Archive of Our Own ^beta

༄.°

“Your hair’s gotten pretty long.”

The catalyst. That’s what Jisung calls it, at least in his head.

Jisung had been much too focused on the documentary playing on the TV—an episode on marine wildlife—to pay mind to Minho’s words.

Minho, who’d sat cross-legged on the couch behind Jisung, his knee close to Jisung’s head. Although the couch’s fairly big in size, much of its space had been occupied by the feline that inhabited Minho’s home; a sprawled out Soonie, fast asleep, was unwilling to relinquish his most certainly comfortable space. This left Minho with no other choice but to sit on the only other available spot on the couch, nevermind the free space on the floor.

Jisung hadn’t minded. It was more than normal to have Minho this close.

Although once strangers, Jisung had always felt as if he had known Minho his entire life, as if there was never a day in which he wasn’t a constant in the nooks and crannies of Jisung’s existence. That feeling had only grown with the course of time, though only a couple of years had gone by since they met. Minho was halfway through his degree now, with Jisung not far behind.

So yes, this was normal.

“I haven’t really had the time to get it trimmed,” Jisung had answered absently, his mind fixated on the jellyfish propelling themselves across the screen, like underwater dancers.

“You shouldn’t,” Minho had said, and Jisung could hear him slightly adjusting in his seat, could feel the cushions shifting consequently. “It looks good.”

Jisung hadn’t given Minho’s words a second thought, too engrossed by the oceanic scene portrayed on the TV, much too accustomed to his friend’s out-of-the-blue remarks.

Touch is what Jisung had felt next. Fingers skimming through his hair, barely grazing his scalp; a fleeting touch. Jisung had imperceptibly tensed, startled by the sudden contact.

“You could probably braid it already,” Minho had continued, the innocent gliding across Jisung’s hair sending shivers down his spine. “It’s long enough, I think.”

Now this; this wasn’t normal. Not exactly.

Perhaps it’d been the suddenness of the touch, or how naturally Minho initiated it, but there’d been some level of domesticity in the way he caressed his hair that was a bit foreign to Jisung.

Jisung had blinked away the surprise, noticing he fell silent for a moment too long. Beyond the initial jolt he’d felt, he had also noted the warmth that embraced him, one that came with the gentleness of Minho’s touch. It felt… nice. Unexpected, but nice, nonetheless.

“You think?” Jisung had uttered, his voice drowned out by the low, cadenced voice of the narrator on the screen and the soft purring coming from the other end of the couch.

A gentle scoff, followed by a gentle tug at his curls. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

The smooth dallying through this silky hair had quickly become more purposeful, calculated, as Minho began dividing small portions of Jisung’s unruly tresses and intertwining them together into tiny braids. Suddenly, the marine wildlife swimming across the depths of blue on the screen seemed notably less interesting.

Jisung had remained silent as Minho worked through little braids at the base of his neck, the falling pieces tickling his nape. The touch had been delicate, and Jisung had let out a long, drawn-out breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as Minho carefully weaved strands of hair together.

Minho had continued to add dainty plaits to the growing collection in Jisung’s mane, unbeknownst to the tiny tumble of Jisung’s heart when his fingertips brushed against his ear. He’d kept up his work in silence, occasionally offering a comment or two regarding the documentary, as if Jisung’s focus had been still on the manta ray that now drifted with the current, and not long lost in the stroke of Minho’s hands across his hair, one that threatened to lull him into slumber.

“See? Seems pretty braidable to me,” Minho’s voice reached his ears after what seemed like an eternity to Jisung’s entranced mind. A little tug to one of the braids, accompanied by a little satisfied sound—as if waiting for approval on his work—and soon after his hands were gone from Jisung’s hair.

It’d felt like a spell had been broken when Minho opened his mouth then; a quiet, disconcerting moment shattered by the abrupt return to reality. Soonie must have felt it too, for he stirred from his place on the couch, heavy-lidded eyes blinking the sleepiness away. The warmth of Minho’s touch still lingered, even as his fingers retreated, a phantom sensation of a touch Jisung found himself longing for immediately. He’d vaguely felt Soonie jump down from the couch to his right, though he couldn’t do as much as stare straight ahead at the time, so he wasn’t sure. He’d reached up to trace the remnants of Minho’s work, already beginning to come undone, and cleared his throat.

“I think you could use a little practice,” he’d said, a poor attempt at regaining his composure, though he doubted Minho had even noticed. Surely he had been unaware of the faint blush across his cheeks that Jisung was sure had spread to his neck. Minho had only chuckled, his attention stolen by a pair of round, pleading eyes demanding to be fed. He had then gotten up to his feet and padded over to the kitchen; left Jisung with a tangled mess for a brain and his heart thrown into havoc.

