Work Text:
The aroma of roasted garlic and rosemary filled the apartment, a testament to Minho's meticulous preparation for their dinner. He’d spent the entire day in a haze of domesticity, meticulously cleaning the apartment, arranging fresh flowers on the center table, and setting the perfect ambiance for the evening. It wasn't just the usual pre-Jisung-arriving ritual, though. Today, it held an undercurrent of anxiety, a nervous energy he didn’t quite understand.
All day, Minho had been bombarded with images of married couples, their hands intertwined, their smiles radiating a sense of settled joy. He’d seen them everywhere - on billboards, in cafes, even on the park benches he passed on his way home. It felt like the universe was orchestrating a grand showcase of marital bliss, subtly prodding him, reminding him, of what he was missing.
He looked at the empty seat across from him, the one that normally brimmed with Jisung’s warmth and infectious laughter. They’d been together for seven years, seven years of shared laughter, whispered secrets, and unwavering support. Yet, a nagging question clung to him like a shadow, a question that refused to be silenced.
A thud outside the front door sounded.
“Jisung?”
His voice came out a whisper, almost afraid to break the quiet that had settled around him like a shroud. He watched the door anxiously, hoping for the click of the lock, the familiar sound of his love’s return.
The silence stretched, each tick of the clock amplifying his worry. Finally, the key turned. Jisung stepped in, his face weary, his eyes reflecting the long hours he’d spent at the studio.
“Minho, I’m so sorry I’m late. I got caught up working on this new song…” Jisung apologized, eyes wide with guilt.
He placed his bag on the floor, then noticed the meticulously crafted dinner table. His lips curved softly. “Wow, you really made this special.” He reached for Minho, pulling him into a warm embrace.
Minho, despite the knot of tension in his chest, felt a pang of appreciation. He loved Jisung’s effortless affection, the way his touch always calmed him. He leaned into Jisung’s embrace, the scent of his cologne grounding him.
“You never have to apologize for working hard,” Minho murmured, drawing back to look at Jisung.
They sat at the table, the aroma of the food filling the room, masking the burgeoning tension simmering beneath their happy pretense. Jisung finally broke the silence, “So, what’s with the fancy spread? You celebrating something?”
He noticed the way Minho was avoiding his gaze, fiddling with the polished silverware. Jisung felt a prickle of unease. This wasn’t like Minho.
'It’s nothing really,' Minho mumbled. “Just… thought we deserved a nice dinner.”
Jisung nods at him, clearly worried but trying to hide it . “…That’s all?”
A sigh “Yep.”
The silence returned, heavier this time.
The rain outside mirrored the storm brewing inside Minho. He shoved his fork against the side of his plate, the clanging metal echoing in the quiet dining room.
“Why?” The word came out clipped, the frustration barely contained.
Jisung, his head bent over his food, didn't immediately respond. “…What do you mean?” he asked slowly.
“This,” Minho gestured at their dinner. “This is us. We’ve been together for seven years, Jisung. Seven years of sharing everything, supporting each other through thick and thin, and what?” He shoved his chair back, the screech of metal against tile jarring the silence. “What is the end goal? Why can’t we figure this out?”
Jisung finally looked up, his expression a mask of confusion. “I don't understand what you’re saying.”
“Don’t play dumb, Jisung,” Minho spat, his voice rising. “I'm talking about marriage. Why won't you talk about it? Why won't you commit?”
Jisung sighed, the breath heavy with resignation. “Minho, we've talked about this. I’m not ready.”
“Ready?” Minho scoffed. “How long do you need? It’s been years!”
“It’s not just about being ready, Minho,” Jisung said, his voice quiet.
“You literally just said it was.”
“It’s about what we want.” Jisung ignores the comment. “What we both want.”
“I want to marry you, Jisung,” Minho said, his voice hoarse. “Is that not enough?”
“It's more than enough,” Jisung said, his eyes softening. “But it’s about us being on the same page. You’re talking about forever, about a commitment, and I need to be sure that’s what I want.”
Minho felt a wave of anger wash over him. Harsher. “What are you even waiting for? What else do you need to see? I love you, Jisung. I’ve loved you for years and I want to spend my life with you!”
Jisung’s eyes welled up, the tears threatening to spill. “Minho, you know why. You know it’s not about the love.”
