can’t hear what they’re saying. 

“Are you okay dear? I don’t think I’ve ever had to treat you since you and Minho stumbled in here for the first time as freshmen,” 

“I had a nightmare, Minho is overreacting, it’s a headache, nothing more,” 

“Nightmares, are they frequent?” 

Jisung shakes his head, they’re not. He thinks. “You have like, patient confidentiality right?” She’s a little surprised at the question, but nods. “To be honest, I have, some—feelings for Minho, they’re hard to ignore, so sometimes I have nightmares of him rejecting me, guess it's my brain trying to process it, it’s no big deal, but I can’t tell him the truth. And you can’t either, you can’t tell anyone.” 

“Of course I won’t,” She tells him, “High school romances are hard, it’s fine, everyone goes through this, drink water, and rest when you come home, okay?” 

“Yeah,” 

Minho is waiting for him outside, he pretends like he didn’t try and listen to them, doesn’t matter anyway, not like he could hear a thing through the thick door. 

They begin their walk through the hallways, soon to go to different classes, Jisung pulls whatever leftover lemonade he had left from lunch. Minho doesn’t ask what the nurse asked him, despite him trying to hear them, he understands it was private enough when Jisung doesn’t tell him immediately. “Drink and rest,” Jisung recollects though, he holds the lemonade up, and Minho smiles. He’s a little disappointed he says, if Jisung felt better he would’ve dragged him to the skate rink after school, or maybe they could’ve gone to Minho’s house to study for finals together. Jisung thinks it’s funny where Minho’s priorities lie—skating and finals, nothing else. At least Jisung is always included in the equation. 

In the middle of the staircase, on their way up, another student knocks Jisung’s breath out of him, running up—he yells a sorry after him, but not much else. Minho laughs, confused, until he looks at Jisung, and his laughter subsides. 

“Yikes,” 

Jisung stares down at his shirt, disbelief, like he wasn’t aware his bad day could possibly get worse, but it’s always possible. It was unfortunate that Jisung was in the middle of drinking, that he didn’t even have the chance to screw the cap back on. 

“It’s fine,” Minho mumbles, continues on his way, “No one will notice.”

“It looks like I pissed on myself,” 

“No…”

“It’s yellow,” Jisung sneers, any other day no one would notice—but today Jisung wore white, so yes, people will see. Jisung suspects the yellow, bright, lemonade will only intensify once it dries into the fabric. 

Sighing, and laughing, Minho peels off his hoodie. “We got like, forty seconds until the bell, wear this,” He hands it to Jisung, who is reluctant. “It’ll look good on you princess, unless you prefer your pee shirt.”

“Thanks,” Jisung mumbles, he’s still pissed, threads it on, and Minho wolf whistles him when they part for different classes, mouths pretty. He is so painfully oblivious that Jisung cringes at himself when the tips of his ears turn red. Hiding them, he pulls the hood over his head, and runs for class. 

Felix jumps close to Jisung, the entire classroom echoes along with his desk and chair as it scrapes over the floor. “Are you wearing Minho’s hoodie?” He raises an eyebrow, smug and devilish smile. Jisung tells him to shut up, but it’s undeniable, Minho wears this hoodie twice a week, he loves it. So does Jisung. 

It smells a bit like the axe deodorant he wears, which isn’t very attractive, but over it, there are undertones of cologne—sandalwood, or something like it. Jisung’s been wearing the same perfume for four years, it smells like vanilla and cinnamon, he thinks, he’s not an expert, can’t even name what the one Minho smells like, but he loves it. 

Three hours later, on their way back to their bikes, Jisung gives Felix a short rerun on what happened, he tells him about the headache (which is still threatening to kill him), the nurse, and what he told her briefly, why Minho handed him his hoodie in the first place. 

Once home, Jisung sleeps his headache away, a long three-hour nap—Minho's hoodie is hugging him tightly, and when Jisung eventually peels it off in the evening to shower, his skin is soaked in the cologne and the axe. He smells like Minho, it’s comforting. For the first time in a long time, when he dreams of Minho it isn’t humiliating and terrifying. It’s nice, feels like he’s away on summer vacation forever, he sees Minho by the river and he’s laughing. He picks flowers for Jisung and they’re pink and blue and yellow. 

Minho never asks for his hoodie back, never brings the topic up, even when he’s over at Jisung’s house a bit more than two weeks later and sees it hang over a chair in Jisung’s room. He just picks it up, and smiles. Two days later, when the sky opens up and Jisung instinctively pulls it on before he hurries to school in the morning, Minho says nothing, but a light whisper in class. ”It really does look better on you than me princess, cute.”

♕♡

The decision came after a long time of consideration, planning, and nudging from Felix’s side. There's a little bit more than one week left until prom, and seeing as Minho hasn’t mentioned bringing anyone—Jisung will ask him—to go together. He reasons with himself, the absolute best case scenario is that they will go as dates, that maybe Jisung’s question will awaken something inside Minho, or even make him dramatically reveal the fact that he too wanted to ask Jisung to be his date but just didn’t dare to. And, well, the worst-case scenario is that Minho will be confused about what he means, and Jisung will clarify that they’re simply going as friends. Whatever works. If he’s honest. 

Jisung grumbles over it, thinking carefully about how to go about it, all through breakfast and class and lunch. He goes over the practiced words in his head so many times over it’ll flow from his lips like it’s the only thing that ever mattered. He thinks if he asks Minho as casually as he can, whatever outcome will be more positive. After a lunch of shared snacks and peace, Minho has to grab a book from his locker before the next period, Jisung follows him—building up confidence on the way. When they’re separated by Minho’s locker door, Jisung clears his throat, realizing quickly that he is far more nervous than he anticipated.