Later that night, back in the confines of his dorm, with a snoring Hyunjin on the other side of the room, Jisung would replay the moment over and over in his mind, the question of why he kept on revisiting the memory left unanswered.

༄.°

It became a recurring theme after that.

It kept happening again, and again, and again. All while chipping away at Jisung’s sanity.

Jisung inadvertently kept forgetting to get his hair cut—or so he says—stating he doesn’t have the time or patience for that right now. But he knows. He knows deep, deep down, though he won’t admit, that his neglect is a deliberate choice, one fuelled by the desire to have Minho braid his hair again. Sue him.

He finds it hard to explain that his sudden aversion to haircuts is a product of wanting Minho to sit by him after a grueling day of never-ending classes—or on a late evening when they would decide to catch up on their latest anime of choice—and run his fingers through his hair absentmindedly. Whatever the source for that want is.

Jisung is, oh, so screwed.

Blinking away the thoughts that now roam in the back of Jisung's mind constantly, he drifts his attention back to Changbin’s living room. There’s Seungmin laying upside down on the armchair opposite to Jisung, his feet hanging off the back. He’s scrolling through what Jisung supposes is his playlist, murmuring to himself while looking for songs to play on the speakers. Jisung can distantly hear the soft clink of cups and the rustle of bags, tell-tale signs of Changbin’s presence in the kitchen.

Minho should be here soon.

“Hey, Jisung?” He hears Changbin call out to him. “Did Minho say when he expected to get off class?”

His mind is an open book, apparently. Nevermind that Minho is Changbin’s roommate, not his. “He got caught up going over some new choreography with Felix, but I think they should be here soon.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rings. Jisung pretends the thump, thump, thump in his chest doesn’t pick up its pace at the sound. God, his chest feels tight.

He can hear low greetings addressed at Changbin being uttered by two new voices, but only Felix’s form comes into the room after a moment. Jisung smiles at the sight of his friend, who asks, “What are you looking at me like that for?”

“Like what?”

“Like a squirrel at a nut.”

“I’m gonna ignore this pattern of yours of comparing me to rodents,” Jisung rolls his eyes, yet extends his arms, a silent invitation to embrace. “Can’t a guy be glad to see his friend?”

“Aw, I’m happy to see you too, Ji,” Felix giggles and plops down on the couch, returning the hug with equal warmth. “Missed me much during the, what, three days we didn’t see each other?”

“Three days is just too long.” Jisung sighs. “You’re my haven in the midst of always-broken vending machines and required readings I don’t actually read.”

“You should use that in a song,” Felix teases, nudging his shoulder, and giggling at Jisung’s offended expression.

“He said something along those lines to Binnie and I when he arrived,” Seungmin chimes in, sitting up straight with the arrival of their friends. “He’s just awfully mushy today.”

“I’m not!” Jisung gasps, throwing a crumpled napkin in his direction. He misses. “I’m like this all the time, you guys just don’t appreciate it enough.” And he adds after a second thought, “Except you, Felix.”

“Sure you are,” Seungmin interjects with a coy smile, and then, “You’re only like that with Minho-hyung.”

Words which unexpectedly leave Jisung with no retort. What does Seungmin even mean?

“What about me?”

And maybe Jisung is embarrassed at how he practically perks up at the sound of his voice.

“Hyuuung,” Jisung whines at the approaching form of Minho, who had apparently stopped by the kitchen to help Changbin bring in snacks and beverages. “He’s saying I don’t show my appreciation for him enough.”

“That’s literally not what I said,” Seungmin deadpans—but there’s warmth in his tone—just as Minho sets down a plate of veggie and meat rolls on the coffee table in front of Jisung and jests, “Yah, Kim Seungmin, who are you to judge someone else’s way of showing affection?”

Seungmin rolls his eyes at Minho, a knowing look in his gaze that Jisung can’t quite decipher. “You’re one to talk.”

Minho sends a much too sugary smile Seungmin’s way and settles on the armrest of the couch by Jisung’s side as their friends help themselves to the food. Jisung ignores the fact there’s still plenty of space left elsewhere for Minho to sit on; there’s room next to Felix— on the other side of the couch— or on the other floor cushions, too.

Thump, thump, thump, goes his chest again.

The group falls into idle chatter, exchanging stories in between bites. Jisung feels good. At ease. Maybe the soft carding of fingers through his hair has something to do with it.

“Your hair smells nice,” Minho utters only for Jisung to hear, making him jump his seat.

He looks back at Minho. There’s a small smile on his lips, reflecting his own. “I’m pretty sure it always smells like this.”

