Work Text:
With the roar of the fire, my heart rose to its feet
Like the ashes of ash I saw rise in the heat
Settle soft and as pure as snow
I fell in love with the fire long ago
Here is a fact: Tattooing needles can move up to 3000 times per minute.
Here is another one: The oldest discovered proof of tattooing dates back to 3250 BC.
Here’s a third fact, because things come in thirds: Minho is losing his mind.
Here is an above all encompassing truth: Minho is in love.
Minho knows he is in love because it is a familiar feeling. There is not much novice about, it is mostly comforting if you ignore the spikes of anxiety and uncomfortable fluttering in your stomach that comes with it. At the height of 25, he has been in love before - with other people and other aspects of life. His first love had been, of course, dancing, when he was only 7. It had been his first heartbreak too, a decade later, when his ankle snapped below him during rehearsals for the summer recital, leading him to give up everything at senior year of high school. All his life plans, the college scholarship, the dance crew he had been dancing for since he was 12, the plans to join a professional crew and tour with actual artists as soon as he graduated. A part of Minho knows he had never truly been the same after that, but sometimes that is just how things go. You get broken up and put back together, but some places never truly fit again. There is always some loose part missing, hidden under the couch, impossible to find or replace. A little dark hole, a little empty space for forgotten dreams and hopes and unwavering belief in yourself before you discover your own flawed humanness, your own mortality. The way life usually goes.
Love does find him again, slowly and gradually, but it starts almost a year later.
Chan bursts into his room on the bright morning of Minho's 18th birthday, months after graduation. After all Minho's anger and restlessness had turned into shameless hope and rest for recovery, which had turned into grief and hidden tears which then turned into a numb feeling and bed rotting as classes ended and so did spring. Summer came and went, and Autumn arrived, and Minho stayed in bed, refusing to do anything even when his doctors cleared him for walking, when his parents begged him to go and socialise. He had no college plans, everything had already been set up for him to start dancing professionally so he had not even considered applying “just in case” something happened. There was no plan B, dancing had always been the only way - in and out. The world was made in shades of black and white - There was Minho and there was dancing and that was it. The ability to communicate his feelings, his real self, through his body, and nothing else. When the lights of the stage dimmed on him for the last time, as he sat on the floor covered in sweat, holding his ankle for dear life as Yeji and Ryunjin ran towards him, he knew nothing would ever be the same again. Sometimes, on his worst nights, he felt like the lights had never turned back on. Like the girls had never reached him, his professor had never carried him back to his car to take him to the hospital,he had neve been operated on and healed. He was still there, in the empty stage, lights off, all alone and unable to move. What is a dancer that can't dance? A statue forgotten in a museum, never to be seen or touched. Never able to communicate or fulfil its function. If a tree falls in the middle of the forest, does it still make a sound even when there is no one to listen? It doesn't really matter in the end, does it? No one heard of it, it can not even be forgotten as it will never be known in the first place. There is no glory for those who never become what they were supposed to be, only survival. Only the make do of day in and the out, with all that unfulfilled potential and the grief of what could have been, the heartbreak of a stolen love, right from under your uncareful nose.
But then again, love does have a tendency of finding us again - a pesky and stubborn little thing. Chan barges into Minhos on the morning of his 18th birthday and forces him to shower, to get dressed in actual pants instead of sweats, and drags him out of the door with him towards the city. Minho is grumpy the whole way through but he goes because Chan is a good friend and they have known each other for far too long for him to complain too much and get away with it anyways. So he lets Chan buy him an iced americano and some savoury breakfast and tell him all about college, about music production, about how living alone is kicking his ass and he had never realised how expensive basic groceries are.
“I dont think I'll ever eat instant ramen in my life.” Chan whines “I've tried every single flavour possible, even the extra spicy ones. The smell is starting to make me nauseous.”
Minho snorts at that. What a hyung, crying because he can't cook proper homemade food. (Chan himself had been a heartbreak in a way, a high school crush that got swollen by the waves of Minho’s ambitions and subsequent depression).
“The secret to not getting sick of instant ramen is to use just enough fresh produce on top that you forget how disgusting the thing that you're actually putting in your body is.” Minho puts it simply, used to making do with whatever he has in the fridge and small things that can be bought in any convenience store, speaking out of experience from his travels with the dance crew. The memory is bitter, takes root in the roof of his mouth, the back of his throat and sours his mood entirely. Chan seems to sense it and nods to himself.
