Chapter Text
There was a very special place in hell for long bus rides with all eight Stray Kids jammed into a tight space for prolonged stretches of time. That was likely why the managers always took a separate car. With the members’ varying personalities clashing, Jisung himself often wished he could teleport to their destination without having to endure—well, whatever was currently happening around him.
“Someone tell driver-hyung to stop at the gas station!” shouted Changbin from the back. Jisung couldn’t be sure without turning around but based on the vague grunts of pain, he was probably standing up and trampling Hyunjin.
“Do not,” said Chan, his voice an auditory equivalent of slowly shaking your head. “We’ve already stopped half an hour ago. We’re on a schedule, and besides, we’ll be in Busan soon.”
The KBS World Music Festival had kept them excited ever since they’d booked it—or, rather, from the moment they’d learned that they wouldn’t have to pull out for reasons that were entirely Hong Sooha-related. After everything that had gone down in January, Jisung had been trying to manage his expectations and remain skeptical, but even he couldn’t entirely fend off the buzz.
Performing at festivals had a certain charm to it—they got to not only rub shoulders with their peers but also show off in front of them. They could flaunt their skill side by side with the people they looked up to, other amazing artists, their very own idols. It was terrifying, but at the same time so, so exhilarating.
Still, Jisung knew that more than anything, Stray Kids were thrilled to perform in Jeongin’s hometown.
“I’m hungry!” Changbin wailed. “Hyunjin ate half my corndog.”
Hyunjin gasped, affronted. “Then why did you only get one corndog?”
“Why did you get none!?”
“Yah, Seo Changbin,” snapped Seungmin, which succeeded in shutting them up. “It’s six in the morning, I’m trying to sleep!”
Jisung rolled his eyes so hard he was surprised they didn’t just stay inside his skull. Felix, who was cuddled into Jisung’s side, snickered at Seungmin’s disgruntled expression and rumpled hair as he poked his head up over the seat. Next to him, Jeongin was still gone to the world.
“Wear earphones, man,” said Jisung. “That’s like, rule number one.”
“I left them at the dorm,” Seungmin murmured sullenly.
“Then you only have yourself to blame.”
“No, I have you to blame!” Seungmin stabbed the air so close to Jisung’s face his eyes crossed as he followed it. “I needed to charge them after last night. Maybe if I wasn’t forced to protect myself from your indecency in the sanctity of my own home, it wouldn’t have happened. Love motels exist for a reason, you know?”
Jisung cringed into himself violently when Hyunjin and Changbin hollered, feeling his face grow so hot it could probably cause blisters. They were still laughing and whooping when Felix caught on and gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth.
“No fucking way!” he exclaimed.
“Trust me,” Seungmin said through a grimace, “you’re lucky you don’t share a wall with them.”
Now, that was mortifying—but kind of satisfying, too, which was a brand-new sensation in Jisung’s life, and one he was determined to ride as far as it took him. He shook Felix off and crossed his arms, sending everyone pitying glances. “You know what?” he said. “I don’t even care. If you ask me, it sounds a lot like you’re jealous.”
“Of being in a sexual relationship with Minho-hyung?” asked Seungmin, looking like he was honestly considering opening the window and vaulting out of the moving bus right over Jeongin.
Jisung stared him down with genuine confusion. “You must know this doesn’t sound like something unappealing.”
“I’m sorry,” Seungmin said, shaken to the core. “I need to vomit into Innie’s backpack.” Then, finally, he sat back down.
“Hannie,” whispered Felix, his eyes round and shiny, “you should have told me!”
Jisung rubbed his face with his hands. “How on earth did you expect me to do that?”
In truth, Jisung had been meaning to talk to his friends—at least those of them who’d been involved from day one, and not quite like this, but still. Unsurprisingly, opportunities for such conversations hardly ever came. After the camping trip with Minho, which was vivid in his memory even three weeks later, Jisung hadn’t been able to put his thoughts into coherent words. The inside of his brain had been blended and resculpted into something that looked dangerously Minho-shaped.
There was nothing to hide—well, some things to hide, maybe—but it felt so scandalous. Probably for the first time in his life, Jisung was so happy that it seemed scary to fully acknowledge, and especially to share, even with his members. It didn’t make sense, but Jisung’s anxiety knew how to take the wheel even at the oddest of times.
Plus, it was so embarrassing. What was he supposed to tell them? Your hyung and I are now having sex from time to time and it’s equal parts awkward and mind-blowing. It seemed far from ideal, even though it was, undeniably, the truth.
