Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Come on, Han-ah, eight more.”

Jisung screams. But then Minho is laughing, delighted to be the cause of his pain and misery, and Jisung laughs, too. His arms start to shake from the exertion, and he almost drops the barbell and crushes his own windpipe, but Minho is there to spot him.

“You are a filthy liar,” Jisung says, regaining his balance and lifting the bar again. “A disgusting, filthy liar.” 

Jisung is fit. He goes to the gym at least three times a week—mostly to kill time and get out of the house, but—still. He’s a fit guy. But right now, doing these stupid deadlifts, he wants to die. Minho has been lying to him, this bastard. It’s been a day full of You only have five more left. Only two to go, and then the sudden, Come on, eight more. You can do eight more, when they get to zero. He’s cruel and mean and he looks good while doing it, grinning like the devil as he looms above Jisung’s head, his hands ready to catch the bar if Jisung’s arms actually give out.

The reason why he’s willing to put up with this—aside from indulging Minho, which is always a pleasure—is that they’re currently filming a gym vlog video, which has instead turned into a video of Minho playing his personal trainer for one day.

Jisung has been looking forward to doing this with him, and it’s been even more fun than he imagined. Minho has also lost the last bits of his camera-shyness, he’s in his element, and he can watch Jisung sweat and groan, so he’s probably having the time of his life. He’s very touchy, with a hands-on approach even though Jisung has done all of these exercises before—correcting the angle of his elbows, parting his thighs a few centimeters more, pressing his palm against Jisung’s lower back to straighten his posture. He’s a freak, and Jisung is obsessed. 

He’s mostly out of Jisung’s sight, but Jisung is not above straining the nerves of his eyeballs to look at him. He stands there, all firm and focused, the muscles of his arms strong and defined, his T-shirt clinging to his chest because of sweat.

Fuck.  

Jisung has to physically restrain himself. Has to squeeze his eyes shut and focus on the exercise and not Minho’s arms and his chest and how good his ass looks in these shorts, and his thighs—fuck, his thighs.

He lifts the bar and lowers it with Minho’s count, making sure his wrists aren’t twisting and taking over the weight. Slow and controlled. His arms are burning, but at least his legs are finally getting some rest after all this torture Minho put him through, deciding that it was a good day to do a full-body work-out instead of just focusing on one part. 

He dragged Jisung through deadlifts, the rowing machine, and now they’re here, bench-pressing. Since Minho is supposed to play his personal trainer, Jisung does everything Minho tells him to, no matter how many tremors go through his muscles. He thinks they covered ninety percent of all the equipment—they stretched for at least twenty minutes, making sure every single muscle in their bodies was warmed up, then did hip thrusts with barbells, decreasing weight with every next set, went to the leg press machine, and exercised with stability balls. They even did stupid squats, that’s how thorough they’ve been with their work-out. They did them facing each other, which Jisung quickly figured out was just a ruse that allowed Minho to see his ass in the mirror behind him. 

Now, once they’re done with this set, they only have some cardio left.

It’s been tiring, but very fun. The worst thing about it all is that they have to move and set up the cameras every time they change the station. It’s time-consuming and bothersome, but Jisung knows it’ll be worth it, even if he’s the only person in the target audience of the video.

“Two,” Minho says from above him. 

Jisung can almost taste the sweetness of a break on his tongue. He needs it right now. He’s so sweaty that he’s probably going to have to mop up the floor after he’s done exercising. His arms are shaking.

“One more, Jisung-ah.” 

Jisung pushes through and lets out a loud, exaggerated groan when Minho helps him set the bar down on the handles. He lies there on the bench for a moment, pretending to be dead, trying to stabilize his breathing. 

Minho laughs. His hand comes to brush Jisung’s hair out of his gross, sweaty forehead. “You did a good job, jagiya,” he says, and with that little bit of praise, the pain feels so much more worth it. “Why are you acting like you can’t lift at least twenty kilos more?” 

“Because you’re a liar and you ruined me and I hate you,” Jisung says, breathless, but despite his words, the corners of his mouth twitch, a smile fighting its way to his face.

“You can do the same to me now,” Minho tells him so graciously.

“It’s not as fun to torture you when you know it’s gonna happen,” Jisung says and rolls his eyes as he grabs the paper towel to wipe his sweat off the bench for Minho. 

Minho grins, and he looks so utterly infuriatingly handsome that Jisung wants to kiss him, so he does. He loops his arms around Minho’s neck, pulling him closer, and enjoys how it feels to have Minho’s smile pressed against his mouth, how it is to physically feel his happiness, which grows when his hands wander to Jisung’s ass, because of course they do. 

Jisung is going to have to edit that out of the video, just like the other instances of wandering hands and longing lips. 

He would be more embarrassed about the PDA if they weren’t here alone. It pays off to have friends who will let you rent out their gym for a few hours so that you can film a silly video for your YouTube channel with your boyfriend.

They don’t have much more time left before they have to go, so Jisung forces himself to pull away and gives Minho’s butt a slap as motivation.

“Come on, Mr. Lee.” 

Minho shakes his head, but he lies down on the bench and gets ready. Jisung helps him lift the barbell and moves away, watching with rapt attention as Minho starts lifting. He scrunches his face in a way that makes him look cute, but—Fuck. He’s so hot. His arms, and his legs, and his chest, and all of him.

They’ve been together for almost seven years and Jisung still gets mesmerized every time he looks at him. Minho is getting more handsome as time passes, growing into his features and embracing them, learning how to take care of his ever-changing body in a healthy way. He’s beautiful and strong.

And Jisung gets so lost in the sight of it all that Minho manages to finish the first set without Jisung counting for him. He grins up at him from the bench and says, “You’re supposed to spot me, not admire me.”

There’s nothing embarrassing about being caught staring at your gorgeous, long-time boyfriend, especially by the boyfriend himself, but Jisung still feels heat rising to his face. 

“Be quiet,” is all he says. With the next two sets, he makes sure to count loud and clear.

As their last exercise, they do the awful stair climber that leaves Jisung’s legs shaking so much he can barely get off the machine and stand on his own. He cheers himself up with the fact that Minho’s knees are also wobbling, which means it’s not just him suddenly losing all of his built-up stamina. 

“Cool-down time,” Minho sing-songs once they somewhat stabilize their breathing, ever so responsible. He drags their yoga mats back onto the floor while Jisung moves the cameras to capture their last moments at the gym. 

“Ah, my entire body hurts,” Jisung complains as he lies down on his back, spreading his limbs on the mat like a starfish. “You’re going to have to give me a massage when we get home.”

Minho turns his head to the side to look at him and grins. “I’ll put Doongie on your back and he’ll do it for you.”

Jisung knows he’s just trying to joke, but the prospect of having a cat weigh him down and make biscuits on his sore muscles sounds like actual heaven. 

“Let’s do this quickly,” he says. “I want to go home and enjoy my massage already.” 

Twenty minutes later, he’s already getting dressed after a quick shower in the locker room. He pulls on a hoodie, and when his head disappears under the fabric, Minho smacks his bare stomach with the back of his hand. Jisung tugs the sweatshirt down and glares at him, but Minho just smirks, very happy with himself. 

He’s kind enough to take their duffle bag when they’re leaving while Jisung battles with his filming equipment, too tired to even think of carrying anything else. They say goodbye to the receptionist and make their way out of the building, heading to the parking lot.

Minho asks, “Do you wanna order something in or should we just go eat now?”

Jisung ponders this for a moment, and decides that although he’s exhausted and wants nothing more than to go home and snuggle his cats, he also wants to push back in time all the things he actually has to do when he steps through the threshold. 

“We can go get samgyeopsal,” he proposes with a shrug. “How does that sound?” 

Minho hums in agreement, a small smile on his mouth. “Let’s just drive home and stop by God’s Menu on our way there.” 

They pack their things into the car, Minho less careful with the duffle than Jisung is with his equipment, and Jisung jogs up to the passenger’s side so that he doesn’t have to sit behind the wheel. He laughs when Minho lets out a groan, dragging his feet to the driver’s side. The keys are already waiting for him on the seat, the keyring with two cats cuddling glimmering in the sun. He sends Jisung a sharp look, but he’s a bad actor—he can’t even keep his face straight for half a minute before he has to purse his mouth in a desperate attempt not to smile.

Fool. Jisung loves him so much.

In the restaurant—one of their favorites in the entire city of Seoul—they take their favorite table in the corner, close to the windows that overlook the quiet street outside, and order a hearty serving of meat to grill.