“Then I’m pretty sure your hair always smells nice,” Minho grins at him, and just like that, returns his attention to the group, fingers carrying on with their soft rummaging through his curls. Jisung’s cheeks heat up.

Is this a new normal for them? A new constant in their lives? Jisung doesn’t quite know. He can’t say he minds, as much as his emotions threaten to consume him. He only knows Minho’s fingers are scraping against his scalp, tickling the back of his neck. He can feel him dividing the strands again, a gentle push and pull as he adds a tiny braid to Jisung’s wavy hair.

Thump, thump, thump.

Jisung wishes he could put a finger on the pesky, nagging doubt gnawing at his peace. He doesn’t dare to look back at Minho again, who butts into the banter of his friends with ease and doesn’t seem to notice the turmoil he’s generating in Jisung by his touch alone. He just braids, braids and braids. As if he was trying to weave himself more intrinsically into Jisung’s life.

“Yo, hyung, did you hear back from the studio you told me about?” Changbin weighs in, and now all eyes fall on Jisung—or so he thinks—but it’s a groundless feeling, really; he’s sitting in front of Minho, sure, but it’s not like he’s the focus of the conversation right now.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I did. They called me the other day,” Jisung feels Minho’s breath fan on the back of his head. He halts the braiding, but his hands stay put, both a comforting and nerve-wracking presence at once. “I applied for the lead position they’ve got open, so if all goes well I’ll be starting next month.”

Jisung doesn’t miss the quick glance Felix spares at Minho—more specifically, his hands—followed by a coy smile at Jisung. Sipping on his peach-flavored soda, Jisung thinks of what to make of that look.

There’s a strange mix of emotions brewing inside of him that he can't quite put into words. He should talk to Felix about this.

“Plus, Yongbokie might start working there too, so I’ll get to boss him around if I get the post,” Minho adds with a giggle, his front teeth peeking out like a bunny’s. Cute, Jisung inevitably thinks.

“Mean, hyung!” Felix gapes at the man behind Jisung. “I’m starting to regret considering it now.”

“Save yourself while you still can, Lix,” Seungmin teases, followed by Minho throwing a pillow in his direction. He doesn’t miss.

“Seungmin-ah, you’re really asking for it today.” Minho hisses at him, but Seungmin only laughs in return. They quickly reclaim their peace, and then Changbin is changing the subject and the focus of the conversation naturally shifts.

Jisung looks up at Minho through his eyelashes, like a puppy who hasn’t quite mastered the art of turning around properly. “I think you’d be great for the job, hyung.”

Minho looks back down at him with an indecipherable expression, smiles when Jisung speaks. His two bunny teeth look even more adorable up close.

“Thanks, Jisungie,” he says back, his voice barely a whisper. “I think so too.”

༄.°

“I'm convinced that the library's air conditioning is powered by the collective sighs of stressed students.”

The library is, contrary to popular belief, one of Jisung’s favorite places. He relishes in the quiet, enjoys the peace when he’s concentrating, and likes having lots of books at hand to entertain himself when he’s not.

The library is one of Jisung’s favorite places, except when Minho’s there with him. There’s too much being entertained and too little concentrating going on when Minho’s there to make him company.

“Well, that explains the faint smell of desperation in the air,” Minho’s voice comes from Jisung’s right, whom he cannot see from his position, forehead pressed against the yellowed pages of an opened library book.

A giggle bubbles out of Jisung as he turns his head to the side, looking at his friend out of the corner of his eye. Minho’s eyes are glued to his computer screen, fingers flying across the keys, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Do you think that’s why they encourage quiet study?” Minho continues, sparing a glance at him, and settling his arm on the back of Jisung’s chair.

“How so?” Jisung humors him.

“So we don't disrupt the flow of sighs from students desperate to like– scream at someone.”

Jisung looks up at Minho, an incredulous look on his face, and sees Minho looking at him right back, a sort of proud look on his own.

They both burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent library, a clear breach of the unspoken code of quiet study. Jisung vaguely hears someone shushing him from behind, but he’s too distracted by Minho’s grin to care.

Jisung lightly kicks at Minho’s shin when the giggles don’t cease, receives a kick in return, and they don’t stop until their ankles are all tangled up.

A footsie-duel later, Jisung settles back down on the table, head on a long forgotten book. The words on ink-stained pages blur beneath his cheek, becoming a soft, if somewhat bumpy, pillow for his weary head.

Then, in the few seconds he lets his eyes flutter shut, he feels a weight lift from the backrest of his seat, feels a hand weigh down on the back of his head instead.