“Always so smart, Minho-ah” He smiles at him, all dimples, trying to lighten up the mood. “Is the curry pan good?”
“It is. Thank you hyung.” He concedes, offering Chan a bite. As the boy does, Minho tilts his head. “Where are we even going, again? I thought you'd want to rest on the weekend, if you are so busy with school.”
“I'm actually supposed to be working right now, have a paper on music theory to deliver next tuesday, but I had to do something today and I thought it was perfect if you came with me.”
“Which is..”
“You’ll find out.” Chan winks at him and Minho sighs, before letting himself be dragged out of the coffee shop and down the streets of Seoul.
The surprise ends up being a tattoo shop. Minho thinks that in hindsight he should not be surprised, Chan had always wanted tattoos. Surely he just wanted someone to hold his hand while the needle dug under his skin and an excuse to drag Minho out of the house, as the overzealous friend that he was. Minho watches the neon sign, bright white over minty green wall: “Needles & Claws body modification”. It is pretty inside, cosy and well decorated, comfy sofas with cat paw shaped pillows. One of the walls was covered in printed photos of previous jobs and cork boards with flashes available for walk-ins. The front desk was made of glass, with multiple piercing options for all parts of the body, and behind it stood a young man with black hair and a lip piercing.
“Chan-ah! You came,” He greeted them with a grin.
“Told you I would!” Chan reached over the counter to give him a half-hug before stepping back. “I brought a friend with me, hope that’s ok.”
“All good man, the more the merrier.” He turns to Minho and stretches his hand. “Hey man, nice to meet you, I’m Jungkook.”
“Minho.” Minho shakes his hand offering a polite smile.
“Are you getting something done too or just here for moral support?”
“Just moral support today.”
“He says that but I know for a fact he will make fun of me if I demonstrate any sight of pain.” Chan teases, and they chuckle.
“Then be strong and don’t flinch when facing the actions of your consequences, hyung.” Minho snarks back, and Chan whines pitifully before laughing again.
“Yoongi-hyung will take care of you today.”
“Still a shame that you couldn’t be the one to ink me up today.” Chan says and Jungkook chuckles softly, shaking his head.
“Nah, my lines are not stable enough to do the design you were looking for. In the future, maybe, when I’m no longer an apprentice.” He offers. “Well, either that or you decide to tattoo something smaller and less detailed.”
“Nah, I’ll wait until you feel confident enough.” Chan nods repeatedly and Minho squints at the permanent bright smile on his hyung’s face, the dimples a little too cute to be innocent.
“Jungkookah, you better not be trying to steal Yoongi’s clients” A tall man with high cheekbones and bright yellow sweater walked into the room. “That is very unprofessional of you, to steal from your mentor.”
“I’m just talking to a friend. Hyung is still finishing retouching Namjoon-hyung’s ribs.”
“Aish, I told Namjoon to wait until the weekend, now we can’t have pork ribs for dinner tonight.”
“Yoongiah is booked all weekend.” Jungkook provides and the man rolls his eyes.
“As if he wouldn’t make out for Namjoonie. If 13 years of friendship doesn’t give you a priority when booking then nothing will.” He sighs before turning to the boys and grinning. “And which one of you is getting done today?”
“Me!” Chan raises his hand, excitedly.
“Ah, is it your first time in the shop?”
“Yes. First tattoo, actually.”
“Ooh, how exciting!” He smiled. “I’m Hoseok, I cover the piercings, if you or your friend are interested in getting something. You would look great with a bridge piercing, or maybe something for your lip. Snake bites, perhaps?” He pointed at Chan, before turning to Minho “And could I interest you in a helix, or maybe a tragus?” He offered and both shook their heads politely.
“Maybe next time.” Minho offered, considering. He had never been able to get piercings before, too risky because of dancing, harder to heal too. But now…Well, that wasn’t a problem anymore.
“Well, if you changed your mind, then Just talk to Jungkookie here and he’ll schedule you in.” He winked at them before turning back to Jungkook. “I’m going to the convenience store to get some things, tell Namjoonie to meet me there later so we can talk about the expo next month, okay?”
“Yes, sir” Jungkook nodded, and with that, Hoseok was gone.