Minho takes care of the grilling itself even without Jisung needing to make puppy-dog eyes at him, which is lovely. He can pull out his phone and film a bit of his post-workout meal, how the meat sizzles on the tray, his own tired, but satisfied face. He even gets a peace sign out of Minho when he pans the camera to him. After that, he puts the device aside. 

Not only does he know that Minho doesn’t particularly like having a camera shoved into their private space and time, but neither does he like it much himself. The glimpses of their day are okay—a video here and there, something fun like the vlog from today. But Jisung values his privacy. Their relationship is theirs, and he doesn’t want it to be consumed and picked apart by strangers on the Internet. 

They don’t talk much as they eat, choosing to instead rest after working out and regain some of the energy they’ve lost, but then Minho remembers some gossip from his workplace about an affair between one of the executives and some mysterious employee, and he knows that Jisung is going to be interested in the romance drama of it all, so he has to tell him everything. 

Jisung makes him a lettuce wrap as he talks and traps one of his calves between his own under the table just for the fun of it, smiling at him sweetly while Minho pauses the story to glare. 

He doesn’t try to pull his leg away.

♡ 

It’s a slow day. 

Jisung knows he has a video to edit and then some cleaning to do around the apartment, and he needs to do it as soon as he gets there before he puts it off and off and ends up never doing it at all. Then he will be able to join Minho and get some rest, maybe even nap with a cat fast asleep on his back.

He gives SoonDoongDo a kiss each as they weave between their legs to welcome them home, saying, Hi, hello, hi there, babies, like he hasn’t seen them in five days instead of a few hours. Doongie lies down on their shoes like he’s forbidding them from leaving again, so Minho takes him into his arms, cradling him against his shoulder like a baby, so that they don’t accidentally step on him as they try to make their way out of the hallway. 

“Alright, calm down, demons, I’m gonna feed you in a moment,” Minho says, sighing exaggeratedly. 

Jisung grins and gives his ass a gentle pat as he walks past him, directing his footsteps to the office where he puts all of his equipment back to its rightful place. Then, he makes a beeline to the bedroom to grab any stray clothes thrown around the closet or the back of the armchair that need to be washed. Minho is already loading their sweat-drenched gym clothes into the washing machine when he walks into the bathroom.

Jisung lets out a soft sigh and smiles.

He wants to take care of everything quickly and snuggle Minho on the couch for the remainder of the day. 

“I’m gonna make coffee,” Minho says, pushing himself back up into a standing position. “Iced?”

Jisung hums, a smile playing on his mouth. Minho knows he doesn’t drink any other, but he still asks every single day, in case Jisung suddenly feels like changing his whole routine.

He loads the rest of the clothes into the washing machine and turns it on. Then, he makes a short work of the mess on the vanity top, wiping it and organizing all their cosmetics on the counter. There’s not much more he needs to do, really. He just has to make sure everything is in order before they go. 

So he vacuums the whole place, every single room, and laughs when he gets to the kitchen and Minho jumps onto the counter, lifting his legs high up in the air to give him space. They invested in a cleaner that doesn’t make noise so that the cats wouldn’t get spooked, but Dori still watches him curiously as he makes his way through the living room. 

His head spins after he’s done with everything, spots dancing across his eyes, but he pushes the odd feeling of nausea deep in his gut aside. He’s fine. He’s just—tired after working out for hours. That must be it.

Jisung grabs his laptop and earphones off the nightstand in the bedroom and makes his way back to the living room, where a tall glass of iced-coffee is waiting for him on the table. He leaves his things and follows in Minho’s footsteps—he’s pouring fresh water into the cats’ bowls in the kitchen.

The sleeve of his flannel shirt slips off his shoulder, revealing a sliver of his bare skin under the black tank top, and he’s also wearing his glasses. The round, thin-rimmed frames make him look boyish, a little nerdy. Jisung has to swallow down the need to comment on how hot he looks in them, because Minho knows. He knows and he will use it against Jisung, and Jisung—he can’t have that. Not again. 

Instead—“I got all sweaty again,” he complains. “Do we have any ice-cream?”

“If you haven’t eaten it all yesterday, there should be some in the freezer.”

Jisung rolls his eyes pointedly and crouches in front of the freezer to look through it. There are two popsicles left—one mango and one strawberry. He takes the strawberry-flavored one and asks, “Do you want one too?”

“I’m good,” Minho says, giving Jisung a pat on top of his head as he walks past him and makes his way back to the living room. 

Once he disposes of the wrapper, Jisung joins him, making himself comfortable on the other end of the couch. He opens his laptop, plugs in his earphones (which actually belong to Minho, but— whatever), and starts up the file he’s been working on for the past few days—a cozy vlog filmed between the apartment, a café in Samcheongdong, and the village of Bukchon Hanok. 

Soonie and Dori soon jump onto the sofa to cuddle up between him and Minho, who’s reading one of his Japanese thriller books. Doongie, in turn, is sleeping in the cardboard box by the wall left behind after some delivery. Minho was supposed to take the trash out, the box included, but he must have left it behind for him. Cute. 

Jisung drags his eyes away from his beautiful family and forces himself to snap back into work mode, but as he’s looking for the right tune to upload as background music for this particular part of the vlog, his gaze locks on one of the other files.

Volcano.mp3. 

He glances at Minho nervously as if Minho can even see the screen of his laptop all the way from the other side of the couch. As if he could even figure out what the file is by the name alone. 

What it really is, is a gift. 

Since Minho keeps telling him, over and over again, that hearing him sing in the shower or hum along when he’s listening to music just isn’t enough, a while back, Jisung promised to film a video of his singing. 

He intends to finally make good on that promise. 

A few weeks ago, he rented out a room, got his friends to help him set it up until it looked cozy enough, sat down on a stool with a microphone stand in front of him and a guitar in his lap, and filmed a few covers in a live-session mode. He chose the songs carefully from the vast repertoire of the favorite songs they share—songs that make Jisung think about Minho when he hears them on the radio when he’s driving through the city. The covers turned out really good considering his lack of vocal training, but there was something missing.

The thing is, Minho is exactly that perfect guy that all love songs talk about. He deserves to have one written just for him. With his out-of-this-world beauty, the care and effort he puts into everything he does, his strength and resilience, he has always been a poem waiting to be written. 

So Jisung scribbled down words and put together chords and created something that might not capture exactly how much he loves Minho, but comes close to it. Some of the lines are a little melodramatic with their catastrophic weight and imagery, but they’re still genuine. 

They get the point across: Jisung can’t live without him. Minho is the only one, even if he dies. Even if he’s reborn over and over again, it’s only Minho. He burns with all the love he holds for him. 

All of this—all of the singing and filming and writing and recording—comes down to one simple thing: a proposal. 

It’s a thought that kept him up late for months. Should he wait for Minho to take that step? If not, then how should he do it? Should he go all out on the romance (a proposal happens only once in a lifetime, after all—at least for the two of them) or keep it sweet, but simple? 

That is the only thing that he’s been thinking about: a perfect proposal to make Minho feel like the most special, most loved guy in the entire Universe. Jisung isn’t even worrying about whether Minho is going to say yes, because he knows he will. 

They’ve even talked about marriage before, two or three years ago. Jisung doesn’t remember what he was doing—or, rather, what Minho was doing to invoke that need in him—but he accidentally let, I can’t wait to marry you, slip out of his mouth. 

Minho was surprised, but he said, Let’s do it soon. You’ll make a cute husband, and although his tone was amused, he was being genuine. Later, he straddled Jisung’s hips in bed and murmured, We should practice for our wedding night, and made Jisung laugh so hard his stomach hurt. 

He’s the love of his life, and then some. 

Minho is his person. He’s Jisung’s forever. The one he wants to complain to when he finds his first gray hair and play board games with when they’re so old and wrinkled that they can barely hold the pieces in their hands. The man he wants to raise a child and see the entire world with, give his youth and his last dying breath to. Someone he wants to love forever and beyond. 

Being with Minho is unlike anything else. 

They have both changed over the course of their relationship, but these changes, instead of pushing them into two different directions, continuously bring them closer together. It’s been almost seven years of a stable and steady, nurturing love laced with mischievousness worthy of shy high school sweethearts. 

And Jisung wants more. He wants to lock it down, and to do that, he needs a perfect proposal. 

Because it has to be perfect for someone as right as Minho, with his sweet disposition and a heart of gold. He deserves a proposal that’s a testament to all the love Jisung holds for him, all the love he promises to keep.