“Hey Minho, can I ask you something?” He whispers. 

Minho hums, but is busy searching his locker for the missing book. 

“Hi!” 

Minho turns around, Jisung looks beyond the locker door. It’s the girl, from class, the one with pretty brown hair and big doe eyes. Minho nods at her, seems a little disinterested, but clearly waits for her to speak her mind. 

“I know it’s kinda last minute, but I was wondering if you were interested in going to prom with me? Unless you’re going with someone else.” 

It’s like she stole Jisung’s line right from his head, spun it like a thin piece of thread from his brain. 

“Oh, I haven’t really thought about it,” He says, and doesn't seem very surprised at the question, neither is Jisung, he expected this. Minho is the embodiment of what every girl has a crush on and looks for in a guy, same goes for Jisung, to be fair. “Yeah, sure,” He nods again, and she’s delighted, blushes and can’t stop the smile from pulling at the corners of her mouth, it’s sweet. 

“Great, really, this is my phone number, do you mind calling later, maybe we could talk about it?” She holds out a small note, she’s clearly been holding it for long, over the number she has written her name, with a heart above the I in Livia and an XOXO under it. 

“‘Course,” He says, waving her off, when she runs off towards a friend, who’s been preying at them from afar, they both laugh when they meet, but try to hide their excitement.

After a few seconds of staring at the number, and another ten seconds looking for his book—and finding it, he shuts the locker and looks at Jisung, who’s quiet. Ears red and mouth in a visible, but uncontrollable frown. 

“What did you want to ask?” Minho hums, and begins to walk, he’s so oblivious it hurts Jisung. 

“I—” Jisung shakes his head, the practiced words slip between his fingers like sand, “I was just wondering what you were doing after school, if you wanted to hang out, skate rink or something?” 

“Bet, see you outside the gates at the end of school?” 

“I don’t know how you keep forgetting we have bio together last period,” 

“Sorry princess,” Minho winks and blows him a kiss. When it hits Jisung, he doesn’t feign disgust like he usually does, he lets the kiss disintegrate on his skin, it’s bittersweet. Minho disappears, and Jisung stands still in the hallway for a while before he ventures to his class. Utter defeat is the only way he can describe his feelings. Defeat. Idiocy. If he had asked five minutes earlier, or in the morning when they saw each other by the bikes, a week earlier when Felix finally managed to convince him that asking Minho was a great idea. If he didn’t fumble so much with his thoughts, if he was more confident—anything. 

If he didn’t fall in love with Minho in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened at all. So, in the end, who’s to blame but himself. 

At the end of the day, Jisung follows Minho to the rink, he watches him soar, like he loves to do. Minho laughs loudly, tells Jisung that he for sure will be the next big thing, proud and confident. Jisung believes him. 

In the evening, Jisung tells Felix, of his failed attempt at asking Minho to go to prom with him, they watch a sad romantic movie so Jisung can cry with no shame—the entire time he imagines Minho on the phone with the pretty girl that isn’t him, discussing how they should match their outfits and if Minho should pick her up or if they should meet at prom together. They’ll probably fall in love and become high school sweethearts, even at the end of their senior year, they’ll grow up and will have a million children and live happily ever after, while Jisung, forty years in the future, will probably still mourn that he never told Minho how he felt.

♕♡

In the end, Felix tells Jisung to go with him and Hyunjin, as a trio. Because God knows he will have fun, even if he’s sulky about Minho going with someone else. Despite Minho being invited to prom, he doesn’t seem overly interested in it, but he is a private person. He tells Jisung in passing that he and Livia won’t really match, she had already bought her dress and Minho was planning on reusing an old suit. During school, she sits with them in the cafeteria, along with her friend, clearly trying to get to know Minho better, Jisung doesn’t like it, but he has also gotten overly familiar with sitting alone with Minho, or on occasion together with Felix, for the entire four years, they have been in high school together. Change isn’t his thing. 

It’s unfamiliar and weird, but Minho isn’t different. He asks Jisung to follow him to the skate rink after school and when he tumbles to the ground in a particularly bad fall, Jisung is by his side with alcohol wipes and princess bandaids. On the only day, the Thursday, day before prom, when Jisung asks what he’s doing after school, Minho tells him Livia is following him home to eat dinner with his parents. 

It leaves Jisung with chills, but he smiles, and tells him to have fun, even if he detests the idea of it. 

Jisung’s dad drives him and Felix to prom, in the evening, he’s dressed in a suit that’s a size too small but it was all he had at home, his dad helped him tie his tie, assuring both him and Felix it would be a night they would remember forever, Felix smiled and agreed—Jisung stares promptly out the window, displeased, but hums to make his dad happy. Briefly, his dad asks Felix if he needs a ride home after prom too, and Felix tells him his mom his picking him up after work, so it’s fine. 

Neither Jisung nor Minho went to prom the year before, which means the last time he was at an event like it was in eighth grade, winter ball, that’s what they called it back then, right before they went on leave for Christmas, it wasn’t at all as glamorous or as organized as it was now. The famous winter ball of ‘01 was also the same day he decided to tell Felix he was in love with Minho in the first place, so—the experience of it all, well, it doesn’t exactly leave Jisung with many happy memories. He doubts tonight will be any different, he can choose between third-wheeling Minho or third-wheeling Felix and Hyunjin, no options are ideal, but well, when he had to choose, Felix was the obvious answer. Jisung feels sick of the idea of hanging behind Minho and his date, it’s his nightmare actually—except it’s not a nightmare now, just pure, harsh, reality. 