It does not take much later for Yoongi and Namjoon to make their way downstairs. Namjoon had short hair, black and buzzed on the sides. The black tank top he was wearing revealed the part of a large tattoo that took over his back, peeking over his shoulders and nape. He was tall and very strongly built, making Chan look small near him which was slightly surprising to Minho as he usually uses Chan as a reference for strength and muscle-type of body. The soft dimples in his smile and the calm voice that greeted them was also surprising, but a more pleasant one. Yoongi was shorter, with long black hair and sharp eyes and a quieter smile. They exchanged quick pleasantries as Yoongi got himself some coffee before hurrying Chan (and Minho) into the studio.
“Please take a seat.” Yoongi offers Minho, politely, before sitting in front of Chan. “So, what are you looking for to get done today?”
As Chan explains the design he has picked and they try to figure out the placement, Minho picks a book out of a large pile besides the loveseat he had picked for himself. It was titled "The art of Tattoo in South Korean history”, and he allowed himself to get lost in it for a while.
Minho learns a lot in that session, as he flips through the book. About the art of tattoo in general, about different styles and techniques, about how it all fits in the world, in his culture and history. He had never thought much about tattoos before, mostly put off by unnecessary pain and the high level of commitment, but he learned something else about himself, a newfound interest, a dormant desire, slowly waking up.
He also learns from listening to Chan and Yoongi conversations.
He learns that Chan has a very obvious crush on Jungkook, which becomes clear as the boy stutters through explaining how they had met at the gym and Chan had approached him first but they had become fast friends after it. He learns that it was Jungkook’s idea for him to get a tattoo. He learns that Chan was getting a leg sleeve for his family history, filled with references of Australia and his childhood home. That he misses them more than he lets one know.
Minho learns that needles and claws had been founded by Yoongi and Namjoon almost 5 years before, that they were friends since high school that had fallen in love with tattoos when getting more into the alternative scene of the music industry. They had both been apprentices in the same studio before finally getting enough money to open their own place, and had stolen Hoseok from their older studio and dragged him with them.
He learns that back in school Yoongi was on their basketball team, on track to get a scholarship for it and go abroad. That a bike accident had damaged his shoulder in a way that made it impossible for him to continue playing.
“How did you deal with it?” Chan asks, eyes flitting back to Minho, hesitantly.
“I didn’t, for a long time. It’s how I started frequenting some darker places, heavier parties, places I really had no business being in, really. I just spiralled further and further after, I was really lost. Namjoon tried to help me, but he had his own shit going on, he was as mad at the world as I was.”
“What saved you, then?” Minho asks, suddenly, unable to help himself. It was rare to find someone else that had had their dreams and opportunities ripped away from them, whose body had turned limited from night to day. Yoongi smiles, open and genuine, head still lowered as he focuses on shading the tree on Chan’s calf.
“Tattooing.” He tells him simply. “I already sketched a lot, and had a couple of them done on my own, though they were terrible.” He laughs “I got all of them covered up later. But back then, the whole process of it - from drawing to making the stencil to tattooing someone else - it all helped me feel better. More stable. It made my mind go quiet in a way it never used to. Then Namjoon got us the apprenticeship with a guy he knew and here we are now. I have no idea what I would have done or where I would be without it.” He lifts his head to look at Minho, soft and raw. “It saved my life, man.”
Minho recognizes the emotion in his voice. Love. Not just the true passion for something, but the feeling developed when one has a genuine connection with it.
For the first time in months, Minho feels the numb feeling in his heart lift. For the first time since he had sat in that sterile hospital room and heard the news from the doctor, he craves something in the future, instead of his past.
He craves falling in love with art again. He wants to feel the same genuine feeling that Yoongi expresses when he talks about tattoos. He wants to have that love too.
Love finds and leaves him, again and again in this period of time. His high school crush on Chan ressurfaces briefly one winter holiday when they rent a cabin together, a “dreams of the long haul” type of situation. It ends before it ever gets a chance to start, really. Minho damps any flame that grows inside his stomach, whenever he remembers Chan’s red years whenever Jungkook initiates skinship. He dates some people, every now and then, although none of it lasts over a year. He watches dance recitals again and does not break down crying. His love for dance is still there, but it is changed - something unreachable, a grief Minho has made his peace with. He finds new music that he likes and goes to parties again and finds out that, as long as he does not put too much strength on it, he is able to dance at least a little, enough to have fun. Enough to feel like more of his old self again.