Even before he thought of the song, or even the remainder of his plan, Jisung knew he needed a ring—something to check off his list and not have to worry about it again. So, knowing there’s only one person in the world that isn’t Minho who he can trust not to babble and reveal his secret, he showed up on Jeongin’s doorstep one day and asked if he wanted to tag along for ring-shopping. Jeongin teared up right there in the entryway of his apartment and swore his secrecy while Jisung was cooing at how cute he was. 

He was there for moral support more than actual advising. The moment they went into their third jewelry store and Jisung laid his eyes on the ring, silver with a round sapphire center stone, he knew he wanted it. That it was the one.

He thought it was romantic, the sentiment of Minho having Jisung’s birthstone with him at all times the same way he carries their cats’ in another ring and his own in their matching bracelet. 

It was pretty. Simple and subtle, which Jisung thought was the most important, because it was very Minho, even if Minho doesn’t wear much jewelry.  

The idea of the proposal itself came much later and took more planning than Jisung initially expected. Now, the date marked with a red heart in his mental calendar is nearing closer, and with Volcano recorded both on his computer and in his memory, he can finally say that he has dotted all i s and crossed all t s. 

In two days, he’s going to put a blindfold on Minho, shove him into a cab, and kidnap him to the airport. They will fly to Jeju Island, where they’ll spend a gorgeous afternoon lounging around the beach house he rented for them for the week. And then, the next day, Jisung will wake him up with a sweet breakfast in bed, probably something more. They will go on a walk around the city, visit a landmark or two, grab coffee and share a slice of cake. By the time the sun sets and Jisung takes him to the beach, Minho will probably know something’s up. 

There, waiting for them, will be a blanket, a basket full of snacks and cooled-down champagne, and a guitar. Jisung will sing him Volcano, pull out the ring, ask the question (probably cry, too), and Minho will say yes. 

There’s no doubt in his mind that Minho will say yes. 

Jisung chose Jeju firstly because he just wants to take Minho on a vacation, even if it’s just a few days, and he wants it to feel like a vacation, with the ocean breeze and the sun and the knowledge that work is four hundred kilometers away; secondly because it’s where they went on their first trip as a couple, so it’s a place that has a nostalgic and sentimental value. They bought matching bracelets with their birthstones made of volcanic rocks on that trip, and it was magical.  

Jisung arranged this specifically because he knew Minho was taking this whole week off work. He even asked Jeongin and Minju to take care of the cats while they’re gone—come over to feed them and play with them and make sure they’re not missing them too much.

Now, he just needs everything to go according to plan.

♡

Jisung wakes up the next morning hours before he usually would, groaning softly at the pulsating ache in his temples, the unforgiving soreness in his throat that comes to life when he tries to clear it. There’s sweat on the back of his neck, both the covers and his shirt feeling constricting and too hot. 

He means to roll onto his other side and plaster himself against Minho’s back, ready to whine into his ear about how he might be getting sick, but the somnolent cloud fades from his mind and he realizes what day it is. Fuck. 

Jisung is definitely not getting sick. He just didn’t sleep well, that’s all. He needs to get up, drink some water, take a hot shower, and he will feel like a newborn. 

He untangles himself from the sheets, careful not to wake Minho, still asleep with his face in the pillow. He’s not so lucky with Doongie, who wandered inside the bedroom during the night to sleep in the foot of the bed—the cat stretches his paws, blinking at Jisung owlishly in the dim lighting, and, seeing as he’s leaving, decides to hop off the mattress and trail behind him to the kitchen. 

“I’m not gonna give you food at this hour, Doong-ah,” he whispers, though he’s pretty sure the cat just wants to keep him company, confused as to why Jisung is living the comfort of his bed, where there’s warmth, quiet, and Minho. 

Soonie and Dori are sleeping on the couch in the living room, lost in their dreams, cuddled-up, and Doongie quickly loses interest in Jisung, choosing to instead hop over there and curl up between them. Jisung sighs. He wants to go over there and wedge himself into the space between them and the back of the sofa, rub their bellies and listen to their purrs of contentment, but he can’t. He has to take care of his damned headache before it gets worse. 

Jisung flicks on the light above the stove, letting the kitchen bathe in the pale brightness as he pours water into the electric kettle. He turns it on and moves to grab a glass from the cupboard, leaving the kettle on just long enough to warm the water up a bit, but not let it come close to boiling.

It’s a relief for his sore throat when he drinks it, and even bigger for his heart. He needs to feel better soon. Immediately.

He opens the cupboard where they keep a basket with all kinds of meds and begins rummaging through it in search of lozenges and painkillers. That’s how Minho finds him not even two minutes later. 

Jisung startles when he sees his figure in the shadows, and the way his heart rate speeds up causes the pounding in his head to intensify. He clenches his fist around some ointment for muscle pain and squeezes his eyes shut, but the feeling doesn’t subside.

Minho moves to stand beside him by the kitchen counter and asks, “What are you doing?” 

Jisung finally locates the pills. He made a mess of the basket, but he’ll fix it. He just needs to fix himself first. “Just need a pill,” he says. His voice is hoarse and he needs to clear his throat twice to even speak again. “Did I wake you?” 

“Yeah, I thought you just went to the bathroom but you weren’t coming back,” Minho says, worry etched into his features. He watches Jisung pop the painkiller and down it with some more warm water. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing is wrong. Jisung won’t allow anything to be wrong.

“I don’t know,” he admits, because he can’t lie to Minho. He’ll know, anyway. He always knows. “I woke up with a headache and my throat is killing me—”

“Oh, jagi,” Minho whispers, reaching out to brush Jisung’s hair away from his eyes. He presses his palm against his forehead and sighs. “You’re feverish.”

“I’m okay,” Jisung insists, and then turns away so that he doesn’t have to see the look on Minho’s face. He puts the medicine basket back into the cupboard, promising to himself that he’ll clean it up later. 

He has to be okay, because in thirty hours, he’s taking Minho to the airport and they’re flying out to Jeju. He doesn’t have time to feel feverish. 

Minho starts to speak—he says that he’s going to do something, but as Jisung spins on his heel to turn back around, everything fades out for a moment. His vision goes dark, spots dancing across his eyelids, and all of his senses shut down. 

The gasp that Minho lets out when his knees give out from underneath him is going to haunt him forever. 

It’s only because of Minho’s reflexes that he doesn’t crash to the floor. Minho wraps an arm around him, pulling him against his side, and Jisung grabs the front of his sleeping T-shirt, bunching up the fabric in his fist and holding on like it’s his lifeline. 

“Jagiya—”

Jisung shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says, like an idiot. “I’m fine, I just—”

“You’re not fine, Jisung,” Minho interrupts, worry taking over and making his tone stern. “Come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Jisung only manages to hold out a couple more seconds before he breaks and lets Minho tuck him under his arm and lead him out of the kitchen. He helps Jisung into bed, holding up the comforter so that he can slip underneath it, and climbs into it with him.

Jisung tries to hold back his despair and seeks comfort in him—he scoots over closer until he’s pressed right against Minho’s side and wraps his arms around his torso, resting his head on his shoulder. He can hear the way Minho’s heart is hammering in his chest, and he hates it—hates that he’s the reason behind his anxiety.

Minho starts rubbing circles into his back. When he takes a shuddering, uncertain breath, Jisung knows what he’s going to say even before he asks, “Was it the exercise? Did I push you too hard yesterday?”

He sounds so guilty, even though he hasn’t done a single thing wrong.

Jisung can’t take it. He lifts his head just enough to be able to look Minho in the eye and affirms, “No. No. Hyung-ah, no.”

“It’s just—” Minho sighs. “You were complaining about being sore, but I thought you were just whining for the fun of it.”

“I would’ve told you if I wasn’t feeling well,” Jisung says, giving Minho’s waist a squeeze. “I promise, it’s not your fault.” Then, he grimaces and adds, “If anything, it’s mine. I ate too much ice-cream, and now I’m paying for it.”

It’s probably why his throat hurts so much. A cone followed by three sorbet popsicles and then another one the next day is probably not a good idea, but Jisung is an adult that makes adult decisions—whether they’re irresponsible, that’s a different thing. He has also been going out to shops and cafés in the last few days, so he could have caught something just walking down the street.

But he should have been more careful, especially with the trip to Jeju Island in mind. He should have made sure something as stupid as this wouldn’t derail his plans. It’s all his fault.

He can take the fever. He can still sing with a sore throat. He’s not going to miss this chance. He’s going to propose to Minho in three days—there’s no other option.

“You’ll be okay,” Minho says, pressing a kiss against the crown of Jisung’s head like he’s trying to cure his headache that way. He has no idea just how much he’s helping just by holding him close, his touch once again proving itself the best remedy to purge negativity out of Jisung’s mind and body.

