Archive of Our Own

“What the fuck!” Minho jogs towards the body lying face down next to the wan bushes that dot the driveway to his apartment complex. “Oh god, what the fuck…”

Sudden, piercing terror has extinguished the gentle lull of cocktails he’d managed to carry with him from Hongdae. His apartment complex is shoddily lit and far dimmer than the dazzle of the cocktail bars, of the celebratory streets, of his iPhone he’d squinted at throughout the cab ride. But the shape of a human being crumpled on the floor is immediately evident.

He rushes towards the person, legs stumbling over themselves in a hurry. He is panicking, his mind chittering with images and words that make no sense. It’s Mr. Yeo on the ground – he is calling an ambulance – the police ask him questions – he can’t go out with Felix tomorrow – he’ll be at the sterile, bloodless hospital –

“Holy shit!”

Minho freezes to a halt, goggling as the person – a guy – scrambles backward and then heaves himself up on his knees. “Oh fuck, that was a rat!”

Fumbling for his phone, Minho watches as the guy gets onto his feet with surprising alacrity for someone who is injured? ill? By the time he has switched on the flashlight on his phone, the guy is nattering a mile a minute.

“–  oh! Um–  I didn’t see you! Can I help you? Don’t go that side, there’s a freaking huge–  ow!” The guy brings his hand up to shield his eyes against the beam of Minho’s flashlight.

The guy is young, with abundant, messy hair, wide eyes, and a deeply startled look. He opens and closes his mouth a few times while Minho does a quick, fearful sweep of his person.

There are no evident injuries nor does he seem confused in the way he has heard people with brain injuries are. But he’s also suddenly speechless and is just standing there, hand still raised to his forehead.

“Are you okay?” Minho demands, his worry curdling to mild annoyance. “You were on the ground–  are you fine? I can call an– ”

The guy’s shoulders jerk back in alarm. “No! I’m okay… I was just…” he gestures at the bushes and then at something else that Minho can’t see.

Minho gapes at the guy, disbelieving. It’s obvious he’s lying because he can’t hold eye contact for even a millisecond before his gaze flits to some random corner. “I thought you were dead or at least,” Minho shakes his head. “I was going to call for help.”

“I was searching for my keys,” the guy says. He is still lying. “I’d dropped them and, you know…”

“Do you even live here?” Minho asks, patience disappearing like a thin wisp of smoke. He squares his shoulders. His limbs are still afloat with the remnants of alcohol in them but he thinks, should it come to it, he can fight this guy. “What were you actually doing here? Were you spying– planning on stealing?”

The man shakes his head, vehement. “What! No!”

“You had no light on!” Minho snaps, now confused. It is muddled with worry and irritation, and also the dim throb of a headache.

“I was looking! I found them and–” he takes a step back, holding up his hands, “the flowers looked beautiful– so I was just,” the guy rubs the back of his neck. The redness on his cheeks is very noticeable under the glare of the flashlight, “smelling them.”

Minho narrows his eyes. “I’ve never seen you here before,” he says. 

“I just moved a couple of weeks ago.” The man sighs then and fishes out his keys from his pocket. “Look man, I know I was being weird but I swear I live here.” He dangles the keys in front of Minho’s face.

The keys are hooked on a keychain that all the residents of the building have. It is brick red and is embossed with the name of the apartment complex. 707, the man’s keychain proclaims.

“Cool,” Minho says, losing all interest now that he’s 100% sure this guy is just a harmless, strange man. A cold wind is insistently caressing the back of his neck and he wants to get home and cuddle with Saja. He turns and walks towards his building.

“Wait! Do you live here too?” the man asks, jogging up to Minho’s side.

“Yes,” Minho replies, “why else would I enter this building?”

The man sputters and Minho jabs the button to call the lift. “Well, yes– I’m Han Jisung!”

Minho raises a brow, turning to face Jisung. He looks nervous and his smile is a frozen rictus. He is holding out his hand and it is cold and clammy when Minho shakes it. “I’m Minho. I live on the 3^rd floor,” he says, slowly. He is quite exhausted and there’s a strange weight on his shoulders. The dim headache is a slowly tightening vise.

“How long have you been living here?”

“Uh…” the lift door dings open and Minho steps inside, pressing three and seven before Jisung can even look at the panel. “Two years, I think.” He is a bit taken aback as he says it. Two years? It is so surprising but then, it’s spring again, and Minho remembers thinking the same thing last year. But that time, he’d been carrying down the last of Seongjin’s things downstairs as he waited in his sleek Tesla.

It had been so out of place in front of the weather-worn building that every water stain had felt like prying eyes on Minho’s back.

“–so I’m guessing this is a decent place if you’ve stayed here for so long, right?” Jisung looks wide-eyed and hopeful, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Minho nods, eyes darting to the panel. They’re lumbering past the second floor now. “It is a good place.”

“Oh! That’s good to hear– ”

The lift groans to a halt. Minho steps out of the lift and offers a perfunctory wave to Jisung. By the time he passes flat number 308, he has already forgotten about the man in the lift.

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Minho's apartment is neat. Well-appointed, his mother would say, with its cream walls and shark grey sofa set. With tasteful wooden furniture and gently sculpted lamps. A nice place to call home, she’d said once while visiting, hand curled over the I 🖤 NY mug Minho had given her. Cosy.

But Minho had seen the crease between her brows and the way the fingers of her free hand had twisted her thin necklace in tight loops, frowning at the emptiness.

This morning, Minho studies the water damage on the ceiling. It looks larger but Minho can’t be sure. “Do you think that spot is larger?” He points at it for good measure.

Saja doesn’t understand the concept of pointing or responding to questions. He continues to meow at Minho, annoyed by the delay in being served his meal.

“You’re the one who’ll have to deal with it, if the roof collapses,” Minho tells Saja as he turns towards the kitchen counter and scoops out cat food from the tin. “I’m hardly here.”

Saja says he doesn’t give a rat’s arse.

“You’re a bad house cat,” Minho replies as he pours a bit of water onto the bowl. “You’re supposed to look after our dominion when I’m off making money.”

This time, Saja replies by winding through his legs and trying to trip him as Minho walks towards Saja’s eating spot. Then he forgets about his murderous intentions because he is buried nose first into his food.

Minho walks back to the counter and methodically sets about making toast. It’s a bright, cool day–just the kind of weather Felix had prayed for when they’d planned out their outing. Minho stares at the lazy tufts of clouds as he butters his toast.

The sun is high in the sky already. He’d woken up later than usual –  it’s 10:00 A.M. now –  and a quarter of his Saturday morning is already over. He sighs, carrying his toast and coffee to the living room.

His phone is abrim with messages and emails he has not checked since yesterday night when the third glass of whisky and soda had warmed his brain to a stupor. He scrolls through them now, listless.

There’s a message from his co-worker, asking him to check on something. A smattering of messages from the family’s group chat. His grandmother asking him again to come and pick chestnuts at the farm one day. Felix confirming if they’re meeting at 1:00 P.M. Seungmin from the office has sent him an image of what he owes from yesterday’s outing.

Saja leaps onto the tiny dining table. “You’re not supposed to be here,” Minho says, taking a sip of his coffee and pulling his plate closer to him as Saja studies it with gleaming eyes. “Trust me,” Minho continues, “you’ll hate it if you get butter on your paws.”

Incensed by the very thought, Saja begins grooming his shoulder. Silence prevails in the flat as Minho’s thoughts go quiet. He wants to go back to sleep. Just curl up under his bed and draw the blankets tight over his body, and cocoon himself in the warmth.

But there’s so much to do. And his phone is chirping now, flashing his mom’s name at him. He settles back in his chair and accepts the call.

･ﾟﾟ･｡

The restaurant Felix has chosen hums with the sound of cutlery and hushed conversation. Minho looks around him as he follows the waiter to their seat. It gleams with soft light that reflects off the rim of the cutlery. Music flutes quietly around them, curling under the clink of glasses and hazy words.

“This looks good,” Minho says as he drags his seat closer to the table. He skims through the drinks menu as Felix arranges their shopping bags on an empty chair. “They have a great cocktail menu too.”

“What’s the point?” Felix laughs. “I know you’re going to get a whisky sour.”

Minho’s mouth tips up into a smile at the corner. “I’ll try something new but… a whisky sour is always so reliable.”

“It tastes horrible to me,” Felix shrugs and he plays with the ring on his finger. “I probably don’t have a well-developed palate like you.”

“Shut up, Mr. I had a baguette from a local bakery in Paris and nearly cried,” Minho says, placing the menu on the table. He drags his fingertip over the embossed name of the restaurant. “How was France?”

The wattage of Felix’s smile dims all existing light in the room. “It was beautiful…” he exhales and then continues, breathless, “it felt like I was in a different world… I mean, I was in a different country–  but it was like I was existing out of time? I can’t even explain it.”

But Felix does explain, in great detail. All the museums he’d gone to with Hyunjin. The way it felt to look at the paintings he had only heard of and stand a hair’s breadth away from their brush strokes. The food. The lights. The people. The tiny countryside cottage they’d lived in with Hyunjin’s friend and their pet donkey.

“They are so dumb and earnest,” Felix sighs, his beer untouched. Minho’s tongue is thick with the aftertaste of the bitters.

Felix continues: Hyunjin had glowed everywhere they went. He was so adorably shy. He painted a lot. They fucked–

“Oh my god!” Minho sputters, ears burning. “I don’t need to know that! Don’t taint France for me, please.”

Felix smirks and Minho feels an old, familiar stirring in his stomach. “But it was the best love-making of my life though.”

“I wish I could bludgeon myself,” Minho says drily. He takes another sip of his drink, taking a moment to swat at all the unwanted flutterings that dared raise their head. “I’m glad, Yongbok-ah–”

“I always knew you were sex-positive–”

“– that you had a great, wholesome experience in France,” Minho glares at Felix and huffs when he gets a giggle in response. “Brat.”

Waggling his brows, Felix says, “well, the other bits were wholesome. It’s just that we spent 75%–  okay! Okay! I won’t tease anymore,” he laughs, pushing Minho’s punitive hands away.

“Yes, we all know you're a young, virile stallion,” Minho grumbles, ignoring Felix’s gagging sounds, “no need to rub it on the faces of people struggling to get to the weekend.”

“But you can go on a holiday.” Felix takes a swig of his beer and points it at him, “how many paid leaves have you hoarded up now?”

Minho doesn’t respond because he has stopped checking. It’s not like he has any need for them. He studies the menu. “I’m planning something,” he says, vaguely.

Felix snorts. “Right. Hyung, you’ve been saying that for months now.” He pauses, “the gnocchi here is really good, by the way.”

“Let’s just get that,” Minho replies. “So, do you have any wedding of the century coming up?” he asks, not bothering to hide his attempt to change the topic. Felix is perceptive and he’s going to figure it out anyway.

"Not really.” Felix’s eyes are steady. Understanding. “But it’s going to get busy. You know how the spring season is.”

“Not really, everyone slacks off at work,” Minho says. “Especially in April. Everyone is on leave too.” He bites his lip then. He has managed to lead the conversation back to what he’d been trying to escape. “I mean– their kids have their spring break.”

“I know what you mean,” Felix says. He turns to hail a waiter and Minho exhales.

The topic of conversation changes after they order. Felix tells him a little more about France and Minho tells him about the attrition rate in his company. They talk about new dishes they have tried cooking. Ask after each other’s family.

It is pleasant, like being with Felix always is. It is easy to lose himself in the muted din of the restaurant, in the warmth of varnished wood under his fingertips, and in the growing buzzing in the back of his mind.

Which is why going back home is… not unpleasant really, just not something he wants to do just yet. But Felix has a meeting with a bride in the evening and Minho gets bored of taking laps in the mall. So he is trundling back to his building when– 

He doesn’t know what is happening, except for a flash of white and the weightless sensation of falling. He yelps, windmilling his arms, but he hits the ground with a resounding thud. His teeth clack together, and the awful sound reverberates in his skull. There’s a searing pain in his ass and his palms.

