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Lee Minho knew pretty immediately that he was going to marry Han Jisung.
Maybe not the first time their eyes met, when Jisung’s cheeks were stuffed with cheesecake and he nearly choked upon eye contact. But certainly the second time after Jisung, panicked, swallowed the entire mouthful and then flashed Minho that sunny, charming smile. He probably knew then, right then.
He told Hyunjin as much. A few months into dating Jisung, Hyunjin backed Minho into a corner at Chan’s birthday party and attempted to threaten Minho with his life should he ever bring misfortune to his best friend. Minho only smiled, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and said, “Don’t worry, Hyunjinnie. I’m gonna marry that boy one day.”
Minho isa smart guy, however, so he patiently waits until they had been dating for over a year before broaching the topic with Jisung. He keeps it casual, knowing the younger is prone to anxiety and overthinking.
“Jisung-ah,” he purrs. The two of them are spooning on Jisung’s couch watching a horror movie with a subpar plot and unconvincing performances, so Minho doesn’t feel bad about shifting focus. Jisung responds by kissing the shell of Minho’s ear and nuzzling his hair. “What do you see in our future?”
Jisung stiffens, hands going slack on Minho’s stomach. Immediately, he jumps to the worst conclusion. “Are you breaking up with me?”
Minho retightens Jisung’s arms around his waist. “No, definitely not,” he clarifies with a smile. “I’m trying to do the opposite, actually.” Minho turns his torso and tilts his head back so he can see Jisung’s face. He finds his confused frown hopelessly endearing. “Do you see this'' — he gestures between them — “being permanent?”
Jisung sighs with relief, dropping his forehead against Minho’s exasperatedly. “Oh, thank God,” he breathes. “I think I almost just had a heart attack.” Waiting for an actual response, Minho reaches up and strokes Jisung’s cheek. “I love you so much, hyung. I’m open to any future if you’re in it.”
Minho can’t help but giggle, delighted. He plops a light kiss on Jisung’s nose. “I’m not going anywhere, jagiya.” He kisses the younger for real. The shock must not have worn off yet because Jisung’s response is delayed, chasing Minho’s lips a few seconds later. “I would marry you one day, you know.”
Jisung’s sparkly smile lights up the room. He holds the elder closer and attaches their lips once more. “I’d like that,” he whispers, only centimeters apart.
Minho playfully presses a series of lighthearted kisses into Jisung’s lips and face until the younger is laughing and crushing Minho’s face into his chest to suppress his attack. Not that Minho would ever complain about some quality time with Jisung’s pecs.
They fall into a casual silence. The movie, long forgotten, fills the room with suspenseful music that feels out of place next to their tender embrace.
Jisung eventually breaks the silence. “I know we’re too young for marriage right now,” he says. “But is moving in together maybe on the table?”
It’s not the development Minho expected, but it is certainly a welcome bonus.
He waits another eighteen months before bringing it up again. This time, the implication is not subtle at all. What was once “one day this will happen” becomes “soon this will happen”. Thankfully, Minho had the willpower to make it a reality.
Minho has just finished watching Jisung paint a sky blue feature wall in their bedroom when he blurts out, “Okay, I’m ready to get married. You can propose to me now.”
The simultaneous clatter of the paint roller on the ground and Jisung’s mouth gaping open sends Minho into a fit of laughter. A splatter of paint on Jisung’s cheek and the oversized paint shirt hanging limp off his frame only make Minho fonder. He rises from the stool he’s been sitting on to watch Jisung paint (re: watch him workout his arms) and crosses the room to him, waiting for Jisung to regain his speech whilst wiping the paint from his face.
“I- what- now?” Jisung finally sputters, gazing up at Minho with terrified eyes.
“No, not now, pabo. You have to get me a ring first.”
“I’m proposing to you?” Jisung asks, incredulous. Even in his alarmed state, his arms still snake around Minho’s waist to keep him close. “You’re the hyung!”
