Archive of Our Own

1

First impressions are hard, but Jisung doesn’t think he’s ever fucked one up this badly.

Shit, shit, shit!

He runs from his bedroom back to the kitchen where he had left his grilled cheese to toast for just a second, only to find the pan in flames and the room beginning to fill with smoke. Okay, maybe it was more than a second, maybe he got distracted organizing his manga collection as he unpacked it, but it couldn’t have been that long!

He grabs the nearest towel and starts trying to beat the fire out, cursing loudly to himself. Unfortunately, the towel then also bursts into flames, sending Jisung into even more of a panic.

The fire alarm starts blaring (maybe he should be concerned about the delayed reaction there, but that’s a problem for later Jisung) which brings his new roommate, Minho, running from his own room where he’d also been unpacking.

“What the hell is going on in here?” he coughs out.

Jisung can’t respond, given that he’s now holding a burning towel and trying not to set the rest of their apartment on fire, but it doesn’t take Minho long to answer his own question. Without hesitation, he marches over and snatches the towel from Jisung’s hand, throwing it in the sink and turning it on. Giant clouds of steam immediately billow from the mess. He then hip-checks Jisung out of the way and grabs the lid to the pan, which was thankfully sitting on the counter nearby, covering it and smothering the fire, deftly turning off the pilot at the same time.

Both men stand in silence for a moment, chests heaving. The smoke alarm continues doing its best to alert them of the now extinguished fire. Eventually, Minho moves to open the windows, which prompts Jisung to grab a (different, less charred) towel and start fanning the alarm. After a minute or so, it finally ceases its assault on their ears and he returns to the kitchen, where Minho is now staring at the soggy, burnt mess in the sink. Heart dropping even further, Jisung realizes the towel he’d grabbed was definitely not his own. Multicolored cartoon cats are scattered over the surface of it, some looking like they’re running away from the now blackened and destroyed majority of the towel. He looks at Minho, who still says nothing.

“Dude, I— I am so sorry, I was just trying to make lunch and I thought grilled cheese would be easy and I didn’t expect it to catch fire like that so I tried to get some stuff unpacked while it was cooking but then I smelled burning and by the time I got over here it was already on fire and I panicked and I didn’t mean to ruin your towel I swear I’m— I—” he runs out of breath, hoping Minho will say something, anything. The man stays silent. “I’m so sorry,” Jisung repeats, “I’ll get you a new towel, I promise! I don’t know if I’ll be able to find the same one but I’m sure there’s gotta be some other cute ones sold somewhere around here!”

Minho finally looks up at him, face unreadable. This is definitely not the time to notice how soft his skin looks, or how his downward slanted top lip makes him resemble a bunny.

“Do you know how to cook?” Minho finally asks.

Jisung is surprised by the question, but shakes his head after a pause. “Not really, I kind of live off ramyun and frozen food. I just thought— I’ve watched my dad make grilled cheese before and I thought it would be hard to fuck up.” He winces, looking back at the sink.

Minho is silent for a few more seconds, seemingly looking Jisung up and down. “It is hard to fuck up,” he replies. Jisung hangs his head, ashamed. “I’ll make lunch, please don’t try to use the stove again.”

Jisung’s head pops back up, confused, but Minho has already turned to open the fridge. “I’m— okay, I’m sorry,” he finally mumbles. Minho just hums, taking out a carton of eggs. Not wanting to be in the way, Jisung shuffles out of the kitchen and back to his bedroom, slumping against the door once it’s closed.

Fuck, could that have gone any worse?

Well, technically it could have, he supposes. They had been lucky enough to get a duplex, and the unit downstairs is still vacant, so at least he didn’t piss off their neighbors too.

But fuck, way to go, Jisung. It took him not more than six hours to both humiliate himself in front of and piss off his new roommate. Chan had set them up to live together, claiming they’d “compliment each other,” whatever that means. Jisung had trusted their mutual friend, even though he’d only met Minho a few times in passing. All he knew about the man was that he was a dance major and unfairly handsome. He’d hoped they could become friends, maybe even more if Minho likes guys. He’s certainly Jisung’s type. Of course, Jisung has always been a dreamer. He should have known he wouldn’t have a chance, he’s way too liable to make a fool of himself.

Well, now he knows three things; Lee Minho is a dance major, is incredibly handsome, and hates Han Jisung.

Scrubbing his face with his hands, Jisung decides to finish what he’d started earlier. He glowers at the stacks of manga like they’d personally set his apartment on fire before pulling more out of the moving box. Fifteen minutes later, he hears Minho’s bedroom door close. He pokes his head out to see a magazine cover-worthy egg sandwich plated on the counter. Of course he has to be a Michelin starred chef after Jisung just managed to screw up the easiest dish known to man.

The sandwich is delicious. Jisung feels like shit.