Jisung tries to have fun, Felix drags him in for photos, the three of them pose weirdly, peace signs and bunny ears and tongues hanging out their mouths. They judge the punch they serve, like food critics, try and find the undertones and overtones and whatever, they don’t really know what they’re doing, it mostly tastes like cherries and strawberries, at least that’s the conclusion they come to. 

Hyunjin and Felix are far more interested in dancing than Jisung is, he joins in on a few, chooses to opt out of many, he sits on a chair, punch in hand, watching Felix and Hyunjin waltz around, they dance wildly, no shame, and laugh louder than anyone in the crowded room. Not far from them, Minho and Livia dance, Jisung avoids looking at them, but whenever he does, he thinks that he’s definitely seen Minho happier before, if he dared, he’d ask if Minho is really having fun, a part of him wants to convince Minho he would’ve had a better time if they went together. 

“You good?” Hyunjin huffs, sweaty and exhausted when he comes to sit down next to Jisung, Felix has found another dancing partner out on the floor. 

“These things have never been quite my thing, you know?” Jisung laughs to himself, “Big crowds and loud music, dancing, I don’t really feel comfortable unless…” He glances over at Minho. He hasn’t even realized that the deejay has called out for a slow, unbearably romantic song, one you dance with your partners with, “Unless I’m with Minho,”

“Yeah, kinda thought you’d go together, feel like you two are always attached at the hip,”

“I thought so too,” He whispers, he stares at the reflection in his glass, mirror of himself in the ripples of his drink. 

Hyunjin glances over at Minho, back to Jisung. He makes points in his head, connects dots that become obvious fast. 

“You like him?” Hyunjin asks, bluntly, no one is around them, or if they are, they’re clearly not listening to them. Jisung looks at Hyunjin shocked, is he a genius? Or has it always been so obvious to people around him, that when he looks at Minho it’s more than a friendly gaze, hungrier, desperately looking for acceptance, that Minho too will look at him that way. After a little thinking, Jisung turns to Hyunjin and nods. 

“I wish it was easier, everything, that I would be normal, just like some sweet neighborhood girl who likes me back,”

“But you’re stuck with him hm?” Hyunjin cocks his head to the side, Minho’s awkward and stiff where he’s dancing with Livia, they’re speaking quietly. 

“I can’t get over him,”

“I wouldn’t either, if I was you, he’s quite a dream,”

“Don’t tell me you like him too, I can’t take much more competition, every day I just get bumped down the list further,”

Somewhere from the floor, when the next song begins, Felix jumps up and down during the intro, he waves them both over, but only Hyunjin raises to his feet. “I don’t, I swear on it,” He smiles. He doesn’t, and Jisung knows this, Hyunjin’s attention definitely lies elsewhere.  

Minho isn’t easy to love, Jisung knows this, but out of all the people in this room, out of all the pretty neighborhood girls that might like him, no one beats Minho. Jisung sighs, what a hole he has dug for himself. 

“Are you having fun?” Livia asks Minho timidly, they’re not quite familiar with each other yet, it’s all surface level. 

“Yeah, I think,” Minho nods, he scans the room, Jisung is alone again, he was happy to see him with Felix and Hyunjin earlier—but it’s hard not to look at him there, on a chair by the sidelines, awkwardly fiddling with his fingers, rolling thumbs. 

“I know I maybe should’ve asked you earlier, so we had more time to get to know each other,” She smiles, despite it being a slow dance, they stand with enough room for another person between them, she takes a step forward and tries to search Minho’s eyes for any confirmation whether he’s comfortable or not. 

“It’s fine,”

“Did you want to ask anyone else?” She asks, quite bluntly. 

“Never thought of it, I probably would’ve gone with Jisung,” Minho mumbles, she looks back to look at him too. He looks bored, clearly in another world, daydreaming or stuck in thought. Maybe he can sense that both Minho and Livia are staring, he looks at them, and being caught—his ears turn red and he turns his focus elsewhere. 

“Ah,” 

“I’m sorry,” Minho shakes his head, and looks at her, they continue to dance, “Rude, it was rude of me to say that, I’m having fun,” 

“It’s okay,” She’s sympathetic. “You should ask him for a dance, next song, so he’s not so alone, I think I’m due for a break soon anyway,” She looks down at her feet, the heels aren’t very high but Minho can’t imagine they’re comfortable anyway.  

Nodding to her, when the song ends, she searches for her friend, and Minho goes to walk over to Jisung, he holds out his hand. “Can I have a dance, princess?” 

Jisung’s surprised, he sees Livia over by a table with her friend, deep in conversation already. Minho is unmoving, he waits for his answer patiently, even if Jisung is in turmoil, doesn’t know what to do, he abandons his drink somewhere and stands up. “Okay,” He whispers, and follows Minho awkwardly. The deejay says something about grabbing your partner tight and having fun, Jisung tries to block it out. 

Carefully, Minho places his hands on Jisung’s hips, and urges Jisung to put his arms on his shoulders, they sway slowly back and forth—they’re much closer than what Minho and Livia have been, the entire evening. Minho laughs, pokes fun at Jisung and his clumpy moves. 

“Just follow me stupid,” He says. 

Under his breath, Jisung counts, one and two and one and two, and Minho quickly follows. Instead of listening to the music, they mumble that in unison. One and two, and one and two.