Minho’s chest tightened. He knew what Jisung meant. He knew about the apprehension, the fear, the whispers of doubt that had clung to their relationship like a shadow. Jisung had lost his parents when he was young, and the thought of committing to something so permanent, so all-encompassing, was terrifying.
“Don't you think I understand that, Jisung?” Minho whispered, his voice cracking. “Don't you think I know how hard this is for you? But I’m here, Jisung! I'm here and I won’t let you go through this alone!”
“It’s not about you letting me go through this alone!” Jisung said, his voice rising. “It’s about me being ready to take this step, to be able to fully commit. And I just… I just need time.”
“How much time, Jisung? How much time is enough?”
The question hung heavy in the air, unanswered. It was a question that had haunted their relationship for years.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The rain hammered against the window pane, the sound echoing the storm raging within them.
Finally, Minho rose from his chair, his gaze fixed on the wall. “I’m going to stay at the studio tonight,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
“Minho…” Jisung reached for his hand, but Minho pulled away.
“I need some space, Jisung. I need to think.”
He didn't look back as he walked out of the apartment, the slamming of the door echoing in the quiet space.
The week that followed was a blur. Minho spent his days lost in the studio, the rhythmic tapping of the keys of his piano the only constant in his life. Jisung tried to reach out, but Minho wouldn’t answer his calls or acknowledge his messages. He knew he was being unreasonable, but the anger and the hurt were too much to bear. How could Jisung not see that all Minho wanted was to spend his life with him?
The silence stretched on, the ache in Minho’s chest growing with each passing day. He missed Jisung, his laughter, his presence, his touch. But the pain of the unresolved issue gnawed away at him, making it impossible to truly move on.
Then, one evening, a knock on his studio door pulled him out of a melancholic composition. Jisung stood there, his face etched with worry.
“Minho,” he whispered, his voice strained.
Minho knew he shouldn't, but he couldn’t resist the pull of Jisung's presence. He opened the door, the scent of rain and worry flooding the air.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice raspy.
“I…” Jisung swallowed, his eyes pleading. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t mean to?” Minho asked, his voice laced with bitterness. “You just didn't want to face what we needed to talk about.”
“No, baby,” Jisung said, stepping inside the studio. “I’m not trying to avoid it. It’s just… it’s a lot to wrap my head around.”
“Seven. Years. How much more time do you need?”
Jisung’s gaze fell to the floor. “That's exactly it, Minho. Seven years. Seven years of happiness, of laughter, of love. Seven years of being with the man I love, the man who makes me feel understood and safe.'
“So what’s the problem, Jisung? Tell me!”
Jisung looked at Minho, his eyes brimming with tears. “The problem is, I'm terrified. I'm afraid of losing you. I'm afraid of failing you. I'm afraid of hurting you. And I've spent the last couple of years trying to figure out how to overcome that fear, how to be brave enough to say yes, to commit, to promise you forever. I mean, of course I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Jisung’s voice trembled slightly. “You mean the world to me, more than you know. But…”
He hesitated.
Minho narrows his eyes, not fully ready to let go of his anger yet.
“I’m scared, Min. I’m scared that I’ll mess it up, that I’ll screw up everything we have.”
The anger in Minho slowly subsided, replaced by a wave of understanding. He knew that Jisung’s fears were real, that they stemmed from a childhood of loss and uncertainty.
“I’m sorry, Jagi. I just…” He paused, his voice dropping to a mere murmur and takes Jisung’s hand in his, his fingers intertwining with Jisung’s.
“Jisung, I don’t care about the ring, or the fancy proposal. I just want to be with you. You’re my best friend, my lover, my soulmate. I don’t need a piece of metal to prove that. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
Jisung took a hesitant step forward, his other hand reaching out to touch Minho’s cheek. “I don't think you have to wait that long,” he whispered, a smile playing on his lips.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Minho's eyes widened in shock and disbelief.
“Oh my god,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.
Jisung gently opened the box, revealing a simple silver ring. “I’ve known for a long time that I want to spend my life with you,” he said, his voice filled with a newfound confidence. “And I think I'm finally ready to face my fears. Are you ready to take a leap of faith with me, Minho?”
Tears welled up in Minho’s eyes as he stared at the ring, his heart soaring with hope and love. “Yes, Jisung,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “Yes, I am.”
Jisung smiled, tears spilling down his cheeks. He slipped the ring onto Minho’s finger, the silver band a symbol of their shared future, a promise of forever.
They had found their happily ever after.