“Bbama!”

Minho raises his head and sees the man he’d met yesterday, rushing towards him. A happy volley of barks pulls his attention toward his shopping bags which are all scattered on the ground. There’s a tiny, white dog snuffling at his bag, immersed in its investigation.

“Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry!” the man –  Jisung? –  exclaims. “Are you okay? Oh shit, blood! Oh my god! Bbama, stop it! Come back! Back!”

“I’m okay,” Minho says as the man rushes to scoop his puppy up and away from the carnage of shopping bags and miscellaneous clothes. He hisses as he rises to his feet, his palms burning. “What on earth…”

“He’s just a puppy!” Jisung says. His cheeks are flaming and Minho thinks he sees a glimmer of tears as he fusses with the puppy in his arms. “He’s–  very energetic and I didn’t mean to let him out of my sight but he escaped and oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

The dog barks again, panting up at Minho with a dopey expression. “Was he not leashed?” Minho asks, slowly. He’s surprisingly not annoyed. More confused and concerned by the spectacle of a squirming puppy and a man who looks like he is about to burst into tears.

“He was…” Jisung’s voice wavers. He clears his throat. “I just let him out a second and–  I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay!” Minho hurries to say. It’s not. His new white shirt is on the ground, the tags fluttering with a breeze. His freshly purchased box of underwear is also out in the open, the half-naked man on the front grinning up at the sky. Ears burning, he rushes towards it to shove it inside his bag.

He’s just gathering his bruised persimmons when Jisung walks up to him, holding up the bag from the perfume store. “Here you go,” he mumbles. There’s a smear of water next to his right cheek. “Sorry about this.”

Bbama is leashed to a tree. Minho thinks there is a 100% chance that it is going to escape again. It is already lunging at the bushes, intent on bullying them for… some unknown dog reason. “He is… feisty.”

“My parents just got him,” Jisung sighs. He shoves his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie. He casts his eyes downwards. “It’s… they’re still training him and they left him with me because they’re here to see a relative and I brought him out to tire him out and he just went apeshit.”

“Puppies are very tiresome in the beginning,” Minho agrees, thinking of the dog he had during his childhood and the way his father made multiple trips outside in the frigid December air for the puppy’s bathroom breaks. “They’re just like babies, I think.”

“Annoying babies,” Jisung says. “They’re cute but god, this Bbama is a hellion.”

Though Minho agrees, he purses his lips instead. His palms are still stinging like crazy after all.

“I’m really sorry about your fall,” Jisung says again. “I know I sound like a broken record– ”

“Yes, a little bit,” Minho says. He needs to tend to his hands and this guy seems like he is winding up for another apologetic speech. Minho shifts uncomfortably. “It’s okay. Things happen sometimes.”

Jisung bites his lip and nods, shoulders curling inwards. “Okay. Thank you for… being uh–  kind.”

Saja looks a little suspicious when Minho enters the flat. He follows Minho to the bathroom and swats at the stream of water as Minho washes the scrapes on his palm. “It’s not the water, it’s the wound that’s hurting me,” Minho tells Saja, showing it to him. “A dog tripped me up.”

Unimpressed, Saja grooms his paw to show his displeasure.

“I know,” Minho agrees. Yes, he holds one-sided conversations with his cat. So what? He’s sure his scrawny, snaggle-toothed cat-adjacent pet has some glimmer of understanding about his predicament.

Saja chooses that moment to swipe at the stream of water once again. It hits a spot on his fur that he doesn’t permit, so he promptly goes berserk. He yowls and leaps back in an inverted arc and loses his balance mid-way. He scrabbles for balance by hooking his claw onto the towel hanging beside the sink but the towel slips through the rung, taking Saja along with it.

Minho jerks out of his horrified stupor and tries to grab the towel, except it is too late. He knocks over his mouthwash and Saja knocks against the trash can. He hisses at the top of his voice and scrambles for purchase on the tiled floor, his hind feet slipping with his increasingly desperate fervour.

Finally, finding his footing, Saja zooms through the open bathroom door, leaving Minho staring at the upturned trash can. His mouth freshener is a depressing, blue puddle on his floor. In his haste to catch Saja, Minho has aggravated his wounds again.

He sighs and goes to fetch the mop.

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Minho’s mom sounds hopeful when she asks him about his weekend.

He disappoints her by telling her that he had spent most of Sunday walking around aimlessly in public parks and had purchased all the seasonal vegetables he’d seen at his local mart.

“You’re young!” she says, “you should be out and about –  with friends and burning all the youthful wildness out of your system.”

“I’ve never been wild,” he replies mildly, rubbing the patch of white fur that splits the even greyness of Saja’s face. “I have always been the filial son.”

“And who says you can’t be a bit wild while also being filial?” she shoots back. “You’re going to be working all your life anyway, might as well break your knees when you’re more likely to heal quicker.”

“That’s terrible advice,” Minho says. “Also, children don’t tell their parents about their wild deeds.”

“That’s true but– ”

“I don’t want to hear you say ‘wild deeds’ one more time.” He says it firmly so that his mom doesn’t try steamrolling over him. “I’m perfectly fine.”

There’s a brief moment of silence and then Mom sighs. “Well, if you say so.”

Minho chews at the corner of his lower lip, unsure of what to say. “It’s good… all’s going well. I got a recognition mail from my manager.”

It works. His mother grasps that line and lets it lead her into a tangent. Minho had received the commendation a couple of weeks back but hadn’t bothered telling his parents about it. It is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

Later that night, Minho stands at his window with a beer to contemplate the horrors of the upcoming Monday, while also feeling like a rugged, impassioned captain of a pirate ship, who is making a painful decision as the salt air whips his hair. It’s all a vibe until he notices a figure walking surreptitiously out of the entrance to the building.

It’s Jisung and he is glancing over his shoulders as he scurries with quick, furtive steps. Well, now Minho knows that Jisung is definitely not a hardened thief.

He continues watching, curious and amused. Jisung crosses over to the garden area and Minho has to lean over the ledge to keep him in sight. He snorts and covers his mouth when Jisung plucks a flower from a bush, stuffs it in his pocket, and legs it back to the building.

“What the hell?” Minho murmurs, unable to stop a chuckle. He remains standing near the window, looking at the flower bush. The hold it has over this funny little man is amusing and a tiny bit unbelievable.

He shakes his head, closes the window, and retires for the night.

･ﾟﾟ･｡

The work week passes without event, each day flowing into the other in a flurry of meetings and emails and updates.

The space between that is occupied by another inglorious run-in with Han Jisung and things ancillary to him for reasons beyond Minho’s understanding.

On Monday, he pauses near the flower bush on his way back home, trying to understand the secrets it’s hiding. He secretly hopes for something exciting – like a brick of gold or a stash of plants with… other medicinal properties – even though he knows Jisung’s sneaking abilities are at par with that of a five-year-old.

Or a toddler.

But it is just a daisy plant with nothing of note except for its ample blossoms. Minho runs the tip of his finger over a petal, peering at it with interest. He’d known a cat named Daisy once who belonged to a college friend. She was pure white and dumb as rocks. He’d liked her well enough.

The daisy flower is pretty, however, stark and bright against its freshly watered leaves. Beautiful, but Minho doesn’t understand why it enchants Jisung. A vague sense of foolishness bubbles in his stomach and he walks away quickly.

On Wednesday, he has to contend with a pair of stiff, unyielding boots through the whole day and is required to stay back at work. He nearly screams when an old man tromps on his sore toes in his haste to get into the bus. He doesn’t find a seat and the bus stops at every goddamn red light in this forsaken place.

He exits the endless purgatory and hobbles toward home, cursing himself for being cheap and not taking a cab. By the time he’s on his way to the lift, he has just one goal in mind: get home, get the shoes off, and incinerate them.

And because he’s the luckiest apple of fate’s eye, he nears the lift just as it is closing. “Hold the door,” he cries, limping faster.

Jisung’s head shoots up and swivels toward him. He blinks and then falls into a frenzy of action, his arm shaking as he presumably jabs at the hold-open button. Except… the sliver of space between the doors grows smaller and smaller, till it seals completely.

There’s a soft ding and the lift groans as it climbs upwards.

“Son of a bitch!” Minho growls. He darts ahead and covers the rest of the distance, his thumb bashing at the call button. Irritation boils in his gut and he has to clench his fists by his side to stop himself from smacking the door. “Fucking asshole.”

He breathes deeply as he waits for the other lift to lurch its way to the ground floor. He is annoyed and not being able to show his annoyance throbs hot in his temples. That man has been nothing but trouble since the moment Minho set his eyes on him. Just trouble.

The lift eventually arrives. Minho slumps against the wall and rips the shoes off his feet, sighing in relief as he wriggles his toes. They ache with every motion but at least they’re not being crushed anymore.

He’s almost in a good mood as he reaches his floor. It evaporates like a drop of water on a hot skillet when he sees Jisung loitering in front of the lift.

“I’m sorry!” he says before Minho can open his mouth. “I really– I was trying to close– I mean open! Open! The door but I accidentally hit the other button and I’m really sorry!”

Minho stares at him, baffled. The man is blinking at him with owlish fervor, wringing his hands. His eyes are heavy with exhaustion and there’s a tiny smear of blue ink right next to the seam of his mouth. He looks fearful and deeply embarrassed in a palpable, painful way.

Guilt is a bitter scorch in Minho’s stomach. He shakes his head, words fumbling into a knot in his mind. Jisung, meanwhile, is a steam of unending words:

“– and all I have done since we met is get in your way! I’m so sorry… I’m usually not like this… I don’t know what I– ”

“It’s okay!” Minho says more forcefully than he intends. He winces then sighs when Jisung’s face falls. “It happens. We all get–  we all have those moments.”

“I–  uh yeah.” Jisung nods, twisting the fingers of one hand against the strap of his laptop bag. His face is pale and his shoulders are drawn.“I’m just…”

"It’s really okay,” Minho interrupts him. “No harm done, okay?” Then his mouth runs away from him in a mutinous fit and says, “do you want to get dinner?”

It is Jisung’s turn to gape at him.

“Look, we're both just coming home from work and are exhausted. I know this nice little bunsik right around the corner. We can just–  we can just…” god his ears are on fire. Where are his fucking words? “Start over again as neighbours!”

Silence ensues.

Jisung’s face is a dull brick red. Minho feels like a Z-list court jester with his steaming ears and his shoes held in his hand. And it’s just Wednesday.

“Um… okay,” Jisung murmurs. He is staring at a point beyond Minho’s shoulder. “Should we go now?”

Oh, so this is happening. Now what, brain?

“I need to put my shoes away,” he says, watching the way Jisung’s eyes come to rest on them. “They’re a vice gripper, alright. So, can we meet by the entrance in… 20 minutes?”

Jisung’s smile is a fleeting one but it is a smile nonetheless. Minho doesn’t know what to feel. Or what to say.

“I’ll see you then?”

“Yeah,” Minho says. He gives Jisung a short nod and then turns to hobble to his flat.

The back of his neck definitely does not burn like molten fucking lava

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Once he’s home, he changes his clothes, washes his face, and glowers at the mirror until sense seeps back into his brain.

He knows why he invited Jisung for dinner. The man had looked like one of those raggedy, wet critters in a children’s novel –  the ones who need shelter for the night before they go their way. Or stay back and become an integral part of a found family. Something like that. It’s been a while since Minho read a children's book.

The thing is… Minho knows the feeling. Bad day at work and it spills over to your interactions with people around you. Friends or family or strangers. It makes you feel worse and you waste time only in the emptiness of your home. Then you become fossilized and– 

His eyes flit to the clock. Only a couple of minutes left.