Felix’s upcoming questions, which Jisung could see crowding at his lips, were stopped by a hand emerging from between their seats to tap Jisung on the shoulder.
“Hm?” He leaned over the armrest to peek into the next row and found Chan with his expression half fond, half concerned, and hands hovering over Minho, who sat by the window, fast asleep.
It looked like Chan had been putting up a valiant fight to prevent Minho from either smacking his head on the window or spraining his neck, but he was rapidly losing. Minho’s head was hanging low, face completely obscured by his hair, and any time the bus drove over a bump in the road, his chin almost hit his chest.
“Should I wake him?” Chan whispered, even though it was needless because Minho had his earbuds in.
“Nah, it’s fine,” Jisung unclipped his seatbelt and stood up. “Let’s switch.”
Chan nodded eagerly and did an awkward shimmy out of his spot, caused in its entirety by his hands still lingering around Minho. Snorting at him, Jisung sat down and took over.
“Ah, hyungie,” he sighed softly and leaned over Minho carefully to grab the lever under his seat. He made it recline so that Minho could lie down more comfortably, keeping one hand on Minho’s shoulder to guide him back, and then did the same thing to his own seat. They didn’t go very far, but it was something.
“Come here,” he murmured with a smile, reaching out to gently smooth Minho’s hair back. It was still startling to look at and felt coarse under his fingers.
Minho had had his hair styled specifically for the performance, and Jisung hadn’t gotten used to it yet. It was bright silver now, gently permed, and if Jisung hadn’t already known Minho looked inhuman, he would have believed it now. The color made him look like a love interest in a romance webtoon—complete with an ever-present golden aura around his body whenever he appeared on page.
Jisung delicately guided Minho’s head until it landed on his shoulder so that Jisung could wrap his arm around him. Minho’s face, which was makeup-less and still a bit puffy, wrinkled slightly at being jostled, but he relaxed into Jisung’s side easily enough.
Minho’s body felt firm under Jisung’s hands, his weight solid and familiar, and it made him feel just a bit unhinged. It was such an intoxicating feeling to be able to say this is my boyfriend. To know how to take care of him and do it well. A questionable thing to feel proud of, and yet there he was. He kissed Minho’s temple just because he could.
By the time they arrived in Busan, Jisung had taken about a million selcas. Minho always looked so pouty and angry when he slept, his mouth quirked down adorably, which was the perfect material for his new lock screen. It had already been a picture of Minho, but incredible photo opportunities happened all the time. The competition was brutal.
“Jagi-yah,” he said softly when they stopped in the venue parking lot and the members started picking themselves up. He’d removed one of Minho’s earbuds and was immediately rewarded with an imposing scowl.
“W’ht?” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with his wrists.
“We’re here,” Jisung said and moved to fix Minho’s hair for him. Despite his grumpy mood, he lowered his head obediently, watching Jisung through a puffy squint.
“Where’s hyung?” he asked once Jisung was done and they were making their way to the door. Jisung was leading him by the hand, trying to be gentle to give him time to adjust to reality.
“I relieved him of babysitting duty,” he explained with a grin, and squawked when Minho tried to swat at him. “It’s true! You were a danger to yourself.”
Minho smiled sharply. “I’m a danger only to you, Han Jisung.”
The venue was a huge stadium, already dressed in banners advertising the event, and it completely dwarfed them as they stood by one of the many back entrances, staring up at its domed roof. The sky was a sharp blue, completely clear, though the February wind was still biting, and there was snow melting in patches along the grass.
“There you are!” said Sunji when she spotted them across the lot, trotting up to them with a bounce in her step. “How was the drive? Not too bad I hope.”
“It was loud,” said Seungmin sourly.
“It was great,” said Chan, his voice firmer, and his smile professional. “We’re ready.”
“But don’t stress, yeah?” Sunji said resolutely. “Let’s use today to acclimate, meet the local staff, and relax. The rehearsals will not be recorded for any external material, and there is no audience, so you don’t have to feel pressured.”
It was nice to have a manager that he wasn’t scared of. Perhaps the bar really was on the floor on this one, but after Sooha, the difference was so stark Jisung felt like Sunji’s own child or something of the sort. She was quite frantic, but always very well prepared, with a no-nonsense kind of attitude that helped him not be afraid—it never seemed like she had ulterior motives. Jisung could appreciate that.
Sunji urged them to follow her to the entrance and led them inside. As was often the case with large-scale events, it was chaos. Jisung was actually quite shocked at just how hectic it was—today was only for rehearsals, he was almost sure not everyone had to be present for that. Still, the festival had a huge lineup, and each group came with their own entourage. Chaos was inevitable.