Jisung sighs and scoots down lower on the mattress so that he can bury his face in Minho’s chest. Minho in turn tangles his fingers in Jisung’s hair, carding through it and playing with it until he manages to lull Jisung right back to sleep.

♡

When Jisung wakes up again, now well into the morning instead of the middle of the night, he doesn’t feel any better. His T-shirt is sticking to his back with sweat, his muscles are aching and burning up, limbs heavy, like he can’t control them, and his head is pounding so intensely that his vision swims. He’s lying down, for fuck’s sake. He has no business feeling like he’s about to faint in his own bed. 

“Hi,” Minho says softly when he notices Jisung is awake. “How are you feeling?”

He’s sitting against the headboard, probably reading since he’s got his tablet in hand. Instead of getting up and going on with his day like he usually would, he stayed in bed with Jisung to make sure he’s not alone when he’s sick.

Jisung’s throat closes up with tears.

He knows it’s over.

He can barely even croak out, “No, I think it’s gotten worse,” before his voice breaks, hoarse and raw. He squeezes his eyes shut and rolls over, pressing his face into Minho’s stomach. Sorry, he says in his head. I’m so sorry.

Minho whispers, “Oh, baby,” and puts his tablet onto the nightstand so that he can rub Jisung’s back the way he knows Jisung likes it. “It’s okay. We’ll nurse you right back to health. Don’t worry.” 

It’s not his health that he’s worried about. He can handle being sick. He might whine and complain, but in the end it means that he can stay in bed for a few days without as much as a prickle of guilt. Just—

Not this time.

This time, the sickness has come at the worst moment possible. Wednesday was supposed to be a magical day. He’s been planning this trip for almost two months, and it’s ruined—just like that.

“I’m gonna go get you some water, okay?” Minho says, blissfully unaware, trying to wriggle out from underneath Jisung’s head without jostling him too much. 

Jisung’s eyes well up with tears. “Don’t go,” he says, pushing himself up onto his elbow. 

The look on his face doesn’t escape Minho’s attention. In the span of two seconds, his concern seems to double, and he looks conflicted whether he should leave Jisung alone or not.

“You have to get hydrated,” he says in the end, the need to help Jisung’s physical pain stronger than anything else. “I’m just gonna be in the kitchen, I’m not going anywhere far. I’ll be right back.”

Jisung knows he’s being irrational. He’s a grown man—he should be able to hold on for five minutes and survive without his boyfriend. But he feels awful, and he needs to be with Minho, and in this state, even those five minutes feel like lethal torture.  

“Okay,” he says in the end, because Minho doesn’t need to worry any more than this. “Thank you.”

Minho pats his head, gentle and sweet, and then he’s out of the bedroom, leaving it cold and empty and so sad.

Despite feeling that his body is on fire, Jisung pulls the covers higher up, until they reach his chin, and curls up underneath them, shivering. He listens to the quiet noise Minho makes in the kitchen—the sound his slippers make against the floor, the way the glass clinks when he sets it down on the counter, the sound of the kettle beginning to heat up the water. 

Minho comes back quickly, just like he promised, a tall glass of warm water in his hand. He also brings a blister pack of honey lozenges and a thermometer, which he tells Jisung to put under his tongue immediately after climbing onto the other side of the bed. 

“Thirty-eight and five,” Jisung says when he takes it out after it starts beeping. Tears spring to his eyes like clockwork. “Fuck.”

“It’s high, but not so high that we can’t break it at home, that’s good,” Minho tells him, pushing Jisung’s bangs out of his face. He’s trying to stay composed, that’s obvious, but his lips are jutted out in a worried pout. Jisung’s heart hurts when he looks at him. “You should have a drink now, okay?”

Jisung nods and forces his aching body to cooperate and let him sit up against the pillows, the sheets pooling around his hips. Minho takes the glass from the nightstand and puts it in his hands, lingering with his arms outstretched for another moment as if he’s afraid Jisung might drop it.

Thankfully, he doesn’t. He takes a small sip at first, but then he feels his thirst catch up to him, feels the instant, though fleeting relief for his sore throat, and gulps the water down greedily. He passes the empty glass back over to Minho when his fingers start to tremble under the weight of holding the glass up. 

He feels so awful. Almost nauseous with guilt and despair, because he can’t do the one thing he’s been wanting, and it’s his own damn fault. The worst thing is, Minho doesn’t know the half of it and Jisung has no way of telling him without revealing his proposal plans.

So when Jisung blinks and a few stray tears escape his eyes, running down his face, he tries to wipe them away without Minho taking notice. But Minho is attentive, of course. He sees everything.

“Jisungie…” he says softly, reaching out to cup Jisung’s face in his hands and swipe at the tear streaks with his thumbs. “Baby.”

“I’m fine, hyung,” Jisung whispers, because he can’t even speak properly when his throat is tight with tears and emotion. “I’m not crying. I’m fine.”

“I know you always sulk when you’re sick, but this is just—” Minho chews on his bottom lip worriedly. “What’s wrong? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

Jisung shakes his head. “It’s just a cold,” he says. “You said it yourself. I’ll be okay.”

Minho clearly knows something is wrong on a deeper level, and he doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand why Jisung, on top of being sick, looks so sad. 

“Yeah,” he ends up saying as he pulls Jisung into his arms, tucking his head under his chin and holding him close, so close that Jisung can once again hear how fast his heart is beating in his chest. “Yeah, you will be okay.”

It’s quiet between them for a while as Minho gently rocks them back and forth. Safe in his arms, Jisung feels the tension slowly drain from his shoulders, his headache subside just enough to make it bearable.

His spirits lift so much when they’re hugging that when Minho pulls away, he digs his fingers into his back in a desperate attempt to stay like this for a little longer. 

“Oh, you clingy baby,” Minho says with a soft chuckle, hugging Jisung tighter again. “I just want to make you something for lunch. It’s getting late.”

Jisung mumbles, “I don’t have an appetite,” against his shoulder.

“I know,” Minho says. “But you have to eat something before you take any meds.” 

Knowing he’s already lost the battle, Jisung sighs and pulls away. He slips under the sheets again, making himself comfortable. He’s still shivering and feeling like he’s going to boil in his skin all at the same time, but he knows that he needs to sweat the fever out. 

“I’ll just make you rice. It’s light and it won’t make your stomach hurt. Okay?” 

Jisung nods against the pillow. “Set it up and come back soon.”

Minho offers him a soft smile and pats his butt through the comforter. “I will.”

When he leaves, Jisung makes the effort to roll onto his other side and unplug his phone from the charger. He opens the browser, opens the Jeju Air site, logs in, and proceeds to cancel their flight tickets. His heart hurts when he sees the confirmation on the screen, but he’s not stupid enough to hope that he’ll feel better tomorrow—that he’ll feel well enough to go to the airport and fly to Jeju and sing a song and propose.

He feels like absolute garbage. The proposal is not happening.

He switches to his email app to cancel the reservation of the house and tell the owner that the beach thing isn’t happening, either. He tires out his already exhausted brain to write a coherent message of apology that also expresses the hope of rescheduling. One way or another, he really likes that place.

Minho comes back from the kitchen just as he’s putting his phone on the nightstand. His eyes are already stinging from staring at the screen, even if it was maybe ten minutes, so he’s glad when Minho climbs onto the bed and he can rest his head in his lap and close his eyes.

“Twenty minutes and you can eat,” Minho says, pulling at the comforter to tuck Jisung in and keep him warm. “You can nap if you want. I’ll wake you up when it’s ready.”

Jisung hums. It doesn’t take long for him to doze off.

Later, when Minho shakes him awake, the steaming bowls of rice are already sitting on the nightstand. Dori is there, too, grooming himself on Minho’s side of the bed. 

Jisung rubs the sleep away from his eyes, disoriented. He doesn’t even know when Minho slipped away from underneath him. He has always been a deep sleeper but it surprises him that he managed to fall this way in the span of twenty minutes or so. 

His confusion makes Minho grin. “Slept well, huh?” 

“Yeah, actually,” Jisung says, smiling back. He reaches out to scratch Dori under the chin before taking the bowl and the spoon Minho holds out for him. 

“Careful, it’s hot,” he adds.

Jisung rolls his eyes half-heartedly—he can see the steam, after all—but his heart feels warm. Love is in the little things. In the warning before he takes the first spoonful of food, in the way Minho eats the plain rice with him, sat cross-legged across from him, in the T-shirt he’s wearing that belongs to Jisung.

