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It was all in the little things. Dancing shadows in the orange glow from the sunset painting his face, the soft cotton of the blanket underneath them, their tangled legs.
They left school that day hand in hand for no reason either could point out, but it made Jisung’s fragile heart skip a beat. Minho’s home was on the other side of the river and that afternoon they crossed the bridge together without needing to say a single word.
Minho’s family was never around, that’s why he liked Jisung’s company, he said, that’s why he needed Jisung to stay close. These small confessions were part of the collection of little things that nurtured his feelings towards the older boy.
With school over, they spent the rest of the day in Minho's backyard. Downing expired bottles of soju and munching on sugary snacks. It was Minho's last year of high school and the bittersweet melancholy of cycle endings buzzed around them.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when you’re gone,” Jisung admitted, his voice a little slurred from the alcohol.
“You’re the coolest kid in the school, you’ll be fine.” Minho assured him with a pat on his knee.
“Second coolest.”
“I’m not there anymore though,” Minho said and his voice sounded as sad as Jisung felt.
“Will you be fine without me?” Jisung asked, hope pushing away the dread in his chest and taking over it.
“Fine? Sure,” Minho answered. “Happy? I doubt it.”
“We’ll still have the weekends, right?” Jisung asked, desperate hopefulness escaping from his throat.
“Yeah,” Minho smiled at him, eyes keeping Jisung still with how intensely they stared him down. “Can I take a picture of you?”
“Why?”
“Just wanna remember this moment.”
Minho always cooked them dinner. Jisung would never admit this out loud but he liked Minho’s food more than his mom’s.
Watching Minho cook was therapeutic. The way he sliced the garlic and peppers with so much care, how he patiently waited for the correct time to add each ingredient to the boiling pot. Jisung could sit at that kitchen table for hours, hearing Minho hum the melody of some pop song while he made magic on the stove.
It felt like an important meal. Even if Minho wasn't going to leave the city, that was their last dinner after school together. That thought added the fire to the shy flames in his chest.
"Do you want to sleep over?"
"I didn't bring a change of clothes."
"That's okay you can use mine."
They've shared a bed before. Either too tired from playing around all day or too drunk and desperate for a chunk of free space to sleep at a friend's house party. Minds too worried about getting rest to truly take in how it felt to have their bodies glued together.
Jisung knew Minho was gay. He had told him once when they were hiding from their classmates during a school trip. At that time, Jisung couldn't fully understand what that meant, but he knew that if Minho trusted him with that secret, Jisung could trust him with anything. Despite that, Jisung never told Minho he was bi, but as they laid down in bed that evening he was sure Minho knew everything about him. The glimmer in Minho's eyes held every secret Jisung was too scared to share and it made him sure that nothing would be leaving the confines of that bedroom unless Jisung was okay with it.
"I like boys." Jisung admitted as he watched the shadows of the tree outside frame Minho's face perfectly.
"That's good." Minho smiled fondly.
"Yeah?"
"Of course." Wordlessly, they slid their legs into the spaces between them, locking that moment inside the bubble that was only theirs. "Have you ever kissed one?"
Jisung only shook his head no, afraid to admit even if he knew Minho would never laugh at him.
"Do you want to?"
Jisung knew the answer he wanted to give but he couldn't force any words out of him, too scared that he would wake up to find out this was all a dream.
"If it helps, I really want to kiss you."
"Why me, hyung?"
"Why not?"
➠➠➠
Jisung doesn't recognize that young boy in the picture anymore. That's because he no longer exists. The reality in which he thrived no longer exists. The blanket under him is not made of soft cotton, the shadows cast by the buildings outside are not whimsical, the space across from him is not occupied by the warmth of another man.
He wishes he had also taken a picture of his view that day, he'd do anything to look at that smile again, to make sure the fondness present in it is not just a creation of his lonely mind but was actually real once upon a time.
But all he's left with is Minho's point of view: his chubby face and slim chest, his flushed skin and grown out hair, eyes fogged with hopeless love.
That night they had laid in bed as two friends and woken up as boyfriends. Minho's kiss was sweet and tender and for the next five years Jisung got used to waking up to them greeting him. Together they learned countless new ways to go to bed together. They built a life that was only theirs, shared a language that only they could understand. Jisung pictured forever with Minho.
Jisung knows he shouldn't let his mind wander to those times when Minho was his, because his current reality couldn't be far from it. He doesn't know where Minho is anymore, doesn't even know if the number he calls whenever he drinks a little too much still belongs to the man that used to be his everything.
The bed is cold without a second body occupying it but Jisung lays down on it and tries to remember every detail of that night they shared their first kiss. Minho's soft clothes, too warm on his body—he still has that hoodie somewhere deep in his closet. Minho's sparkling eyes making Jisung feel like the only boy in the world. His mint flavored chapstick.
If Jisung could call Minho one more time he probably wouldn't say much, he never needed to say much with Minho. He would thank him for all that he gave Jisung and allowed Jisung to give back, then he would wait for Minho to tell him about his day-to-day, all the mundane, boring parts of his life. He misses the mundane the most.
He doesn't know when he fell asleep but suddenly the alarm on his bedside table tells him it's one in the morning. The picture Minho took that day is glued to his face and he's shivering due to the wind coming from the open window. There's not a sound coming from any direction on his street and it sends a jolt of melancholy down his spine. He's never felt so alone.
Figuring it's best to take a shower and wrap himself in his blankets instead of dwelling on his sorrow any longer, Jisung gets up from his bed and on the way to the bathroom he checks his phone out of habit and through the blinding light of his phone screen a single notification glares at him.
22:25
Missed call from unknown number.