2

The cold air blowing Jisung’s hair into his face is the only thing keeping him awake on his way to class. He did not sleep well. It was only partly his fault; he had lost track of time working on one of his assignments and didn’t get to bed until 1:30 in the morning. Even then, though, he couldn’t get his brain to quiet down enough to sleep. He and Minho had been passively at each other’s throats for the past few weeks. Jisung had bought him a new towel, like he’d promised, but Minho had accepted it without a word of acknowledgment. In fact, they barely spoke at all since the incident. Anytime Jisung entered the apartment during the day, Minho would relocate to— well, Jisung didn’t actually know where he went. By the time he got home after his last class, Minho would already be holed up in his bedroom. He didn’t think all would be instantly forgiven as soon as the towel was replaced, but come on, he was trying to be roommate-ly. He’d even found a cute one with little angry bunnies on it! It wouldn’t hurt Minho to at least attempt to be a little less outwardly cold towards him. It was like the man was doing his best to forget Jisung existed. The only way Jisung knew he didn’t, in fact, have amnesia, was the plate of food he found wrapped in the fridge each night and the lunch packed for him each morning. It didn’t make any sense, but Jisung was beginning to come to the conclusion that maybe Minho himself operates without a care for sense in the first place.

He steps into the warm science building and already knows he’s in for a rough class. As soon as he sits down at the back of the lecture hall, he’s fighting to keep his eyes open. He pulls out his notebook and pencil anyways, hoping to at least catch some of what’s presented today. Why a music production major needs to take “Intro to Limnology” is beyond him, but his advisor insisted it would be interesting.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jisung notices a familiar figure sliding into the same row as him. Right, this is the one class he shares with Minho. Being the walking mystery that he is, Minho, of course, drops himself into the seat directly next to Jisung.

Seriously, no care for sense.

Before he can contemplate the man’s confusing choices further, Jisung’s attention is brought to the front where the professor has begun class.

Five minutes in and his eyelids feel weighed down by approximately half the mass of the known universe. His notes are definitely going to be illegible, but he still tries. He thinks he’s doing alright until his pencil hits the ground. When did he drop it? A glance at his watch tells him 30 minutes have already passed. Shit, he must have dozed off. Beside him, Minho gives him an unreadable look, so Jisung lowers his head and tries to focus back in on what the professor is saying. Fuck, what the hell does eutrophication mean? How much did he miss?

Another couple of minutes pass and Jisung is abruptly awoken by his head almost hitting the desk. He looks around quickly, cheeks heating up, hoping no one was watching. No one but Minho is looking in his direction. Somehow, this makes him blush even more. The last bullet point he wrote slants off the page.

He tries to stay awake, he really does, but he realizes he’s started to drift off again when a folded up sweatshirt is plopped on top of his notes. Startled, he turns to Minho, who is ripping a piece of paper out of his notebook.

“Dude, what the fuck is your problem?” he hisses at his roommate.

“You,” Minho replies without looking up. “You’re barely able to keep your head upright.”

Confused and a bit frustrated, Jisung snaps back, “Sorry? I don’t know why you have to be a dick about it.” Who does he think he is, making Jisung’s day harder when he can already tell he’s struggling?

Minho lets out a world-weary sigh before finally turning to look Jisung in the eye. “Just—” he gestures vaguely at the sweatshirt, which Jisung still hasn’t removed from his desk for some reason. He looks at Minho like he’s grown a second head. “Sleep, dumbass. I’ll take notes for you.” He goes back to said notes like he didn’t just give the most nonsensical mixed messages Jisung’s ever gotten.

If he was more awake, Jisung might have asked questions. He might have told Minho to fuck off. He might even have demanded Minho explain what kind of game he was playing. He had to be making fun of Jisung somehow, right?

But Jisung is not more awake. In fact, he’s quite close to being not awake at all. He glances at the sweatshirt, then at Minho (he’s now taking notes both in his notebook and on the torn out sheet of paper, tongue poking out ever so slightly in concentration. Fuck, why does that have to be so weirdly cute?), then back to the sweatshirt. It looks terribly inviting. Deciding he doesn’t want to think anymore, Jisung adjusts the sweatshirt so it covers his arms and rests his head on the plush fabric, pointedly facing away from Minho. He breathes deeply as sleep begins to drag him away again, with the last thought on his mind being how nice Minho’s cologne smells.

An indeterminate amount of time later, a gentle shaking rouses Jisung from his nap. Minho’s impassive face greets him as he lifts his head from the god-tier pillow that had been gifted to him. He actually feels surprisingly well rested, but before he can voice as much there’s a fluttering of paper in his face and Minho vanishes.

Still blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Jisung glances around to find the lecture hall quickly emptying out. On the desk next to him sit three sheets of college ruled paper, covered front and back in the neatest handwriting he’s ever seen. At the bottom of the last page, a little note stands out to him.

Typically sleeping is supposed to be done at night. Hope that helps.

- Minho Hyung

3

Okay, so maybe his lack of sleep wasn’t the only reason Jisung has felt like shit the past few days. He shouldn’t be surprised when he wakes up hurting all over with a low grade fever, but somehow he is. Honestly, it’s become almost a tradition for him to get the flu before the first break of any winter semester, dating all the way back through high school. The idea of ignoring it and going to classes anyways crosses his mind, but as soon as he sits up he’s hit with a massive coughing fit. As much as he doesn’t want to miss class, the thought of accidentally getting others sick is enough to extinguish that idea.

Anyways, people would definitely stare at him if he was to start hacking up a lung in the middle of a lecture, and that would most likely prompt him to die on the spot.