His eyelids flicker open in a flash, and he looks at Minho, at the soft smile playing on his lips, at eyes that betray nothing, except for the brief twinkle in them that Jisung is sure he imagines. And then—like a shooting star, there one moment and gone the next— that gentle weight is gone. Is it possible to miss a warmth so brief?

He watches as his friend mirrors his position, lowering his own head until their gazes meet, level across the tabletop, albeit horizontally.

“I think we should stop coming to the library together,” Minho whispers, his head shifting against the table with each word.

“Why do you think that?” He whispers back.

“I never get any work done when you’re here.” There he goes stealing Jisung’s line. He tells him as much.

Minho huffs. “No, I’m not. I can’t concentrate when I’m around you.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“It absolutely is.” They’re back to playing footsies under the table.

“Am I too distracting for you?”

“You are, yeah.”

“It must be my looks,” Jisung wiggles his eyebrows annoyingly.

“No, it’s ‘cause you breathe too loud,” Minho retorts with a smirk, words tinged with sarcasm.

Jisung slaps Minho’s thigh, and this time they both try their best at suppressing their giggles, lest someone kick them out of the building and relieve them from their study session.

Jisung likes the library, after all.

And perhaps the A/C is acting up again, or maybe there aren’t enough students in the building to maximize the sigh output, but there’s a faint blush dusting Minho’s cheeks that could only be explained by an increase in the room’s warmth, one emanating from somewhere within the small space they occupy.

༄.°

Days later, Hyunjin bursts through the door just as Jisung is clicking ‘submit’ on a paper due in just a few hours. The light that filters through the curtains hits him in the face as he walks over and collapses on Jisung’s bed.

“You know, if you walked merely two more steps you would’ve reached your own bed,” Jisung states as a greeting, still looking at his computer screen, but there’s no heat in his words.

“I like your blankets better,” Hyunjin's muffled voice comes from where he’s pressing his face to Jisung’s pillow.

“We literally bought them in a set because you wanted us to match,” Jisung snatches the pillow from under Hyunjin’s head, his friend groaning in response.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting a sense of harmony in our room’s decor,” Hyunjin protests, rolling his eyes at his roommate. “Anyway, I’m not here to discuss blankets.”

“You don’t need to have a reason to be here,” Jisung prods, just to annoy him a little.

Hyunjin ignores him in favor of sitting up, and once again light from the setting sun falls on his face. “So, are you gonna tell me what’s got you acting funny lately?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jisung drifts his attention back to his screen, mindlessly tracing patterns on his desktop with his cursor.

“Sure you don’t,” Hyunjin counters, a deadpan expression on his face. “So all your sighing and spacing out—more than usual, that is—means nothing.”

Jisung swivels in his chair, shutting his laptop, “Maybe the faint smell of turpentine that you bring with you every day has finally gotten to my brain.”

“Hey! You should thank me, at least I’m not bringing my entire pieces into our dorm,” Hyunjin pokes his leg with his toe. “Speaking of… you’re coming right? To the showcase?”

“I gotta see what those months of intoxication through art supplies amount to, Jinnie, of course I am,” Jisung coos while annoyingly batting his eyelashes at him. He earns himself another poke to his leg, harder this time. He yelps. “Hey– okay, sorry. I’m genuine, though!”

“Gross, leave that for when you’re with Minho, not me.” Hyunjin pulls a face. Jisung feels his cheeks heat up at the mention. Traitors. “Ha! See? This is what I’m talking about.”

“What, your showcase? I’m sure your setup is coming together nicely.” Jisung fluffs the pillow in his lap, willing his blush to go away.

“It actually is! I’m excited to put up the final pieces and–” But before he can go off on a tangent like Jisung knew he would, Hyunjin trails off and snatches the pillow from Jisung’s hands. “See, now I know you’re being obtuse on purpose. Why do you only get like this when hyung is brought up lately?”

“Hyung? When did you become so comfortable with him?” Jisung arches an eyebrow at his friend, only getting another exasperated sigh in return.

“You talk about him so much, I feel like I’ve known him this lifetime and the last,” Jisung feels his eye twitch and Hyunjin laughs. “I did take a few basic courses with him, you know? Whatever, stop diverting the conversation.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m not the one getting sidetracked here– ow!” Another sharp jab at his leg, and Jisung grumbles about it probably going to bruise. “This surely qualifies as bullying, you know? I better start looking for a new roommate.”

Hyunjin snorts, but he tucks his feet under his thighs. “Why don’t you ask Minho if you can move in with him? I’m sure he’d kick his roommate—Changbin, is it?—out in no time.”

Jisung can feel himself blushing furiously again. “What? I– No, of course he wouldn’t– what does this even have to do with him–?”

“I don’t know, Jisungie, you tell me,” Hyunjin finally stands up from Jisung’s bed.