Above all, slowly but surely, Minho falls in love with tattoos - not just the art in itself, but the entire process, the history and culture of it. How one can use tattoos to take ownership of their own bodies, their own stories. Grief and love and dreams and longing and strength and resilience, all decorated onto skin, a permanent reminder for yourself of what you have gone through, of what you can achieve. Beautiful elaborate illustrations and minimalist drawings and beautiful fonts. An art form that is present in multiple cultures, spread out through the beautiful history of humanity. When Yoongi offers to mentor him, Minho can’t hold back the smile that takes over his face. When he tattoos his first client, Chan’s real human skin twitching beneath the needle, his heart somersaults. When he pulls back to look at the result, he feels his lungs expand in satisfaction, in unstoppable joy. It feels like coming home. Like a warm drink on a cold day. Like love.
And now here he is, almost 4 years later - resident artist at Needles & Claws. He had been an apprentice for two years before being officially hired. The work of the shop founders had blown up online and so the studio had expanded, more artists and body piercers joining him in the meanwhile, Jungkook included and a couple of others. Minho’s own work had gotten some traction due to his focus on a delicate but firm trace, following Yoongi’s steps. He worked hard every day, except Sundays and some rare days mid week with low bookings. He got to meet new people every day and learn their history, what made them tick, what they loved, and then etch that onto their skin forever. It was a good life. It was a life he loved.
Minho himself gets his own personal collection. One for dancing, of course, on his calf, right above the surgery mark on his ankle, a piece of Korean poetry on his ribs, a reference to Princess Monoke and another one to Kiki’s delivery service on his left leg, a heart covered in sparkles at the centre of his chest with the words ‘i know it's for the better’ in hangul underneath it, a heart shaped sushi, a two headed calf and cherry flowers on his right arm and some haunting matching bunnies on each thigh. His absolute favourite, however, is his sleeve on his left arm, dedicated to his cats. Soonie, Doongie and Dori stretched around his entire arm, surrounded by leaves and sparkles that Minho had asked his mother, father and grandma to doodle for him as a reference. The definition of a comfort piece.
Also, a great conversation starter, the client being new or not. Case in point Momo, currently laying in front of him as he tattoos a streak of violets and lavender over her shoulder, rambling on as she usually did with him. She had been able to break the uncomfortable silence of their first meeting by asking Minho about his cats, months ago when she had first tattooed him.
“Hey, your boy is here” San calls him, just Minho is finishing up the details.
“Tell him to get some snacks in the kitchen, I’ll be there soon.” Minho tells him without looking up, a soft smile on his face.
“Sounds good. Seonghwa is upstairs finishing a client but it shouldn’t take long, and Soobin has already left for the day. Can you lock everything up when you’re done?”
“Sure thing. Am I opening up tomorrow?”
“That depends, when is your first client?”
“11 am.”
“Nope, Jungkook-hyung has a client at 9, so things should be already good when you come in.”
“Alrighty. Have a good evening, Sanah.”
“You too, hyung. Bye noona.”
“Bye Bye San-ah” Momo calls. She graciously gives Minho 5 seconds before starting teasing him. “Your boy, huh?”
“Quiet, unless you want me to mess up your tattoo.” He threatens and Momo hisses at him.
“Respect your elders, boy.” She jokes and he chuckles. “Is it someone I know?”
“Nah. Friend of a friend. We’ve known each other for a while now but our relationship is pretty new.”
“How new?”
“Like, a month now? I don’t know, we were always…Fond of each other, so the line of when we actually started dating is a little blurry to be honest.”
“Aww, so sweet, our Minho-ah in love-”
“Alrighty, we are done. Please leave and never come back.” Minho says pulling away from her and Momo giggles, unmoved. She gets up and gasps with joy at seeing her back in the mirror.
“You are the best, Minho-ah”
“I know.” Minho sighs, directing her so he can take a couple of photos before leading her outside to the studio’s waiting room.
And there, on the loveseat with cat paw shaped pillows, is Jisung.
Minho’s Jisung.
Let’s rewind. You remember the facts, right?