Lying back down, he grabs his phone and shoots off a text to Chan and Felix, whom he shares a few classes with. They both agree to send him pictures of any notes they take today. Felix sends him a gif of a hamster in a tiny bed with the caption “get well soon!” Chan sends him strict instructions to rest and hydrate, but then tells him to text if he needs anything like the softie he is.

Jisung puts his phone back down and closes his eyes, but sleep doesn’t find him quite yet, as he keeps coughing every few minutes. Instead, he finds himself contemplating his interactions with his roommate over the past couple days.

He’s still far from figuring Minho out, but something seems to have shifted following the time the older took notes for him while he napped. Minho has stopped disappearing as soon as Jisung enters the apartment, and they’ve actually had dinner together a couple times. They’re not…friends, per say, but they at least talk now. Minho had even suggested having some of their mutual friends over, leading to them hosting a board game night with Chan and Felix. Apparently, Felix was practically Minho’s child, as he clearly favored and babied him the whole night. He even smiled at Felix, showing off his bunny teeth.

Jisung was only a little jealous.

Chan seemed to get almost the same treatment as Jisung, though, which made him feel a bit better. He knows Chan considers Minho one of his closest friends, so if that’s how Minho treats his friends maybe he doesn’t see Jisung as a total pest the way he’d assumed.

There’s also the hyung thing.

It had taken Jisung a whole day after the nap incident to call Minho by his name, but when he finally did (a timid “thank you, Minho hyung” after he’d made them both the most delicious japchae Jisung had ever tasted), the older had actually smiled directly at him. It almost caused Jisung to walk into the wall as he retreated to his room since he couldn’t look away to watch where he was going.

At the same time, a lot of what Minho says to Jisung isn’t exactly…nice. He’s not mean! He is, however, incredibly blunt. Just yesterday, he told Jisung that if he didn’t start lining his shoes up neatly by the wall Minho would throw them away. Jisung is nothing if not great at over-analyzing, so it’s difficult for him to not take stuff like that personally. The only thing keeping him from yeeting himself through the window sometimes is thinking back to how Minho told Chan he’d weave the man’s ribs into a basket if he sent his game piece back to the start again, and both Chan and Felix had just laughed at the threat.

As though summoned by Jisung’s thoughts, Minho suddenly pokes his head into his bedroom and knocks on the door (in that order, which is definitely backwards but Jisung is not about to point that out). He’s wearing a mask and looks almost worried. Jisung is still having trouble reading his expressions, and having half his face covered isn’t helping.

“Channie hyung texted me that you weren’t feeling well,” Minho states. Jisung waits for him to continue, but Minho just stares at him expectantly.

“Ah, it’s nothing, hyung, probably just the flu. My immune system is shit, I get it every year.” He’s not quite sure what Minho is looking for, but the need to fill the ever-growing silence is too much for him. “I’m sorry if my coughing is loud, I’ll try my best to tone it down.”

“That’s stupid, you’ll burst a blood vessel doing that. Do you have cough medication?”

“Uh,” Jisung thinks aloud, “I think there’s some under the bathroom sink but I’m pretty sure it’s expired by now.”

Minho hums before suddenly disappearing. He seems to be good at that. At this point, Jisung has stopped questioning it.

He props himself up with a second pillow and somehow manages to drift off to sleep after a while. When he wakes up, he feels significantly worse. Drenched in sweat, he’s hit with a violent wave of chills, making him shiver. The world feels foggy, muted.

Despite his difficulty perceiving his surroundings properly, he does register Minho approaching his bedside. He must have woken up when he opened the door.

“Sit up,” he commands. He’s still wearing the mask. Jisung tries to comply, but progress is slow. His limbs feel like lead and every movement takes a gargantuan effort. There’s suddenly gentle hands under his armpits, and strong arms pull him into a sitting position. He feels like he’s floating. His eyes meet Minho’s. There’s a hand on his forehead.

“My poor baby, you’re really out of it, aren’t you? Hyung did warn me that the fevers tend to hit you hard.” The words echo around Jisung’s skull and he wonders where they came from. A tiny cup appears in front of his face. “Take this, it’ll make you feel better.” Obediently, Jisung parts his lips, allowing Minho to feed him some foul tasting liquid. He wrinkles his nose. Minho giggles.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry baby. Hyung is sorry.” He doesn’t sound very sorry. Jisung pouts. “Are you hungry?” He thinks (or, well, tries to think, as it’s not the easiest thing for him right now), then shakes his head. “When did you last eat?”

Jisung thinks again, finally rasping out, “last night.” Damn, he sounds terrible.

“I thought so. I’m going to make some broth for you.” Jisung blinks and Minho is gone again. He must fall asleep, because it feels like only seconds go by before Minho comes walking through the door with a bowl. He sits on the bed and spoons out a mouthful of steaming hot liquid, pulling his mask down briefly to blow on it before offering it to Jisung. “Say ‘ahh.’”

Jisung once again opens his mouth at his hyung’s request and accepts the offered spoon. The flavors of chicken stock and ginseng immediately flood his dulled senses and he hums. His eyes close as his mouth drops open for the next spoonful.

They fall into a sort of rhythm, Minho blowing on the broth, Jisung taking it and waiting patiently for more. A couple times, he’s surprised by a bite of actual chicken on the spoon, but he doesn’t fuss about it. Whatever medicine Minho gave him must be kicking in, because he’s feeling less achy but more drowsy. The shivering stopped a bit ago as well.