“I– why are you being so cryptic?”

“Because I’ve got an idea of what’s going on with you but I’m not about to put words in your mouth,” Jisung feels Hyunjin tug lightly at the two tiny braids resting on Jisung’s nape. “These are cute, by the way. Think Minho is willing to braid my hair too?”

Jisung huffs at the cheeky grin plastered on Hyunjin’s face, and before he can even formulate a proper answer, his roommate is crossing the room. Jisung’s cheeks are practically burning now. “You’re really annoying, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” Hyunjin offers in return, getting the towel hanging from his own chair. “Anyway, I’m gonna go shower. I’m hanging out with Jeonginnie, so I’ll be back later tonight, by the way.”

“Oooh, Jeonginnie?” Jisung swivels his chair around, eager to change the subject. “Is that the guy with the cute dimples that’s always with Seungmin?”

“Hm? Yeah, I guess so,” Hyunjin cocks his head to the side. “Seungmin, the one with the puppy-looking smile. You know him?”

“Yeah, he’s Minho’s childhood friend– how do you know him?”

“He’s Jeongin’s roommate, he introduced us the other day. Nice guy, pretty chill.”

“I don’t really know about chill, but he’s Minho’s friend and my friend too now, I guess, so– hey, stop looking at me like that!” Jisung wishes he could erase that irritating smirk from Hyunjin’s face.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Hyunjin sing-songs, heading towards the door. “Small world, huh?”

“What do you m–” he starts, but the door is already clicking shut.

༄.°

“One of these days, my body is gonna become one with the dance studio’s floor.”

Minho faceplants against the couch the moment he kicks his shoes off and crosses the threshold of his apartment. Jisung was already sitting on the floor of the living room, a curled-up Soonie sleeping soundly on his lap. It was Changbin who had let Jisung in earlier, and seemingly unfazed by his arrival, had simply told Jisung he’d be in his room if he needed anything before turning around and heading towards his bedroom.

“How are you so sure I’m not here to see you?” Jisung had made the mistake of asking. Changbin simply looked at him from the doorframe, a deadpan look on his face, and promptly closed his door. Jisung was not about to unpack that. Changbin has always known too much.

“I'm kind of jealous. You get to dance and look fabulous all day,” Jisung from the present says, sparing a glance at the opened doc staring back at him from his laptop, which is placed on the coffee table in front of him. “Meanwhile, I'm here, stuck with– whatever this is.”

“True, but I could easily look fabulous while laying on my bed all day instead,” Jisung can’t argue with that. “Remind me why you thought taking a statistics course was a good idea?”

“I thought it’d be fun, okay?” Jisung huffs. He feels Minho’s breath against his neck as he adjusts behind him, looking over Jisung’s shoulder. “I was wrong, yes, but! Extra credit!”

Minho laughs from behind him. “Did you ever hear from your groupmates on that assignment you mentioned?”

“No! Can you believe it? We were assigned this thing like– a week ago, and I haven’t even gotten a ‘hello’ in response. I even sent them an email, hyung. An email.”

“Ah, the wonderful world of academia, where responsibility is optional,” Minho pats Jisung’s head sympathetically; leaves his hand there.

“I know. I mean—it’s not like I’m doing that well on that aspect either—but still! Putting together a boxplot can’t be that hard,” Jisung huffs, leaning his head back against the cushion of the couch and looking over at Minho. “Can it?”

He’s surprised to find Minho’s face way closer to his own than he expected when he does so. He’s looking at Jisung curiously, and the breath of the latter catches for a second.

“No, Jisungie. I don’t think so,” he chuckles, gently brushing Jisung’s bangs out of where they’d fallen over his eyes. Jisung gulps.

He swiftly turns back around, lest Minho see the blush—ever a constant on Jisung’s cheeks— coming up to his face. “Anyway, didn’t you say you had examinations today? How did they go?”

“They were fine. I still gotta polish a segment of my project a bit, but the instructors complimented my work,” Minho offers a satisfied sigh, carding his fingers through Jisung’s hair as he separates a chunk into three smaller sections Jisung has become much too acquainted with; just as acquainted with the jittery feeling in his stomach, like flitter-flutter against his ribcage. “My hair’s gotten too long, though, so it kept pissing me off during practice.”

“A true professional wouldn’t let that stop them,” Jisung jokes, and yelps when Minho pinches his neck.

“If anything, I’m a professional nap-taker, disguised as a dance student,” Minho yawns, laying back down on the couch, and a drowsy look on his eyes when Jisung offers a quick glance back at him.

Jisung snorts. “Yeah, well, I'm basically a professional procrastinator, disguised as a music student.”