He’s a sight for sore eyes. Every day—but when he wears Jisung’s clothes, it’s like some oddly possessive part of his brain gets activated. He thinks, Yes, this gorgeous, wonderful man is mine, and I am his, and we’re together. Every single time.

The best thing is, he knows Minho is exactly the same when it comes to him. Jisung will wear his hoodie when they go out and Minho will stare at him like he wants to devour him in the middle of the street. 

In general, Minho doesn’t care much for clothes, he just likes being comfortable. Somehow, comfort for him always means stealing something from Jisung’s side of the closet. It’s adorable. Jisung loves it. 

Seeing him wear this T-shirt, worn-out and well-loved, turned gray through frequent washing, cheers him up more than one would expect. 

Jisung is only halfway done with his bowl by the time Minho is putting his empty one on the nightstand. He’s eating slowly, because no matter how much he loves it when Minho cooks for him, even if it’s something as simple as a bowl of rice, he doesn’t have an appetite. He forces himself to eat, though, because he wants to get better—and he doesn’t want Minho to be worried about him.

“Sorry you have to take care of me on your day off,” he says when he’s finally done eating, after Minho takes their plates to the kitchen and comes back with a glass of fresh water for Jisung to drink.

“I would get a day off just to take care of you,” Minho says. “Shut up.”

Jisung’s face crumbles, the guilt and sadness coming back to haunt him, and he’s glad that Minho chooses that moment to walk over to the windows and pull the other curtain aside, too, to let in more light. With his back turned to Jisung, he can’t see the way he hastily wipes tears off his cheeks, or that his eyes well up again and he has to do it all over again.

“We should air the room out,” Minho says. “Do you wanna move to the couch?”

Jisung grins at him, asking, “Are you trying to tell me I stink?”

“Yes.” Minho deadpans, but then he’s breaking into a smile when Jisung grabs a pillow and threatens to throw it at his face. “Just a little, but that’s good, because it means you’re sweating the fever out,” he says. “But it’s that it’ll be more comfortable to sleep here later, so come on. Get up.”

Jisung groans at the mere idea of moving in any way other than rolling over from one side to another. He says, “You’ll have to carry me.”

Minho scoffs. “No way.”

So Jisung conjures up his best puppy-dog eyes. He even juts his bottom lip out in an irresistible pout, that’s how serious he is about this. Minho’s facade breaks within two seconds. He sighs, and Jisung breaks into a grin, delighted by the knowledge that he can bend Minho to his will with just one cute expression. 

He kicks the sheets away with Dori looking at him curiously but remaining undisturbed, as Minho lowers himself down by the side of the bed so that Jisung can climb onto his back. He wraps his arms around his neck and legs around his hips. Minho’s hands lock under his thighs to keep him from falling, and Jisung clings to him, feeling better when they’re close, like Minho is his own remedy.

He kisses the back of his neck in gratitude. How did he get so lucky to have Minho as his partner in life? Jisung doesn’t know, but he must have done something incredible in his past life to be rewarded so copiously. 

Minho deposits him on the sofa in the living room and immediately takes the blanket thrown over the back of the couch to cover him with. He also grabs the TV remote and hands it over so that he can choose something to watch, this perfect, perfect man.

Minho takes much longer to come back than he should. In the time he’s gone, Doongie decides to crawl out of the tower and jump into Jisung’s lap, knead at his thighs, and curl up into a ball. 

Jisung sighs. He has to be forgiven for being clingy. He’s sick, and sad, and he wants Minho right here with him. (Except—he wants him near at all times, so maybe he is just naturally clingy.)

“You were only supposed to open the windows,” he calls out into the apartment, only to break into a cough because of how raw his throat is. “Come back quickly.”

Minho comes out of the bedroom with arms full of bedsheets. “I’m just gonna change these and I’ll be there,” he says before he disappears in the bathroom to shove them into the laundry bin.

Jisung sweated out buckets, so it’s for Minho’s own comfort, too, but the fact that he does it so that Jisung can sleep between clean, fresh sheets makes him want to cry.

Fuck. He just wants to propose to Minho so badly. He wants to put that damned ring on his finger. He wants to start planning their wedding and order small tuxedos for their cats, because they’ll be the guests of honor, of course. 

But it’s three o’clock in the afternoon, Jisung is sick, his plans are in shambles, and their airplane is leaving without them.

God. He’s really going to cry. The only thing that’s really holding him back from bursting into tears and sobbing until he can’t breathe is that Minho will be worried out of his mind and Jisung will have to either tell him the truth and ruin everything all over again, or lie and make Minho think he doesn’t trust him and that something is very, very wrong. 

Jisung just needs to keep it together, and then, once he’s not sick anymore, he will reschedule everything and it will work out. 

“I’m here,” Minho sing-songs as he comes back to the living room. “I had to battle Dori. He didn’t want to get off the bed and let me change the sheets.”

“Our playful youngster,” Jisung laughs.

Minho sits down on the couch and pulls Jisung’s feet to his lap, holding him by the ankles. “What are we watching?”

“Chainsaw Man,” Jisung says. “But I was waiting for you to start.”

“You’re so nice, Jisung-ah,” Minho says, cooing exaggeratedly like an ahjumma would, and pokes the underside of his socked foot with his finger to make him squirm. 

Jisung almost kicks him in the face for it, but Minho catches his leg with ease and traps it in his lap, this bastard. He has no other choice but to stop fighting him and press play on the remote to start the next episode of the anime they’ve been watching these days.

But Jisung can’t really focus on what’s happening on the screen when Minho starts singing the intro song to himself, when he’s sitting right there in the center of his field of view, letting Jisung ogle the side of his face without even trying. 

He’s so pretty. He’s so pretty that Jisung wants to kiss every inch of his body and whisper all those sweet words right against his skin. He wants to buy a huge bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates and give it to his mom as a thank you for giving birth to him. He wants to take a million pictures of Minho and paint him and put him in a museum or an art gallery for everyone to admire, while simultaneously wanting to keep him just to himself. For his eyes only. 

“Is the episode being projected onto my face?” Minho asks without as much as a look away from the television screen. It’s no wonder he feels Jisung staring when he’s practically drilling holes into him with his eyes. 

It would seem that Minho doesn’t even react, but the corner of his mouth twitches—he holds on for another second, and then he’s smirking, and he looks even hotter like this, and—How does he expect Jisung to focus on the episode, exactly? 

“Try looking less pretty,” he says, pulling his leg back just so that he can kick Minho’s thigh under the blanket. He puts a hand on Doongie, who’s still asleep in his lap, so as not to jostle and spook him, but the cat doesn’t care even a bit. 

“Try looking at the screen,” Minho counters, but he lifts his arm to inconspicuously rest it on the back of the couch and then tugs at his earlobe, and Jisung knows his ears are red and he’s embarrassed.

“You’re cute,” Jisung laughs, and then even harder when Minho pokes his foot.

Although it’s impossible to push all of this sadness and sickness away, he feels a lot better because Minho is there to make him smile. He would rather be on Jeju Island, but this—lying on their couch together—is the next best thing. 

Minho makes them tomato soup for dinner sometime between the second and fourth episode of Chainsaw Man of the day, when Jisung dozes off again. It’s so delicious that Jisung wakes up at the smell of it in the air. He finds enough energy in himself to move to their dining table, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and almost cries again when he eats the first spoonful. 

It’s nothing out of the ordinary, what Minho is doing. He takes care of Jisung every day, just like Jisung takes care of him. They cook and they clean and they make sure the laundry is done and the trash is taken out and they massage each other’s shoulders when the day is tough and say, I know you hate doing this, I’ll do it for you. But Jisung feels so emotional—so sad. They should be on Jeju Island now. There should be a ring on Minho’s finger, a thank you and a promise all in one.

“Hyung,” he says to get his attention. They’re sitting on the couch again, this time shoulder to shoulder. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll make it right. I promise. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll give all of this back. Minho hums to let him know he’s listening. “I love you.”

Minho turns to look at him then, and blinks. Jisung can see the wheels turning in his head at the sudden confession. He knows he’s worrying him with all of this, and it’s killing him, but soon Minho will know everything and they will laugh about it. 

“I love you,” he echoes. He doesn’t ask what brought this on, or if there’s something wrong, or if Jisung needs to tell him something. He just smiles and says it back because he trusts Jisung enough to come to him himself.

And he will. Jisung swears he will.

