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“Hi, beautiful,” Minho breaks out into a soft giggle, as Jisung’s arms come to wrap around him within the blink of an eye.
He had barely made it over the threshold, his bag still slumped outside the door from where he had dropped it after looking Minho in the eyes. Minho refuses to let himself be bothered by the same within this moment though, choosing to gleefully focus on the feeling of the arms wrapped around his torso—holding with such indispensable certainty, that Minho almost feels that he’s imagining the caution within them.
It’s Jisung’s whine which breaks him from his thoughts—ironically filled with nothing but the renditions of all the things he had missed about the other when they had stayed separated over the past week; It’s a wordless sound, and yet Minho knows what the other’s demands are within a second. He’s wrapping his arms around Jisung’s waist before he can reprimand the other for not having even washed up from the long ride home.
“I think the bed’s going to be more comfortable if we’re going to be cuddling endlessly,” he whispers into Jisung’s hair, pressing a soft kiss to the younger’s crown in a manner that he knows is definitely contradicting his own words. “Hyung’s too old for standing up this long, Sungie.”
Minho knows it’s a stupid joke—one that wouldn’t earn him a laugh, if anything, from anyone in a room full of his closest friends or strangers alike. Still, he lowers his guard and lets the syllables escape from his lips, simply because it’s Jisung; Jisung who doubles over Minho’s words even when they’re crafted within the spur of the moment. Jisung who laughs with his whole body, the laughter reverberating throughout his being as he collapses into Minho’s side to stabilize himself before ending with a compliment to the older. Jisung who doesn’t bite back at him for his dark sense of humor, and simply confesses of liking Minho’s ‘unique’ if not weird personality.
Jisung who would know that Minho’s communicating his worry for the younger needing rest, carefully shrouded under the layer of humor just because honest words have never been his forte.
And it’s no surprise today too, when Jisung withdraws himself from the embrace with the most endeared smile tugging at his lips. He lands a light slap on Minho’s arm, playfully shaking his head as he directs his attention to the bag carelessly discarded at the doorstep before picking it up. Minho wonders if it has gotten heavier than the last time he had handed it over to Jisung while dropping him off at the train station, for the wincing pain flashing across the younger’s face seems unfamiliar.
“You must be tired, hm?” he announces more as an affirmation, than a question, while landing a pat on Jisung’s ass as the younger walks by. The rolling of eyes that he receives from the younger does nothing to deter him, only brightening his shameless smile as he moves to the kitchen counter. “I’ll get some food, so go freshen up, okay?”
“Hyung, I told you not to cook something,” Jisung whines, leaning against the doorframe to their bedroom while fixing Minho with a stare. “You must be tired from traveling, too.”
Jisung isn’t wrong—of course Minho was tired. Even though the drive back from Gimpo is always a short one, he nevertheless finds himself waking up at early hours of the morning on the day of his departure. It had startled his mother a few times in the beginning, as she would stir awake with the noise of Minho’s footsteps roaming around the house, but now both of them have gotten used to the routine. She doesn’t come out to question what he’s doing at four in the morning, even if Minho makes a little more than the warranted amount of sound in his attempts to feed his cats and then settle himself against the windows to watch the sunrise with him. It’s usually a struggle to have all three of them agree to the idea of curling against him, but there seems to be some kind of unknown negotiation which makes one of them give in too easily, or so Minho guesses.
Today it had been Dori, his smaller figure climbing into Minho’s lap wordlessly once he had settled against the chilled morning air hitting him straight in the face.
He knows he should’ve taken it a little easy today, slept in a little longer and chosen a later hour to come back to Seoul, when he had spent the last few days running around for Chuseok’s festivities. And yet, his body had eased itself too deeply into the routine—jostling him awake at the early hours, even without a ringing alarm.
“I got here hours before you did, Sungie,” he reassures, flashing a sure smile in Jisung’s direction. “I wouldn’t have made anything if I was too tired, you know that.”
It seems to be a convincing argument for Jisung, who huffs before nodding along and retreating to his destination. Minho can’t help but be thankful for the weight of Jisung’s stare lifted off him, always capable of shredding his well-crafted bearings and stripping him down to an honest man. He knows that if it had lingered for even a second longer, the blush blooming its way up from his neck to his ears would’ve been the topic of their conversation with Minho shyly admitting that seeing Jisung had re-energized him anyways—his soft fingers brushing against the hints of Minho’s waist being enough of an electrifying force.