“So?” Minho deadpans. “I’ve always wanted to be proposed to. And you can’t tell me you haven’t imagined getting down on one knee. You love romantic gestures like that.”
Blushing, Jisung falls forward into Minho’s embrace. “This is a lot of pressure,” he grumbles into Minho’s neck.
Minho tries to comfort him by running his hands through Jisung’s brown hair. “Why? You know I’m going to say yes.”
Jisung groans and removes his face from the juncture of Minho’s shoulder. “You’re a menace,” he declares, making hard eye contact with the elder, who only grins like the cat who got the cream.
“You’re gonna do great, jagiya. Try not to overthink it.”
Minho did not expect instant results. He didn’t want to assume Jisung had money saved up for a ring and that would take some time. Even so, he’s surprised when four months go by without any mention of marriage from Jisung. It’s not like he thinks the proposal won’t happen: he’s just surprised it hasn’t yet. His surprise only doubles when Chan ends up proposing to Felix at his joint birthday party with Jisung and Seungmin. Felix sobs, can barely get out a yes, and Chan has to support him to stand upright since he’s crying so hard. Chan must have told Changbin ahead of time because he conjures a bottle of champagne out of nowhere and pops the cap with a holler. The group of eight friends get rightfully tipsy to celebrate the couple’s engagement, but Minho suspects it’s not the alcohol that makes Jisung extra clingy that night.
Later, Minho falls asleep with his chest pressed to Jisung’s back, the younger playing with his fingers cradled against him.
More time passes. Minho wonders if Jisung will propose on his birthday. It’s not his first choice, but he trusts Jisung to make it sincere. Their group of friends reconvenes once more a week shy of Minho’s birthday to celebrate. They go to Minho’s favorite barbecue spot. It’s warm and cozy, the eight of them shoved close together and cooking for each other. Jisung keeps a hand on Minho’s thigh whenever he can. It feels Minho with a sense of peace, belonging. He’s happy, truly and genuinely happy, so much so that the proposal slips his mind.
Especially after Changbin makes a comment about holding his soju the best. Jisung will have none of it, unwilling to just let Changbin have the made up title. Instead, he challenges Changbin’s claim. That’s how Minho comes to end his birthday by dragging his boyfriend up the stairs to their apartment, dressing him for bed, and giving him water through a straw.
“Ugh, my stomach,” Jisung whines with a scowl. He’s past the point of happy drunk and moved onto misery. “I don’t feel good.”
Minho kisses Jisung’s temple and thanks the gods it’s not his actual birthday. If Jisung had robbed Minho of some dirty birthday sex, he’d be rethinking the marriage entirely. “Ah, pabo,” Minho sighs. Jisung sways, queasy. “You’re such an idiot.”
Minho slides behind Jisung and wraps his arms around the younger’s waist, tucking his face into his neck. “Remind me why I want to marry you again.”
Jisung hiccups then leans back into Minho’s embrace, ignoring his drunken symptoms. “Because you love me,” he pouts. “And I’m your favorite.”
Minho laughs heartily. “That you are, jagi.”
He later texts Changbin a string of promises of violence should he ever make Jisung this sick again.
At Halloween, Jisung suggests they go as Gomez and Morticia. “But they’re married, Sungie,” Minho teases. He loves how red Jisung flushes at that. He considers prodding but rules against it “Are you going to grow a mustache?” He asks instead.
Jisung does not grow a mustache. He does, however, nearly keel over when he sees Minho in a long black wig and black gown with a plunging neckline.
“You’re so gorgeous,” the younger one praises. They’re blocking the doorway to the kitchen at their annual Halloween party, but Minho could care less. Jisung won’t leave him alone for even a second. Taking his costume very seriously, Jisung trails kisses up Minho’s arm. “How did I get so lucky? I’m obsessed with you, baby.”