He puts his head in Minho’s lap and pulls the blanket tighter around himself. Once again, he looks at him instead of the screen, because it’s better— he is better. More soothing, prettier, more interesting, too, even though Jisung really, really likes Chainsaw Man. It’s just—he’s so in love. It’s almost embarrassing how hard he has fallen for Minho those six and something years ago, that after all this time they’ve spent together, he still feels like a teenager in love, that he’s still excited for more.

Minho smiles down at him, and this time around, he doesn’t poke fun at Jisung for not paying attention to the anime. He brushes Jisung’s hair away and presses his palm against his forehead. “You still have a fever,” he says.

“I still feel awful,” he says. Physically and mentally. The whole failed trip-failed proposal thing is making his sickness worse, he thinks. “But at least the headache is gone.”

“Mhm. That’s good,” Minho says, moving his hand to Jisung’s hair and beginning to card through it. He knows just how relaxing it is for Jisung when he plays with it. “You’ll take meds before bed, and hopefully you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“I hope so,” Jisung mumbles. “I’m exhausted.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry I can’t help.”

This he hates more than the sickness itself. The fact that Minho feels powerless. It’s the worst feeling in the world, to know he’s the reason why he’s so worried. Jisung knows it’s irrational—that Minho would tell him he’s being stupid. That it’s not his fault. But it feels like it is, anyway.

They both go to bed earlier than usual that day. Jisung finally takes a long, hot shower he’s been looking forward to all day, scrubbing sweat and sickness off his skin. Minho put a clean T-shirt and underwear on the heater for him earlier, so when he slips it on, he feels warm and snug.

“Your butt is hot,” Minho says after he slaps it when he walks past Jisung and makes his way into the bathroom. Jisung shakes his head, but it puts a smile on his face.

While he was in the shower, Minho also brewed them both tea, and it’s already waiting on the nightstand when he walks into the bedroom, cooled down perfectly so that he can drink it. He does that as he sits back against the headboard, waiting for Minho to come to bed.

The bathroom door creaks open minutes later. Jisung listens to Minho’s quiet footsteps, the front door lock clicking shut, the sound of the light being flicked off in the living room and in the hallway. Then, Minho pads into the bedroom, looking soft, his hair fluffy from the washing.

Jisung asks, “Where are SoonDoongDo?” the same way he does every single night.

“Fast asleep in the tower,” Minho says, but he leaves the bedroom door open in case any of them want to wander inside during the night.

He joins Jisung in bed, making himself comfortable under the covers, and scooting over closer so that he can gather Jisung in his arms. He doesn’t seem to care about catching whatever it is that Jisung has. He just wants to hug him.

“Turn around,” Jisung says, although he’s comfortable like this, with Minho’s face buried in his neck. But he’d rather have this: an arm slung around Minho’s waist as he plasters himself to his back, their legs tangled together, Minho’s cold ones toning down the raging temperature of Jisung’s.

“Comfortable?”

Jisung hums, unable to stop himself from pressing a kiss against the back of Minho’s neck. He loves doing it. It’s one of his favorite spots to kiss Minho in, right after his lips (obviously), his chest, and his thighs.

“Good night,” Minho says into the night, resting his hand on Jisung’s arm.

Jisung is out within seconds.

♡

Jisung doesn’t feel any better when he wakes up the next day. All that he can think of is that he should be on Jeju with Minho, eating oranges until his mouth tastes sour and fighting nervous nausea over the proposal. But he’s at home, in the loud city of Seoul, eating plain toasts for breakfast because his stomach roils and rebels at the mere smell of anything else. 

He decides to relocate to the couch in the living room for the day, where he can soak up the sun and look at his gorgeous cats and let that heal him. 

“I’m gonna have to go get groceries,” Minho says after lunch. “The fridge looks pathetic.”

Jisung pouts. “Not fair,” he says. “I want to go with you.”

He despises getting groceries on his own, but he really likes it when it’s with Minho. It feels very sweet and domestic to be walking down the various aisles looking for products they could eat—together, at their home. It’s one of those mundane tasks that become fun when they do them together.

Jisung is usually tasked with getting whatever Minho tells him to get off the shelves while Minho pushes the cart around and makes sure every item is checked off their list. He likes tagging along also because it’s easier—when he can’t go and has to just tell Minho what to buy, he can’t ever think of anything; when he can see what’s on the shelves with his own two eyes, he realizes that he would actually like this and that and so many things that would never cross his mind.

Minho likes it, too. He says that going alone takes too much time and is bothersome. So Jisung doesn’t even think of not believing him when he says, “Me too. But I’m gonna look around the store and buy you anything that catches my attention.” 

Jisung smiles. “You’re so good to me, jagi.”

“Of course,” Minho says, patting Jisung’s butt affectionately. “I have to spoil you, especially now that you’re so frail.” 

At that, Jisung rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t even try denying it.

Before Minho leaves, he deposits Soonie in Jisung’s lap to keep him warm and snug, and puts a glass of water on the coffee table for him so that he doesn’t have to get up if he gets thirsty. He’s an angel.

Jisung’s mind is too tired and clouded to focus on the television, so he spends his time scrolling through Instagram and then responding to comments on his YouTube channel. His last video, a ranking of his favorite anime protagonists, has gained traction and left his usual audience, leaving him with a lot of messages—some funnier than others and some straight-up offensive. He needs to comb through them and get rid of those that have no business being on his channel.

The notification that appears on top of his screen steals his attention away from a particularly comical one. It’s Jeongin texting him.

JEONGINNIE ♡

have you landed already?
we’re gonna stop by the apartment later
minju is excited to see the cats ㅋㅋㅋ

Jisung inhales through his nose sharply, trying to stop himself from becoming overwhelmed by emotions again. If he starts crying, especially that he’s home alone, he’s afraid he might not be able to stop.

He wants to call Jeongin, tell him how everything went wrong, vent, and complain, but he knows his voice would betray him—that he would burst into tears, and Jeongin would be so worried he would either show up at his doorstep or tell Minho about it.

JEONGINNIE ♡

we didn’t go anywhere
i got so sick that i can barely move and speak
i had to cancel the trip

oh hyung
i’m so sorry :(
the most important thing is that you recover quickly
you’ll reschedule the trip or find another way to propose
don’t worry 🫂

yeah i know it just sucks a lot
i was looking forward to it and now i just want to cry
and hyung can tell something’s off and he’s so worried

i’d be worried too if i didn’t know
hang in there you’ll be as good as new next week
i’ll help you with the reservations and it’ll be okay
minju is sending hugs

thanks babies
love you

yeah yeah love you too 

ㅋㅋ

When Jisung blinks his eyes open, Minho is already home, plugging his phone into the charger. He must have been back for a while, because the groceries are unpacked and the cats are having a meal in the kitchen, but he’s been quiet as a mouse moving around the apartment, careful not to wake Jisung up from his nap.

“I bought you snacks,” he says with a smile. “They restocked those honey chips you like, but there were only two bags and some kid was trying to get them, and you bet that I jogged over there before he could grab them.”

Jisung’s lower lip wobbles, his eyes filling up with tears. 

Minho’s smile slips off his face. He sinks into a crouch next to the sofa, making himself on eye-to-eye level with Jisung. He cradles his head with his hand, caressing him gently, and—obviously trying to cheer him up without succumbing to panic himself—says, “Hey, it’s fine, he didn’t even cry. He just looked at me like I was crazy and grabbed some other flavor.”

Jisung snorts. It’s a miracle he doesn’t get snot all over himself. “You are crazy.”

“Yeah. But you love me, so I don’t care.”

“I really, really do,” he says, melting when Minho moves to swipe off the tear that runs down his cheek with his thumb.

“Jagi, are you sure—”

“Lie down on me,” Jisung interrupts, because he won’t be able to handle it if Minho asks him if he’s okay one more time. The words are right there on the tip of his tongue. No, I’m not. I wanted to propose to you, but I fucked everything up, and now I feel like my heart has been ripped out, and I don’t know why it hurts so much. He tosses the blanket aside and says, “Weigh me down. Please.”

Minho blinks, and he’s clearly confused, but he does it without questioning it. He stands up, and then swings one knee over Jisung’s hips to first straddle him and then lie down on him, chest to chest. 

Jisung wraps his arms around him, tucks his face into Minho’s neck and breathes him in, the calming scent of vanilla and cat fur that clings to his skin. He holds on for dear life, because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself.

“What’s up, baby?” Minho whispers right into his ear.

“I just want you like this,” Jisung says, his voice breaking. 

“Jisung.”