As he takes the lift downstairs, he realizes he has no way to contact Jisung. So if he decides to not show up for an impromptu dinner with his grouchy, strange neighbour then Minho would have no choice but to trudge back to the bunsik and execute his counteroffensive (avoid Jisung at all costs due™).

The lobby area is empty. Minho loiters across its length and then the breadth, having decided on allowing Jisung a ten-minute grace period before putting his elaborate plan™ into action.

He doesn’t have the time to spiral beyond that because Jisung clatters down the stairs. Minho feels a little, unnamed tug at the bottom of his heart.

“Sorry, the kids were holding up the lift again,” Jisung complains, panting. His coiffed hair is not a scattered mess and he swipes it back with an impatient hand. “I don’t know why but they’re always messing with it– ”

“It’s alright,” Minho says. Then he adds, amused, “do you need a minute?”

Jisung nods and then turns away, placing his hands on his knees. He mops his brow with the sleeve of his hoodie and then straightens up, his hair falling over his forehead again. “The desk job is catching up to me,” he says with a rueful smile.

“Fucking up our backs is a rite of passage for 21st-century people,” Minho says, leading the way to the exit. There’s a crisp breeze and the flower bushes rustle in its wake. “What work do you do?”

“Oh– I work as an MIS exec… you know, management information system?”

“Yeah.”

“I just started a couple of… weeks? back. I mean, it’s just been a month. I just moved here for my job."

"Oh? How do you like it so far?" Minho asks. 

"It's been good," Jisung says immediately, the way people do whenever this question is asked. "Lots of learning and… we're doing our quarter planning now so like, there's so much that goes behind it that I didn't know. What about you?"

Minho grabs Jisung’s elbow and tugs before he can walk off in the wrong direction. He indicates the turn they have to take with his free hand, taking a moment to think. "I work in HR," he says, "I've been here for about 3… 4? years now." He shrugs, "and it's good enough. It is what it is."

Jisung chuckles. "I feel like all the old timers say the same thing.”

“Hey! Are you calling me old?” Minho teases.

“Wha–  no!” Jisung stammers, wide-eyed. “I was just– ”

Shit. “No! I was joking!” Minho says, holding up his hands. “I know you didn’t mean it that way.”

“Yeah…” Jisung side-eyes him with a huff, his cheeks pink. “You scared me!” 

“No, no, it’s not a problem. I do think I’m a little older than you anyway.”

“I was born in 2000,” Jisung says, focusing on the road again. 

“Ah, I’m right. I’m two years older than you.”

A moment of silence ensues because Jisung doesn’t reply to it. Minho has to suppress a groan. 

“We’re almost there,” he mumbles when the silence crashes straight to awkwardness. “Yeah… there it is.”

As he leads Jisung into the bunsik and then to the table he usually occupies, he can’t help but fret over every decision he has made today. It is already 8:30 PM and he has work tomorrow. He should’ve just raided his stash of ramen for dinner and gone to sleep.

He sighs and peers at Jisung over the top of the menu card he’s pretending to read. Jisung’s eyebrows are scrunched in deep consideration, and his lips move as he reads. It is more attention than the dog-eared and tacky card warrants but it’s amusing to watch.

Even more so, when Jisung’s eyes light up as they fall upon whatever dish is his favourite. Minho drops his gaze back to the menu he is holding when he sees Jisung shift.

“Do you want to order?” Jisung asks.

“Yeah,” Minho says as if he hasn’t known what to order since the second he suggested coming here.

Jisung stumbles over his words as he orders, eyes flickering from the card to the waiter and to Minho at dizzying speed. It seems like Minho has unsettled him in some way and… frustration bubbles again, prickling underneath his skin. He doesn’t want to be here, walking on eggshells and…

“What are you going to get, Minho-ssi?” Jisung asks and Minho blinks, forcing his mind back to the present. 

“Uh… a bibimbap, please,” he says and then also asks for a beer. He needs it. 

They’re both quiet once the waiter leaves. Jisung looks around the restaurant with interest, eyes scanning the faded posters and dark, sticky tables with mismatched chairs. Minho has been coming here since he first moved. It was a godsend during the first few weeks of setting up his meager life in his first, adult apartment. 

Now, it is a life-saver every time he doesn’t have time to cook or he’s too tipsy or tired. Just whenever he needs a hot meal with no fuss. 

Jisung breaks the silence. “I didn’t know this place was here.” He’s tapping his fingers on the table to the beat of the static-y song playing over the speakers. 

“You haven’t explored the neighbourhood?” Minho asks, more archly than he intended. God, he needs to get to bed. “I mean– you must’ve been busy.”

“A bit and also…” Jisung shrugs, shy, “I’m a bit shit at exploring… you know, navigationally challenged. So, I just explore a few places at a time.”

Minho nods. “This city is actually pretty cool. It’s easy to travel to all the more happening places. There’s a lot of music and poetry shows and everything happening these days.”

“How did you… do I seem like that kind of person?” Jisung asks, suddenly. “I– you mentioned poetry and music,” he trails off and clears his throat. 

“Well, I was just giving examples,” Minho says, unsure. “But, if you like them then you should go.”

“Yeah, I was just…” shaking his head, Jisung straightens his shoulders and sits up straight. “I will,” he says. “Do you have any more recommendations? I need to get out more during the weekends.” He winces the moment he says it, his eyes going so wide and round that Minho is unable to stop his laughter. 

His expressions are so–

“Yeah, I just outed myself as a loser within the first half-hour…” he groans and presses his palm against his forehead. “I’ll stop talking now.”

Minho grins, shoulders still shaking with laughter. “No, it’s okay. I’m not laughing at you,” he says, trying hard not to snort. “It’s the way you said it. But sure, no problem, I can tell you.”

Jisung gives an awkward, embarrassed smile. Minho has to drag his hand under the table to curtail an impulse to pat Jisung on the head. 

It’s easier to converse now. Though Minho doesn’t consider himself to be the most happening guy, he knows enough from his social feed and by hanging out with Felix and Hyunjin. Jisung is enthusiastic and actually notes down the places Minho tells him about in his notes app. 

He places it face up on the table as they talk and Minho takes a peek at it.  It is titled ‘places to explore ^_^’. It has a list of places, some of which have been struck out and suffixed by a couple of flower emojis. Some of them have three or more and some fewer. 

A rating system. And of course he uses flowers. 

There’s a pause when their meal arrives. Minho’s stomach rumbles as he inhales the smell and the tension in his shoulders melts. Jisung is in the same place as him too, Minho thinks, watching the delighted smile on his face. 

“You can eat,” Minho says, as he breaks the fried egg on his bibimbap, noticing that Jisung hasn’t started eating yet. “I don’t mind if you do.”

Jisung hesitates but picks up his chopsticks when Minho nods in encouragement.  

“Oh, this is so good,” Jisung exclaims a moment later when he takes the first bite of his naengmyeon. “Oh my god!”

His cheeks puff out as he eats and Minho watches, entranced. It’s cute as hell. How on earth can a grown man be so naturally cute? His face is so blissed out and – Minho clears his throat and focuses on his bowl. The last thing he wants is to be caught staring at his neighbour while he eats. 

“I was so hungry.” Jisung takes a sip of his broth. “We had a meeting today at lunch and I could only grab a wrap.”

“At lunch?”

Jisung’s mouth turns down at the corners. “Yeah, for the quarter planning,” he says. “It sucks but we’ll be done soon. I hope.”

Minho doesn’t have quarter planning but he does have other, endless meetings so he can understand. He’s also at a point in his company where he can pretty much predict the outcomes of the meetings, but Jisung probably doesn’t have that luxury. “It sucks when managers drag out a meeting.”

His innocuous sentence somehow becomes an impetus for Jisung to become a chatterbox. He was a consultant at another company before this but they rescinded their offer for a permanent position due to budget cuts. He had quit and after a frenetic job hunt that spilled even beyond his notice period, he'd found this job. 

"My mom got her friend in this company to refer me to HR… and he said there's internal growth here so at least I have that assurance.” A pensive look follows and Minho waits for him to continue. 

He hadn’t actually wanted to move but he didn’t want to– “no! I don’t want to bore you with my work story.”

“Then what should we talk about?” Minho asks, raising a brow and tilting his head to the side. He has a hunch about how easy Jisung is to tease and he wants to test it out. 

For the advancement of science and technology.

Jisung looks caught out, his eyes widening slightly. “Uh… maybe about you?”

Leaning forward, Minho rests his elbows on the table and places his chin in the cradle of his conjoined fingers, “so what do you want to know about me?” 

He’s right (and he usually is about these things) because the apples of Jisung’s cheeks stain pink as he flounders for words. “Uh… what’s your favourite colour?”

Minho blinks. “My favourite colour?”

Jisung shifts in his seat, one hand mauling the poor noodles in his bowl with his chopsticks and his other hand rubbing the back of his neck. A brief spark flares in the pit of Minho’s stomach. “It’s a very important question! It gives a lot of insight about a person.”

“Oh really? What’s your favourite colour then?” Minho shoots back. 

“Red!” Jisung says. 

“Ah, only murderers like red." He grins when Jisung starts sputtering. "Should I notify the landlord about this suspicious new tenant?"

"Red is the colour of passion! And love!" Jisung says. "It's excitement and– and…"

"Danger and blood."

Jisung makes a funny little frustrated noise. "You're so…" He waves his hand in the space between them. "What's your favourite then?"

Minho leans back in his seat, trying to rein in his smile. He's like Hyunjin in a way, he thinks. Easy to rile up with silly arguments. "It's mint. What does it tell you about me as a person?"

"Ah! The world’s okayest colour,” Jisung shakes his head sagely.

“Blasphemy!” Minho cries. He picks up his abandoned beer, just to have something to do with his hands. “Mint is an elegant colour.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Minho-ssi,” Jisung replies. His smile is more open now, gummier. “My friend is a fashion designer and he told me mint is very 2010s.”

“I can’t believe you’re character assassinating my favourite colour after defending yours so vehemently, Han-ssi.”

“Well,” Jisung drags the word out and Minho doesn’t track the movement of his lips. Even for a brief second. “I’m just letting you know so you don’t make a faux-pas again.”

Brat, Minho wants to say. But he doesn’t because they’re still near strangers after all. 

So he baits Jisung by asking for his views on other colours and then saying something ridiculous to make him defend his opinions. It’s amusing and Minho is almost sad to leave. 

Almost. 

He still has to go to work tomorrow and that demands six hours of preparatory sleep. 

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Jisung’s eyes linger on the daisy bush as they make their way back. 

Minho wants to ask. 

Ask what about it fascinates him so much.

Yet the smile that curls at the corners of Jisung’s lips when he sees them is so soft that he can’t bring himself to ask. 

Ask and bring logic and rationality to something so obviously tender.

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Saja is a cat so he is not of much help when Minho tells him about the brief flickers of attraction which Jisung had kindled halfway through their meal. So Minho is left with no choice but to bottle it up and go to work. 

It’s not like it is burning, pressing, passion seeded deep within his heart. It just isn’t like that anymore, in his late twenties. He knows it’s not the case for a lot of peers, who by now know exactly what they want and seek it out. Maybe his heart is just a little bit dull and dusty.

Mostly he has bills to pay and a cat to feed. 

Those sound like excuses.

But it’s not. He really doesn’t have time to think about himself, much less Jisung once he clocks in. It’s a busy day with sudden deliverables and changes in their carefully planned training calendar which has Minho running after vendors and resources like a headless chicken. 

He’s so exhausted by the end of Friday, he falls asleep even without his mandatory hour of mindless scrolling through his phone. 

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Then on Saturday, he meets Jisung again. 

Actually, Jisung comes to him – to his flat at 11 A.M. on Saturday. Minho has no idea what is happening or why any of it is happening.

