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“You're trying not to tell him you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.”
“I don’t want to have a serious talk with you!” Han whined, leaning closer toward Minho on the couch. “It’s gross!”
Then, under the eye of a million cameras, Minho just laughed. But, though nothing in his face betrayed his real feelings — “pro idol” be damned, — Jisung still saw the glint of recognition in his eyes.
It was true, the thing they always said about not having serious conversations.
Usually, their days were filled with aimless banter, one small talk seamlessly flowing into the next, where even though nothing of importance got discussed, they never seemed to run out of things to say.
It was freeing, and secure, to be able to bicker, tease, talk nonsense, without being scared of offending the other person — and Minho never got offended, always ready to fight back with a sharper quip.
Serious conversations, on the other hand, had never been their thing. And it was one serious conversation in particular they avoided, the way something avoids imminent destruction.
It lingered between the lines. It lingered in the touches they shared on stage, in dressing rooms, behind the camera, at their dorms — anywhere Minho walked past him, his fingers brushing against Jisung’s waist, or where Jisung touched the tips of his fingers, featherlight, to Minho’s neck, just to make sure he was real. It was felt in the electricity of their gazes, when Minho’s eyes inevitably fell to Jisung’s lips and Jisung suddenly felt short of breath. When Minho’s ears burned bright red from Jisung teasing him — that’s when Jisung felt the most proud of himself, like all the years of knowing Minho had taught him something invaluable.
Jisung took great pride in knowing Minho, with all his weaknesses and vulnerable sides, because there was no way in hell he would have known them if Minho hadn’t wanted it. And he was so grateful that he had, because the guards that he let go of with Jisung uncovered such a kind, radiant soul that it was impossible not to fall in love with once you got to know it.
And that was precisely what they didn’t talk about.
They both knew. Jisung would be a fool not to notice how differently Minho treats him, all fond smiles and reassuring touches and attempts to be as close as possible. And Minho would be an even bigger fool not to notice Jisung’s unabashed affection, honey-sweet words spilling out at any opportunity, his feelings loud and clear for all who cared to listen. It was nothing short of obvious — but the kind that lingered in the air, evident yet unmentioned.
It was for the better, Jisung knew. If it was let out into the open, there would be too great of a risk of ruining everything. Not even by any fault of their own, but simply because of the ways of the idol world. They were already being scrutinized for the smallest touches that slipped through the cracks — he couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be to try to hide something that actually exists. How dangerous.
Even back when they were auditioning, they knew what they were getting themselves into: after all, don’t all idols sell the right to their privacy in exchange for a chance to be something bigger than themselves?
And Jisung didn’t regret it, couldn’t regret what gave him everything, wouldn’t change a thing, really, except for some nights-
Only on some nights, tucked away safely in the privacy of his room, blanket covering him head to toe — only on those rare nights did he allow himself to tend to his wounded heart, ready to burst at the seams from all the love he felt. He listened close as it beat to keep him alive, and in every beat he heard:
Min-ho-
Min-ho-
Min-ho.
Lulled, he let his mind slip away from the steel grasp of reality; he wondered.
He imagined him and Minho on a date, not so different from the ones they already had, but where they wouldn’t need to stop themselves from looking, or touching, where they wouldn’t have to worry about someone seeing them with their hands intertwined under the table. The ones where he wouldn’t hesitate to follow Minho into the bathroom and kiss him senseless against the shut door. He imagined them walking alongside the Han River, Minho’s arm linked through his as it so often was, and Jisung gushing about the birds they saw on the walk — anything to make Minho smile that special, you’re so dumb and I’m so in love with you smile. Then Jisung would stop in his tracks, and grab Minho’s palm, their rings clinking against each other — their rings? — and he would lean in to kiss him, Minho’s other hand cupping his face, the metal on his finger cold against Jisung’s jaw.
Sometimes, like now, it made him want to weep.
He hadn’t even realized he wanted it — the rings, the vows, the happily ever after, — but now the image burned bright behind his eyelids and with it the wistful, dragging pain in his chest. He squeezed his fists, rubbing them hard against his closed eyes, in hope that it would make the daydream dissipate into the night air.
He felt more than he heard the door to his room opening.
His hands stilled on his face.
After a moment of silence, familiar cat-like footsteps slowly made their way towards his bed. A hand touched his shoulder, caressing his arm over the thick blanket.
There was no way he could face him right now and not spill every agonizing thought rumbling around in his brain. Still hidden from sight, Jisung had no idea what to do. Should he pretend to be asleep? Would only playing dead help him at this point?
Still, the desire to see Minho’s face in real life was stronger than any apprehension, so Jisung pried his hands away from his eyes and opened the corner of the blanket, baring his face to the chill air of his bedroom.
Minho was peering down at him, his face soft in the shadows. His hair was still half wet after the shower and, looking closely, Jisung saw the exhaustion settled into his posture, shoulders slouched forward and half-lidded gaze.
He came here for me, Jisung thought with a pang in his chest. Even after practicing so late, he came here.
Wordlessly, Jisung lifted half of the blanket and patted the free space on the bed, moving a bit closer to the wall.
Minho climbed into bed, facing Jisung. Jisung put the blanket over him and mirrored his position, his palms under his cheek. They lay like two parentheses, the unspoken confined in the space between them.
Minho’s features were fuzzy in the dim lights from the window. His face was relaxed, sharp lines of his nose and lips dulled by the shadows, but his eyes were shining as he watched Jisung attentively.
The intensity of his gaze made Jisung want to blend into the background, to never be seen again — or maybe to be seen fully, to crack himself open like a ripe pomegranate for Minho to feast on.
Because Minho looked at him like he was all that mattered.
Jisung felt like Minho saw all the parts of him, in complete disarray, and loved them all individually. It was the kind of gaze that filled Jisung’s heart fully, completely, leaving no way back.
He felt it all come up at once.
His heart fluttered in his chest. It was overflowing, the love he felt for him, and it was bubbling up to the surface, threatening to spill at any moment as he looked into Minho’s dark eyes.
Jisung bit both of his lips together, squeezing his jaw. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t ruin everything by saying it out loud, and Minho deserved so much better, and-
His heart was going to burst from the weight of all things unsaid and undone.
Minho was still looking at him, but his expression softened even more. He lifted one of his hands and caressed Jisung’s jaw, cupping it in his palm — just like he did in the dream. Minho smiled knowingly as he rubbed his thumb over Jisung’s cheek. And Jisung-
Jisung couldn’t look at his face anymore. He felt the words slither up to the tip of his tongue. Squeezed his eyes shut.
I love you, I’m in love with you, he thought, he prayed, he didn’t let himself say out loud. I’m so in love with you it hurts.
Minho’s fingers slowly moved from his cheek, skimming his neck, shoulder, until his palm pressed flat against Jisung’s chest, right over his heart.
There was something else to his touch, not only understanding, but something that made Jisung’s feverish desire root deep inside his body. That calmed his heart with a promise.
There will be time for that, Minho’s hand said, pressed right to the core of his being. It will all be true, it promised.
Jisung felt the warmth under Minho’s palm start to spread through his body, light banishing the darkness of pain into nothing but shadows on the wall.
Jisung creaked his eyes open and couldn’t help the smile that tugged on his lips when he saw Minho’s fond expression.
It was true, the thing they said about not having serious conversations. But for now, with Jisung pressing his hand over Minho’s on his chest and watching Minho’s face transform to radiate pure, unadulterated love —
He felt like maybe what they had was enough.