Work Text:
This isn’t a love story. But Jisung wants it to be.
But not like this:
He wakes up with a throbbing headache, throat parched, eyes sticky, and his front is pressed against something warm. Broad. Moving. His arms are wrapped around something. Maybe a pillow? He squeezes it. Hmm. Soft, but not quite. Then, it grunts.
Still, that doesn’t faze him. Not until it moves even more, murmuring something he can't quite understand, something unintelligible. He’s gently being shaken awake when he hears his name being called, soft, gentle, and fond…? Familiar…?
“Jisung-ah,” it calls, “Wake up, Han-ah.”
It clicks then, and Jisung has never sat up as fast as he did mere seconds after waking up. He’s scooting himself right towards the edge of the bed and almost screams, alarmed, when a hand wraps around his wrist, pulling him to a stop.
“You're going to fall off the bed.”
“Kim Seungmin,” he says quietly, voice scratchy, as he fully takes in the man in front of him. He’s in bed with his ex-boyfriend, his warm hand around his wrist, his shoulders bare, duvet pulled to cover his chest. His headache worsens, and he groans into his hands. “Ughhhhh.”
How is Kim Seungmin still so breathtakingly handsome? Didn’t he just wake up as well?
“Good morning to you too,” Seungmin laughs, releasing Jisung's wrist to pat his head, fingers brushing lightly against his bangs. Like he used to do when they were together. When Seungmin just can’t control the inexplicable urge to touch any part of him. He misses this.
Quickly, he shakes the thought away.
“Why…” he trails, because he finally looks around. He sees a familiar bedside table (he does not have one; he uses a stool instead), a familiar lava lamp (he does not have one, and now he's jealous), and a familiar actual solid closet with doors (he has a clothing’s rack, and he remembers pulling out his clothes from the very same closet just a month ago). “...am I in your house?” He pauses, finally looking at Seungmin. “You brought me to your house?”
Seungmin stares at him, squints, really, and scoffs. “You followed me home?” he grumbles, finally throwing the covers off him—and oh, he’s naked. Marked up. All across his neck, his chest, his thighs—
“Seungmin!” He screeches yet again, slapping himself on accident in a rush to cover his eyes. My god, he thinks, he’s still so shameless.
“Nothing you’ve never seen before, Hannie,” he hears Seungmin say. He doesn’t have to see his stupid face to know he’s sporting a stupid, genuine smile with the smallest hint of mischief. “You liked it last night, didn’t you?”
“Oh my god,” Jisung groans, cheeks heating up, and Seungmin laughs. He misses this, too, wishing he could keep his beautiful laugh bottled up and listen to it forever.
Slowly, flashes of last night start playing in his head. Starting with multiple shots of soju with his friends, Seungmin stopping Yongbok from handing him more, him yelling at Seungmin that it’s no longer his business but still pulling him closer and closer and closer until—
“Hannie,” Seungmin calls him again, cutting his mind off from showing mortifying images of himself crying, begging, kissing. Seungmin has always been nothing but gentle with his name. Even when Jisung had crushed his heart a month ago, apropos of nothing. Even when Jisung yelled at him, a month after he asked for a break up. Even when he’s in bed with his ex-boyfriend because drunk Jisung can’t let go of him. Even then. “You okay?”
“No,” he replies, but quickly tacks on, “my head. My headache. Ugh.”
He hears the soft thud of the duvet against the sheet, more rustling, then, “Give me a second.” He hears the bedroom door open and he finally pulls his hands away from his face. They’re wet.
He stares at the open door and sighs, rubbing the tears off his face. Seungmin is probably going to take a while. Knowing that bastard, he’s not just going to take a glass of water and meds. He’s probably rummaging through his kitchen for a snack, a piece of bread, anything, as long as Jisung is not taking it on an empty stomach.
After all, this isn’t Seungmin's first rodeo.
So Seungmin’s taking a while. Jisung looks down and sees that he’s wearing a shirt. Okay. Good. He looks around for his phone, thankful that it’s by the bedside table that was once his and ignores the twinge in his heart when he remembers. With one hand pressed against his forehead, he unlocks his phone.