“Why aren’t you dancing with your date?” Jisung asks, it feels like he’s intruding on their time, he’s here dancing with Minho, inches away from having their chests pressed together when he’s not in the position to be here. 

“She needed a little break, and I thought—well, it wouldn’t be prom without at least one slow dance, and that’s a must for you too, and I’m great at leading,”

“Okay,” Jisung still throws a glance her way, over by a table, he can’t figure out if she looks happy or not, it looks like she’s trying to figure them out just as much as Jisung is trying to figure out her and Minho. 

At the end of the song, Minho quickly notices that many couples around them, already established or not, lean in for a quick kiss. Jisung must follow his line of sight, he throws his head around, growing nervous. When he and Minho make eye contact again, he shakes himself out of Minho’s hold and leaves the floor, immediately finding a chair to sit down on, where he will wait for Felix and Hyunjin, or just either one of them to join him later—they’re still dancing, and Jisung watches, emotionless, as Felix leans in to kiss Hyunjin on the cheek. They laugh. 

Slowly, Livia moves back to Minho—they share a pretty quick conversation, before Minho goes with her to sit down with her friends, again, Jisung notices when he looks at them that Minho sticks out like a sore thumb, he’s indifferent, it seems he laughs when he’s supposed to laugh but it’s not quite as heartfelt and genuine as the one Jisung has learned to love through the years. 

The entire evening Felix and Hyunjin run around the cramped gym, occasionally they drag Jisung with them, whether it’s to cool off in a bathroom to either listen to or butt in on gossip, they snack and try to coax Jisung into dance, but truthfully, Jisung’s just patiently waiting for his dad to pick him up again. Practically counting down the minutes. 

Jisung tries to not stare at Minho like a hawk stalking prey at every chance he gets—but he’s simple in nature, can’t resist, it’s neither late nor early when he notices that Livia and her friends are leaving, still, nearly two hours until prom is set to end. Minho hangs back a bit, and he catches Jisung staring, he nods towards the entrance, and Jisung whispers to Felix that he’ll join Minho for a while. 

“Are you going?” Jisung asks when he comes up to him, they walk towards the parking lot. 

“Mmyeah, mom is picking me up in like ten,” 

“What about, uh…”

“Her friends wanted to go to an after-party, so she’s going with them, I dunno,” Minho laughs, god he just laughs and laughs, sometimes it’s fake, it’s genuine, in a scoff or in surprise. “We don’t really click the way I think she hoped we would,”  

“Oh,” 

“It’s okay, a little bummed though,”

“Why? Do you like her?”

“Nah, I just think prom would’ve been more fun if you and I went together, that’s what I had planned anyway,” 

“You did?” 

“Yeah, ‘course I did,” 

“Why didn’t you ask me? To prom?”

Minho is a little confused, shrugs, says he doesn’t know. The answer doesn’t satisfy Jisung one bit. 

Maybe confidence takes over him, maybe stupidity. Maybe he’s been holding it in for so long—he can’t wait for those weeks to go by when he moves so he can hope to get over him. Maybe he determines that, everything about Minho’s behavior tonight, clearly not liking Livia, clearly not having as much fun as he should have, wanting to go to prom with Jisung, maybe the confidence or stupidity makes Jisung think it was a date with him Minho truly wanted. 

“Minho,” He mumbles, staring at the ground, Minho hums, looks at the parking lot in search of his mom’s car, she’s yet to come. “I need to tell you something,”

“Yeah?” 

He isn’t really sure how to compose himself. 

“Do you remember in eighth grade, at the winter ball?” Minho nods. “You made fun of me for weeks, because I was jealous that you and, whatever her name was, you remember her right? Went together? Because you thought I had a crush on her?” 

“Hah, yeah,” Minho laughs, he’s piecing together memories in his head, and finds it amusing. 

“I wasn’t jealous of you, for going with her, I was jealous of her for going with you,” 

“Huh?” 

“I was mad, I was sulking and I was jealous, because she got to dance with you, and she got to be your first kiss, and I had to stand on the sidelines like some loser, watching you, I wanted to be her,” 

“Be her? You used to have a crush on me?” 

Jisung grows agitated, is Minho so oblivious? 

“I am in love with you,” He grits through his teeth, a part of Jisung is so nervous telling Minho the rest of him just shuts off, he’s admitting it, finally, and when the words spill, he knows there is no turning back. “I’ve been in love with you for like, five years, every day I think about you, and I don’t know if I can not love you, because you’re all I know, you’re there in the morning in school, you sit with me during lunch and you tell me I don’t eat enough because you care, your laugh is so loud and warming I can’t stop thinking about it, I do so much, and I keep hoping you know how much I care. I’m telling you because you’re my best friend Minho, but I can’t keep going like this, I can’t get over you—do you understand?” 

“Oh,” 

They’re silent, both of them, Jisung doesn’t know what else to say, he can definitely spew more, tell Minho everything from the moment he realized it for the first time to two weeks ago when he was still just as in love. Jisung is still itching for Minho to say something, anything. 

“Oh,” He repeats, and now he’s putting puzzle pieces together in his head, for real, it’s making sense, or he’s trying to make sense of it. 

“Yeah,” Jisung whispers, “Can you like, say something?” 

“I don’t know what to say,” 

“ Anything,” 

“I don’t know,” Minho repeats, like he’s lost the ability to speak. 

Confidence, stupidity, something, “You can either tell me you like me back, or that you don’t,” 

A car flashes its lights at them, they both turn to see Minho’s mom’s blue sedan. 