Jisung opens his mouth again, then cracks an eye open when no spoon meets his lips. Minho is looking at him. His eyes are smiling. He’s really pretty.

“That was all of it, baby. You did so well.” When did Minho have a baby? Jisung leans forward to try to catch a glimpse of his roommate’s secret child, but Minho gently pushes him back with a hand on his shoulder. “You should get some more rest. Do you want hyung to stay with you?” Jisung nods sleepily, not needing to think about that one. He whines when Minho gets up to put the bowl down by the door, which makes the older chuckle again. He soon returns though, helping Jisung adjust so his head rests in Minho’s lap. Fingers begin to card through his hair, instantly helping him relax.

This is so nice.

In no time, Jisung is out like a light.

He wakes up alone with a much clearer head. For a moment, he wonders if the whole ordeal was just a wild fever dream, but the cough medicine on his bedside table begs to differ. There’s even a note saying to take another dose after 10pm.

Did that really happen? The Minho he remembers was so…gentle. Kind. Closer to how he treats Felix. Jisung felt babied in the nicest way possible. He was literally spoon-fed homemade soup.

Thinking back, Jisung hopes he didn’t say anything embarrassing. Honestly, everything is still kind of foggy. He doesn’t think he said much, so hopefully that’s a good sign. He just remembers feeling warm and safe. He also remembers Minho having a kid, though, so maybe his memory isn’t really to be relied on. Fevers do tend to make him a bit loopy.

Stretching, Jisung reaches for his phone and checks the time. It’s past midnight. He decides to take the note’s advice and pours himself another dose, figuring it’ll knock him out again.

In the morning, he feels well enough to get out of bed. It’s Saturday, so thankfully he doesn’t have to worry about classes. Minho is sitting at the counter, eating dry Cheerios when he enters the kitchen.

“G’morning,” Jisung rasps from behind his mask. Minho’s head pops up, but his face stays blank. He nods a greeting before going back to his cereal.

Opening the fridge, Jisung finds a large stock pot of the soup Minho must have made. He elects to scoop himself a bowl, sticking it in the microwave. Breakfast foods are a social construct anyways.

He’d almost expected Minho to say something to acknowledge what happened yesterday, but as the droning of the microwave continues uninterrupted by speech, he realizes he’s not surprised. Minho is just a man of few words, he thinks. He lets his actions speak. Jisung is still trying to figure out what language they’re speaking, though.

Does Minho do things like this because he cares? Is it out of pity? Does he feel some sense of obligation to look out for Jisung because they’re roommates? He hopes it’s the first option, but, of course, his brain tends to latch onto the more negative possibilities. Why would Minho care when all he does is inconvenience him? He probably regrets agreeing to room with Jisung now that he knows what a mess the younger is. Likely, their mutual friendship with Chan is what’s making Minho feel like he needs to make sure Jisung stays alive.

At the same time, Minho could have just as effectively kept him alive by simply bringing him cough medication and store bought soup. He didn’t have to make the soup. He didn’t have to literally spoon-feed it to him. He certainly didn’t have to stay with Jisung and stroke his hair until he fell asleep.

The beeping of the microwave startles him out of his pondering. Looking one last time to Minho (he’s now finished his dry cereal and poured himself a glass of milk, all without acknowledging Jisung further), he retrieves his bowl of soup to bring back to his room.

Though their relationship has improved significantly, Jisung is still having difficulty puzzling out exactly how Minho works. He wonders if he’ll ever figure it out.

4

Jisung blinks heavily at the ceiling again in frustration, cold drops sliding slowly down his face in a concerningly increasing quantity. Why is this so difficult? Figuring he might as well wipe his face at this point, he lowers his arms, reaching somewhat blindly for the tissue box on the side table by the couch. At that moment, the front door opens, and he turns to (blurrily) see Minho shuffling in and sliding his shoes off.

“Hey, I was thinking of tryi— what happened?!”

There’s a crash and suddenly Minho is cradling Jisung’s face in his hands, kneeling in front of the couch, having crossed the room faster than he could process. He looks…angry? Concerned?

“Who did this? Who do I need to fight?” Minho’s words are soft but shake in the air, like he’s barely holding back some emotion he doesn’t want to scare Jisung with. His thumbs gently swipe at the wetness on his cheeks and all Jisung can think of is how he can feel the faintest dusting of the other’s breath against his skin. They’re so close. If he tries hard enough, he can pick up the scent of Minho’s cologne again, notes of vanilla and citrus tickling the air. It’s such a simple smell, yet so quintessentially Minho, sweet and zesty. Something in his brain settles at the scent. When did that become a thing? Heart thudding from the sudden and unexpected proximity, Jisung tries to process what he heard, realizing he’s just been staring while Minho is seemingly searching his eyes for an answer. Fuck, say something, say something.

“Huh?” Jisung finally gets out. Great. Wonderful. How eloquent.

“Who made you cry?”