“Oh, god,” Seungmin gags as he pushes past them. “If you’re so obsessed with him why don’t you just marry him already?”
Flustered, Jisung fails to find a witty response. It’s Minho that laughs and yells after his dongsaeng, “I’m trying to, Minnie!”
A couple weeks later, Minho is making dinner for the two of them while Jisung works at the kitchen table when he casually says, “You know, I’ve been proposed to before.”
Jisung knows Minho well enough to spot his tricks. The younger responds by smashing his laptop shut and raising his eyebrows, an amused smirk on his lips. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” Minho gravely replies. “In Kindergarten. Park Jihyo proposed to me on the playground and I said no.”
“What a heartbreaker,” retorts Jisung. “Why did you reject her?”
“The ring was made of grass. I have standards.” Jisung laughs at that and returns to his work. “I’m just saying, jagiya, I’ve gotten offers before. Maybe another one will come along.”
Jisung only continues to grin at him over the top of his laptop. “It’s a good thing I’m not worried about you leaving me, then.”
Minho can’t argue with that.
At this point, Minho convinces himself that he’s en route to a holiday proposal. He consults their cats about it in Jisung’s absence. “What do you think baby?” He asks Dori. He takes the kitten’s meow as a resounding yes. “Maybe he’s going to put it in a box under the tree,” Minho suggests. “Or do it at midnight on New Year’s!”
Minho grows more suspicious when Jisung casually suggests a trip to Japan over the days between Christmas and the New Year. Minho agrees wholeheartedly. This has to be it, he thinks.
But then Jisung never brings it up again. He ends up working over the holiday week. There’s no ring under the tree or in a glass of champagne on New Years. And Minho - Minho wants to be patient, but he’s starting to have doubts. Maybe this isn’t what Jisung wants after all.
Jeongin finds Minho in the corner of the New Year’s party, after the stroke of midnight. Jisung had stepped away from him to play Felix in Mario Kart and the elder seized the opportunity to properly sulk.
“Everything okay, hyungie?” Jeongin queries sweetly. Minho lets out a hearty laugh as he gives his youngest friend an affectionate side hug.
“Yeah, I’m just being bratty,” Minho admits. “I thought Jisung was going to propose this week.”
Jeongin furrows his brows. “You mean he hasn’t done that yet?” He asks candidly. Minho shakes his head. “Well that’s stupid. Do you want me to get Chan-hyung? He’ll straighten him out.”
Minho laughs and ruffles Jeongin’s long, platinum blond hair. “No, baby bread, that’s ok. He’ll get to it eventually.”
“You should tell him you’ll break up with him if he doesn’t hurry up. That’ll light a fire under his ass.”
Minho glances over at Jisung. He’s concentrating hard on the screen, face screwed tightly and his tongue poking cutely out of his mouth. His soulmate senses must be tingling because he looks up from the screen and catches Minho’s eye, throwing a wink at him before returning his attention to the game. Minho quietly observes him.
He loves him a copious amount. He loves the unruly strands of hair that fall over his eyes. He loves his round cheeks and starry-eyed smile, his sweaty palms, the way he talks too much when he’s nervous. Loves him from head to toe, more than he thought possible.
And he wants everyone to know it. To hear it, publicly, at an event meant to celebrate their love specifically.
Minho wipes at his watering eyes and gives Jongin's shoulder one more friendly squeeze before letting go. Like a fish to bait, Minho helplessly drifts over to his boyfriend and perches next to him on the arm of the couch. Jisung loses the Grand Prix. He throws the controller onto the coffee table with few remarks about his disappointment. Instead, he turns his attention to Minho.
“Do you want to go home?” Minho asks. It’s only 12:30am, which feels far too early for a New Year’s party, but the thought of getting Jisung all to himself is tempting.
On their walk home, hand in hand sharing warmth against the harsh winter night, Jisung remarks, “When we’re eighty, I think we should receive gifts on New Years in addition to Christmas. As a ‘congratulations’ for making it to another year. Don’t you think so?”