“Oh, hi,” he says, a picture of complete eloquence, as he wards Saja away from the open door with his foot. “Um?”

Jisung, who has been peering at him with a nervous, unreadable expression, is galvanised to action. He sticks out his arms, a battered Tupperware clutched between his hands. “Oh! I made these lemon bars for you. For– for the other day and for treating me to a meal.”

Minho doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s my mom’s recipe,” Jisung continues. There’s a thread of uncertainty to his voice now. “I just wanted to thank you,” he mumbles, casting his eyes downwards. 

Minho’s manners kick in and he extends his hand to take the Tupperware from Jisung’s outstretched hand. “Hey, no, it’s not a big deal…”

Disaster strikes. Jisung lets go of the Tupperware before Minho can grasp it properly. He fumbles to grab it but it tips over his fingers and crashes to the ground. “Shit!”

“Oh fuck!” Jisung drops to his knees and his fingers move in a frenzy as he tries to pick up the box. “God, I’m sorry.”

“Is it okay?” Minho asks, rubbing his chin as he shoves Saja away with a firm heel to his tummy. “Nothing spilled, right?”

Jisung is still. “It’s alright,” he says and oh god there’s something wet and wobbly to his voice that makes Minho’s stomach clench. He watches as Jisung straightens up like a foreboding marionette in a horror movie, gaze hidden away.

Clearing his throat, Jisung holds the box in his hand, “nah, it’s locked tight.”

It is an uncontrollable spill before Minho’s conscious mind can even process it.

“Come in for a cup of coffee.” 

What is he doing? What is he doing? 

Jisung seems to have the same thought for his head shoots up and his eyes meet Minho’s. And…yeah, he’s not crying but there’s a new tinge of red. Minho swallows, unsure of what to say next as he waits for Jisung’s response. 

 “Coffee?”

Okay, there’s a hint of surprise but nothing overtly negative. Minho pushes his shoulders back. “Yeah, I can’t eat all of it and you must’ve worked hard on baking this,” he shrugs. “I think it’ll pair well with coffee.” Look at him dropping Instagram sommelier terms in casual conversation. 

“If you don’t mind,” Jisung says, cautiously. He shifts his weight from foot to foot and attempts a smile. It is just a painful, nervous rictus. “That sounds nice.”

“Of course!” Minho waves Jisung inside. Saja, who has been staring at the proceedings from the sofa, leaps away when Jisung enters. “Just make yourself comfortable. I’ll just…” he gestures at himself and his attire as he walks backward to his bedroom. 

In all honesty, it’s as much a ploy to give Jisung some privacy as it is to take a moment for himself. He usually doesn’t do things like this – which he realizes is a vapid excuse after having done it twice but he really doesn’t. The last time he was so… over the top by his standards was with Seongjin.

He sighs and tightens the drawstrings of his sweatpants. He rifles through his cupboard to find a fresh hoodie and then fiddles with his hair. When he thinks enough time has passed, he exits his bedroom. 

Jisung is standing near Saja’s cat tree, trying to befriend him by wiggling his fingers near his nose. 

Saja is disinterested and doesn’t even make an effort of making eye contact with Jisung’s friendly show of fingers. 

“He’s the feline form of an old man who yells at clouds…” Minho says as he walks towards them. Jisung jumps slightly, dropping his finger as if burned. “...and is a tax evader and overall misanthrope,” he adds, rubbing between Saja’s head. 

Jisung laughs and Minho’s heart wobbles. “He seems a little shy.”

“He’s just an asshole, actually.” Minho grins when it makes Jisung snort. 

His grin widens when Jisung looks vaguely embarrassed right after. 

Cute.

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Jisung looks different in the soft, mid-morning light of Minho’s kitchen than he did in the dimly lit bunsik or their multiple rage/confusion fuelled run-ins. 

There's a shadow of stubble on his chin and his hair is a flyaway mess. His cheek has a mole which is very pokeable and there's a subtle flush to his cheeks.

"Is there something on my face?" Jisung asks, turning to face Minho and rubbing his cheek. 

Oh shit. The tips of Minho's ears flare like embers. He can't believe he has been staring so openly and obviously. But he's glad Jisung hasn’t asked him outright why he's gawking like a fool because Minho would have said, "you look adorable," and then they would be in an awkward situation. 

"It's– uh, nothing," Minho makes a show of shaking his head. "I’m really sorry, I zoned out a little."

“Oh, I do that too,” Jisung says, jovial but Minho can see the way he draws his shoulders together over his coffee mug. “Sometimes that’s how I get through a work day. By dissociating.”

Right, they’d been talking about work before Minho’s social graces disappeared. “I just plan my workouts and make my shopping lists,” he says, spearing a piece of pastry. “Whatever gets you through the day, right?”

“Not really, they don’t allow us to carry alcohol along with us.” Jisung smiles. “That’ll definitely get me through the day. But… enough about my work. You know it sucks. Tell me something about you!”

Suddenly, Minho is the most boring person on earth. He can’t for the life of him remember anything interesting he has ever done in his life. “Saja is my fourth cat.” He watches the way Jisung’s brows shoot up in interest. “The other three are with my parents – two of them are pretty old so I didn’t want to cause stress and the third one is very attached to them.”

“Do the four of them get along?”

“Nah, Saja hates them and Soonie, Doongie, Dori think he’s an unrepentant brat.” Jisung repeats the names to himself. Minho chuckles and takes a sip of coffee. “I took Saja home with me once and he got slapped within 5 minutes. We had to keep them separate for the rest of my stay.”

“Oh my god! I love when older animals become disciplinarians to younger, brattier animals. My aunt’s labrador just growled once at Bbama and he stopped nipping at him.”

“Have you had other pets before?” 

Jisung lights up and Minho congratulates himself for managing the least awkward transition they’ve had so far. 

Turns out that Jisung is really fascinated by insects (which he shares in common with Saja) and reptiles (Felix → Steve Irwin). His uncle once had a snake and Jisung digs through the depths of his gallery to find a photo of the cutest, most adorable ball python. 

Minho, meanwhile, surreptitiously gets out the frozen appetisers he has stashed away and chucks them in the microwave. He is done with his coffee and Jisung’s share has long turned to sludge. It’s… polite to feed guests right?

He also doesn’t want Jisung to leave. Not yet anyway. Reasons to be dissected later, thanks.

“Isn’t she cute!” Jisung leaps out from his chair and scuttles towards Minho at terrifying speed. “Look!”

The snake looks like a snake to Minho. He can’t really tell what it is that makes it cute except for the man holding the phone and standing close to him. Close enough that Minho can smell the spice of his cologne and see every crinkle of his eyes as he smiles. Good God. 

“She is,” Minho agrees because he doesn’t know what else to say when your hot neighbour is showing you multiple potato-quality photos of a single ball python from multiple angles. “The uh – colouration is cool.”

Jisung steps away a little. “She’s older than us too. Ball pythons can live for more than twenty years."

"Oh?" Minho clears his throat and presses the off button on the microwave before it hits 00:00. He's not going to allow any jarring sounds in this situation whatsoever. 

"Yeah, and they're kinda docile too. I also had a lizard – I mean, it was a stray lizard that lived on the wall next to our apartment – I fed it and all. Oh! Did you know there's a frog in our building?"

Minho stops plating the appetiser and raises a brow at Jisung. "A frog?"

"More likely a toad, since it was on dry land," Jisung says, sagely, clicking his phone off. 

Warmth glows in Minho's belly and there's an odd quivering-shivering-jittering sensation in his chest. He slowly turns back to the spring rolls. 

A veritable stranger reeling off reptile facts in his house is the sexiest thing that has happened to him in a while. Name one thing that’s sexier than a big brain with strong, flexible neural connections.

"I hope it's fine though." Jisung's brows are creased with worry. "Because–"

"Menbosha," Minho interrupts, aggressively pushing the plate towards Jisung, ignoring his surprised squeak as he walks towards the fridge. 

Begone cute man with a sexy brain.  He doesn't have the mental fortitude to handle it well today. 

"Oh! You didn't– I have already overstayed my welcome and…"

"You haven't," Minho protests. "And… I don't mind. But if you're busy then it's okay, you don't have to–"

"No! I'm not– I don't mind!" Jisung steps forward towards the table. "Only if you're okay with it," he says again.

"Of course, I'm okay with it. Don't you want to hear about my pets then?" Minho asks, crossing his arms. "You'll disrespect Saja and his forebears in his own house?"

Jisung squints at him. "That's a lot of words to say you think I'm cool and want to hang out with me."

Minho is speechless, fingers clutched uselessly over the fridge handle. "Yah, Han Jisung!" he says when Jisung starts laughing. 

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Quite a few things happen by that Saturday evening:

1. Minho asks Jisung to call him hyung. Jisung is delighted and immediately turns into a whiny dongsaeng as a joke.

• It is not good for Minho's heart.

1. They exchange numbers and the first video Jisung sends him is of yawning frogs.

• It is not good for Minho's heart either.

1. Jisung thanks him profusely before leaving and asks to hang out again. 

• Minho's heart explodes.

At this rate, he should re-look at his insurance plan because he's not sure he's covered for: a cute guy is making my heart work overtime and I'm afraid it'll jailbreak out of my body. 

They text back and forth through the day in little bursts. Stuff like their backgrounds, interests, and other bits and pieces that make up a human being.

Minho pauses, his cologne held in his hand. He's clearing his dresser and it's so mind-numbing that his mind has no choice but to wander. 

Pretty normal. Except it's also…

Terrifying. Well, not terrifying in its exact meaning, but rather a strange, thrilling anticipation brewing deep in his core.

He knows it's the nebulous potential of something new which is stirring all these little frissons in his veins. But he's also old enough to know it lasts for less than a moment and what comes after is what you have to live with. 

Like expectations and their lack of fulfillment. Decisions and how they sometimes hit the weakest spots in a foundation. Time and consideration that circle the drain no matter how hard you grasp at it. 

Saja extends a sneaky paw to smack the tissue box off of the dressing table. Minho captures his paw on instinct and glares at him. 

"Hey, I'm going through something here!"

Saja meows back louder, outraged by Minho's audacity to protect his belongings. Sighing, Minho stands up, picks him up, and deposits him on the bed. Saja meows again, disgusted, before contorting himself to lick his back. What an amazing show of diplomacy. 

Minho bites his lip and ambles to the window in his living room. It's just gone past four and the sunlight is bright and steady. He can hear kids whooping with joy as they play, somewhere in the back of the complex. 

His eyes catch the daisy bush. He doesn't remember seeing it, back when Seongjin had left for the final time. After their break-up, there had been a lot of coming and going and leaving because, in the three years they’d dated, Seongjin had somehow wormed his way into more than half of Minho’s possessions. 

Minho had been petty enough to not send all the stuff to him but not cruel enough to hold them from him. He had to live with the consequences when Seongjin came to collect them, silence hanging like a millstone around their necks. 

Saja wound through Seongjin’s legs and Minho had excused himself to the kitchen, where he stayed until Seongjin left. 

And to think their break-up had been amicable in every way. 

･ﾟﾟ･｡

“I feel very old,” he tells his mom later in the evening, after reassuring her he’s not dying just because he has video-called twenty-four hours earlier than their scheduled time. “Old and boring.”

“You’re not,” she says immediately.  "You’re handsome, you earn well, and–”

Minho sighs. He doesn't know how to tell her he's cloistered by his routines and his exactitude in clinging to them. He has done nothing new in so long that a bit of newness is making him maudlin. 

"–and not even thirty. There's no reason for you to feel old."

"But I can feel I'm boring?" he asks, raising a brow. His mother mirrors his expression. "Do you think I'm boring?"

"I don't," she replies, but her tone is not right. "I didn't say that Minho-ah. But–"

"Of course there's a but," Minho grumbles, slouching deeper into the sofa. "You mothers are never satisfied."