“Wh— no one! I’m not crying! I just…I just really suck at putting in eyedrops.” Minho stares at him blankly. Jisung feebly holds up the tiny bottle in his hand, showing Minho the generic drug store brand “dry eye relief” he’d managed to pour pretty much all over his face. “My eyes have been really itchy because of the dry air so Jeongin suggested I try using them but I kept…uh…missing my eyes.” Sheepishly trying to look away, Jisung is prevented from moving by Minho’s hands still cupping his cheeks. Minho blinks once, twice, brow furrowing as he examines the boy’s face again. Jisung decides to stare stubbornly at his chin, unable to hold eye contact any longer. He absentmindedly notes the slight stubble there and realizes looking there is not any better for his heart rate.

As soon as he had appeared, Minho vanishes before his eyes. Blinking again, Jisung looks over to see him picking up the bag he had dropped in the entryway. “You scared me for a second there. I thought something had happened,” Minho says, heading towards the kitchen with what Jisung can now see are groceries.

Jisung, still frozen in place, finally remembers how to breathe again. He already misses the citrus and vanilla from moments before.

Minho glances over quickly, quipping, “weren’t you going to wipe your face?” Jisung looks down at his hand to see the tissue box he’d forgotten he’d picked up, and quickly pulls a couple out to erase the evidence of his battle with the eyedrops. He thinks the eyedrops won. Well, now they’re banished to the cabinet in the bathroom.

“Hyung,” he calls softly after returning to the living room. Minho hums in acknowledgment. “You’d fight someone for me?” A quiet thud sounds as an apple rolls off the counter. Minho ducks out of view to pick it up.

“Well, yeah,” he responds, still out of sight. “Anyone who makes someone like you cry deserves to get beat up.”

“Someone like me,” Jisung repeats. “What does that mean?” Minho takes a second to reply, finally popping back up and setting the apple down in their fruit bowl by the toaster. Jisung notes that while his face is neutral, his ears are a flaming red.

“Sensitive,” he answers. “Soft. A little naive. Anyone who picks you to target is obviously an asshole.”

Jisung’s shoulders slump a bit. That wasn’t…quite the answer he was hoping for. What would that answer even be, though? Cute? Sweet? He doesn’t think Minho would call him either of those things. Heck, the first word Minho would use to describe him would still be “annoying,” his brain helpfully provides. Well, it would at least be in the top three.

“Anyways,” Minho continues, “I was thinking of trying to convince Yongbok to share the recipe for that brownie-cookie thing he made last time we got together at Hyunjin’s place. Do you remember those? What did he call them again?” Jisung does remember those. In fact, he remembers eating three of them and sneaking a few more from the container to take home. Minho had scoffed when he found Jisung nibbling on one in their apartment later, but hadn’t commented.

“Brookies,” he replies after racking his brain for a moment. Minho snaps his fingers and points at Jisung, face lighting up.

“Yes! That was it, brookies. I’ll have to ask him for his brookie recipe.” Jisung doesn’t mention how Minho only ever eats chocolate based things if Felix makes them. He doesn’t point out that he knows his hyung has a soft spot for his freckled twin and happily compliments anything he bakes, but he’s never been one to seek chocolate otherwise.

No, Jisung keeps these thoughts to himself. He tucks them away in the corner of his brain dedicated to Minho-related mysteries, closes the mental filing cabinet, and continues on with his day.

5

Jisung isn’t sure why he let Changbin drag him to a party.

Actually, that’s a lie. Changbin mentioned Wooyoung had a dog. If there’s anything that can convince Jisung to do something he doesn’t want to do, it’s the promise of puppy cuddles.

The puppy cuddles were, indeed, fantastic. What Jisung hadn’t anticipated, though, was how much attention hanging out with the dog would get him. Being perceived by so many people at once quickly became overwhelming, so he left the puppy with a gaggle of cooing party-goers in favor of finding one of his friends to hopefully latch onto.

The first people he finds are Felix and Chan, but they’re busy sucking face and Jisung would rather not interrupt that. Changbin is playing beer pong, which has drawn much too large a crowd. He catches sight of Jeongin and Seungmin just as they join the puppy worship circle, so they’re out. That leaves Hyunjin and Minho. He’s never been to a party with Minho before, but he knows Hyunjin will most likely be on the dance floor.

Strangely enough, dancing at a party doesn’t freak Jisung out as much as one might expect. Sure, it’s crowded, but most people aren’t really paying much attention to others. It’s easy to blend in, especially with a buddy.

He scans the crowd for his lanky friend, quickly spotting him on the far side of the room. Carefully making his way over, he dodges one guy who isn’t looking where he’s going and catches a drunk girl when she trips over her own feet. Thankfully, her friends take her from him with shouted apologies and he’s able to continue on. When he reaches Hyunjin, he taps the dancer on the shoulder to get his attention and is instantly met with a blinding smile. Hyunjin grabs Jisung’s hands and starts moving them to the rhythm, swaying the both of them back and forth.

After a few minutes, Hyunjin shouts something Jisung can’t make out. Giving his friend a quizzical look, he leans in to hopefully hear better. Instead, Hyunjin spins him around, pointing at someone in the center of the dance floor.

Well, technically, someones.

Apparently Felix had decided to take a break from making out with Chan, as he is now drawing the eyes of many of the dancers surrounding him. Chan stands a few feet away, beaming proudly at his boyfriend. Dancing with Felix, though, is none other than Minho.

Now, Jisung knew Minho could dance, but he’d never had the privilege of witnessing it himself.