Bokie♡
jisung-ah
jisung
jisung
are u home bsbu
babahy
baby
?? m
?
omona
omo
hyunjinnie saod
u qent back wiyh
seynfmin
Seungmin
i hope ur
Okay!
i wuv u
yongbok-ah…
i’m fucked aren't i
i love him so much still
“Sorry, I took so long,” Seungmin says as he enters the room, now with shorts on. Jisung quickly exits from his chat with Yongbok and turns his phone off. He tucks his phone underneath his bare thigh and winces at the sudden coolness. “I know you were texting Yongbok. He texted me too.”
He sits a bit further from Jisung and hands him the usual: water in his favourite mug (even though he had it customised for Seungmin, KIM #11 printed on it), a chilled bottle of hangover tea (his favourite brand), a single tablet, and a piece of convenience store bread. It was probably for Seungmin’s breakfast, originally.
“Yeah,” Jisung replies, just to fill in the stifling silence. He takes a small bite of the bread and puts it down on his lap. Immediately, Seungmin hands him the tablet. Jisung laughs, feeling bitter and hollow. “You make it so hard, Seungmin.”
Seungmin flinches and Jisung feels bad. Seungmin didn’t do anything; nothing to blame himself for, except for falling for an idiot, he supposes. He downs the tablet with water and wraps his fingers tightly around the mug handle to ground himself.
“We didn’t do anything last night, Jisung,” Seungmin says, and he immediately misses the Han-ah, Hannie, Jisung-ah, Jisungie. Maybe even baby. Yeobo. He continues, “You were drunk and—and you kept following me. I tried to hand you over to Yongbok and Hyunjin, but you…you didn’t want to let go. So I brought you home.”
“I know,” Jisung says, and takes a deep breath. He knows. He remembers being clingy, begging, pulling Seungmin's shirt off, pressing kisses all over his body until Seungmin pulled him up, cupped his face so gently that he thought Seungmin might still love him and told him, “Han-ah, I don’t want you to regret this. I don’t want to regret this. Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?” He remembers crying, and finally nodding, saying okay, and pressesing his wet face against Seungmin's back before falling asleep.
“You make it so hard to hate you, you know? And now we’re here.”
The thing is, Jisung didn’t break up with Seungmin because he fell out of love. Not at all, and to be honest, he doesn’t think that’s ever going to happen.
But he did it anyway, because he was a coward. Because adulting seem more and more intimidating each day. Seungmin’s two years into his big boy job and Jisung’s bogged down from the immense pressure of never being enough, the fear of being a leech, not having a clear path for his future.
He listens to Seungmin over dinner when he tells him his co-workers are getting married, buying a house, a car, or getting a dog. Then he gets shy, feeling inadequate, because his advisor has told him for the nth time to edit his thesis, reorganise his chapters, and reframe his angle, and he can’t tell Seungmin all that. He can't even cover their dates most of the time. What will Seungmin think of him?
He thought he’d be nipping it in the bud. Dump Seungmin while the love is there so he can look back at their relationship fondly, and not when he finally realised how Jisung was never enough, always holding him back, always having to play catch up.
And it’s stupid now looking back. He probably shouldn’t have broken up with Seungmin over something he’s dealing with personally but…it's too late, isn’t it. Can you mend a broken heart?
“I don’t hate you, Jisung-ah,” Seungmin says firmly, with the white hot passion of a thousand suns. Jisung feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin to ask Seungmin, why not? “I don’t think I ever will. And I…” he trails. His eyes are searching for something—anything—in Jisung, and he supposes he sees what he’s looking for because he doesn’t hesitate to inch closer, reach out, and lace their fingers together. “I don’t want you to hate me either.”
Jisung doesn’t waste time. Interlocking their fingers together, he says, “I don't. I don’t hate you, Seungmin-ah.”
Seungmin presses his lips into a thin line, eyebrows furrowing in worry. Hesitantly, he tries, so, so quietly, “Baby…”
“I…” Jisung starts, then stops, trying to find the right words. If…if he wants to do this again, if Seungmin lets him, he has to do it right. Properly. “Is it—is it too much? Is it too much to ask you if we can try again? I’m sorry, Seungmin. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I’m so sorry—”
Seungmin pulls him into his arms, his home, and lets Jisung sob against his bare shoulder. He’s warm and still smells faintly of his beloved cotton detergent. He’s missed it so much and so he presses his face even further against the side of his neck.
Seungmin shushes him but he can't stop. Can’t stop apologising, can’t stop missing his smell, his skin, his fingers in his hair.