“Most groups scheduled for the morning dry runs are already here,” Sunji said as she waited for them to receive their Artist badges from security. “Those of you who have dance challenges scheduled for today, there will be a slot for that after lunch, once everyone else has arrived.”
“Do you have anything?” Jisung asked when they were on their way to the dressing room.
“No,” Minho snorted, “you?”
“Also no.” It tracked—as the group’s head introverts, they only mingled with idols that were not their personal friends if held at gunpoint.
Changbin glanced at them over his shoulder, his expression a picture of pity. “Losers,” he said. Jisung assumed he had at least ten challenges scheduled himself.
The dressing room was a very standard affair—a couple of sofas, vanities for makeup, and a long table with refreshments, which the members swarmed immediately. Their rehearsal was scheduled for eleven, and the only thing they had to get done by then was to study the event schedule, which was easy work.
“Noona,” said Seungmin once he’d had a turn about the room, ever diligent. “Where are the scripts?”
“The coordinator will deliver them in a bit,” Sunji said, “enjoy your breakfast for now, Seungmin-ah.”
Jisung was already taking a step towards the food when he was stopped by a gentle hand across his chest.
“Hyung will bring you something,” Minho said, directing him towards one of the tables in the corner, “wait for me.”
Jisung knew better than to argue, so he dropped his backpack in the pile with the other stuff they’d brought and settled away from the commotion that was Stray Kids trying to coexist in a room that was decidedly too small for eight.
Against his will, a big yawn split his face. Exhaustion was catching up to him slowly after he’d accidentally stayed up all night because he was struck by sudden inspiration and had to crawl out of bed to capitalize on it before the lyrics evaporated like mist. By the time he’d finally become drowsy, it was already close to their alarm, and Jisung chose to just drink some coffee and power through.
“Here,” said Minho’s voice, and then there he was, carrying two bowls and a plate of cut-up fruit balanced neatly in the crook of his arm.
“Whoa,” Jisung said, “a professional waiter, this hyung.”
“I did actually work as a waiter, you know.”
“You must have been getting a lot of tips.”
Minho barked out a laugh that prickled Jisung’s skin like a low current, making him feel giddy in response. They sat around the same corner of the table, their backs turned to the room, and pushed their chairs closer seemingly out of instinct, which was an oddly pleasant thing to take notice of. Jisung took Minho’s chopsticks out of his hand to unwrap them and then passed them back. Minho looked pleased.
“Oh,” Jisung said when he actually looked into his bowl, “they had tteokguk?”
“For Lunar New Year,” Minho said, “since we won’t spend it at home, we can celebrate together, at least.”
“Right,” Jisung replied after a pause, trying not to grimace. “Well, enjoy the festive food, hyung!”
It made sense that Minho would be sad about it—his family was the best, he had his cats, and his parents were probably bummed they couldn’t see him on the day. Jisung, on the other hand, couldn’t say he was too worried about not visiting Ampang. It was usually so mentally taxing that it could easily send him back into therapy. He was stressed enough by the very prospect of having to facetime his parents tomorrow after the performance. At the very least, he hoped Jihoon would be there.
“Hi everyone!” said an unexpectedly familiar voice, making them flinch. “I come bearing gifts.”
Pretty much everyone in the room tensed when they saw Park Hyeri standing at the door with a stack of scripts in hand. They hadn’t seen each other in a long while—whether because of chance or because Hyeri had asked not to coordinate their venues anymore after the fiasco with Jisung. She looked much the same, short and bouncy, wearing her all-black attire, and with her hair pulled up into a ponytail.
“Don’t look at me like I grew another head,” she said with a firm smile and dropped the papers on the coffee table between the sofas, where Hyunjin and Felix were gaping at her. “Study up. I’ll take you on a tour later when we go over the schedule, okay?”
“Perfect,” said Chan with a nod, “thank you, Hyeri-yah.”
When she finally glanced at Jisung, he could feel his own eyes bulging out of his head. His hand was still hovering with a piece of rice cake between the chopsticks, but he put them down quickly when Hyeri nodded and made to leave.
“I’ll be right back,” he murmured to Minho, and shot out of his chair, sprinting to the door. “Noona, wait!”
He managed to catch her just outside, where she’d stopped mid-step, blinking at him quickly.
“Jisung-ah?”
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, trying not to wave his hands around like a maniac, though the urge was there—the nerves had made his palms cool and clammy. “I know you’re probably busy.”
“I am,” she replied, “but it’s okay. What’s up?”
“I wanted to—um, I wanted to ask how you were doing.”