Despite the momentary victory, he knows it’s a weak defense. He knows he’s going to be read bit by bit for the euphoria coursing through his veins for being in Jisung’s periphery again. All the younger’s going to need is one moment—his eyes staring into Minho’s as the weaker one between them lets his body surrender to the whims and fancies of being a fool in love. His eyes are going to be drooping shut before he even knows it, as Jisung’s hand would trace the curve of his cheekbones before resting at his lips. Jisung is going to be a menace, of course, as he lingers against the softness for much longer than his victim prefers before giggling and giving into the temptation; It’s going to be nothing more than that, a simple kiss running its course and yet it’s going to leave Minho burning all over.
He knows his fate well by now.
If anyone were to read his mind within this moment, they would surely call him a fool for the way he walks into their room unguarded with a fond smile etched into his expressions. It’s a blessing, though, that Jisung reads him for his heart and sees within it the love that’s capable of messing with Minho’s defense.
“I asked Yongbokie for his brownie recipe around a month ago, and I thought today would be the perfect chance to try it,” Minho smiles, heart warming up at the reminder of Felix’s excited reiteration of the entire process. The recipe wasn’t too difficult to follow, but he might just fake some misery and ring Felix up again for help just to hear it again. “I’m pretty sure I did a good job at i—Sungie?”
Minho’s body moves faster than he can comprehend—busying him with the task of putting down the plate of food on the nearest surface possible, before he’s seating himself down against the frame of Jisung’s body curled against a pillow. He half expects some form of recoil from the other, and maybe the way Jisung buries his face deeper into the cushion to hide his tear-stained cheeks is just that. On any other day, Minho would’ve taken it as a sign to keep himself rooted in his place, simply ensuring his presence to be close enough for Jisung’s reach but not imposing himself into the other’s space. He’s about to do the same today, gulping down whatever worry begins to knot within his throat in the favor of trusting Jisung to ask for him when he really needs it, before he registers the sign.
The sound of Jisung shifting against the sheets to the opposite end of the mattress, enough to leave room for Minho’s body to slip into the blanket right next to him, resounding through the quietness of the room.
And of course, Minho being the defenseless fool that he is, doesn’t check for any thorns or traps—slipping into the space wordlessly within a heartbeat, as long as it means that he gets to be close to Jisung’s being. He doesn’t think it can ever mean anything bad, not when the life that emanates from the younger’s body is so fragile and pure. The only reason he practices caution is for the other, for his own lies surrendered for as long as he can remember laying eyes on the other’s fuller cheeks and starry eyes.
“Can I?” he taps against Jisung’s arm with the ghost of a touch once settled, with his fingers coming to hover above the other within the next second—ready to retreat at any moment, if needed. It would be difficult, considering the magnetic pull they already feel towards the silken feeling but Minho could be strong enough.
He would be a liar though if he doesn’t acknowledge the wave of relief that washes over him when Jisung nods briefly, his arm shifting just enough to be pressing against Minho’s touch again.
And that’s all he really needs, before Minho’s shifting once again to slip an arm under Jisung’s waist while the other takes the responsibility of shifting Jisung’s weight onto his own chest. He expects more of a fight when he tries to loosen Jisung’s hold on the cushion, but the younger follows his head before he can even try—turning his body to lay his head against Minho’s heartbeat, with a grip just as tight now wrapped around Minho’s torso.
“Do you wanna talk about it, jagiya ?” Minho begins, voice barely above a whisper as his fingers begin to draw patterns into Jisung’s arm. He can’t be too sure, but the sigh that escapes the younger’s lips tells him that Jisung might just be aware of the words he’s spelling out with the touch.
“I want to,” Jisung mumbles, burying his face deeper into Minho’s warmth while his fingers bunch against the fabric of his hoodie. “I just don’t know ho—what to talk about.”
”You don’t have to think it over much in your head, Jisungie. You know hyung will try to understand you, always,” Minho says, tightening his hold around Jisung’s wait. He hopes the gesture’s capable of communicating his sincerity. ”Whatever’s going on in there? You can lay it on me, I promise,” he finishes, before pressing another kiss against his temple and leaving the silence for Jisung to fill at his own pace and comfort.
”I—I feel happier, hyung,” Jisung begins, his voice filled with melancholy that does nothing to match the content of his words.
Minho knows his limitations, knows that he’s not capable of picking apart the meaning of those few words alone no matter how much he wishes he was—just so that he could know all the right things that could possibly ease the weight on Jisung’s heart. He, however, also knows to trust Jisung, knows that the other will walk him to the true meaning himself at his own pace whenever he’s ready even if it means Minho might have to spend some time deliberating with no success. It’s not the easiest process, but the reward of Jisung’s taste against his lips the first time around after tiptoeing at the line of something more for months had taught him to ground his faith.