And man, was it a privilege.

Despite clearly being a bit more than tipsy, judging by the flush present on his face, Minho moves to the music with a sense of grace and sensuality that takes Jisung’s breath away. The control he has over his body is unbelievable. The most amazing part, though, is the look on his face. Minho is positively glowing, laughing along with Felix like they’re on top of the world. He looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world, like this is exactly where he belongs and he knows it.

His eyes meet Jisung’s, and somehow his smile grows impossibly wider. He spins, poses, then drops into a jazz split before looking back up to find Jisung again with a proud, goofy grin. Jisung smiles back and claps, too entranced to realize he’s stopped dancing. Felix pulls Minho back up and the two go back to putting every other dancer in the room to shame.

Without warning, Hyunjin slides past Jisung, heading towards the center to join the attention-grabbing duo. Suddenly, Jisung is alone, surrounded by people. Deciding he needs a break anyways, he makes his way towards the kitchen, grabbing an unopened water bottle. He doesn't plan on drinking tonight. He returns to the main room, finding a vacant spot against the wall to blend in with so he can hopefully sip his water in peace and maybe watch Minho dance some more.

As soon as he cracks the seal on the bottle, however, a heavy hand lands on his shoulder, startling him.

“Woah! Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya!” Jisung is suddenly face to face with a man he vaguely recognizes as one of his classmates from music theory. He’s slightly taller than Jisung, but close enough in height for him to immediately smell the whiskey on the other’s breath. “Jisung, right? We’re in Professor Moon’s class together,” he slurs. “I’m Jun-Seok!” The man’s hand slides off Jisung’s shoulder to grab his hand, shaking it like they’re in a business meeting.

“Uh, yeah, nice to meet you,” Jisung replies politely, not super comfortable with how this is going. He turns back towards the dance floor, hoping the dude will take the hint, but instead Jun-Seok just steps in front of him, loosely trapping him against the wall.

“So, listen, you’re super hot, and I think we could make great music together, if you know what I mean.” Jun-Seok wiggles his eyebrows, looking Jisung up and down.

“Er, no thanks, I’m not looking to hook up with anyone tonight. I actually was about to leave with one of my friends.” Jisung tries looking over the man’s shoulder, praying he can make eye contact with someone who can get him out of this situation. Before he’s able to, though, Jun-Seok slams his hand onto the wall beside Jisung’s head, making him flinch. The man leans into his space, the smell of alcohol now inescapable.

“Aw, come on, don't be such a prude. How about we get you a drink so you’ll loosen up? It’s not every day that I offer to take a pretty boy like you home,” he drawls.

Jisung almost replies with a negative, but realizes this may be his chance to escape. “Actually, I think a drink might convince me. Could you get me one?” Just as he hoped, a predatory smile spreads across the taller’s face, and he leans back a bit.

“See, I knew you’d come around. You wait right here, babydoll.”

Out of nowhere, a flying fist soars through the air between Jisung and Jun-Seok, followed by the body of one Lee Minho. Though his punch missed, the rest of Minho collides with Jun-Seok, sending them both tumbling to the ground as Jisung yelps and jumps out of the way.

The next few moments are a chaotic blur. A couple punches land, most do not, as both men are clearly intoxicated and trying to fight while on their knees. Minho’s fist connects with Jun-Seok’s chin, and Jisung is reminded of the partnered boxing practice Chan had mentioned a few times. Immediately after, though, Jun-Seok manages to nail Minho’s left cheekbone, and Minho flops to the side. Jisung screams.

At this point, a few people jump in to pull the two apart, and Jisung rushes to Minho. He’s still conscious, thank god, but his eye looks like it’s already starting to swell and there’s a large scrape across his cheek from where Jun-Seok must have been wearing a ring.

Chan and Changbin appear, each grabbing one of Minho’s arms to lead him to the front porch. Jisung follows closely behind, but is shocked to hear the injured man start yelling for him.

“Jisung? JISUNG? HYUNG, where is Jisung? Is he okay? Where did he go?” Chan gently shushes him, trying to guide them through the crowd. “No, no, hyung, you don’t understand, he looked so scared, hyung, I have to find him!”

“Jisung is okay,” Chan reassures him. “We’ll find him as soon as we get you outside. What the hell were you thinking, starting a fight like that?”

Finally reaching the front door, Chan and Changbin dump Minho on the steps. He huffs petulantly, glaring up at them. Jisung hovers in the doorway, so far unnoticed by any of the others.

“He deserved it!” Minho spits. “Didn’t you see the way he was making Jisungie uncomfortable? God, if I see him again I’ll gut him for treating my baby like that!”

Jisung’s jaw drops.

My baby.

Does he mean me?

He has to, right? Who else in the situation would he be referring to?

Before Jisung can say anything, Minho continues, lips apparently loosened by alcohol.

“God damnit, he probably thinks I’m a loser now. I just wanted to protect him! Hyung, I like him so much, you don’t even know,” he whines. Chan and Changbin exchange tired glances, neither looking surprised. Has Minho talked about this with them before? “He doesn’t realize what he does to me! He’s so pretty, with his boba eyes and his little pout and the way he stuffs his cheeks full of whatever food I make him! And he’s so sweet and funny and kind, and just last week he came home all excited because he saw a mom and baby deer coming back from campus and he was so cute I needed to leave the room so I didn’t squish his face. God, I just want to make him smile like that all the time!”