It seemed she hadn’t been expecting the question if her wide eyes were anything to go by. “Hm?”
“Just in general,” he went on awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Are you doing well?”
“Oh,” she smiled gently. “It’s okay, you don’t have to worry about me.”
“I wasn’t! Well, I was—but not in that sense. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
Hyeri exhaled and rested her back against the wall, humming softly. “It’s okay, Jisung-ah, really. I’m not uncomfortable.” There was a long beat of silence, and Jisung was afraid to break it, seeing something brewing behind Hyeri’s expression. “I was actually wondering if you were okay.”
“Me?”
“I heard.”
Jisung cringed. Well, of course, she had. After the debacle with Sooha, her hasty removal, PD-nim getting involved, and Sunji stepping in, he was pretty sure that anyone who worked with Stray Kids on a semi-regular basis had been clued in at least in part. Which didn’t make it any less scary.
“Oh,” he mumbled after a few deep breaths. “Yeah, I’m good. It’s—it’s much better now.”
“I’m glad,” she said, and oddly, she looked it. “It must have been horrible. For what it’s worth, I think you’ve done a great job handling it, even though it never should have happened. And,” she smiled at him, “I think I can see it now, when I look at you two. Minho is a great guy.”
Jisung’s face flooded with heat, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. He tried to smile back, and it came easier than anticipated. “Yeah. He really is.”
When he returned to the dressing room, his members were all very pointedly not looking at him, suddenly engrossed in food and reading the script. Only Minho stared, sitting pin-straight in his chair, and his eyebrows were pinched together with tension.
“All good,” Jisung said, catching Minho by the cheeks and planting a kiss on his forehead, right where the wrinkle was. “Don’t worry.”
“But—”
“I promise, jagi.” Jisung smiled as he sat back down to finish his soup. “Want to run through the duet again before the rehearsal?”
Minho settled slowly, his feathers unruffling bit by bit until he could nod. When Jisung tried to poke his cheek, he snapped his teeth at him, and there was a small smile forming on his lips, which was exactly what Jisung wanted to see.
Rehearsals were never a particularly stressful thing to endure, though Jisung’s anxiety didn’t like that all the artists were going on stage one after another since it meant passing by a lot of people backstage—people, who were your colleagues and usually wanted to talk to you.
Still, their turn went well enough. The stadium was huge, looking even bigger when empty, and the wind was blowing hard, so they were stumbling around the stage half-blind, laughing at each other’s disgruntled faces. Minho’s hair was so fried by bleach that once the wind pushed it up, it wouldn’t go down, and Jisung risked his life by laughing so hard he folded in half. As a response, Minho grabbed a mic stand and chased him around until Chan forced them apart with a poorly concealed grin.
The ballad segment rehearsal was scheduled for the afternoon, so once they were done with their set, they could go to lunch—and not a moment too soon, since Jisung was starting to get delirious, and Minho picked up on it.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?” he asked when he caught Jisung zoning out while the sound technician was detangling him from the cables of his in-ears. Minho’s expression was so sharp it sobered him up a bit.
“I’m good,” Jisung rolled his eyes. “I just need to lie down.”
“We were going to eat grilled clams in that restaurant Innie recommended,” added Felix after following their exchange with concern painted on his features, “should I tell them to order something instead?”
“No, you should go,” Jisung said with a wave of his wrist.
“We’ll just stay here to nap,” Minho said with an air of finality, and Jisung smiled at him tiredly, feeling dangerous levels of fondness enter his bloodstream. If Minho didn’t want to be smothered on the spot, perhaps he should stop being so perfect.
They were on their way back to the dressing room when they bumped into another group headed for the stage, which resulted in instant mayhem.
“Woah, look who’s here!” said Kim Hongjoong, seconded by loud exclamations from the rest of Ateez.
“Hongjoong-ah!” said Chan, and then, to the dismay of their managers, the groups merged to exchange greetings.
Jisung felt fairly safe attached to Minho’s side, smiling politely at anyone who would look his way, but the time of peace ended abruptly when Wooyoung broke away from Changbin—he’d been hugging him so intensely he was basically wrapped around him like a monkey. Once he jumped down, his eyes immediately found Jisung and his expression lit up like fireworks.
“There you are!” he said and cut through the crowd of their members to slap Jisung on the shoulder. He greeted Minho with marginally more politeness, though still grinning like a madman. “How you doing, kiddo? You need to tell me how it went!”
“H-huh?” Jisung stuttered, suddenly frozen in place like an icicle.
Wooyoung wiggled his eyebrows. “Did you get some? Wait, don’t tell me! You look like you got some.”