Minho starts pulling away, lifting himself up to look at Jisung, but Jisung pulls him in tighter so that he can’t see his face. He knows he’s worrying Minho, and it’s the worst thing in the world, to know that he’s doing it. They tell each other everything. Every single thing. They’re that kind of couple that holds no secrets from each other, because honesty comes easy. It’s effortless.

Except for this. Jisung can’t tell him now, ruin it all—the trip and the proposal and the song he wrote. He’s still going to go through with it—just. Not now. Minho deserves to have this surprise.

“I just feel awful,” he says, because it’s easier, because it’s not a lie. “Everything hurts.”

“We really can go to the hospital and get you checked out,” Minho says. “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“I don’t think they’ll be able to help much with my muscles aching, hyung-ah,” Jisung tells him, rubbing circles into the space between Minho’s shoulder blades. Or my failed proposal. Ha. “It would be a waste of time.”

Minho sighs, not convinced. “I just want to help you.”

Jisung says, “I know. You’re helping. You taking care of me is helping. This is helping.”

“I want to do more.”

Jisung shifts, craning his neck, so that he can kiss Minho’s cheek. “This is enough,” he tells him. “I’m sorry for worrying you so much, hyung.” 

“I always worry about you,” Minho mumbles into his shoulder. “I love you, of course I worry.”

Jisung understands that. He feels the same way about Minho. His number one priority is making sure that Minho is taken care of—that he takes care of himself. He feels the same way, but when the situation is reversed, he feels guilty that he’s the reason for his concern. It’s a vicious circle.

That afternoon, though, his fever seems to finally let up. He’s not shivering anymore, nor is he getting sudden hot flashes, and when he takes his temperature, it’s only at thirty-seven grades. 

“Finally,” Minho says, relief audible in his voice. Jisung is pretty sure he would force him into the car and drive him to the hospital if the fever didn’t start to fade soon. “I’m gonna make us celebratory smoothies, what do you think?” 

Jisung smiles. “Sounds tasty,” he says. “Make mine extra sweet. I need the energy.”

Minho shakes his head at that, always complaining about Jisung’s sugar intake, but it’s obvious he’s trying to keep the corners of his mouth from curling up. He turns on his heel and makes his way to the kitchen, then, with curious Doongie following after him. 

Jisung makes a detour to the bathroom, but once he’s done there, he goes to join him, too. He jumps onto the counter of the peninsula, his socked heels knocking against the cupboards underneath, and watches. 

It’s stupid to get emotional over something he sees practically every day. Minho bustling around in the kitchen, cutting something, making coffee, or cooking dinner, is probably the most mundane thing from their routine. But something about this view—this old, ratty T-shirt he’s had since university that hangs off his broad shoulders just right, exposing a bit of skin that Jisung longs to put his mouth on; him, humming to himself, probably some song he heard on the radio during his grocery store run; the way he cuts a small piece of a strawberry when Doongie starts pawing at his leg and extends it on his palm for the cat to snack on. 

Jisung loves him so much, it really feels like his heart might explode with it. 

That’s why Minho deserves the best proposal this Universe has ever seen. And yet—

And yet, Jisung does it in their damned kitchen.

Minho is cutting fruit so they’re easier to blend, and he shakes his butt in that way that always makes Jisung laugh, and the words fly out of his mouth before he can even think of stopping them.

“Marry me,” he says. 

Minho freezes. For a moment, he doesn’t move—it doesn’t even seem that he breathes. Jisung holds his breath, too, until the very moment Minho sets the knife down on the counter and turns around.

“What?” 

And Jisung took the first step already—he took a leap forward. He ruined the proposal two times, so he might as well just… go with it. 

He lets out a shuddering breath and fights the tears gathering in his eyes. “Marry me, hyung,” he repeats. “Will you marry me?”

Minho blinks. Once, slowly, and then—a thousand times, it seems. He’s so taken aback that it surprises Jisung, too. “Are you serious?” he asks. “Like, are you just playing around, or is this a real proposal?” 

Jisung laughs. It sounds wet with tears.

“I’m not playing around,” he says. “I want to marry you so bad.”

Minho steps closer, his steps almost wobbly. He stands between Jisung’s legs and rests his hands on his thighs, and suddenly they’re face-to-face, and the words spill out of Jisung’s mouth, because he’s been waiting far too long to say them out loud.

“Everything in life comes and goes, but you’ve been a constant in mine, and I can’t even imagine going on without you. I don’t want a future if you’re not in it. I want to spend the rest of my days with you by my side,” he says, and it doesn’t matter that his voice is breaking, and that there are tears running down his face, because Minho is crying, too, and he’s already nodding before Jisung is even done. “You’re the love of my life and my best friend and I want you to also be my husband.”

“Jisung,” he says, “I’m going to kill you.” 

Jisung laughs. “Say it. Say what you really mean.”

Minho says yes. 

He grabs Jisung’s face and kisses him, pulls away just to say the word against his mouth, kisses him again. Says it over and over until it stops to even sound like a real word. 

Jisung pulls him into a hug, locking his legs around Minho’s hips, and kisses the side of his neck. 

“I love you,” Minho says. And then, like he’s been shot with a zip of electricity, he pulls away to tell Jisung, “Wait here.”

“What?”

“Just—”

He hurries away, only to sink into a crouch by one of the cabinets. He yanks at the door and turns everything inside upside down, taking things out onto the floor without as much as a blink at the mess he makes on the floor, until his hands fall on one of the lasagne pasta boxes. 

He opens it and pulls out a square satin box from inside. 

Oh, god. 

“Hyung,” Jisung says, laughing through the tears that pool in his eyes all over again. “Did you really hide a ring in a box of pasta?” 

“I knew you would never come find it because you never cook pasta,” Minho defends with a cute pout. “Where did you put yours?” He pauses, and then squints, trying to appear all austere, only for his effort to be all in vain because of the smile he can’t seem to get off his face. “Did you even get me one?” 

Jisung scoffs. “Of course I got you one!” he says. “I shoved it into the pocket of my winter coat.”

He kept it there for weeks. Now, it’s in the suitcase he packed for their trip, hidden under the bed. He wants to go get it already, but Minho cages him on the counter again, his heart is beating miles a minute, and he can’t think of anything other than the ring Minho got for him. 

“I can’t wait to put it on,” Minho says, his voice soft and sweet like honey.

His hands are shaking when he opens the box to reveal a beautiful eternity ring with dusty, white stones that shine like a rainbow under the light.

Jisung melts.  

Slowly, Minho takes the ring out of the box, which he sets down on the counter, and takes Jisung’s left hand to put it on for him. 

Jisung raises an eyebrow. “You’re not gonna ask me?”

“I already said yes.”

“I want to say yes, too,” he tells Minho, grinning. “Ask me the question, hyung.”

Minho shakes his head, but he gives Jisung’s hand a squeeze and does it anyway. “I love you,” he starts. “It’s been almost seven years, and every single day out of those seven years has been beautiful because of you. I don’t know what I would do without you. You’re my soulmate. I want you to be it forever, so—will you marry me?”

He sounds even more emotional like this—when he’s asking instead of giving an answer.  Long lost is the awkwardness he felt about expressing his affection, no matter how genuine and sincere. He’s saying it with his whole chest, and Jisung can’t take it. 

“You were just supposed to ask,” he whines as tears roll down his cheeks again. “Not make a speech and make me cry.”

Minho huffs. “You’re allowed to be romantic and I’m not?” he asks, biting his lip to stop himself from smiling. “Answer, jagi. Don’t leave me hanging.”

Jisung voices a breathy, “Yes.”

His heart is hammering like crazy as Minho slides the ring onto his finger. At this rate, he’s not sure if he’s going to even make it alive to the wedding itself. He stares at the ring, stretching his hand out to see how the colors glimmer, and it clicks.  

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” he starts, “but I think we’re meant to be.”

Minho gets all up in his face again, centimeters away from kissing him, and lets out a prolonged hum, smiling against Jisung’s mouth. “I agree.”

“No, you don’t get it. I mean, you bought me a ring with your birthstone. And I bought you one with mine,” Jisung explains, his grin growing at the sight of Minho’s perplexed expression. “How did we have the same idea?”

Minho grabs his face and lifts himself up onto his toes to kiss Jisung’s forehead. “I love your sexy brain.”

“And I love yours.”

Doongie chooses that moment to jump onto the counter, annoyed that they haven’t been paying him enough attention for five minutes.

Minho scratches him under the chin. “What a good boy,” he says, smiling as the cat headbutts his hand. “You jumped up here to congratulate us?” 

Jisung laughs, tearful once again. God. Is he going to be able to stop crying about this? 