Minho quietly smiles at him. “That means I’ll have two years of receiving gifts ahead of you. What will you get me?”
Jisung frowns. “I feel like that’s our kids’ job at that point, babe. I’m off the hook.”
And Minho can’t help himself. He plants his feet and tugs Jisung into him. His hands fall to the small of his back right as the younger’s naturally wrap around his shoulders. Minho doesn’t kiss him, not yet, but their noses bump together as he murmurs, “I’m stupidly in love with you. You know that right?”
“There’s nothing stupid about you, hyung,” Jisung replies. He initiates the kiss. As Minho holds him closer, he also wants to scream Do it! Just ask me!
But Jisung just kisses him breathless, until the cold is too much for either of them, even with the shared body heat, and they continue their walk home in the tranquil silence of the night.
Minho makes it his New Year’s resolution to not worry about the proposal. He can just let it happen naturally. He should stop sweating it. It’s not worth worrying about.
That mentality lasts all of two weeks before Minho’s impatience returns with a force. Every time Jisung so much as looks at him, Minho’s thoughts scream and rage. He finds it hard to relax. Embarrassingly, Jisung comments on it in the middle of a heavy makeout session on their couch. “Hyung, you’re so tense,” he whines as he runs his hands up Minho’s sides. “Relax, jagiya.”
Minho holds his tongue against saying something too passive aggressive and ruining the mood. He decides to play it off by dipping his head and mouthing at Jisung’s pulse, whispering, “So relax me, princess” into Jisung’s goose-fleshed skin.
Later, when Minho has properly worn Jisung out, he watches the younger sleep. One hand strokes Han’s thick brown hair, sometimes adding gentle massages that have Jisung letting out tiny sighs. “My Hanji. I’d wait forever for you,” Minho whispers. He resents the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes and tries to sniff them away. “But if you could hurry it up it would do wonders for my health.”
The next day, Jisung comes home from work in an odd mood. He’s uncharacteristically quiet and avoids Minho’s eye. Suspicious, Minho decides to get to the bottom of it the best way he knows how: he climbs directly into Jisung’s lap on the couch and squishes his cheeks until he makes eye contact.
“Jagi, what’s wrong?” He coos, purposefully batting his eyelashes prettily like Jisung likes.
Jisung shakes his head, blowing off the question. “Nothing, baby, I’m fine,” he assures, cupping Minho’s cheek and adding, “Just a long day. I’m happy I’m with you now.” Jisung softly pecks Minho’s lips. He moves away before the kiss can progress and asks, “Do you want to do something tomorrow?”
“Like what?”
“Like anything,” Jisung quips with a smile. “Just want to spend the day with you.”
“We’re together every day,” Minho playfully reminds him. “We live together.” He gestures to Soonie, watching them from a windowsill. “We have children together.”
“Yah, hyung, you know what I mean.”
“I do, Sungie,” Minho admits with a chuckle. “We can do whatever you want.”
“Okay.” Jisung’s voice is so small and cute. Minho hasn’t seen him this shy since they first started dating. He just wants to bottle him up and carry him around in his pocket - he tells the younger as much.
“God, you’re so sappy and embarrassing,” Jisung complains without malice. “Everyone thinks you’re so scary but you’re just a big softie.”
“Shh, that’s a secret,” Minho quickly hushes as he buries his face in Jisung’s neck. “Got to make everyone think I’m menacing. Scare off all the boys looking at my Jisungie.”
Jisung laughs at that. Minho considers it wonderful how the younger’s laughter ripples through him and warms his chest. “I see. And what do you expect me to do for you? No one would ever believe I could beat them up.”
“My quokka prince,” Minho nearly sings. “You just look too cute and sweet.” He punctuates his point with a wet, sloppy kiss to Jisung’s cheek. “You’ll just need to find other ways to make sure people know I’m yours.”