Only a chuckle comes from behind him in response, but he doesn’t dare look back and lose the comfortable pressure that has settled in the lower back of his head, the braiding forgotten.

Jisung looks back at his laptop, resuming the stroking of Soonie’s back with his free hand. The numbers on his screen are a mere jumble of symbols to him now, his mind having gone haywire yet again. He wonders if he’s ever gonna get used to Minho’s newly acquired favorite activity. Probably not.

“Maybe you should start putting it up,” Jisung suggests, feeling the sudden urge to fill in the silence that didn’t need to be filled, attempting and failing to look at Minho from his periphery. The other only hums in return. “Your hair, I mean. So it doesn’t bother you.”

“Maybe,” Minho agrees, but his voice is softer, and his caresses more feeble. “I like braiding yours better, though.”

Who said anything about braiding?

Scoffing softly, Jisung redirects his attention back to the assignment on his screen.

Minutes go by, the steady click of keys and the soft purring of Soonie being the only sounds disturbing the quiet companionship. Jisung is absently humming to a song and he finds himself content in the comfortable silence, though no less aware of the pleasant presence behind him; no less aware of the warm breathing, which had long become deeper, near the back of his neck.

Shutting off his laptop after a while of working on his project, Jisung stretches his arms over his head, careful not to disturb Soonie. Gently turning around, he steals a glance at Minho. The sight that welcomes him has the fluttering of his stomach come back in full force.

Jisung feels like he is suspended in time for a moment. A perfect little vignette, where there’s Minho and Minho only. The pesky feeling is back too, nibbling on his insides.

Minho, curled up on his side, one of his hands tucked between his knees while the other rests near the spot Jisung’s head was leaning against just now. He’s breathing slowly, warm puffs of air coming out from pouty lips, cheek pressed against the couch cushion. Jisung thinks he resembles Soonie like this, who had stirred in his lap and gotten up to stretch his furry limbs.

Jisung watches him. In this state, Jisung doesn’t find himself as distracted—as he often is—by the stars Minho’s eyes seem to hold. Jisung remembers telling him once he thinks there's a whole galaxy in them.

He looks at his eyelashes, long enough to rest on Minho’s high cheekbones, and the way they flicker lightly with the somnolent movement of his eyelids. He looks at his tall nose, sharp and elegant as the light from the setting sun traverses the window and highlights its slope all the way down to the mole on the tip. It scrunches almost imperceptibly as if Minho was having an unpleasant experience in his sleep. Jisung hopes he’s not.

He looks at the silky, raven hair framing his face and casting soft shadows across his forehead, and the urge to tuck the unruly strands behind his ear is one he fights with great effort. He looks at the dip of his lips, and the way they part ever so slightly, his marginally crooked teeth taking a peak from behind. His chest feels tight again.

There's an art to it, in a way. The way things can align, the way a certain arrangement of features can create something so… breathtaking. The little tug at his heart makes itself known once again as he rests his head on his forearm on the free space of the couch.

Bringing his other hand up to Minho’s, he traces the lines of Minho’s palm with his middle finger, a feather-light touch, careful not to disturb Minho’s peace. He wishes he could rip his heart out of his chest, will it to get itself together, and put it back in. The thump, thump, thump stays there, nonetheless.

He’s distractedly mapping the edges of Minho’s soft hand, a ghost-of-a-touch to his fingertips with one of his own, to notice the other man awakening. It’s only until Minho’s hand suddenly seizes his own, small fingers gently curling around his wrist, that he notices the two tired eyes looking at him peculiarly. Jisung’s head shoots up and finds himself going as still as a statue, his voice caught in his throat. He feels like his tongue is suddenly tied in knots.

He looks at Minho. Minho looks at him. He doesn’t know how long they sit there, staring at each other without a single word coming out of either’s mouth, but Jisung feels like they’re inside a bubble that could burst at any moment. He only knows there’s something behind that pair of eyes—eyes that seem to bear bodies of light in pools of chocolate brown—but he cannot dig quite deep enough to find out what it is.

Laughter comes easily right after, bubbling out of them at the same instant—to an observer, it might have seemed rehearsed. But it was the silence that followed, the charged air after the mirth subsided, that truly burst the bubble they had found themselves in. Jisung clears his throat, feeling his cheeks flush a deep red, and he thinks it’s his mind playing tricks on him when he looks at Minho’s ears burning bright red just the same. Minho sits up, blinking rapidly, sleep still clinging to his features, and watching Jisung expectantly.

“I– uh, I was on my way out,” Jisung croaks out, heart beating rapidly against his chest. “It’s getting kinda late.”

“Oh– what time is it?” Minho asks, running a hand down his face. “Do you need a ride?”