Well, it seemed that Jisung would be concluding his life by walking into traffic today. What made it even worse were Minho’s eyes—round like two saucers, blinking owlishly.
“Got… some?” Minho repeated.
“It’s nothing!” Jisung grabbed fistfuls of Minho’s sweatshirt and bodily pushed him down the corridor, having just enough wits about him to nod Wooyoung’s way. “Sorry, hyung, we need to go, talk to you later, yeah?” Then, to Minho, he said: “Let’s go get that nap, I’m so tired.”
Wooyoung dog whistled at them. “Naughty!”
“Yah!” said Changbin’s voice as they retreated. “Leave them alone, you buffoon.”
Jisung was cringing too badly to hear Wooyoung’s response but whatever it was, it couldn’t have been any less embarrassing. By the time they got to the dressing room, which was blissfully empty, Minho seemed to have shaken off some of the shock and was starting to resist the manhandling.
“Jagi-yah,” he said sweetly, not quite a threat, but close to one. “What was that about?”
Jisung honestly considered fleeing—it wouldn’t save him forever, but it would definitely buy him some time, which was all he wanted right now. Still, given that they were in Busan, where he couldn’t just crawl under the bed in his room and pretend the outside world wasn’t real, his escape plans had to be shelved.
“So, funny story,” he chuckled, trying to put some distance between himself and Minho in case his hyung chose violence. “Remember that time I got super drunk when I went out with Changbin-hyung? I’m pretty sure I puked in your bathroom.”
Minho’s expression went from a sharp and expectant to a fully neutral mask so quickly that Jisung wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“I remember,” Minho offered, and his voice had lost its edge. “What about it?”
Jisung steeled himself with a deep breath. “I was actually meeting with Wooyoung-hyung that night. I needed—god, there is just no good way to say it, is there?” He looked around to make sure no one could overhear him and flexed his hands nervously. “I wanted to have sex with you, but I needed someone to explain to me how it works before I could embarrass myself.”
Unsurprisingly, he’d succeeded in sending Minho into shock. He took half a step back with a sharp inhale and blinked rapidly, his mouth falling open.
“So, you—wait,” he said haltingly, “let me get this straight. You went to a member of a different group to ask for… sex education?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds horrible!” Jisung covered his eyes with his hands and started pacing to unload the shame somewhere it couldn’t reach him. “I asked Changbin-hyung first, but he’s not gay so he was useless. He said that Wooyoung-hyung was reliable and that he would be down to help—hyung vouched for him. What else was I supposed to do?”
He was scared to check Minho’s expression, but he heard him breathe in deeply, which was almost worse.
“Aegi-yah,” Minho said softly. “You could’ve come to me. I had no idea.”
“That’s kind of the point,” Jisung finally chanced a peek and found Minho’s expression oddly raw, with redness spilling down his neck and up his ears, and his eyes big and shiny. “I didn’t want you to be my teacher or something. I wanted—I wanted to be good so that you could enjoy it.”
He chose not to explore his actual memories, in which he’d done exactly nothing to contribute to the enjoyment on that first night at the camping site. It was still better than if he’d gone into it knowing even less.
“Jisungie,” Minho said, in the same soft tone again.
Jisung took a careful step towards him, but stopped again, unsure. “Don’t be mad, okay? I haven’t mentioned you at all, not even vaguely. It was mortifying enough without mixing you into it.”
Minho grimaced briefly. “I—I don’t care about that. I’m not mad,” he said, and his gaze landed somewhere on the floor as he wrung his hands together. “I can’t believe you’ve done that. It must have been so hard.”
“Are you kidding me?” Jisung finally closed the gap and grabbed him by the nape, his thumbs resting just below Minho’s sharp jawline. “Hyung, I love you. I’ve never been this sure of anything in my life, so this—this is nothing. I’m not the best at relationships, but I’m trying. I mean, for you? Hell, I’d try anything.”
Minho turned even redder, which was a funny contrast with his silver hair. He huffed, clearly attempting to conceal the fact that his eyes were a little glassy. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost intimate.
“You’re doing pretty well.”
Jisung smiled and leaned in to kiss Minho on the lips. It was quick and chaste, barely a peck, but it made his stomach do somersaults.
“While we’re on the topic,” he then said, eliciting a quick blink from Minho, “Seungmin may or may not have told the whole bus that he heard us last night—in case you wanted to kill him or something, you have my blessing.”
“Consider it done. I’ll push him off the stage.”
Jisung wondered how someone could make even the most cartoonishly evil grimace look hot. He supposed it was all down to being Lee Minho.