Minho just dug ink with needles underneath Momo’s skin that moved up to 3000 times per minute, reproducing an art form that has been in development since 3250 BC. There is a boy sitting on the couch named Han Jisung and Minho is so in love with him it hurts to breathe a little.
Minho is going insane because he and Jisung have been officially together, calling a date for what it is, for over a month now and they have yet to kiss.
“Minho’s boy, I take.” Momo smiles at him and Jisung blushes deeply. Minho thinks he will never tire of this vision.
“I-Yes. I am” Uh, Jisung. I’m Han jisung.”
I am, I am, I am. Minho’s, he is. It’s insane. It feels like Minho’s heart is about to fly off his chest.
“Nice to meet you, Han Jisung. I’m-”
“Leaving.” Minho interrupts before turning to her with a smile. “Don’t forget to put the cream on the tattoo 3 times a day, light coverage. Remove the plastic wrap tomorrow after the shower.”
“It’s not my first, Minho, I know how it works.”
“Wonderful. Pleasure to do business with you, as always, Momo. Please get in contact if you want a retouch or next time you want a new one.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll leave.” She rolled her eyes. “Enjoy your evening, Han-ssi.” She smiles politely at him before turning to Minho. “Enjoy your boy.”
And so, finally, Momo disappears through the door onto the street, and Minho and Jisung are left alone.
Minho turns to face him with a smile on his face that is soft, reserved just for Jisung.
“Hi jagi.” He greets his boyfriend before approaching him slowly and Jisung stands up, walking up to him and slumping onto his arms.
“Hi” he whispers, head buried onto Minho’s chest. Minho wraps his arms around him and brings up a hand to mess up Jisung’s fluffy hair.
“Everything ok?” He whispered, careful of Jisung’s unusually quiet demeanour. “Did Momo scare you?” Jisung snorts in his chest and shakes his head no. “Hmm, was it one of the other boys? Was Wooyoung here to pick up San? Did he try kissing you again?”
“No, hyung.” At that, he gets a giggle. It is not as exciting as usual, more like reluctant amusement, but Minho will take it as a win. “No one tried to kiss me. Wooyoungie wasn’t even here.”
“Is that why you’re sad?
“Shut up.” Jisung punches him in the chest and it feels like nothing. Minho hugs him tighter. “You are stupid.”
“Stupid for you.” He provides, shamelessly, because it is true and Jisung deserves to hear it. After a moment, he kisses the top of Jisung’s head. “What happened, baby?”
“Really long day.” Jisung sags even further in his arms before standing up straight again, tilting his head back so he can look at Minho. “Just…Shitty, overall. I missed my alarm so I was late for class and had to walk to my seat in front of everyone which is not a big deal but feels super embarrassing, and then when I went to buy my coffee the girl was not paying attention to me so I had to raise my voice to let her know I was there and then my order was wrong but I was too embarrassed to tell her so I just gave it to Hyunjin and then I got some feedback on my latest animation and it’s not awful but it wasn’t, you know, perfect so it’s kinda…Yeah. Just, not good.”
“Sounds very overwhelming, I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.” He cradles Jisung’s face gently, pushes some of the hair away. “Do you want to decompress a little before we leave? I need to reply to some forms anyway.”
“Yes, please.” Jisung tells him, and Minho nods before pulling away. He turns Jisung around and wraps his arms around his waist and leads the both of them back to his room in the studio. There, he opens one of the cabinets and gets out a large package of washable markers before plopping himself up on the sit his clients usually took.
“What are you feeling like today?” He asks, offering the markers to Jisung.
“The cats, please.” Jisung smiles shyly at him and Minho grins back. His sleeve is also Jisung’s favourite.
“Good taste, jagi.” He lays down and stretches his arm towards Jisung. “Take it away, artist.” He says, pulling up his phone and opening the google forms for appointments to see how many clients he had to reply. Soon enough, he felt the cold felt tip touch his skin as Jisung began colouring his tattoos.
The next 45 minutes were spent like that, in comfortable silence as Minho worked and Jisung coloured him up and let his stress dry out with the ink on Minho’s skin.
It was something they had discovered early in their friendship, this little routine of theirs. Jisung liked colouring when he was overwhelmed, a simple task without any pressure, just the simple movement of the pen until all the slots are filled with colour, a more ludic to-do list with no stakes, no need to think, only methodic free movement. And Minho…Minho liked to be there for him. Liked being whatever Jisung needed him to be, even before he realised the depth of his feelings for him.