"You've not told me about anything that excites you in a long time." She rubs her chin. "You only talk… actually, you don't talk much now, either."

"But I'm busy." Minho swallows, annoyed at his defensiveness even though he's the one who brought up this topic. "I'm… there's a lot to do and I'm tired by the end of the day. I'm not a college student with a million things going on."

Mom looks at him with affection, the sort that is good-natured but feels demeaning in the middle of… an argument? "Yongbok does,” she says. “He was telling me about Paris.”

“Felix’s work requires him to be social,” Minho says, frowning. “And I went to Japan last year and I had a lot of fun.”

He’d gone to Japan on a whim after Seungmin had looked at him cooly one day and asked if he needed a reminder about their leave policy. 

“What?” Minho asked, frowning at him. Had he missed yet another circular from his own department? He wouldn’t be able to live this one down.

“You’re allowing your leaves to lapse,” Seungmin frowned at him over his glasses. It was the same look that made all the freshers pay attention to him during induction day. “It’s a waste.”

In a couple of months, he’d been in Japan by himself. He had a lot of good times: eating pudding and just existing without the strictures of emails, alarms, and a million other things which insidiously dictated every aspect of your life.

“That was last year,” mom reminds him. “I feel we should–”

“I don’t know,” Minho interjects, sitting up straighter. There’s a squeezing weight in his chest and an unpleasant buzzing deep in the back of his mind. He stares beyond his phone unseeingly. His wandering eyes land on Saja’s sleeping form. “What do you want me to do? Don’t tell me to go out more because I still remember how you kept me under house arrest before CSATs,” he snaps his gaze back to his mother and glowers at her. 

“It was important,” mom says as blithe as always whenever he brings up any perceived wrongs from his childhood. “I’m not asking you to do anything. I think you should do something if you feel that you’re boring.”

“You’re the one who said I’m boring!”

“I did no such things,” she says, shielded as always by the void that is mom-logic. “I think you should have some interest in life – in doing things. It’s important, Minho-ah.” She tilts her head, considering him. “You’re too young to already think you’re boring and old.”

Minho exhales noisily. “Let’s change the topic before we start arguing.”

“Whatever you say,” mom replies, holding up a conciliatory hand. 

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Sunday passes quickly like it always does. 

He doesn’t text Jisung much that day and it’s not a big deal because Jisung doesn’t text as much either. They’re busy adults after all. 

Right.

On Monday he’s bleary-eyed and tetchy as he sits down in his work area, his billions of sticky notes staring back at him. Everything he’d put off last Friday is back to bite him in the ass. He sighs and opens up his laptop.

Halfway through checking his emails, his phone buzzes beside him. He is about to ignore it but he catches sight of Jisung’s name from the corner of his eyes. 

His heart doesn’t leap to his throat or anything. Nor does he flush with pleasure or snatch his phone with up impressive speed. He is so cool and unruffled when he opens the text. 

Jisung: hi hyung, it’s monday 🙁

Jisung: i hope you have a good week ahead tho! and that you perceive the week as flying by and not dragging along 🎊🌼

Jisung: please hope the same for me too

It’s– It’s sweet. So sweet. 

“Are you working with your favourite vendor again?” Seungmin asks, making Minho startle in his seat. 

He peers up at Seungmin. “What?”

Seungmin leans against Minho’s desk. “Favourite vendor. The one who doesn’t complain, no matter what ridiculous thing you ask of him? You always get so giddy when you have to work with that guy.”

“Ah– no,” Minho turns to face his laptop, hoping the warmth in his cheeks isn’t physically visible. “It was a friend.”

“A friend?” Seungmin takes a long sip of his coffee. It was yet another one of his corporate scare tactics which somehow always worked. “Hmm.”

Minho rolls his eyes and places his phone face down on his notebook and jabs his password on his keyboard. “Yeah, a friend.”

“Interesting,” Seungmin pulls up the empty chair next to Minho and sits down. “I thought all your friends are annoying brats out to get you.”

“No, that’s just you.” Minho groans and turns his chair around. “Anyway, did you hear back from…” he drops his voice. “MSY?”

Saying the HR head’s name always works in capturing Seungmin’s attention. “No,” his mouth twists in a grimace. “She’s going to make me change everything two hours before the presentation. Just watch.”

Minho zones out then, letting the HR head’s perceived and real crimes roll over him in a warm breeze. He has to craft a good reply to Jisung’s message after all.

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Minho: did you survive monday?

Jisung: barely. 

Jisung: only 4 more days to go though ＼(^o^)／

Jisung: how was your day??

Minho: you won’t believe what happened…

･ﾟﾟ･｡

The din of the streets falls away the moment the doorman closes the door to the restaurant. Inside, there’s a soft, buzzing hush underscored by the clink of cutlery. Crystalline lights twinkle above him.

It's fancy and Minho is glad he'd decided to change after getting back from work instead of turning up in his crumpled work shirt and trousers.

He gives Felix’s name to the waiter, who leads him deeper into the restaurant. Hyunjin and Felix are sitting at a booth and they both break out into a smile when Minho approaches the table. 

“So, you’re finally showing your face after all the crimes you’ve committed, huh?” he says to Hyunjin when the waiter leaves them. 

Hyunjin’s brows dance in confusion. “Crimes? Did you actually frame me–”

“I haven’t seen you in a few months,” Minho tells him, picking up the menu card that’s on the table. “I thought you were underground after committing… I don’t know, cat burglary or something.”

“You know, he does have the shape for it,” Felix comments, running his eyes over Hyunjin’s frame. He hums, “but maybe if he tried–”

Hyunjin smacks Felix’s shoulder. “Stop talking about my body in public!” he grumbles, a blush high on the tops of his cheeks. “Also,” he points a finger at Minho, “you ignore my texts all the time!” 

“I don’t! I just didn't know how to respond to 'marine vs. october blues'. What's that even supposed to mean? And then you didn't text me after that at all!"

"I was asking for your opinion on names for a painting! You're so unimaginative!"

"Well, I'm sure can imagine what it'll feel like to roast you in the oven for–"

Felix laughs. "Okay, okay, stop fighting! Let's at least decide what we're getting before you end up killing each other."

Minho harrumphs as he picks up the menu, glancing at it without much interest. He'll just go with what Felix and Hyunjin pick. 

It's a Thursday evening and weariness clings to him like cobwebs. But it's impossible to find weekends where everyone's free, so weekdays it is. Plus, it's nearly the end of the week. He'll be fine. 

"So what have you been up to, hyung?" Hyunjin asks. "Anything good?"

Minho blinks, surprised by how quickly the baton has passed to him. He rubs his palms against his knees, thinking.  It’s not a big deal –  he has told them about the worst of his innermost thoughts, but he feels… shy.

Bleurgh.

“I have this neighbour…” he begins. 

He’s not a storyteller but he enjoys talking about all the ill-fated interactions he’s had with Jisung. In hindsight, it is amusing as hell and Minho recalls nuances of Jisung’s expressions that he’d forgotten about. Has he always been this cute and Minho too grumpy to notice? Interesting.

And wrong. Maybe Jisung had a Cinderella moment or something. Obviously.

By the time he finishes speaking, he’s blushing and trying not to show it. Why on earth are his ears and neck cursed to burn at the slightest provocation? Even self-created? “...and then he left.” 

Hyunjin is very obviously hiding a smile behind his glass of wine. Felix outright hoots. “You both went on two dates already?”

“It wasn’t a date!” Minho says immediately, ears burning hotter. He takes a fortifying sip of his whisky and clears his throat. “We just hung out.”

“I didn’t know staring at each other with barely concealed lust was called hanging out these days," Hyunjin comments and hides a snicker behind his hand. "Babe, we're too old-fashioned."

Minho scoffs, scanning the table for something to throw at Hyunjin. "Shut up! You weren't even there to be running your mouth like this!"

"Were the lemon bars actually homemade or did they seem store-bought?" Felix asks, tilting his head.

"Why does it matter?"

"Just tell me!" Felix insists, leaning forward, fingers clasped together. 

As if he'd even paid attention to that damned ice cream or whatever when Jisung was standing close to him and talking about lizards. He squints his eyes thinking. "I don't know. I guess, they were cut a little unevenly," he shrugs. "If that's homemade enough for you."

"Ooh, he was definitely hitting," Felix declares, leaning back. "Showing up with homemade dessert on a Saturday morning? Yeah, he's trying hard to get into your pants."

"Stop being crude in public," Minho hisses and glowers when Hyunjin snorts and then dissolves into giggles. "It's… he was probably being nice."

"You can be nice and still want to hit." Hyunjin laughs. "It's cute though, hyung. Ask him out if you haven't already."

Minho groans, slouching in his seat. "I don't–" he pauses, studying the melting ice in his tumbler. "I don't even know if it's worth it."

Felix tilts his head, studying him. "Why do you feel– what do you mean worth it?"

Minho doesn't know how to explain it to two people who found each other in college and are still going strong. He crosses his arms on the table and leans forward. 

"You know, I've dated since," he sighs, "since Seongjin and I broke up and it's never been good. Like, so much effort for a couple of dates and then either being ghosted or things just fizzling out." He shakes his head. "I don't know if I want to go through all of that again. Plus, he's my–"

"I understand, but don't you think it'll also hold you back?" Hyunjin says, slowly. "I don't know… it doesn't really matter if things don't work out. But at least you wouldn't have to wonder."

"But–"

"Jinnie is right," says Felix. He looks so earnest that Minho has no choice but to nod along with him."He sounds cute and it'll just be fun."

"We’ll see," Minho says. He knows he is getting ahead of himself and maybe overthinking. Yet, among all the jolts and thrills of a new attraction, he can still feel the prickle of worry. "And what about you guys? What are you up to these days?"

Hyunjin and Felix share a wicked grin, making Minho's blood red cold. "Well…"

"Don't make my ears bleed!" Minho taps the table for emphasis. "I'm going through something here!"

Hyunjin makes a show of deflating. "You wiped out 60% of our talking points," he complains.

"You're a shameless hussy," Minho informs him,  dissolving into laughter the moment Felix does so. 

Hyunjin rolls his eyes and studies his nails. "Here we are, helping you have a life vicariously through us and there you go, character-assassinating us. Just awful, hyung."

"Living through you vicariously was one of my nightmares, I think. Please don't curse me like this."

They go back and forth between the three of them, ganging up on each other in multiple permutations and combinations. 

When the food turns out to be pretty shit, and they are inebriated enough to forget it's a weekday, Minho suggests going to a bar. 

"This is just like college," Hyunjin comments, as he squishes in right beside Felix in the back of a taxi. 

And – yeah, sure, it's not like Minho is deeply unhappy or something. But Minho's heart quivers at the simple joy of existing and making dumb decisions with his friends as he tells the cab driver where to go.

He takes them to a bar he has been to with his department once. He can feel the faint pulsation of music as he ushers them into the lift. 

"Should we really do this?" he asks, watching the lift glide upwards. "We have work tomorrow."

Felix beams at him. He still hasn't lost the flush of drunkenness that first made itself known back in the restaurant. "I know you hoard up personal days like a little corporate goblin," he says. "Use them!"

Minho sighs, proud of himself. "I'm so smart for doing that."

Pounding bass reverberates through his chest the moment they spill out of the lift. People are standing near the windows which line the floor, breathing in the fresh air and offering their blood to mosquitoes. 

It's all a haze after that point. Minho gets his hand stamped and leads Felix and Hyunjin to the bar, which is already littered with half-finished drinks and water bottles. He orders a pitcher of LIT for them all and then…

･ﾟﾟ･｡

It's a different sensation to be drunk dancing in a crowd. Maybe not for everyone. But for Minho, definitely. 