“Hm? No, it’s fine. It’s not too late. My bus should be arriving soon,” Jisung rises to his feet, already gathering his stuff. “I– um, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Minho stretches his arms in front of him, squeezing his eyes shut. Jisung thinks he shouldn’t find that as adorable as he does. “I’ll walk with you to the stop, though.”

“What, and fall asleep halfway there?” Jisung jokes, rubbing under his nose with his index finger. A reflex. “Go back to sleep, you big baby.”

Minho cracks a smile, but he’s still hazy-eyed.

Jisung starts walking with his back towards the door, and Minho looks at him with a puzzled look on his face from his seat on the couch. Jisung bumps against the kitchen counter on his way there, suddenly yelping and pulling an amused scoff out of Minho, his eyes never leaving Jisung’s own. He thinks the accelerated pounding of his heart will accompany him all the way back to his dorm.

“See you tomorrow?” he asks as he clumsily puts his shoes back on.

A faint “of course” comes back from the couch.

“Get some rest, hyung.”

“Text me when you arrive.”

“Of course.” Jisung grins cheekily.

Uttering his goodbyes to Soonie as well, who had padded over to the door curiously, he looks up at his friend one last time. He thinks he imagines the weird look on Minho’s face—one with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes—as he slips out the door.

༄.°

The following days went by as if nothing had happened, as if Jisung hadn’t felt the world shift on its axis, even if only minutely, a shift he couldn’t quite grasp.

Jisung should’ve expected as much. He should’ve known better than to think their dynamic would change after that day. After all, it had just been awkward, not-quite-hand holding and staring into each other’s eyes like they were the only two people on Earth. Nothing more.

Jisung is effectively going insane.

“Okay, speak.”

When Jisung had asked Felix earlier that morning if they could meet up for coffee—just a few days having gone by since that warm afternoon at Minho’s—, he hadn’t expected to be ambushed right as he took his usual seat on the booth by the window.

“Woah, okay, let me have my coffee first, will you?”

“You're halfway through your cup already. So no. What’s up?”

“Who says I’ve got something to say? Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you,” Jisung huffs, though he should know it’s futile to beat around the bush with Felix.

“Ji, I love that you want to spend time with me, but I know that’s not what we’re here for,” Felix smiles much too sweetly, impatience in his voice. “Not today, at least.”

“Lixie,” Jisung pouts, the paper straw of his cup in the corner between his lips.

“Out with it.”

“Fine! It’s just–” Jisung sighs. He should’ve sorted through his thoughts before coming here. But then again, that’s why he wanted to talk to Felix in the first place, so he guesses it’s okay that his thoughts are a jumble of words stuck in his throat right now.

“Is this about Minho-hyung?”

Jisung colors rosy at the mere mention of him, and judging by the pointed look on Felix’s eyes and the small smirk playing on his lips, there’s no point in denying it. “I– yeah, it is. How did you know?”

“Well, for one, you’re my best friend, Jisung. I know you,” Felix smiles warmly at him, sighing. “And– well, on the other hand, you two have been acting kind of differently lately, so I thought it would maybe have to do with that?”

“What do you mean ‘differently’? Haven’t we been up to the same as usual?” Jisung ignores the voice in his head telling him that no, there’s this one thing that’s new. A feeling that’s been irking the back of his head.

“Well, I mean, you’ve been acting differently while being up to the same as usual, I suppose,” Felix explains, taking a sip of coffee of his own. “Even Hyunjin has noticed.”

“God, what did he tell you?” Jisung groans, running his hand down his face. “He was acting all weird and know-it-all the other day—unprompted!”

“Hey, you know how he is,” Felix laughs, laying his hand on Jisung’s arm. “And well, it’s not like he mentioned much, just that you’ve been acting funny, which– well, yeah. What is there to say, though, hm?”

Jisung considers making a run for it; bolt as fast as he can through the green fields on campus maybe, just to avoid having to answer that question.

Be that as it may, his two feet stay planted on the floor of the coffee shop, his legs stuck to the leather of the booth.

“I just– I’ve been feeling different around him. Minho, I mean,” Jisung answers truthfully, avoiding Felix’s eyes. “And– I mean, it’s not exactly a new feeling, when I think about it, but it still feels kinda foreign, you know? Like something that’s been lodged in the back of my head for a while but has only now made itself known.”

When he looks up to gauge his friend’s reaction, he sees a glint in his eyes, but simply receives an encouraging nod in response, so he takes it as his cue to go on.

“He’s just been, like– initiating stuff when we’re hanging out—like simple, kind of gentle gestures with me, you know—that should feel normal ‘cause we’ve known each other for a while, and we’re close and all. But they don’t, so I’ve been all in my head about it, and I don’t– ah, I don’t know what to make of it.” He says all this in one breath, and he exhales when the words finally leave his mouth.