Minho has been in love before, but loving Han Jisung was completely different from all of that. It hadn’t felt like the gnawing feeling on his chest like crushing on your best friend in school, or like the fluttering anxiety of going to the store with a cashier that was cute and around your age range, or like being praised by your favourite professor that was way younger than all other teachers. It hadn’t felt like lust induced short lived want or fuel for daydreaming crush. Instead, loving Jisung felt like coming home.
Jisung had simply slotted himself so well into Minho’s life, had made him feel so comfortable with being himself that Minho had just wanted to reciprocate. And it was so, so easy. Things between them had been simple from the start, they just understood each other - the need for silence, the patience to listen to each other rambles, the comfort in not talking at all, the conversations that flow easily and connected one topic to the other until they noticed it was already 3 am and they hadn’t even noticed time flying buy.
Jisung had this thing about him that made you want to take care of him, and Minho loved to spoil him almost as much as he loved to tease him. Truth be said, Minho loved to do anything that would get him that head tilt, those bright eyes and the whiny voice calling his name, filled with undeniable amusement and happiness.
Minho has known he was in love with him since the first time Jisung had leaned his head back and laughed out loud at one of Minho’s jokes, the type that people usually frowned and called him weird. He was even more sure of it when Jisung had cried on his shoulder during movie night, as they watched Howl’s moving castle for the fourth time, too embarrassed to let Minho look him in the face. And then one night Jisung had been anxious, chewing on a pen, and Minho had offered his hand instead to him, made a joke about Jisung ruining his expensive teeth and how many people would cry if that happened. Jisung had doddled all over Minho’s hand and then up his arm until he reached the two headed calf and then started drawing around it, making up stars in the sky and a little crown for its head. Minho then gave him a red and a blue pen and although Jisung had blushed a little, he did paint the cherry flowers red and used the blue one to shade the chopsticks on the heart shaped sushi.
And now, here they are. Whenever Jisung feels overwhelmed by life, Minho offers his body as a canva to him, and waits as he fills his body with ink, colours all of Minho’s tattoos and brings them back to life in a different way. A new invention, a new type of art, a new way of understanding Minho and which parts of him he chooses to present himself to the world. The action may seem to be focused only on Jisung and his state of mind, but Jisung is as dedicated to Minho’s body as Minho is to his emotional state. Minho knows Jisung picks the colours carefully, takes his time coming up with patterns and palettes, because he knows the importance of the ink on Minho’s skin. Knows that a part of it is Jisung loving him and his life and his art too. Everything that Minho went through - the good and the bad and the silly. When Jisung colours it, as he calms and soothes himself, he does so by studying Minho and his story, who he is.
“His”, Minho thinks, because in his mind he has belonged to Jisung for a long time now, way before they had finally admitted to themselves and each other that their hang outs were, in fact, dates and put a label on it.
Minho’s thoughts are interrupted as he notices that Jisung has stopped moving, the marker in his hand hovering above Dori’s half painted tail, light blue with navy stripes.
“What is it, jagi?”
“Hyung, how do you do it? How did you keep going even when things were hard?” Jisung asks without looking up. His voice is quiet, almost a whisper. Minho listens anyway.
“The same way you do it, jagi.” He provides, but that’s the wrong answer as Jisung shakes his head vehemently, and swipes the marker along the tattooed ink, shading the tail navy blue.
“Hyung is brave. I’m not. I don’t know how to be, how to do the things you do.” He says, and it breaks Minho’s heart.
“Jisungie…You are so brave. Hyung is always so impressed by you.” He tells him with a frown, because it is true. Jisung had a hard time fitting in which lead to some bullying when he was still in school. It had been rough enough that when his parents moved to Malaysia before he ended middle school, they opted to get him home schooled. The bullying issue was solved, and Jisung was so smart, so brilliant that he thrived and graduated at 16 years old. Despite that, home schooling had been, of course, even more isolating. And then he had moved back to Seoul, all on his own, with no contacts at all, to start college and pursue a degree in animation. Minho knows that most things are hard for Jisung. Not the things that most people struggle with or look for - he is a fast learner, a brilliant artist, talented with many instruments, and so charismatic it hurts. It does not change the fact that he panics if the plans change last minute and that he needs to take deep breaths before sending important emails or that he has to repeat rehearsed speeches in his mind to order to food and interact with others, and when he is overwhelmed he does not leave his bedroom at all usually.