Jisung stares at him with a far away look in his eyes. The moment lingers maybe longer than necessary but before Minho can dwell on it, Jisung jokingly asks, “Is getting my name tattooed here an option?” He drags a finger across Minho’s neck, over his favorite spot to leave less permanent marks on the elder.
“No, sorry baby,” Minho consoles with a kiss. “You’ll have to think of something else.”
Minho wakes up the next day to discover an empty, cool space in the bed next to him, much to his disappointment. He’s grown accustomed to waking up with Jisung’s arms and legs anchoring him to the bed. A petulant whine usually follows his first movements, encouraging him to stay for a moment longer. There’s none of that today.
Minho sits up, blearily scanning the room with a confused pout. Dori jumps on the bed and nuzzles Minho’s hand, looking for affection. “Where’s daddy, baby?” Dori merely mewls in response.
To the cat’s dismay, Minho wastes no time getting up. He pulls one of Jisung’s sweatshirts over his head, cozy against winter morning, brushes his teeth in the adjoining bathroom, then exits the bedroom.
It’s quiet in the apartment. Minho can’t hear the TV on in the living room, like he might expect, and doesn’t smell espresso wafting from the kitchen. Instead, he turns the corner to find Jisung sitting at the table with his head in his hand.
“Jisung-ah?” Minho says timidly. Jisung startles. Immediately, he begins wiping at his red eyes. Minho quickly realizes he’s been crying. “Jagi!” He scurries to the seat across from Jisung and gathers the younger’s hands in his own. “Angel, what is it?”
“Nothing,” he blubbers. He’s barely able to get the words out. “Nothing, hyung, I’m fine. I’m fine.”
“You’re crying, my love. You said the same thing last night and clearly it’s not nothing.” Minho kisses the back of Jisung’s hands, comforting him. “Talk to me, please.”
Jisung sniffles a few times then states miserably, “It’s raining outside.” Minho glances out the window and confirms for himself that it is, indeed, raining.
“Okay,” Minho starts, searching for the proper encouragement. “So it’s raining. There’s still a lot of places we can go that are inside! We could go to the movies. You love the movies.”
Jisung bursts into tears again. “None of those are good enough!” He cries then lets out a mutually irritated and resigned sigh before flopping forward on the table to hide his face. “I’m trying so hard here, hyung,” he mumbles, barely coherent.
It finally clicks for Minho, what’s happening. Or what was supposed to happen today. A sinking feeling settles over him. Minho moves his chair closer to the younger to wrap an arm fully around Jisung’s shuddering shoulders.
“Sung-ah,” he says lowly, tenderly. “Please look at me.”
Jisung slowly sits up. His bottom lip still quivers and his face is a little splotchy. Both anxiety and despair coat his expression. Minho still thinks he’s the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.
“You can tell me honestly, love. Has hyung been putting too much pressure on you?” Jisung shakes his head fervently.
“No, no,” Jisung insists. “It’s not that. But-“ he takes a deep stuttering breath, “but all of my plans - they keep getting ruined and I’m trying so hard and I don’t know why this keeps happening to me! Every time I think I have a plan in place something happens and I’m running out of ideas,” Jisung rambles, waving his hands for emphasis. “I was going to do it at my birthday party - I had this whole speech prepared- but then hyung went and proposed to Lixie. So I thought maybe I’d do it on your birthday but Changbin-hyung just had to go run his big mouth about out drinking me and I got sick. Then I was thinking about a trip - I asked you about Japan, remember? - but my boss needed me to work so I had to drop the whole thing. By the time new years and Christmas rolled around I felt so self-conscious, hyung, and none of my ideas feel like the right one. And then I heard you talking when you thought I was asleep the other night and I was like ‘fuck it, Jisung ’ just do it already so I was going to take you to that winter garden today but now it’s raining!” Sniveling, Jisung wipes his arm with his sleeve. “I just want this to be perfect for you. I want this to be something you can brag about forever and ever and I want it to be romantic and wonderful just like you because you deserve it.”