“I feel happier, and I hate that, hyung,” the voice shakes next to him, as Jisung gulps down possibly another broken sob to continue. “I’m not supposed to feel happier right now, but fuck it’s so obvious.”
“Jisungie, what are you talking about? Why aren’t you supposed to be happy right now?”
“Because nobody’s supposed to be—nobody talks about feeling happier when they walk out of their family’s house to return to their place faraway,” he croaks out. ”It’s supposed to be sad. It’s supposed to make you yearn for the next few days that you’ll be able to visit again. It’s supposed to leave you with a heavy heart, not have you sighing with relief that it’s finally over.”
“I hate that I can’t feel that way, hyung,” Jisung continues, his voice growing smaller with every word that spills from his fears. “My brother—I remember seeing his face when we were both walking down to the door on the day I left. He was smiling so much, kept gushing about how much he was looking forward to eating eomma ’s food again and talk about all the deals he made thanks to appa ’s guidance. Even on the second day, after I long expected him to exhaust himself with all that excitement, he still greeted them with the same happiness that he had walked in and I just—.”
”Take a deep breath, jagiya . We have got all the time in the world,” Minho coos against Jisung’s sob, running his fingers through the other’s hairs. He hopes that every knot he undoes is helping the younger breath a little better.
“It sounds childish, but I’m just jealous of him,” he begins again, once his voice stabilizes enough to speak. “All I felt walking up to that door was fear that I would say the wrong thing and soon enough someone would either be yelling, or they’d ignore my presence altogether. I was scared that they would stop listening to me, if I brought up the fact that I was doing music, or reminded them that I had a boyfriend or simply even laughed a little too loud. The entire time I was just scared, and the only moment I ever came even close to that happiness in hyung’s eyes was when I was walking out. I was happy when I waved eomma goodbye, knowing that I wouldn’t have to see her for another year. I hate that I can’t feel what my hyung feels, even though we’ve spent our entire lives within that same house.”
“Jisung-ah, just because you grew up in the same house doesn’t mean that your lives were shaped the same way.”
”It doesn’t make any sense,” Jisung shakes his head, his hair ruffling against Minho’s fingers before they’re trailing down to cup his cheek.
“It absolutely does, my love,” Minho whispers, gently wiping away a fresh trail of tear. ”It absolutely does. Despite having grown in that same house, you’ve received a different version of your parents. The ones who failed to provide you support for your interest in music, like the way they encouraged your brother to become a doctor. The ones who never showed interest when you told them about a boyfriend, or told you about just how pretty your laugh is.”
“You’re allowed to want to build a life away from that house—away from them, jagiya .”
“It feels too difficult though, hyung,” Jisung whimpers.
It takes everything in Minho to not fight the world then and there, for he hates how that sound is so broken and different from the giggle that Jisung had waved him goodbye with.
“It’s meant to be difficult,” he chooses to say instead, taking in a deep breath to remind himself that he’s anchoring more than himself at this moment. “That place and those people, they are your home. It’s going to be difficult and so, so scary to leave them behind but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Or that you aren’t capable of it. If anything, I think you’re already doing so well walking down that path.”
“You really think so?”
“Of course, I do,” Minho answers without a fraction of a second. “You’re good at the scary stuff, even better than me if I’m being honest. I’m always the one reaching out for your hand when we’re watching horror, aren’t I?”
And there goes Jisung, softly giggling at Minho’s pathetic attempts at a joke again.
And there goes Minho, sucking in a deep breath from letting his adoration for the other overflow. It’s a losing game, and he knows that even before he tries.
“You can let it go, Sung,” he continues. “And if you ever think it’s too difficult, then don’t worry. I’ve got you, always. I might not be able to fight the battle for you, but I promise I’ll be here holding you through it no matter how long.”
“That sounds good, hyung,” Jisung says, his voice still laced with melancholy. Yet, there’s a hint of something hopeful, and Minho thinks it’s akin to the one tingling under his own skin.
“I’m glad it does, because I mean every single word.”
“I know, you did. You always do,” the younger smiles, and it’s so much prettier than Minho remembers it to be.
Maybe it’s just his brain fogging up his memories from the last time he had seen it shine in all its glory, but Minho knows it’s not to blame. He doesn’t think he’s that capable anyways; to hold within himself Jisung’s shine, which is so clearly a treasure to behold by any and everyone, and not have his selfish, love-struck self break it down into a million pieces—each to sustain him for his days, if he were to ever let go of the source.
It’s no wonder to himself that he finds himself a little speechless, when he’s reminded of all its force.
“You’ve just got one thing wrong, hyung,” Jisung lets out a shaky breath, tilting his head to press a kiss against Minho’s jaw. “That place is my house, they are my parents but you—You are my home.”