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Summary
“You still bite your nails,” he mutters, disapproving, and for just a second– for a precious moment, so fast he almost doesn’t catch it, the world melts away. The middle-aged couple chatting in the corner and their slightly nosy waitress and the bustling noise from the kitchen fades into irrelevance as Jisung looks down at their hands, entwined and resting in the middle of the table for everyone to see. He glances up to catch Minho’s smile, very small and so achingly soft. “It’s okay, Jisung,” he says, the words sharp amidst the muffle, “it’s just me.”
He breathes out. “Right,” says Jisung quietly, his heart swelling too large for the confines of his chest, “I– yeah. It’s you.”