“I can’t, I’m sorry, I—I need to think Jisung,” 

He runs towards the car, disappears. 

Jisung doesn’t know what to blame, confidence or stupidity, maybe hope was the culprit all along. That he thought he had a shot. 

Jisung sits on the pavement, head between his knees, he’s counting down the seconds until his dad picks him up—he doesn’t know how long he’s been waiting, his ears are buzzing and he’s nauseous. He can’t wait for this evening to be over, in fact, he’d like to disappear for a few days, or weeks, a year or two should be enough for his shame to settle and then maybe another five to get over his heartbreak. 

“Jisung, what the hell are you doing on the ground? Do you know how hard suits are to clean?”

He looks up, hadn’t even noticed his dad, an old rusty car pulling up not more than a few feet from him, his dad hanging out the open window, staring at him, upset, maybe a little worried. 

“Headache,” Jisung whispers, standing up and brushing his pants off, they’re a little dirty, can’t seem to get himself to care, not one bit.  His dad asks question after question after question about prom, mainly if they had fun—how the dancing was, and what songs they played, as if his dad would know what’s popular, he asks if they stayed away from the alcohol. 

“Someone got escorted out, he had a flask of his dad's whiskey with him,” Jisung laughs, still quiet, his dad laughs too. “Don’t tell ya’ mom, but I did the same at my senior prom, took one of my father’s finest scotches too, got hell for it,” 

It’s quite nice, Jisung could stay there, in his dad’s car, probably forever. The inside smells like his Marlboro cigarettes, the radio is broken but his dad has an abundance of cassettes he always plays, exclusively from his own teens. The sky outside is blue and pink, it’s bleeding into each other, like a painting, Jisung wishes he could snap a picture with his mind, print it out—maybe he’d remember how this felt instead, listening to his dad, finding solitude in the car, it hums and coughs on occasion, but he doesn’t care. One moment of peace, it’s just what he wanted. 

Jisung’s forehead turns cold when he leans it against the window. He asks his dad, “What else did you do at prom? You’ve never told me.”

The short car ride isn’t long enough for Jisung’s dad to finish his story, he says he’ll save the rest of it for another time. Nodding, they walk out of the car, his dad inspects the grime on his butt and scolds him again, “Your mother will go insane,” 

“The suit doesn’t even fit me, send it to Goodwill,” Jisung defends, and when they get inside, Jisung’s mom has the exact same questions as his dad, if it was fun and if he danced, he tells her the same things he told his dad, and finishes off the conversation early by saying he has a headache. He needs a shower, a few hours of sleep maybe. 

He can check off one of the things, a shower, he scrubs his body clean, skin red and sore when he comes out of it. His bed is soft, Jisung notices that his mom has changed his bedsheets for him, they smell of their laundry detergent, the room is cool and his pillow is perfectly fluffy—every single requirement for a good night's sleep. 

But he can’t sleep. He twists and turns, probably a hundred times in ten minutes to be comfortable, he runs into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and goes back to bed, turns around for another good while to find a position in which he can’t feel every nerve in his body. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees him—Minho—gorgeous under the blue lights inside the prom hall, his hands on Jisung’s waist and his low whispering. One and two and one and two. His face outside, in the parking lot, twisted underneath the yellow, confused. shocked, at a loss of words. But the more Jisung thinks about him the more his memories twist, becoming like the nightmares that have plagued him. Laughing turns to something mocking, Minho’s big smile turns devilish, his shock is disgusting, not caught off guard. 

From his parent's bedroom, he can hear his dad snoring, the situation should be silly enough for him to laugh, or at least he would feel annoyed, but it pushes every button in his body—he’s furious instead, he’s tired—his chest cramps, as if he is really experiencing a breaking heart. 

In the middle of the night, after hours of being awake, he bursts into tears. Can’t stop them. The new pillow case turns damp, and the headache he previously lied about is becoming a harsh reality, it pounds, and he doesn’t know what to do. 

Jisung isn’t sure he’s ever felt pain like this. He isn’t sure he’s ever cried so hard he can’t breathe, a full meltdown. He suffocates it so as not to let his parents hear, he wouldn’t know what to say if they come into his room from all the ruckus, if it’s possible to blame it on a simple headache. 

He isn’t sure what the exact time is when he rises from bed, stuffy nose and eyes red, so cried out that he could drink an entire ocean. Quietly he walks into the living room, muscle memory punching in the number to Felix. His mom picks up, after a few seconds, she sounds concerned, no one wants a call in the middle of the night. “Hello?” 

“Hi, Mrs. Lee, I’m sorry for calling so late to wake you up, I was wondering if I could talk with Felix?” He does his best to not let his voice crack, not to cause too much trouble with her, she’s known Jisung for long enough it’s not the time to tell him to call back in the morning. Instead she asks him to wait for a moment, so that she’ll get him. 

“What’s up?” Felix mumbles, sounds equally as confused as his mom, being woken up in the middle of the night. But he’s concerned too, whether it’s just the knowledge that Jisung is calling—or his mom told him it sounded serious. 

“Can you come over?” Jisung whispers, sentence breaking in the end, if it’s someone he can’t lie to, it’s Felix. He sees through him anyway. He’s crying again, already, doesn’t even think of it until Felix tells him to give him two minutes. 