“I can’t believe we got engaged in our kitchen,” he whines, hiding his face in his hands. “I had everything planned. It was going to be so perfect. I wanted to take you to the airport and fly you out to Jeju as a surprise and sing you a song and everything—But I got fucking sick.” He sniffles, and reaches out to rip a piece of a paper towel to wipe his face. “I got sick, and I had to cancel everything, and it was awful, and my brain couldn’t handle that, I think, so I just blurted it out. Sorry.”

Minho’s expression softens. “Oh, baby. Is that why you were so upset?” 

Jisung nods. 

“Babe. Jagi. This is the most beautiful proposal in the entire world,” Minho says, holding him by the shoulders and making sure their eyes are locked. “It doesn’t matter where it happened or when. All that matters is that it’s you. All I need is you.”

“You can’t say that,” Jisung says, his face crumbling as he breaks into tears again.

Minho laughs at him, because of course he does, only to suddenly freeze and tilt his head to the side curiously. “Hold up, what did you just say about singing?” 

Jisung flushes. It’s like his fever has come back in a wave—his whole body feels like it’s on fire. “Go sit on the couch,” he says. “I’m gonna get my guitar and the ring and I’m going to sing you a song.”

“Are you sure?” Minho asks, rubbing his knee. “You still have that cough.”

“I’m sure,” Jisung tells him. “At least like this, if I mess it up, then I’ll have an excuse why.”

Minho rolls his eyes fondly. “You won’t mess up,” he says. “And even if you do—I’ll still love it. I’m curious what you picked out.”

Jisung blinks. Of course, it doesn’t even cross Minho’s mind that Jisung didn’t just choose one song from a ready-made playlist; that Jisung sat down and wrote a song for him.

He’s in for a surprise, that’s for sure.

Jisung jumps off the counter, his legs unsteady, shaking beneath him from the emotion. Minho takes him by the hand and gives it a squeeze. He holds on until they get to the living room—he makes himself comfortable on the sofa, and Jisung takes a deep breath and disappears down the hallway.

In the bedroom, he drags the bag from under the bed and takes out the small satin box out of the side pocket. He closes his fist around it, taking a deep, stabilizing breath. Minho already said yes ( hesaidyeshesaidyeshesaidyeshesaidyeshesaidyes, the voice in Jisung’s head chants), and a song won’t make him take it back, even if Jisung’s voice cracks and he doesn’t hit the proper notes. 

Worst case scenario, he’ll just play him the recorded studio version.

He grabs his guitar off the display on the wall and returns to the living room, where he sets it down on the sofa for now, so that he can sit next to Minho and finally give him the ring.

Minho looks so excited and emotional, his eyes glimmering when he looks at Jisung. He doesn’t even glance at the box, he’s so focused on smiling at him. It’s adorable. He’s so adorable. 

Jisung pops the box open without looking away from him, either, revealing the sapphire ring, and suddenly Minho remembers what they’re here for.

“Oh my god,” he says, breathless and entranced. “It’s beautiful.”

Jisung smiles, a weight off his heart. “You like it?”

“I love it,” Minho tells him, sliding a hand to Jisung’s neck and pulling him into a kiss. “I love you.” He bites his lip, making it look even more red, even more raw from kissing, and then grins playfully. “But I’m so excited about the song, you know…”

Laughing, Jisung says, “See! I knew you were going to go crazy over this part of the proposal.

“Mhm. You know me so well, jagi. You’re perfect.”

Jisung scrunches his nose, embarrassed, but he doesn’t try to deny it. He knows not to argue with Minho when it comes to compliments. It’s always a losing battle. 

He grabs the guitar and goes over the right chords in his head, begging his brain to cooperate with him and not forget. This is the one time it really counts. 

“What are you going to sing?”

“Uh, I—I kind of. Wrote a song. For you,” Jisung stutters out, looking down at the guitar so that he doesn’t have to look at Minho. “So I’m going to sing that. It’s called Volcano.”

Minho looks at him like he can’t believe what he’s hearing—like Jisung has suddenly started speaking an incomprehensible, ancient language or has gone absolutely crazy.

“You—You did what?” he asks, stumbling over the words. He looks like he has questions, but Jisung doesn’t let him ask any.

He starts playing the first chords, and Minho shuts up. His mouth remains parted with astonishment, but he doesn’t speak. He lets Jisung sing Volcano in absolute silence. 

It’s softer like this, when it’s acoustic. When it’s just him and Minho and his guitar and their living room. He likes it better, he thinks, even though his throat is scratchy still and maybe he emotes the dramatics better on the studio version. Because here, he can sing looking the person all those words are written about in the eye, and that makes it even more special. 

Minho’s ring glimmers up at him from where his hands are clasped together like a prayer, pressed against his mouth. Jisung wants to kiss it. It’s what he does when the song ends. He puts the guitar aside, scoots over closer to Minho, takes his hand, and leaves a kiss on the sapphire stone in the ring. 

Minho bursts into tears. It’s worse than any other time Jisung has ever seen him cry. His face gets red and his eyes do, too, and his cheeks are wet, and he’s practically sobbing. And he looks beautiful. It’s probably the only time he’s happy to see Minho cry—to be the reason why he’s crying.

“You love me so much,” Minho croaks out.

Jisung laughs, but he’s tearing up too, of course. He has cried a lot these past two days. His tear ducts are taking a small break. “Since I was twenty, but thank you for noticing,” he jokes, ducking away when Minho smacks him on the shoulder. He stops giggling like an idiot to say, “I love you so much my heart feels like it’s going to burst.” 

He has stopped feeling embarrassed about telling Minho exactly how he feels. Six years down the line, it feels silly to be embarrassed about loving him. A waste of life. 

“I love you,” Minho echoes as he pulls Jisung into a bone-crushing hug. “I love you, and I’m so surprised and amazed. I knew you could sing, I’ve heard you, but—I can’t believe you wrote a song for me.”

“I also filmed a few covers for you, but I can feel the way your heart is hammering right now, and that might kill you, and I don’t want that, so it’ll have to wait,” Jisung says, melting when he feels Minho’s laughter reverberate through him. “I just hate that I couldn’t sing it to you on the beach.”

Minho pulls away to look him in the eye, but his hands remain on Jisung’s shoulders. “Wwe can still go to Jeju,” he says. “We can do everything you had planned. We have rings, and we have bracelets, so we might as well get matching necklaces and do another proposal.”

“Let’s also get those matching sunglasses that are shaped like tangerines,” Jisung says.

“And some ugly, touristy T-shirts,” Minho adds, always on the same wavelength as him, his forever companion, his soulmate. When he grins, butterflies take flight in Jisung’s stomach, and it feels like he’s falling in love all over again.

One would think the effect of Minho’s smile—or his anything, really—would wear off with time, but it’s the opposite. Jisung loves him a bit more every day. 

He keeps looking at his ring, the way it sits on his finger, fitting it perfectly. Even though it makes perfect sense, he actually can’t believe that Minho was thinking about proposing to him, too. He wonders if he had plans for the proposal already, or if he just bought the ring and shoved it into the lasagne box for another occasion. He’ll pull the answers out of him later. 

For now, he revels in the way Minho rests his hand on his thigh, and the sapphire glimmers up at him. He puts his hand on Minho’s so that the rings are next to each other on display and grabs his phone to take a picture (or a million, but who’s counting).

Minho, clearly with something else on his mind, presses his mouth against Jisung’s jaw. As Jisung opens his KakaoTalk to send Jeongin the pictures (he deserves an immediate update, after all), his lips stray lower and lower until he’s kissing the side of his neck. 

Jisung bites his lip. “Give me a second,” he says shakily. “I just want to send this to Jeongin. He helped me plan the original proposal.”

“That can wait,” Minho murmurs. “Now, I need to make sweet, sweet love to my fiancé.”

“I’m still sick,” Jisung whines as Minho’s teeth graze his skin, gentle but fierce. “I’m gonna get you sick.”

“Now you’re worried about me getting sick?” Minho clicks his tongue in mock disapprovement. “But you’ll take care of me, right? Make me soup and bring me tea and hug me,” he says. “In sickness and in health.”

A tremor runs through Jisung’s body. “In sickness and in health,” he echoes, and lets Minho take his hand and lead him to the bedroom.

한 hanji uploaded: my fiancé acts as my personal trainer for a day | gym vlog 

10,025 comments 

mantha    10 seconds ago
THE TITLE EXCUSE ME 

hanner    5 seconds ago
FIANCE?!?!?! FIIANCEEee?!?!!

lilith   1 second ago
the title of the video?? oh wow okay! okay! it’s WHATEVER