Still, despite all of that, he still does everything that he does. He works and studies and makes friends and gets out of bed even when it’s hard. Minho is so in love with him that it makes him dizzy. His precious Jisungie.
“I want to be braver. I want to be someone worthy of …Of Hyung. Someone good enough for hyung.” Jisung tells him. He doesn’t look up, but he stops moving, the blue pen stilled over Dori’s tail.
“Jagiah…You are the best thing for me.” Minho curls his hand around his neck, tilts his chin up softly so Jisung is forced to face him.
“You can’t just say stuff like that, hyung.”
“Hmm? But I know how much my Jisungie likes being praised.” Minho jokes, light hearted just to get Jisung to let out an embarrassing whine that Minho loves to hear so much. “Baby, how can you ever say that you’re not good enough for me when meeting you has been the best thing that has happened to me this year? This life? No one is smarter, kinder, funnier than you. No one is braver either. I’m sorry Jisung hasn’t expressed himself properly.”
“It’s not you, hyung! It’s not…I just…” Jisung holds his breath, anxiously. Counts to ten in his head and then backwards. Minho knows how to recognize the patterns. “I want to take you on a date. A real one.”
“All of our dates are real to me.” Minho protests, almost pouts. He loves coming home from the studio to cuddle Jisung on the couch while they binge watch anime and movies of questionable quality, or when he cooks for Jisung and then they sit next to each other, each one with their own hobby for the whole afternoon.
“I mean, like, a proper date. Outside. At a restaurant or a picnic or a museum. Somewhere romantic, like everyone else gets to do. I want to hold Hyungs’ hand. I want to have what everyone else has. I want you to have it too. If…If you want that too, I mean.”
“Jagi” Minho’s smile parts his face, so bright and honest it hurts a little “Baby, we can do all of that and much more. Anything you want.”
“I get nervous.” Jisung whispers.
“It’s ok, baby. We can start small. How about after I close the shop, we get some americanos and take a walk along the river, huh? We can hold hands while we do it. And then when we get home later we can plan an actual meal at a restaurant during the week.” Minho gets closer, bumps his nose against Jisungs, softly. “Does that sound ok?”
Jisungs eyes flip to his eyes and then his mouth and then his eyes again.
“Yeah. That…That sounds good, hyung.” He licks his lips, and Minho holds back the familiar urge to bite him.
“Jisungah…I’m gonna kiss you now, ok?”
“Yes. Please.”
Jisung’s lips are soft and taste faintly like the pastry Minho had left for him in the fridge. He presses their lips together in a chaste kiss one, two, three times before he lingers, before his tongue pokes out and he licks the seams of Jisung’s mouth until he opens up for him. He slips his tongue inside, licks his teeth and smirks against his lips when Jisung lets out a needy whine, fingers tangling in his hair. Minho kisses him deeply and hungrily, uses his lips and tongue and wandering hands to show Jisung how much he wants him, has wanted him. How happy Jisung makes him, how in love with Jisung’s everything he is.
It might be too early to tell him those 3 little words now, but Minho thinks that maybe he and Jisung are not too far off from each other on the spectrum of feelings. By the way that Jisung’s eyes grow brighter when he catches Minho entering the room, by the way he laughs and lets his body sag against him on long days, by the way he carefully colours Minho’s tattoos, by the way he sees him as a safe place, a safe person. By the way he wants to try to be better because of Minho, for Minho.
His Jisung, so brave, so loveable, so his.
Later, as they walk down the Han river, iced coffee in one hand and Jisungs fingers intertwined with his in the other, Minho looks down to his now colourful arm. Jisung really knows how to bring the ghibli vibe to his inked babies.
“If we keep making lists of things you want to try, then maybe you can even get a tattoo sometimes. Hyung will hold your hand.”
“Don't want you to hold my hand. Want hyung to tattoo me and then give me kisses after."
“Hyung will give you all the kisses you want in the world, Jisungie.” Minho replies, utterly and undeniably in love.
So in awe, there I stood as you licked off the grain
Though I've handled the wood, I still worship the flame
Long as amber of ember glows
All the "would that I'd loved" is long ago