Jisung knows Felix will come up running to their back door, it’s often unlocked, not to mention that Felix has a key, but Jisung walks outside, sits down at the small porch that leads down to their backyard. The grass was still a bit yellow, and the night young. Felix said two minutes, and two minutes later he was sitting there, squeezing in next to Jisung. “What happened?” He whispers, but he knows—only one thing could cause a reaction like this. 

“I told him, I don’t know why I did—I knew this would happen, didn’t I?” He sobs. 

“You couldn’t know,” Felix hushes him, “You were brave,”

“Doesn’t feel so,” Bravery. Confidence. Hope. Stupidity. 

“It wasn’t possible to keep it in forever, you would’ve told him sooner or later,” 

“But why tonight?”

“It was time,” Felix mumbles, “Do you want me to tell you about the stars?” 

Felix used to do that a lot, tell Jisung about the stars, he never really understood what was so fascinating about them. Above Felix’s bed a poster of star constellations taped up, as a baby his mom hung a mobile full of stars and a moon above his crib, he knew everything about them. Of old greeks gods, or soulmates that have died becoming stars in the sky to be together forever. The mobile is packed down into a box since a long time ago, the poster has been taken down, but the stars remain—and they always will, so Jisung nods. “Tell me about the stars,” 

Standing up, Felix turns the porch light off, when Jisung looks at him he’s nothing but a shadow, but he points at the sky. “That’s Corona Borealis,” He begins, “According to greek mythology it’s linked to Theseus, it’s considered to be a representation of the crown Dionysus gave Ariadne at their wedding, after she was abandoned by Theseus,” He says, Jisung knows, he’s heard the story a million times over, sometimes in greater detail, sometimes more of a mention. Felix continues, describing dozens of them, until he notices the exhaustion growing on Jisung—softly, he tells him that they should go inside. “Let's make a fort in the basement,” He mumbles, even if it’s more of a lazy attempt to get him inside, he knows Jisung will pass out the second he lays down on something soft, the old leather couch in the basement, he could probably sleep on a blanket on the floor. 

♕♡

Felix leaves in the morning, Jisung’s parents are surprised to see him there, but do nothing but raise their eyebrows at his presence, it’s useless to ask. Jisung eats breakfast and avoids looking at them, afraid his face will give it all away. Swollen from crying, he’s tired—worn out. Sad is a bad word to describe what he’s feeling, too shallow, but excellent for his appearance. It’s sad to look at him. 

He has no intention to leave his room, he reads old comics to distract himself, takes two naps in the span of three hours, after lunch his mom checks in on him, and says, that since the sun is out he should go and do something. Reluctant, tired, he drags himself to their backyard. 

There are no stars, but the clouds are fun to look at. Depends on how you define fun, of course, but it’s mindless and calming enough to get him to think about other things. One cloud looks like a whale, another like a boat, one just kinda looks like a cloud—Jisung stares at it slowly move over the otherwise blue sky. Pretty. 

There are few noises Jisung would recognize anywhere, maybe even deaf, if possible. The intros to cartoons he used to watch with Felix as a kid, the coughs of his dad’s car, Minho’s laughter—the sound of skateboard wheels on the ground. 

For one second he thinks it’s one of his parents, out to check on him for the umpteenth time this day when the backdoor opens and closes, but he hears the thump of wheels hitting the porch wood, and it’s not his parents, of course it’s not. 

He sits up, staring at Minho. He’s cautious over there, obviously wondering if he should walk over to him or not. 

“Your mom let me in,” Minho says. “Said you were back here,” 

Jisung nods, he’s the one unsure what to say, doesn’t know where to begin. He sits up, watches him. Feels embarrassed when he realizes he’s wearing Minho’s sweater, but it was close to the only thing he felt comfortable in, Minho doesn’t mention it. 

“Sorry about yesterday,” Minho is slow in his steps when he shuffles towards Jisung. 

“I’m sorry too,” 

Shaking his head, “Don’t apologize,” He sits down next to Jisung, crossing his legs, “I got overwhelmed, and my mom was there, I didn’t want to say something that I would regret later on,” 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jisung looks at Minho, he’s staring off at something else. Enough has been said already, in the silence yesterday. Jisung doesn’t want a repeat of it, a reminder. He’ll be content if Minho can just brush everything over—so they can go back to the skatepark and watch movies, maybe nothing will be the same after this but Jisung can’t live with the fact that his stupid mistake ruined it all. 

“Jisung,” Minho whispers, breaking his stare to look at him. “Will you listen to me?” 

He shakes his head at first, then he nods, he can’t stop him anyway. 

“I know you remember winter ball,” He laughs, “And I know you remember that…I used to pick at you, I kept asking if you liked her, yeah?” Jisung nods, a month or two of hell, Minho probably asked him every other day, if he did, and every time Jisung wanted to burst and tell him it was Minho he liked. “I was asking you, because I had a crush on you, I think I did at least, yeah sure, I kissed her but I kinda thought about how it would feel with you, kinda always wanted to go to winter ball with you and I was mad I didn’t, I tried to coax out a confession out of you because if you told me you liked her I would’ve been able to drop the silly crush I had on you,” 

“And you did? Right?” 

Minho shrugs, “I dunno, we grew up you know?” 

“I never fell out of love with you, no matter how many people asked you out or how far from my reach you were,” Jisung says, as if it matters. 

“I know, I realize that now,” He’s smiling when he talks. Minho opens his mouth to say something, but Jisung interrupts him. 

“Can we go back to being friends? Forget this ever happened?” 

“No,” Minho hums, he jumps an inch closer to Jisung. “I told you I needed to think, you don’t want to listen to what I have to say? What conclusion I came to after like seven hours of nonstop thinking just constantly playing sad and emotional music?” 

