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Summary
“Hyung always wants to fuck me,” Jisung mumbles. He drops his hands from Minho’s hair, sliding them down to his shoulders and over his chest, stops right where his heart has started hammering again under the thin material of his shirt.
“You sound very sure of that,” Minho breathes.
Jisung smiles, even though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I am.”
—
Or: Jisung loves Minho and Minho loves him back. If only it were that simple.