“Hanji,” Minho breathes, overwhelmed by affection and guilt. He brushes Jisung’s caramel brown hair from his face. “My love, I owe you an apology.” The elder cups Jisung’s jaw and forces eye contact while he strokes his cheek with his thumb soothingly. “Hyung is so sorry. I didn’t mean to make this such a big deal, my prince. I really didn’t. That’s why I’ve mentioned it to you so many times. Because it’s not the proposal itself that matters to me — it’s the fact that it’s you.” Minho smiles, the corners of his eyes prickling with tears. “You could propose to me in a parking garage, baby, and I’d still say yes.”
Jisung lets out a laugh that’s half a sob. He leans forward so that their foreheads touch, a grounding ritual for Jisung that Minho is very familiar with. A moment for Jisung to breathe, to think yes, I am here. I am present. You are here with me. I am safe . They stay like that for a minute, until Jisung’s breathing has evened out, then Minho pulls away and presses a lingering kiss to the younger’s forehead.
Jisung sighs again then reaches for a napkin to wipe his nose. Minho keeps one hand on the back of his head, rubbing soothing circles and playing with the ends of his hair.
“Okay,” Jisung finally says, gathering himself. “Okay okay.” Minho waits patiently while Jisung takes a few more deep breaths. Then, he looks at Minho and meekly asks, “Could you, um. Could you go back in there?” He points in the direction of their bedroom.
Minho’s heart rate accelerates but he tries to keep cool. He nods, rises from the chair, and starts to exit. Jisung hangs on to one of his hands and stops him, pulling him backwards a few steps. “You look really pretty,” Jisung adds, eyes sparkling with affection as he looks up at the elder.
Minho blushes. His hair is unstyled and he’s wearing athletic shorts with Jisung’s own grease-stained sweatshirt, but he understands what the younger means. He looks pretty because he looks like his - fresh out of bed, wearing his clothes, enveloped in his scent.
Minho leans down and kisses Jisung’s hand again before letting it go. “I’ll be back there, with headphones on. Take all the time you need, okay?”
Minho expects to spend a good chunk of the day hiding in their bedroom. He’s shocked when, less than an hour later, the door handle turns and slowly eases open. Minho waits to see Jisung’s tufted hair popping through the door. Instead, Doongie comes trotting in. His quick glances around the room make Minho chuckle.
“Well hello little prince,” he coos, patting the bed. “Did daddy send you in here for me?” Doongie hops onto the bed. At this distance, Minho can see a ribbon tied very loosely around the cat’s neck with a sliver of paper attached. “Aw, my good messenger boy,” he praises, rubbing Doongie’s back with one hand while the other removes the ribbon. “You did well, my son.”
Minho carefully unrolls the paper, afraid of accidentally ripping it. He’s already thinking about how he can preserve it before he even knows what it says.
There, in Jisung’s uneven handwriting, is only one request: If you don’t like it, please don’t tell me . Minho barks out a laugh. He’s about to shout out a response when he hears the soft vamping of Jisung’s guitar. He quickly shuts his mouth and sits up, listening closely. He can’t make out Jisung’s voice, if he’s singing at all, only the faint strumming filtering down the hallway. Minho follows the music, like the mice to the pied piper.
Jisung awaits him in the living room. He’s sitting on the couch, a guitar thrown over his lap. There are roses on the coffee table that weren’t there the day before and it’s clear that Jisung tidied up, which makes Minho’s heart seize. The younger peers up at him when he enters and grins nervously. Then, he takes a deep breath and starts to sing.
Not used to it babe, whatever I try to say, what's wrong with me
My heart flutters babe, even as I try my utmost to stay calm
My trembling voice and awkward gestures
Speaking loudly for no reason again, even when you speak to me
Misty-eyed, Minho makes his way to the couch. Jisung keeps his eyes trained on him the whole time. His nervous smile transforms into one much softer, more tender.