“I don’t want to be hurt,” 

“Ugh, you’re so annoying—“ Minho laughs, not like he does in Jisung’s nightmares. It's his usual, soft, airy laugh. “You’re stupid,” He points his finger at Jisung’s forehead, knocks on it, as if to ask if there’s something in there working. “I was up all night, thinking, trying to rationalize what I was feeling. Do you know how hard it was? To find the distinct line between us? That separates friendship and something more. Was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, fucking impossible,” 

“I know, why do you think I can’t let go?” 

“I’m not sure, about everything. Right? But I think if there was someone I was gonna fall in love with eventually, it being you, wouldn't surprise me. Not one bit,” 

“What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying I think I like you, and I’m saying I regret not realizing it earlier,” 

”Oh,” Jisung feels whatever he wanted to say slip between his fingers, his stomach flips—excited, but it’s worried. “What if you think you just…think like me, and then you…realize you don’t? I don’t anything to come between our friendship, I’d rather we just, smooth this over if that’s the case,”

”Jisung?” Minho hums, cocks his head a little to the side, “Let me rephrase myself then, I am sure, can’t imagine something better than falling in love with someone like you, there is no one like you” He leans in, Jisung laughs—leans back, afraid when Minho is coming so close.

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m trying to kiss you,” He laughs, puckering his lips like a fish—like he’s joked a million times before, closing his eyes and making noises with his mouth, Jisung knows it’s far less of a harmless joke now. “Is it okay?” He asks, to make sure, Jisung’s face blossoms a bright red, he doesn’t know what to expect, but he nods and whispers a yes. 

Smiling, Minho closes the space between him, it’s a quick kiss. Jisung feels like going up in flames, the moment is over so fast he can’t register what happened properly. His teeth knocked against Minho's, but his lips were soft. That’s all he remembers, as if his brain completely disconnected from his body when it happened.

“That’s your first kiss?” Minho asks, he leans in close again, not enough for their faces to meet, but enough for Jisung to not know what to do. He nods. 

“I’ve been saving it, for you,”

“Really?” Minho's hand moves to Jisung’s nape, he closes in on them again. So close Jisung can almost feel Minho talk against his lips. “You’re tense, take a deep breath, I’ll lead if you want? Told you yesterday I was good at it, right?” 

“You were,” Jisung reminisces about yesterday, one of the few good memories he remembers. Him and Minho dancing. One and two and one and two. 

“Right?” Minho kisses him again, kisses him a few times over, kisses Jisung quite senseless, he’s glad he saved his first kiss for Minho. Can’t imagine that it would’ve been better than this. “I wish I could’ve saved mine for you,” He says between breaths, “Wish we went to the winter ball and I kissed you then,” 

Jisung follows Minho’s motions, learns quickly, about what is comfortable, and what works for them. Minho engulfs him—hand tangling in Jisung’s hair and leaning into him, Jisung’s doing everything in him not to fall backward, Minho creeping so close he’s halfway into his embrace already. 

“Do you think it would’ve been different? If that happened? That we would’ve ended up as one of those couples that just stay together forever?” 

Breathless, Minho stops, he hadn’t thought of it—Jisung laughs, he looks dumb going over it in his head. “Maybe, but I dunno, being that annoying high school couple is still like—so infuriatingly satisfying, you know?” He grabs Jisung’s cheeks with his hands, stares so deep into his eyes it’s ridiculous, Jisung only ever sees this excitement on his face when he’s riding the rink or watching a particularly scary movie. “Gonna print out pictures of your face and type “Minho’s princess,” and put it in everyone's lockers at school,”

“Slow down,” Jisung tells him, “You’re going too fast, I can’t jump from thinking our friendship was ruined to being a couple in two minutes, can’t we just, watch the clouds for a while, and think a little?”

Pouting, Minho still nods, Jisung can hear his thoughts, he’s tired of thinking—done enough of that. He’s thrilled and almost intoxicated, looking like he could jump Jisung any minute. But another part of Minho understands he was quite, or more than so, upfront.  Minho huffs when he lays down, stares at the sky, slowly, Jisung lays down next to him. 

“So what are we searching for?” 

“Pretty clouds, I saw one that looked like a boat earlier,” 

“That one looks like Tony Hawks,” Minho giggles, pointing at one—it doesn’t, it’s just a cloud. But Jisung lets him believe so. 

“By the way,” Jisung hums, thirty minutes later, still cloud gazing—he leans over Minho—face hovering above him, three or four inches between them. “More than anyone, you’re gonna have to convince Felix you deserve this, me,” 

“‘S that so?“

“Yeah,” Jisung’s smile is lopsided, he kisses Minho but his teeth still knock with Minho’s, it’s clumsy, not that it matters, “He’s been calling you dumb for not realizing for like, three years now, he’s the one who I’ve been crawling to crying, and he’s had to endure hours of me gushing about you, so prepare a good speech alright?”

“Ugh, it’s gonna be worse than breaking the news to your parents, yeah?” 

“A hundred times worse,” 

♕♡

During the last week of summer vacation, Minho drags Jisung along with him to a concert, he claims it is an early birthday present, but Jisung suspected from the getgo that he just probably didn’t want to go alone, and when he pressed Minho about it, mostly whining about not getting an actual birthday present, Minho mumbled to him that he really just wanted to do something special with him before they moved apart. The whole moving apart thing was a little dramatic, growing up they had lived a good twenty or thirty minutes apart by car during rush hour and with their bikes it wouldn’t even take much longer, and now they’d be a good hour away, by car! Not even Minho could convince himself it was worth it riding his skateboard that distance every day. So, they just had to do something meaningful and memorable before the misery of not seeing each other every day. 