“I’m sorry—”
“Jisung, I’ve long forgiven you. I'll never hold this against you, no matter how stupid,” he says, laughing wetly. He pushes Jisung gently away from him and cups his face gently, just like last night. “Sometimes I wish you see yourself the way I see you. Smart, lovable, handsome. Enough.”
Jisung coughs, feeling his cheek heating up. It’s funny how time works. A month ago Seungmin was the one begging Jisung to not do this to him, to them, because it was stupid (it was and is) and now he’s doing the same, finally acknowledging how stupid he was.
“If you give me a chance—”
“Absolutely I will,” Seungmin says, expression as serious as can be for someone who still has pillow creases on his cheek.
Jisung can't help but laugh, turning his face to nip on Seungmin’s wrist.
“Seungmin-ahhh,” he whines, and Seungmin smiles. Nodding, urging him to go on. So he starts again. “If you give me a chance—”
“Which I have.”
“Yah, Kim Seungmin!”
“What! I already have!”
“This is a serious conversation we are about to have!”
“And I’m taking it as seriously as I can! I love you, you stupid bastard! Let’s just date again!”
Jisung's breath gets caught in his throat, halfway between shock and horror, because that’s his line. He’s the one who’s supposed to ask and beg for Seungmin back. He’s supposed to grovel and Seungmin doesn’t even let him.
“You’re so stupid,” Jisung says quietly, hoping the fondness isn't leaking out of his eyes.
“You’re so stupid,” Seungmin sighs, “How did you ever think we would be better off as friends when you’re the love of my life?”
Jisung tugs Seungmin’s hands off his face and rolls his eyes, despite his heart threatening to jackrabbit out of his ribcage.
I’m the love of his life.
“Fine!” he says, pretending to sulk even as he pulls Seungmin forward and onto his lap, tugging his gangly legs to wrap them around his waist. Even as Seungmin’s looking down at him, eyes reflecting the love and fondness that never faltered. Even as Jisung looks up at him, doing his very best to fight off a smile. “Fine! Today is our day one! And I’m going to drain your bank account dry from trying to fund a grad student’s lifestyle! We drink a lot, you know, especially after we meet our advisors!”
“Which is often,” Seungmin says, nodding sagely. He’s biting down a smile, too, and he’s so, so cute. Jisung is going to eat him alive.
“Exactly!”
“And that’s okay,” Seungmin says, leaning further down until the tips of their noses touch. “Because I make too much to be single. And the apartment has been so empty, bed too cold, shower too—”
Jisung laughs, sounding both happy and sad. Sad that he thought he could let Seungmin go, happy that Seungmin was stupid and in love with him enough to give them another chance.
“Alright—”
“It’s called being a supportive partner, by the way,” Seungmin leans back, frowning adorably at Jisung. He tucks a stray hair behind Jisung’s ear and tugs it softly, like a reprimand. “Your scholarship allowance helped us pull through the months I was job hunting, why can’t I do the same, baby?”
He’s sure the grin that he’s sporting is a nervous one. Slowly, he says, “Because I’m stupid…?”
Seungmin nods. “Checks out.”
He doesn’t care that he’s being called stupid. He doesn’t even care if Seungmin continues to do so for months, years, up until they’re greying and suffering from memory loss. He doesn’t care. Not even a little.
He’s grinning so wide that he probably looks silly. It’s probably why Seungmin bursts out laughing, cups his cheeks again, and kisses him stupid.
It’s a lot like coming home; warmth finally seeping into Jisung’s skin after the longest winter of his life. Familiar hands roaming his face and body before they finally settle on his shoulders. Familiar whines, moans, taste. It’s soft, it’s gentle. He’s finally home again.
“I love you, Seungmin-ah,” Jisung says against his lips as they part, a little less than an inch. “Thank you for giving me another chance. I’ll be better, I promise.”
“Not just better,” Seungmin says, “Kinder. To yourself.”
How was Jisung so, so stupid to think of letting the love of his life go? His love is bursting at the seams, so he pulls Seungmin back for another kiss, kissing him an apology, an I love you, and a promise.
“I love you too, my Hannie,” Seungmin says back when they pull apart, smiling down at him like an angel. “Never doubt that.”
And Jisung doesn’t. Because this is a love story. See how simple that was?