Jisung can’t believe his ears. This is what Minho thinks of him? Minho…likes him? For so long, Jisung was convinced he was just a thorn in Minho’s side, when really the older had seemingly been crushing on him all this time. It’s the most Jisung has ever heard the man talk, and he’s just rambling about how cute he is.

Quietly stepping out onto the porch, Jisung is unsure of whether or not to make his presence known. The decision is made for him, however, when the door slams behind him, making everyone flinch. Three heads whip in his direction simultaneously. Everyone freezes.

Minho’s eyes are locked onto his, expression shocked and unguarded for once. His left eye isn’t as bad as Jisung had feared, but he can see beads of blood beginning to seep from the scrape. He honestly looks more lucid than expected, and Jisung wonders how much of what he said was actually drunken rambling and how much was how he normally talks about the younger when they’re apart.

After a tense few seconds, Minho bolts.

+1

Well, he tries to, at least. Changbin’s hand shoots out, lightning quick, grabbing Minho by the collar. The look he gets for it has Jisung wondering how Changbin doesn’t wither on the spot.

Eventually, Minho sighs, slumping against his captor.

“How long have you been there?” he asks without looking up.

“Uh,” Jisung begins intelligently, “I followed you guys from the scene of the fight.”

Minho glances at Changbin again, who shakes his head. “You’re not getting out of this one, hyung.” Minho scowls.

“Actually, Binnie hyung,” Jisung pipes up, “could you see if Wooyoung has an ice pack we could borrow?” Changbin looks surprised, but nonetheless releases his grip to head back inside. Minho doesn’t move, but does open his mouth to speak.

“Jisungie, I-”

“Chan hyung, did you drink tonight? Could you give us a ride home?” Jisung speaks over him. Minho’s mouth closes with a click. Chan nods, also heading inside, presumably to find his keys and let Felix know where he’s going.

Alone, the two left standing on the porch are still for a moment. Minho looks almost…scared. The tips of his ears are a flaming red against the cool outside air. He goes back and forth between staring at Jisung and not being able to meet his eyes. After the fourth time he looks away, Jisung begins to approach, slowly, as though Minho is a wild animal that might spook at any sudden movement.

“Hyung, is it okay to touch you?”

Minho’s eyes snap back to Jisung’s, before he tentatively nods his head.

Jisung wastes no time in gathering his hyung up in his arms and squeezing him, careful not to touch the left side of his face. Minho squeezes back, one hand around Jisung’s waist and the other tangling in his hair. Jisung buries his nose into Minho’s neck, breathing in his soothing scent. They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, basking in each other’s comfort, before a cough interrupts them. As they separate, Jisung deliberately drops his hand into Minho’s, where it’s met with a squeeze.

Changbin stands in the doorway, one eyebrow raised, holding what appears to be a bag of frozen peas. Chan is behind him, smiling like an idiot. The rest of their friends are also hovering, faces varying from utter joy (Felix and Hyunjin) to confusion (Jeongin) to mild disgust (Seungmin). Minho glowers. Jisung blushes. Chan breaks the silence.

“Sorry, Lix and the rest of the gremlins wanted to make sure Minho was okay after I told them what happened. Are you ready to go?” Jisung nods, taking the bag of peas from Changbin and handing it to Minho, who dutifully presses it to his face. They follow Chan to his car while Changbin corrals their nosy friends back into the house.

The ride home is quiet, as is the trek up the stairs to their apartment. After making sure Minho doesn’t fall to his doom during their climb, Chan pats them each on the shoulder and bids them goodnight. Once inside, Jisung drags Minho to the bathroom and sits him down on the toilet lid before digging through their cabinets.

He first fetches a clean washcloth and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “Let me see,” he instructs softly.

Minho, who had still been holding the makeshift ice pack to his face, slowly lowers it and looks to the floor. Jisung tsks and puts a finger under Minho’s chin, tilting his head up.

“Nothing looks broken, but you might have a black eye tomorrow,” Jisung informs him, turning to wash his hands and dampen the cloth with the disinfectant. “I also want to get something on that cut. God knows where that weirdo’s hands have been.” Kneeling down in front of Minho, he dabs at the blood on his hyung’s cheek, apologizing when it makes him hiss. Jisung then retrieves their first aid kit from under the sink, pulling out a tube of antibiotic cream.

Getting close enough to apply it means the two are face to face again. Jisung does his best to focus on the task at hand, but he can’t help but notice Minho studying him. The shock, the ice, and the punch he took seem to have sobered him up considerably. Without making eye contact, Jisung asks the question that’s been on the tip of his tongue since he overheard the conversation earlier.

“Did you mean it?”

Minho hums questioningly. Jisung continues.

“What you told Chan and Changbin about me. Did you mean it?”

There’s a pregnant pause. Jisung finishes applying the cream and screws the cap back onto the tube. As he stands up to wash his hands again, Minho grabs onto his sleeve, stopping him from moving away. Jisung looks over, surprised to see that his hyung is staring directly at him, searching eyes full of sincerity.

“Yeah,” he says simply.

“Yeah what?”