I can but only speak like this
Even when I pretend to be bold
When I look into your eyes
I still freeze
All of these things are still foreign to me, even the emotions I'm feeling right now
They are all first times but I feel fluttered and looking forward to even the nervous moments
I just wanna know you oh
Can you tell me now oh
I want to get to know more about you
Can you tell me now oh (yeah)
Jisung strums the guitar one final time before discarding it next to the couch.
“Did you just write that?” Minho asks, voice cracking with emotion.
“Yeah,” Jisung admits, reaching for his hand. Their fingers interwine over Minho’s knee. “Was it okay?”
Minho nods eagerly. “Yeah,” he whispers, heart hammering in his ears, “it was perfect.”
Jisung scoots closer to the elder until their knees touch. Naturally, they curve in towards each other, creating a smaller space just for the two of them in their already shared home. It’s intimate, private, but most of all sincere.
“I feel like I’m going to forget something,” Jisung admits with a nervous chuckle. “So I guess if that happens I’ll just tell you later.” Minho also laughs nervously. Finally, Jisung begins.
“I don’t think a day has passed since I’ve known you that I haven’t been in love with you, hyung. I know there are a lot of people out there who say love at first sight isn’t real, soulmates don’t exist, but I just think they’re wrong. There is no other explanation for the way I feel about you, the way I have felt from the beginning. Like you’re the only person I am meant to spend my life with. Even on days when it all gets to be too much, when the thought of talking to people makes my skin crawl or I can’t leave the apartment because I’ll get overstimulated, I never tire of you. I always want you here. I always want to be around you, beside you, holding you, always. To me, you are the daily reminder of how good it is to be alive in this world — how special it is to love the way that I love you. And I love you, Lee Minho,” Jisung swears through the tears staining his cheeks red once more. “You are more constant to me than all of the forces of nature. I will love you with all I have for all the days I have left.”
Minho is crying so hard he can barely see Jisung slide off the couch to their carpeted floor and withdraw a black velvet box from his sweatpants pocket.
“Lee Minho,” he repeats as he pops open the lid to reveal a black ring with diamonds inlaid around the full circumference. “Will you please marry me?”
The yes and all the events that follow happen so fast they make Minho’s head rush. All at once Minho is nodding, sputtering out a slew of yeses, and throwing himself off the couch to connect his lips to Jisung’s. He can taste their tears mixing together but he’s more focused on the cold sensation of the ring sliding over his finger followed by Jisung’s hands in his hair, pulling him even closer.
“I love you,” Minho adds, gasping for air but unwilling to move a centimeter away from Jisung - his fiancé. His future husband. “Han Jisung, I love you so much.”
Minho strokes Jisung’s hair and starts kissing the tears off his cheeks, making the younger giggle. “Did I do okay?” He asks self consciously.
“So good,” Minho swears. “The best. I can’t imagine anything better.”
Jisung envelopes Minho in a bone crushing hug. Minho tucks his face into Jisung’s neck and inhales his cardamom scent. Warmth blooms across his chest as Jisung digs his fingers into his own sweatshirt still hanging off of Minho’s body.
Even in a morning of so many heightened emotions, a sense of peace washes over him. Minho thinks back to the boy of 22 he was when he first met Jisung. He prides himself on being right all along — he was always destined to marry that awkward young man with the loud laugh and starry-eyed smile.
Minho and Jisung sit like this for several minutes, enjoying the simple pleasure of being wrapped up in one another. Then, Minho pulls away, reaches into his pocket, and withdraws his own small velvet box. Jisung’s eyes go unnaturally wide when Minho pops open the box and, in a cool, even tone, says, “Han Jisung, will you marry me?”
And even though Jisung spews threats several times, swinging his arms violently, Minho is not surprised at all when he shrieks yes.