He had danced back in college and he was good too. Precise and– and… he doesn't even remember the critique about his dance. Was it so important once? 

Was it all so central and momentous for his self-esteem? 

Minho doesn't even remember. He does remember it being important but the reasons for it have long escaped him. Gone to smoke. Faded like black jeans that retailers dare to sell these days. 

It's like – there was this dry-cleaning place he used to go to when Seongjin was around. He swore by it and gave all his fancy shirts and trousers to them because his office insisted on appearance over everything else. 

It was run by a stern, tight-lipped couple who never gave back their dry-cleaned clothes without the receipt and Seongjin and he had always had such a hassle keeping track of that one fucking receipt–

"Hey! Why are you zoning out?" Hyunjin asks, dragging him by the hands until their chests collide. He sways and Minho follows along, trying hard not to step on his feet. 

"I never went back to that dry-cleaning place," Minho yells back. "And that receipt is not important anymore."

Hyunjin peels himself away from Minho and stares down at him. He's really pretty, Minho thinks. He's only grown prettier as the years pass. He's the sort of bastard who looks better with a few lines on his face. Does the same apply for Minho too? God, he hopes it does.

"Let's get you a drink, old man," Hyunjin says. He turns to yell something at Felix.

Minho downs the shitty beer Hyunjin gets him in record time. His shirt is untucked now, sticking to his back. He tips his head back, leaning his back against the bar. 

It's weird. Wooden, with these large lights just glowing faintly. Not even there. Who even looks at the ceiling? 

"Are you going to cry or some shit?" Hyunjin asks beside him. 

It takes Minho a moment to unstick his tongue from the floor of his mouth and shape the words. "No!"

"You're all vacant and… and quiet," Hyunjin says. Minho drops his head and finds Hyunjin looking at him, mouth turned down with worry. "We can go home if you want."

"No! I was just thinking about how things are suddenly not important anymore," he explains. He chugs the last of the beer, feeling it slosh in his overfilled belly. "But 's nothing."

"Okay." Hyunjin drags the word out. There's still a small furrow between his brows.

Minho grabs his hand before he can say anything. "Let's dance, Hyunjin-ah!"

･ﾟﾟ･｡

He can just exist. Exist as a body in motion. Not… be whatever bedraggled, exhausted, and upright automaton he is sometimes. 

What is it about dancing in a crowd of people?

It's the way people scream the words to a song along with him. That momentary connection.

Or some tripe.

Or maybe it's just dancing along with Felix and Hyunjin. 

Yes, it's just that. 

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Minho is so ridiculously, fantastically happy for Ms.what's-her-face and whatever incredible thing she's celebrating.

He downs the shots she gives him, hoping she and whatever event in her life always have the same starlit euphoria. 

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Oh, it's so good to be a livewire. To be so alive.

Fresh air sweeps across his face like a balm and cools the sweat gathered in his temples and the crevices beside his nose and the hollow of his throat. 

The world is so small under him. Toy cars and just tiny dots of glittering lights. 

He fumbles for his phone and nearly drops it over the ledge. Saja's… telepathic link to him kicks into gear and saves it from falling with cat-like elegance. He bangs his fingers on the ledge, but that doesn’t matter.

He turns on his heel, pressing his back against the ledge.

Minho: im drunkk

Minho: but alive

Minho: what will i do tomorrow hannie ssi

His heart blooms with a mellow heat when three dots pop up immediately. He smiles down at his phone, cheeks hurting. 

Jisung: damn hyung you’re wild 

Jisung: ashdfg what will you do tomorrow? it’s 2 am??

Minho blinks, dragging his heavy gaze to the corner of his screen. 2:16 A.M. Wow. His brain gropes at the rational seams around the alcohol-infused black hole in the center of his consciousness, trying to find how time had passed. 

Minho: fuck

Minho: not goi

“Felix!” he complains when his phone is pulled away from his hand. “I am doing something.”

“No drunk texting on my watch, Lee Minho,” Felix waves the phone threateningly. He’s swaying on his feet. “You’re drunk!”

“I’m just texting…” he pauses, his last spark of common sense stopping him from admitting he is texting Jisung. “You’re right. If I end up texting someone from work, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Felix squints at him with suspicion but doesn’t say anything. “Hyunjin said we should go home.”

“Why?” Minho whines. He doesn’t want to leave. Doesn’t want to go back to the grayness of his apartment.

“Because–” Felix bites his lip and then shakes his head. “You’re kinda drunk out of your mind.”

Minho stares at him. His ears are stuffed with cotton and when he shifts, his legs float into position, a millisecond too slow. Felix grabs his bicep to steady him.

“Fair enough.”

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Hyunjin and Felix confer about the mechanics of getting home while Minho huddles against the corner of the lift to leave a couple of strangers with overflowing sexual tension in their bubble. It’s been so long since he had something like that with anyone except for his hand.

He is dragged out of the lift by Felix and the quietness of the lobby hits his ears with its soft weight. “Woah,” he says. “Sound of silence.”

Snorting, Hyunjin takes Minho’s hand. He says something but it all bleeps and bloops through Minho’s mind like the card reader in his office when it is being a bitch and refusing to register his credentials. He hears ‘home’ and ‘Saja’ and his mind springs into action.

“We have to go to my home because I can’t leave Saja alone,” he says. 

Hyunjin sighs and rubs his face. “That’s exactly what I said, hyung.”

･ﾟﾟ･｡

The car ride back home is silent and Minho is glad about it. He feels weary and the effort of his over-enthusiastic dance moves is beginning to set into his muscles. 

Felix and Hyunjin are cuddled up in the backseat. The blur of car lights pours into their cab, drenching Minho's knuckles and glinting off his rings. It's hypnotic, almost soporific: the ticking of the indicator and the crunch of tires over asphalt.

He leans against the door, watching his friends from the corner of his eyes. Felix's eyes are closed and Hyunjin's face is aglow with the light from his screen. 

Minho smiles and closes his eyes too. 

･ﾟﾟ･｡

He is woken from his light slumber and frog-marched out of the cab. He grumbles but it is surprisingly difficult to hold his own against uh – noodle and twine when they gang up on him. 

"I feel like I'm babysitting a fucking toddler hobbit," Hyunjin says when Minho tells him he is noodle. "You're so wasted, hyung."

"He can't hold his liquor anymore," Felix says beside him. "How the mighty have fallen."

"Your face can't hold any liquor," Minho shoots back, drawing on his vast experience of reading ace attorney memes online. 

Hyunjin laughs. "Amazing! What a comeback!"

Minho scoffs but holds his tongue.

They pass through the daisy bush and Minho stutters to a stop, resisting Felix and Hyunjin’s grip on him. "That's where I first found Jisung," he says wistfully pointing at the bush and ignoring Felix's attempt to drag him forward. "Right here."

"Great."

"He was babbling," Minho says, trying to think back to that day. "I thought I would have to take him to the hospital."

"You literally told us this four hours back," Hyunjin grumbles, "we get it, you found your Jisung in a flower bush."

Minho doesn’t listen, too enamoured by the nothingness of leaves and dry earth. "He uses flowers for his rating system. How cute is that?"

"Babe, I'm going to bury you under this daisy bush if you don't start walking," Felix says, poking Minho's waist. "Move!"

"Oof," Hyunjin murmurs and Minho elbows him in the stomach because he's not going to put up with any unwarranted aggressivness in front of this cute daisy plant. 

"He's really cute," Minho says again and he begins to follow Felix. "Like really, really cute."

No one replies.

Fine, if they want to be tasteless, then so be it. 

･ﾟﾟ･｡

He calls in sick the next day. 

No way in hell is he going to use up his hard-earned personal leave for a hangover. He texts his manager in the early hours of the day, reading his message again and again, and still finding grammatical errors on his fourth re-read.

He then drags himself to the kitchen and with great effort locates and opens Saja's tin of food as he yowls his morning song. 

"You suck," he tells Saja but Saja doesn't care because he has his entire face buried in the bowl. Then Minho feels bad for insulting him when he obviously doesn't understand it, so he squats down to pet Saja. 

Saja angles his body away from Minho's hand, still inhaling his food like an industrial-grade vacuum cleaner. 

What a bastard. 

With a groan, he gets to his feet, knees cracking. He isn't hungover because he had drunk enough water yesterday night, but his body aches. God, it has been so long since he last danced so much. Why is everything fun so hard as you get older? 

He opens the fridge door and squints, considering what he can make for breakfast without having to expend too much effort. 

Minho is just about to close the fridge and order takeaway when his doorbell rings. He whips his head around towards the door, heart beginning to thunder behind his ribs. 

There's no one who has ever come to his door this early in the morning except for Jisung. 

He licks his lips, anticipation swirling sweet and heavy around his belly even as he takes careful footsteps to the door. He knows, he knows, but he needs to know–

 The door swings open. It's Jisung.

Jisung is dressed for work in a pristine blue shirt which is tucked into sharply creased trousers. It accentuates his upper body so well that Minho has to remind himself not to stare at the line of his waist. He's pretty sure he fails because Jisung's cheeks are a lovely, deep red. Much to Minho’s consternation, Jisung has also slicked his hair back which makes the curve of his cheeks stand out.

Minho wants to squeeze his cheeks so badly, he has to curl his fists closed. 

"I'm sorry for turning up at your door like this so many times," Jisung begins, shyly. "I brought you coffee since… uh–" he flutters his free hand around, "you said you were partying late last night."

Just like last time, Minho is at a loss for words but at least he takes the thermos of coffee from Jisung. It is a warm, pleasant weight in his hand. "Thanks," he rasps. "You're– that's very sweet of you."

"Oh! No… I, it's nothing," Jisung shakes his head. "I know I would love a coffee if I were–"

"I'm bringing you dinner tonight!" Minho says. He holds up a stern finger when Jisung starts to protest. "No Jisung-ah, I'm bringing you dinner and that's that. You can't just keep being sweet and expect nothing in return."

"You don't have to–"

"When will you be back?" 

"Uh– around 6:30 PM?"

Minho's mind is already running through the list of ingredients in his mind. "Great, give me a call and..." he swallows as his mind registers the opportunity.

Do it, do it, do it. He can just slam the door on Jisung's face if he's rejected. 

Jisung is nodding along, "and you'll come to my apartment or should I come to yours?"

"I don’t mind anything," Minho says, slowly. He can’t tell if his voice is shaking but his stomach is as good as jelly. He still manages to catch Jisung's eye and holds his gaze, ignoring the way his pulse booms in his ears. "And… we can make it a date. If you would like that."

Jisung stills, his mouth rounding in surprise. 

There's nothing much to do except wait for a response, so Minho averts his eyes, clears his throat, and counts down the seconds before he can slam the door. 

"Let's make it a date," Jisung says, finally. A smile breaks out on his face, broad and heart-shaped. "I would love that."

It's impossible to not smile back. He can hear it twine itself around his words and shine between the spaces as he says, "ah– good. Great! I'll see you?" There’re cymbals in his chest, and his fingers are jittery. 

Jisung nods again, his smile devolving into something smaller. But no less bright. "Yeah, hyung. I'll see you too."

･ﾟﾟ･｡

For two people eating his food in his house after sleeping through the night on his bed, Felix and Hyunjin sure do have a lot of opinions. 

"You didn't even invite him inside?"

"You were wearing that?"

"You didn't even flirt?" 

"Shut up," Minho grumbles. "He said yes and that's what matters."

"You hadn't even brushed your teeth and he still said yes," Hyunjin mutters. "What's wrong with people?"

"Do you want to choke on a potato?" Minho asks. He pinches his thumb and forefinger together. "Because you're this close to choking on a potato."

Hyunjin sniffs and takes a dainty sip of coffee. "You can threaten me all you want but I have to say, you've let down our clan."

Felix actually hums in agreement and shrugs when Minho gives him a betrayed look. "It's true. Not brushing your teeth? That's terrible."