“Yeah, I meant it. I like you, Sungie. I like you so much. I’m…sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, I never wanted to push anything. I also know I’m shit at expressing my feelings, so I’m sorry for that too—”

Jisung interrupts him by pulling him up into another hug. They stand in silence again, both seeming intent on crushing the other in their arms.

“I like you too, hyung,” Jisung whispers into Minho’s shoulder. “I like you so much,” he parrots, pulling back to make eye contact. He’s met with the gentlest, most genuine smile he’s ever seen.

“Really?” Minho’s eyes are sparkling as he not-so-subtly glances at Jisung’s mouth.

“Yes, really, you doofus. I’ve liked you for a while but I didn’t know how you felt about me. Honestly, I kind of thought you hated me for the first few months we lived together.”

“Never, baby, I never hated you. I’m so sorry I ever made you feel that way. Can…can I kiss you?”

Without bothering to respond, Jisung leans forward to connect their lips, throwing his arms over his hyung’s shoulders. Minho’s hand comes up to cradle his head, holding Jisung like he’s something precious, fragile. The kiss is just a soft press of lips, as both parties are smiling too much to do anything else, but it’s perfect. As they part, Minho rubs his nose against Jisung’s, making them both giggle.

“We should probably keep icing your eye to keep the swelling down,” Jisung notes. “He definitely got you good.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Minho groans, obediently pressing the bag of peas against his face again. “That was so humiliating. I don’t usually fight people when I’m drunk but I was just so angry after seeing how he was pinning you to the wall like that.”

Jisung grimaces at the memory. “Yeah, he was kind of a total sleazeball, to be honest. I’m not gonna say punching him was the right answer but…thank you. For helping. I didn’t think you meant it literally when you said you’d fight someone for me.” Minho grins at that, reaching up to push a lock of hair out of Jisung’s face.

“And I’d do it again in a heartbeat, should the need ever return,” he replies.

After turning to kiss the hand still on his face, Jisung raises his eyebrows. “Maybe next time just give me an out, like a phone call or something, hyung. I hate to see you get hurt because of me.”

Minho huffs. “Fine. But only because making you sad should be a federal crime.”

The two end up standing in silence again for a few moments, smiling at each other. Neither seem to want to be the one to suggest they separate to go to bed.

After quietly pondering, Jisung finally suggests, “Do you maybe want to get into pajamas and watch a movie? I know it’s late, but-”

“I would love that, baby,” Minho interrupts with another one of those warm smiles.

With a plan in place, both men shuffle out of the bathroom and into their respective rooms to change, bumping into each other and giggling along the way.

Just as Jisung is pulling on a sweatshirt, there’s a knock at his door. “I’m dressed, you can come in,” he calls out. Minho enters holding his laptop, making his way over to the bed. If he notices that the hoodie Jisung is wearing is the one he lent him as a pillow in class that one time, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Are you cool with Your Name?”

“Of course I’m ‘cool’ with Your Name, hyung, I love that movie,” Jisung retorts, almost offended that Minho thought he’d object.

Setting his laptop down on Jisung’s nightstand, Minho surprises him by entering the bed first, opening his arms to make room for the younger. Jisung blushes but acquiesces, scooting into his hyung’s space. Minho immediately takes position as the big spoon, reaching over to start the movie before pulling Jisung to his chest.

Both men settle in, watching the movie in silence for a bit. Jisung is just beginning to let his eyes droop when he hears Minho speak.

“I know I said it before, but I really never hated you. I’m just…not great at managing my feelings or expressing myself. I kept running away because I didn’t know how to act around you and didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I never meant to make you feel like that.”

Jisung turns over in Minho’s arms, meeting his gaze in the light of the laptop screen. He searches the man’s eyes for a moment before responding.

“Even when I burnt your kitty towel?”

Minho smiles. “Do you want to know what I was thinking that day?” Jisung nods. “I was thinking about how screwed I was. I already knew you were cute, but I didn’t realize just how precious you were until you were awkwardly rambling about replacing my towel.”

“No way,” Jisung protests, laughing. “You thought that was cute? You didn’t think I was an annoying klutz who can’t take care of himself and started destroying your stuff within hours of moving in?”

“Hey, no one gets to talk about my baby that way, not even my baby,” Minho scolds gently, booping Jisung on the nose. “You’re not annoying. Accident prone? Maybe. I’m not gonna dispute that one. But I don’t mind. I love cooking for you because it means I can know you’re well fed. I love taking care of you when you’re not feeling well because I don’t want you to feel alone. I love looking out for you because I like knowing that you’re safe and comfortable. Okay?”

Jisung takes a moment to process, recontextualizing every one of their previous interactions in his head.

“For someone who claims to not be good at expressing his feelings, hyung, that was…incredibly sappy. Maybe the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me.”

Minho shrugs. “Eh, sometimes my brain can put words together nicely. Doesn’t happen often though.” Jisung giggles, scooting forward to bury his face in his hyung’s chest. “Do you want to sleep, baby?”

Jisung hums in agreement.

“Is it okay if I stay here?” Minho asks.

“Please,” Jisung mumbles against the fabric of Minho’s sleep shirt.

“Okay, as you wish.” Minho reaches over Jisung to turn off the movie before going back to hugging the younger against his body.

“Goodnight, hyung.”

“G’night, baby.”