Minho’s dad taught him how to drive, quick and excited behind the wheel, it didn’t take very long for Minho to learn, and Jisung was nothing short of surprised when he aced his test on the first try. But to see Minho pull up by his house two days later saying he was kidnapping Jisung and taking him to a concert, well, it was beyond what Jisung expected. 

The concert was fun in concert terms, Jisung became nervous with the loud music and the baffling crowd, he’d never been to one before. Someone next to him kept elbowing him, a guy in front of them stumbled and nearly knocked both Minho and Jisung to the ground, it was overwhelming, but, it was fun. Jisung thinks so at least. Minho sang louder than anyone and he swung around the hand intertwined with Jisung’s constantly, danced whenever he could, and honestly, when they were sitting in the car after, ears buzzing and still high on adrenaline, staring at a parking lot that kept emptying, Jisung just looked at Minho—it just felt like one of those things he’d remember for the rest of his life. Maybe the music wasn’t completely on par with what Jisung usually listens to, and he probably would never go out of his way to either listen to it or go to a concert that exclusively plays their music. 

But it’s Minho!! It’s always Minho. Right by his side, and he’s driving down to Jisung’s campus every other day and he claims it’s because he can’t stand not seeing Jisung. He loves to bring movies and they watch them together on the computer he bought not too long ago. Sometimes he even rents the dumb romantic movies Jisung loves so much, sometimes he brings scary movies and he stays the night because Jisung claims he’ll get nightmares if he’s all alone in the dark after such things. And Minho always does, even if he loves to tease Jisung to death—claiming they are always tame and that the acting is so bad they’re more comical than anything.

Minho pulls his fingers out in a peace sign when he sees Jisung waiting by the entrance, showing off, Jisung is watching him carefully—afraid he’ll stumble to the ground like an idiot. 

“Am I cool?” Minho asks, riding up to him. 

“Yeah, but I’m confused about who you’re trying to impress,” 

“I need your classmates to know you’re dating like, the absolute coolest guy in the world,” Minho picks the sunglasses from his head and puts them on, acting like a fool. It’s mid-October, the sun isn’t blazing anymore, Jisung highly suspects Minho wears the sunglasses simply because he’s trying to add to his cool.

“Don’t worry, I’m telling everyone already that I’m dating Tony Hawk,” 

“No no no,” Minho shakes his head, corrects him immediately, “I can’t compete with him, he’s eons away on the cool-scale,” 

Jisung rolls his eyes, “Fine, the next Tony Hawk,” He fixes the collar on Minho’s jean jacket, tucks his hair behind his ears, examines him a little to see if he’s okay, his elbows are, like always, scarred and sporting one or two new scabs, he assumes his knees look the same beneath the jeans, his palms are a little rough when Jisung intertwines his fingers with Minho’s. He’s okay enough. Getting a driver's license greatly stopped him from getting a new scratch every single day, riding to and from school or over to Jisung’s house like he used to—but the skate rink never shows him mercy. Minho says there is one not too far from his campus, he’s there every night he’s free, cooling off. 

“I’d really like it if you could be more careful, I’m not around you every day with band-aids and gauzes and alcohol wipes anymore,” 

“Stop babying me, now, I drove past blockbuster on the way here,” 

“Stop renting movies when I’m not around,” 

“Thought we agreed I’m good at picking movies?” 

Jisung can’t say anything, he neither agrees nor disagrees, mostly because he mostly does agree but doesn’t like the idea of giving Minho the satisfaction of the confession. “Did you bring your computer?” 

“‘Course I did,” Minho picks his skateboard up, makes sure Jisung’s hand is comfortable in his other, he leans towards Jisung, pecks him on the cheek, “Should we go princess?” 

Minho’s smile is enormous, stretches from one side of his face to the other, when Jisung tells him casually about his day, of a lecture and the boring book he’s having to read, Minho just nods and stares at him—Jisung lets him, frankly, not being able to see each other every day is quite jarring, sometimes when either one of them spends the night with each other, Jisung lays awake for what feels like hours, he studies Minho’s face and maps his features, without shame. Following the arch of his nose and tickling his eyelashes, he kisses the mole on Minho’s nose before he falls asleep. 

It kinda is the happy ending he always wished for, the one he used to cry to Felix about. Maybe not everything was perfect about it, he always imagined that when and if he confessed to Minho it would be calculated and grand, and that Minho would pour his heart out to Jisung too, and then they’d live their lives happily ever after. The whole confession in itself wasn’t Jisung’s most successful venture, but, to be honest, he’s pretty sure if he didn’t break during prom, he and Minho wouldn’t be here either. 

There’s nothing else Jisung wishes for, he thinks, that they’ll be like this forever. Bandaging up scratches and cuts, and laughing themselves silly over bad movies, driving around in Minho’s new old beat-up car fighting over music could be for their youth. But the years of friendship, endearing pet names, their love for each other? Such things are bound the stick around, Jisung feels embarrassed to tell Minho that he sometimes thinks of them sitting in a retirement home together when they’re old, knitting on rocking chairs like they do on TV, bickering only like old couples do, that Minho still calls him princess. Minho likes that image too, he says. “A princess never stops being a princess, you never stop being mine,”

Love like theirs doesn’t go away. Not in this universe.