"I did brush my teeth!" Minho huffs. "Stop smearing my name!"

"Why didn’t you say that before, huh?” Hyunjin wags a finger. “Lying is not acceptable, hyung.”

Minho replies with a solid kick to Hyunjin’s shin. He yelps when Hyunjin kicks him back. “How dare you? I’m older than you!”

Hyunjin holds his fists up, mimicking a boxing stance with all the finesse of a person who holds paintbrushes for a living and has never stepped inside a gym. “I’ve learned to fight back, old man.”

“But it’s cute how you’re so excited about your date,” Felix says. He grins. “It’s nice to see you like this.”

“I’m not excited,” Minho counters immediately, ignoring the way his skin warms. “It’s just a first date.”

“Dude, your ears are still red and it’s been an hour since Jisung left,” Hyunjin says, smiling when Felix starts cackling. 

Minho stands up, his chair screeching behind him. “Enough. That’s it. Out. Get out, both of you!”

But he doesn’t manage to get rid of them until after lunch. He even makes sujebi for Hyunjin after he requests it, to hopefully bribe him into silence. He doesn’t even know why they’re being like this when their usual response to his infrequent dates is just mild interest. 

Maybe it’s because he’s reacting like a teenager or something. Or maybe it’s because they’ve snorted some gremlin dust at one of their artsy parties. Who knows. 

Still, being with them through the morning undercuts his jitteriness. The one with no name. The one that'll take too much time to untangle and roll into a neat ball he can tuck somewhere safe in the back of his mind. 

･ﾟﾟ･｡

There’s nothing much to do once his friends leave. Minho putters about his house, cleaning and sorting through laundry and washing a stack of dishes. 

Saja snoozes through the day and ambles over to Minho's side at intervals to check what he's doing. It's always inevitably boring for him so Minho gets a headbutt to his ankles as a complaint.

It's oddly relaxing to just do random chores on a weekday. His holidays are usually planned in advance and his manager makes him finish any pressing tasks before leaving. 

So, it's nice to see all the emails flying in and imagining his out-of-office message hitting back with a Lee Minho is not available today, bitch. 

"I feel really good," he tells Saja as he folds his laundry. "I had a lot of fun yesterday."

Saja licks his paw and flops to his side. 

"I have a date today too," he adds even though Saja is not at all a good listener. "I'm making dinner."

His phone chimes with a text and he picks it up, smiling when he sees a selfie of Felix and Hyunjin in the notification bar. 

Felix: we reached home ~

Felix: last night was super fun!

Felix: let's do that sometime again

His heart warms at the thought of doing it again – being wild and... something Felix had told him flashes through his mind:

It was like I was living out of time.

Yeah, that encapsulates it perfectly. 

Even though he knows it'll probably not occur any time soon, the possibility of it makes him smile.

･ﾟﾟ･｡

He begins working on the dak-galbi late in the afternoon. It's warm and sun rays curl around his hands like bangles as he chops vegetables. He has his music playing and Saja is staring down at him from his throne on top of the fridge. 

It's not like he has never cooked for his dates before – it's one of his go-to moves actually. But the thing is, he is, he's fucking obsessed with his neighbour. So, the fire to impress is burning brighter than ever because he refuses to have awkward run-ins forever in the next couple of years. 

That's the only reason, of course. He doesn't have any other sappy reasons like I want to see what cute expression he makes when he tastes my food. 

Anyway.

He messages Jisung around 5, sending him a picture of the covered dishes. Jisung's reply involves a profusion of flowers, hearts, and sparkle emojis. 

Minho will eat him. 

"Hi, hyung," Jisung says when he opens the door. 

He has changed again, Minho notices. He's wearing a mock turtleneck and trousers, which highlights the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. Minho needs to stop staring. 

"Hello, hello," he says, clearing his throat to cover up the way his eyes are fixated on Jisung. "I hope you've worked up an appetite because I've made way too much food," he adds. 

Jisung chuckles, opening the door wider to let Minho inside. He's not subtle about the way his eyes linger on Minho either. It makes him smirk as he enters Jisung's abode.

It's overall a mirrored version of Minho's flat, maybe just a little smaller. But it's definitely not lived in and Minho can still smell a tinge of paint in the air. The shelves are mostly barren and there's a pervasive sense of newness everywhere. The only spot of colour is a vase of flowers that stands on the coffee table. 

"I've not settled in yet," Jisung says, confirming his suspicions. "I just..." he waves a sweeping motion with his hands, "I just arrange stuff and unpack during the weekends."

"It's neater than mine," Minho says, following Jisung to the kitchen and placing the dishes on the countertop. "My apartment is also old and sagging now."

"From what I've seen, it looks nice," Jisung insists. "Homey."

"It looks like a fur factory with the way Saja sheds," Minho shakes his head. "I keep a lint roller near my door and in my pockets now, you know."

Jisung grins. "Does he really shed that much even after you brush him?"

"Saja is so grumpy, even his hair falls off to be away from him," Minho says. It makes Jisung throw his head back in laughter. Minho feels pride bloom in his chest. 

"Does Saja know you insult him like this when he's not there?"

Minho opens one of the containers he's brought along with him. "He should be glad I don't kick him out after the way he behaves." He quickly outlines the way Saja had ignored him when he'd tried to pet him.

"To be fair, you did call him a bastard," Jisung replies as he peers into the containers. "Oh God, this looks and smells so good!"

It takes quite a bit of effort to not puff out his chest. "It's nothing," he says though he's preening like a really horny bird under Jisung's admiring gaze. "So, where are the plates?"

Jisung brings out a set of gold-rimmed plates and bowls with its matching cutlery, which has intricate designs on the stem. He has no idea where Jisung got it from but he's pretty sure he'd seen a similar set at a high-profile office party.

"I got us dessert by the way. I got a selection of many things because I wasn't sure what you'd like."

"Oh!" How had he forgotten dessert? "You didn't have to do that!"

Jisung shrugs. "I think till now we've both done things for each other which we didn't have to do, hyung. Get on with the agenda, please."

"You haven't even had a bite of food and you're already acting up, hm?" Minho crosses his arms in mock disapproval. "Don't forget, I may or may not have poisoned the food."

"I've definitely poisoned the dessert," Jisung says, cheerfully, picking up the container and carrying it toward the microwave.

His eyebrows are high in complete concentration as he covers the three feet of distance to the microwave with careful steps. He reaches to the top shelf to get something – Minho doesn't even know what – but his eyes catch on the bare curve of Jisung's waist as his shirt rides up. 

Minho's comeback dies on his lips, too engrossed in watching Jisung to string sentences together. 

"Oh," Jisung says once the food is in the microwave. "I didn't actually mess with your food," he says, a tiny frown marring his forehead. "I was just joking, hyung."

Minho snaps out of his daze. "Oh, yes, of course." He prods at another container just so he has something to do. "I'm uh – you don't seem like the criminal type."

Jisung looks amused. "That doesn't sound like a ringing endorsement."

"It's because I believe you can do anything," Minho pats Jisung's shoulder which is warm and solid under his hand. His fingertips itch when Jisung leans into his touch. "You can be anything!"

"I know you're making fun of me." Jisung squints at him. He switches the microwave off before it beeps. Truly a man after his own heart. "Do you think I can't be a criminal?"

"Hmm," Minho taps his chin in an exaggerated act of thinking as though he's actually considering telling Jisung about his… daisy heist. 

But Jisung continues talking. "I once ate all the Hershey's Kisses in Mrs. Lim's geometry class and no one could figure out who did it."

"What?"

Jisung throws his shoulder back and his face set in an oily, smug expression. "Yeah! No one knew."

"And why did you do that?"

"She only gave it to kids who solved sums. I really sucked at maths – hey! stop laughing, hyung! She was ostracising me!"

"Oh my god," Minho says over a wheeze of laughter. "What even are you?"

"A criminal, actually." Jisung looks so pleased. His eyes are lost to crinkles of amusement and he's just vibrating with delight. 

They eventually end up in the living room again. Jisung scrambles to his bedroom to get a tablecloth for the coffee table. He brings out a garish, velvety artefact with him. 

"How do you… where did you get that from?" Minho asks, watching Jisung spread it out. 

Jisung looks up at him. "It's pretty, isn't it? I got it at the flea market you told me about!" 

Minho vaguely remembers telling him about the flea market. "Oh? Did you have fun?" He bites his lip the next moment because Jisung's smile flickers a little.

"Yeah, yeah. I did. Can you please get the plates?"

Minho nods, unsure about the sudden change in mood. But he doesn't push it and instead goes back to the kitchen. 

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Jisung's brief spell of bad mood doesn't seem to last for long because he's moaning over the food the minute they start eating.

And that is not a metaphor.

Minho doesn't even know how to explain the mass of emotions he's feeling. He just holds his morsel of food aloft while gaping at Jisung. Lasciviously. 

"God, I was so hungry," Jisung says, preparing another bite of food. "You're an amazing cook, hyung-ah!"

Hyung-ah. 

God, what a whiplash. 

"I'm glad you like it," Minho chokes out. 

"I've just started learning how to cook," Jisung continues with a shy smile. "Actually, I used to live close to my parents previously, so my mom always froze meals and sent them to me. But now that's not possible. So, I've started learning to cook."

"Do you like it here so far?" 

"Well–" Jisung picks up his glass of water and takes a sip. It's fascinating, the way Jisung's expressions change with the slightest gust of wind. "It's not ideal, but it's only been a month since I moved here, so I guess I haven't had the time."

Minho hums. "Is it because of work?"

"Yes, I mean–" Jisung pauses, placing his chopsticks down. His eyes are averted, fixed on the plate. Minho leans forward.

 "I don't know if I told you, but I didn't really want to move away, you know?" He pauses again and then adds hastily, "not that I'm ungrateful or anything! I'm trying to adjust but it wasn't a decision I wanted to make."

Minho stills. An odd shiver lances down his shoulder. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I'm a homebody," Jisung admits. His restless hand picks up his chopsticks again. "I didn't want to leave everything I knew just because I didn't get a job back home."

An unwanted sense of familiarity douses Minho, and along with it, his heart pangs. Jisung's shoulders are slumped forward and he looks torn between defiance and regret. "I know," he says, softly. "That's a tough decision to make."

Jisung looks at him with surprise. His gaze softens with unspoken vulnerability. "Do you really think so?"

"I– yeah," Minho says. He reaches a hand out and pats Jising's forearm. "Why would anyone want to leave the comfort and familiarity of their homes?"

Jisung nods. The tiny frown between his brows parts and smoothens. "I know we shouldn't be caged by comfort and all, but…" he exhales a light laugh. "It's so fucking hard."

Minho offers a small smile, his mind cast back to one of his last conversations with Seongjin.

Seongjin had said: why can't you be brave for us?

He apologised the next day, saying he shouldn't have backed Minho into a corner. It didn't mean anything because the distance between the apologies they hurled at each other was granular by that point. 

But it always stung in the back of Minho's mind. 

"It really is hard and I think you're doing quite well," Minho says. "I know how difficult it is." He laughs when Jisung looks at him, expectant. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You can't just drop something so mysterious and profound and then remain silent," Jisung says with a pout. "Spill!"

"There's nothing to spill," Minho says, taking a piece of danmuji. "It's nothing interesting."

Jisung sticks his lip out further, obviously utilising the sheer plushness of his lower lip to the fullest, most manipulative extent. "I hate suspense, hyung!"

"Okay, then don't blame me for bringing up my ex on the first date," Minho wags a finger at Jisung for added emphasis. He ignores the way Jisung's beaming smile splits something stagnant and dry in his heart. "We broke up because he wanted to move to another country for further studies. He asked me to go along with him."

Jisung raises his brows. "Oh."

"Yeah. Well, I'm still here, so you know I didn't go – unless you believe I was cloned."

"I'm not ruling out that possibility."

Minho rolls his eyes. "But yeah… even though I loved him – it wasn't enough to turn my entire life around. Surround myself with strangers in a strange land."

"I can understand." There's a vague undertone of guilt in Jisung's voice. He takes a sip of water. "Moving to another country is even more terrifying than moving to another city."

"Moving anywhere new is terrifying," Minho agrees. 

Why can't you be brave for me? 

Minho had no answer to that. How can he, when he's not very brave with himself either?

"That's why I think you're brave to do this," Minho says. "It's easy to choose the easy way."

Jisung lowers his glass of water, his complete attention burning on Minho's face like a spotlight. "I don't think it's that simple, hyung. There are so many factors," he bites the corner of his lower lip, "and I don't think courage is one of them. Not everything is linked to bravery, ya know?"

"Yeah." Minho's face is warm and he's pretty sure Jisung's eyes are fixed on his goddamn ears. "I understand that too."

Jisung's eyes snap back to him. They watch each other for a second, recognition suffusing the space between them. 

Even if nothing is important in the long run, Minho thinks, how uninteresting it would be if nothing was ever important.

･ﾟﾟ･｡

"This dessert is fucking delicious," Minho says. He is probably eating it too fast, but he can't stop. Like he said, it's fucking delicious.

They had spent the last twenty minutes floundering through Jisung's science of the most perfectly decadent chocolate cake. Minho told him he sounded like an overwrought menu-card and Jisung had clutched his heart and pretended to die of rejection.

What a ridiculous, amusing man. 

So, he'd helped Jisung take the cake out and heat it in the microwave and then put the melting mess back in its cup with the fridge-chilled chocolate sauce. Jisung had also managed to get a few smears on his cuffs during this process. 

"I told you," Jisung replies, all smug and sing-song. "Trust the science!"

"I remember having the same thing when I was seven," Minho teases. "It's not science, it's just a classic."

"The greatest scientists are always shunned," Jisung complains. "Imagine telling Edison that light has always been a classic so a light bulb is not needed."

"True. Light bulbs and chocolate are in the same category of inventions."

"You're finally seeing the light," Jisung says, giggling. 

"God, that was an awful joke," Minho says, even though he's trying hard not to smile. Actually, he doesn't think he has stopped smiling in a while, as terrifying as it sounds. 

Jisung shrugs, swallowing a bite of cake. "It doesn't matter as long as it makes me laugh."

"That's the opposite of a joke, Jisung-ah."

Jisung sits up straight, puffing his chest out. "I'm free of all these man-made barriers."

"I believe you," Minho replies, content as he wriggles his toes under the coffee table. He's sitting beside Jisung, their backs against the sofa and with only a sliver of distance between them. 

Jisung's flat is quieter than his, the sounds of city life muted by its distance from the ground. As they fall silent, the quietness magnifies and soothes. The lights are dim and elongated shadows climb the walls for their audience of two. 

As far as first dates go, this one is perhaps one of Minho's very best.

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Minho doesn't remember who kissed whom first. 

Jisung crowds him against the door, lips against Minho's, insistent and electrifying. Minho is dazed, his fingers pressed against the unfamiliar warmth of Jisung's shoulder.

"Shit," Jisung murmurs as he pulls away, mouth slick and a flush high on his cheeks. "I didn't mean– um."

"You didn't?" Minho repeats, dazed. Jisung looks like a sinful dream as he stands before him, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. Minho's hands are still curled around Jisung's shoulder.

Jisung chuckles, breathless. "Mean to get carried away. I just…"

Minho doesn't let him finish, ducking his head instead to nip gently at his lower lip. Jisung groans and Minho wants to chase the sound till it reverberates beneath his fingers. “Get carried away by all means,” he says before he kisses him again. Pleasure simmers deep under his skin.

But Jisung’s puff of laughter keeps him away. Minho looks down at him with mock annoyance. “Does this mean we’re going on a second date?” asks Jisung. 

They’re still standing close together, sharing breaths. Minho can smell his cologne and see the baby hairs revolting at the crown of his head. It’s endearing, but then he is distracted by the way Jisung squeezes his waist. “I might think about it if you kiss me again.”

“I think this is the corporate cut-throat behaviour I’ve heard about,” Jisung says, this absolute brat, even though he can’t even make eye-contact. His gaze is roving all over Minho’s face, eyes dark and dazed.

“Yeah, how sad,” Minho says and cups Jisung’s face, kissing him before he can say something else. Frissons jolt through him and he sighs through his nose as Jisung deepens the kiss. 

His mind is cloudy as he stands beside Jisung in the lift. He wants to touch… wants to step closer to Jisung and partake in his heady warmth. But there’s a camera in the lift and it stares down at them, daring any going-ons. 

“You really didn’t have to walk me four floors down to my apartment,” he says instead. 

Jisung glances at him, raising one hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Of course, I had to. I’m a gentleman.”

“I appreciate your gentleness and manliness,” Minho says, smiling when Jisung’s brows crease with confusion. “But, thanks,” he adds, a bit awkwardly because it’s a sweet gesture and he thinks Jisung should get a kiss for it. 

Jisung even walks with him to the door of his flat. Minho is absolutely not melting. When he opens the door, he is met with a piercing shriek. 

“Saja, what the fuck?” he says when Jisung flinches next to him. He steps inside and flicks on the lights. “Why are you screeching like a demon with a paper cut?”

Saja yowls again, tail held high, staring unnervingly at the both of them from the threshold of the flat. Minho squints at him and then checks his watch. “I’m only ten minutes late, God.” He turns to Jisung. “It’s ten minutes past his dinner time,” he explains. 

“Oh! Shit, sorry, Saja,” Jisung says, bending to his knees and wriggling his fingers at him. “I hope you have a good dinner! You’re such a good boy!”

Minho and Saja both contemplate Jisung, unsure of how to respond. Has he ever been near cats at any point? Saja meows up at Minho, probably placing the same question to him. “Yes, Saja, I hope you like the kibble, you freeloader,” Minho says. “I’m not going to accept any complaints.”

“But, what if it’s a really important complaint?”

“Saja doesn’t have the braincells for it,” Minho says. “There’s just a chaotic void between his ears.”

Jisung honks a laugh and then slaps a hand over his mouth. “Oh my god. You’re so mean to him.”

“Soonie, Doongie, and Dori are my brothers, and this one here…” Minho squats down and rubs the line of white fur on Saja’s forehead, “is my mortal enemy-slash-companion.”

“Sounds like a cartoon show,” Jisung observes, smiling. “Anyway–  I’ll see you… see you soon?”

Minho stands up, grimacing when his knees crack. He ignores Saja’s plaintive meow. “Of course. Let’s talk over text about it.”

Jisung’s smile is luminous and it’s not like Minho isn’t as dopey. It’s nice to know–  to feel someone’s interest this vividly. It buzzes deep in his mind, stomach sweeping with excitement.

“Of course, hyung. Good–” Jisung melts when Minho closes the distance between them and kisses him, soft and gentle. “Good night,” he whispers when Minho breaks the kiss, his breath ghosting over Minho’s lips.

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Saja dives into his food the moment Minho places it down as if he is starved by a cruel master and has to fend for himself by gobbling every morsel like an overeager seagull.

Minho leans against the countertop, arms folded across his chest. He studies the water damage on the ceiling. It’s beginning to flake and it looks more bloated. He really should talk to the landlord. He sighs and unlocks his phone to add a reminder.

His phone buzzes his hand and Jisung’s name pops up at the top of his notification bar. He clicks on it so fast that his thumb blurs.

It’s an effusive, emoji-ridden text declaring Jisung had a lot of fun and that he was really looking forward to their next date. It’s so honest and so cute that Minho has to bite his thumb to stop himself from giggling. Why is he being so embarrassing about a man he has known for a few weeks?

Because he’s adorable and nice, his mind replies. And it’s fun to be with him.

It’s true and maybe that’s all there is to it. Nothing more than having a good time with a handsome guy. He doesn’t need a deep, resonating reason to feel like his brain has inhaled helium, the way it screeches in a high-pitched tone as he types back his response.

That’s fine, though. More than fine.

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Jisung is already in the lobby when Minho exits the lift even though he is already five minutes early. He is immersed in the building bulletin board, which is an exciting study of the amount of garbage that piles up in a corner through the years.

“Hi Jisung,” he says, approaching him with quickening footsteps. Jisung startles as he whirls around before his face breaks into a smile.

“Hello!” He offers a tiny wave, nothing more than a sideways motion of his hand. “You look… you look really great, hyung,” he says, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket.

“But not as stylish as you,” Minho says, and is pleased when it turns out to be the right thing to say. Jisung looks delighted and he smooths his palm over his t-shirt.

“I got it from a flea-market for real cheap!” he says. “The other one you told me about when we went to that bunsik.”

“You’ve been getting around town, huh?” Minho touches his elbow lightly as he begins to walk toward the entrance. “Sounds like you’ve been to a lot of places around the city.”

Jisung shrugs, squinting against the sunlight when they step outside. “You did recommend a lot of cool places. I have no choice but to explore.”

“How many flowers do they get?” Minho asks, distracted as he tries to unzip his sunglasses pouch.

“Flowers?” Jisung slows his steps. He is looking at him when Minho finally manages to hook the glasses on his nose. “Oh– um. Did you see that?” he asks tentatively.

“Just a glimpse.” Minho isn’t sure if he should’ve said it. “I didn’t read the whole thing or anything.”

“It was four-point-five for both,” Jisung says, after a slight pause. He doesn’t look suspicious, Minho notes. Just a little wary. “I mean, there’s no half flower but…” he sighs. “It’s just my dumb rating system.”

Minho pokes Jisung’s forearm. “It’s a nice system,” he says. “Refreshing. And…it makes sense since you seem to like flowers so much.” They’re still walking at a snail’s pace, but Minho doesn’t hasten.

“Yeah…” Jisung raises a hand to his hair but drops it. “I like flowers a lot… and you’ve obviously noticed,” he adds with a laugh.

Minho points at the daisy bush which is just a few feet away from them now. “Well, I have noticed you like them a lot,” he says, gently. There’s a rising flush on Jisung’s cheeks, which he doesn’t want to deepen. “They’re very pretty.”

“They mean new beginnings,” Jisung says. They have come to a complete stop now, eyes fixed on the bush as it undulates slightly in the rising wind. “New beginnings and innocence, I think. I– I just liked it because it relates to me.”

Minho knows nothing about flowers.

“I like looking at them whenever I’m at home because…” Jisung bites his lower lip for a second before releasing it. “It feels nice…to apply its meaning to my situation. It just makes me happy.”

“It cuts the bleakness?” he says, stepping closer to Jisung. He knows nothing of flowers but he does know a little about drowning in boredom and negativity.

“Cuts the bleakness,” Jisung repeats. “Yes. I think it does.”

Minho offers a tiny, encouraging smile. “Then it’s good. You have something that reminds you to be happy.”

“Do you have it too?” Jisung’s eyes are warm and the set of his shoulders is looser. The light of the sun unearths the rich undertone of his iris.

“It’s a work in progress,” Minho replies. “I’ll get there sometime.”

Jisung studies him but doesn’t question him further. He nods instead and says, “so, are you excited to see the reptiles?”

Minho grins, trying not to show the relief in his voice. “As ready as I can be, considering we’re going to see reptiles.”

“Hey! They’re very pretty, you’ll see!” Jisung starts walking again, hair flying around his head in tendrils as the wind blows again. “And… if you’re really scared then maybe we can hold hands,” Jisung says, the last of his words tumbling out in a garbled rush.

“I’ll think about it once we get there,” Minho says, ignoring the delighted spark in his belly.

He is definitely going to take Jisung up on that offer.

_ _ _