“Okay, I see,” Felix voices, resting his chin on his palm. “But like– is this something you… like feeling, or wish you didn’t?” His words don’t seem prodding, just curious, so Jisung relaxes enough to ponder the question. Only he can’t make any sense of the mess in his mind.

“I– I’m not sure?” He says, lowering himself to the smooth wood of the table and hiding his face in his sleeves. “Ah, I don’t know how to put it into words.”

“That’s okay,” he hears Felix say, followed by a soft pat on his head. “Sometimes feelings are too big for words, but there’s no harm in trying to give voice to them.”

“I guess so,” Jisung mumbles, his head still buried in his arms, but not enough to muffle his voice. “I just freak out when it happens. Like– not externally, ‘cause I don’t want to give him reasons to believe it makes me uncomfortable,” far from it, he thinks in his head. Minho would never make him uncomfortable. He’s quite sure of that. “But in reality I feel like there’s a swarm of bees buzzing on my insides.”

"Well, by the sound of it, they seem more like butterflies to me,” Felix offers, and then a little more seriously, “Sorry, bad joke. But, you know, sometimes those butterflies mean more than you think they do."

“I know that! That’s the thing, you know?” Jisung jerks his head up from where it was buried in his arms. He looks around, but he was quiet enough not to attract any curious eyes. “I feel like I’m incredibly aware of every little thing that he does, but then I’m also very much aware of how I feel when they happen, so it’s a funky feeling and I’ve never felt quite like this before and– well, it kind of scares me, I guess?”

“Ji, it’s okay. It's called being a human experiencing very human feelings,” Felix grabs his hand, patting the back of it comfortingly. Jisung wants to disappear. “Everyone experiences them differently, and it seems like this is about perhaps being too vulnerable while having those feelings, right?”

He looks down at his hand, the one in Felix’s grasp, focusing on that feeling while he gets his thoughts straight.

“It’s like–” Jisung voices, now looking up at the flickering light of the café. “I feel like I’m caught under a spotlight, and– and I’m not sure if I should bask in its warmth or cower from its intensity.”

He hears Felix whistle, followed by his voice. “Well, that’s definitely one fancy way to put it, I’ll tell you that.”

“Shut up!” Jisung glances back down just enough time to look at Felix and the stupid grin on his lips. His own cheeks are burning terribly. “But like– do you get what I mean? It’s unsettling ‘cause I guess I keep on wanting it to happen again but also– stop looking at me like that!”

“I’m not looking at you like anything!” Felix barks out a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and Jisung’s sure he’s heard those words already. “It’s just kinda adorable seeing you like this. And yes, I do think I get it.”

“It’s embarrassing, really,” mumbles into his palms, which he has brought to his face to hide himself for the nth time. “It’s just– the idea of actually acknowledging those feelings kind of terrifies me. Like– things changing for us, or whatever.”

Felix sighs, crossing his arms over the table and putting on that cat-like smile when he’s thinking. “I think you guys are already changing, and it’s not necessarily a bad thing, Jisung.”

He remains quiet, bringing his hands down to his lap, fidgeting with his thumbs.

“Change is natural, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t scary,” Felix continues, putting on a more serious but gentle tone. “You’re allowed to value your friendship with him as it is—‘cause I feel like that’s where your mind has been going—while also contemplating other blossoming feelings and their implications, you know? One doesn’t cancel the other, and it doesn’t make these feelings any less valid, okay?”

“I– I know that. Like– deep down, I know that’s true and that it’s not the end of the world or whatever,” he brings his hand to the side of his own neck, rubbing lightly there. He can feel his skin slowly drop from the crimson hue it had taken on. “And I know that thinking about it rationally would make this far less complicated than I’m making it to be in my head, but it’s hard.”

“Hey, when has anyone ever done something rationally when it comes to matters of the heart?” Felix smiles at him, and Jisung is so grateful for him. “There’s no right answer on how to approach this type of thing.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“I do think, though, that you don’t have to carry this weight alone.”

“I’m already sharing it with you, am I not?”

“You are, and as much as I’m glad that you opened up to me about it, that’s not what I was referring to.”

And there’s no need for Felix to elaborate for Jisung to get it. “It’s just that… this being about him stops me from opening my mouth every time,” Jisung knows Minho would be the last person to judge him. Would like to believe he wouldn’t look at him differently for it.

“And I’m not saying you have to go and lay it all on him this same morning,” Felix rolls his eyes at him fondly. “Just that maybe you might feel a lot better if you just put those feelings out there. Keeping them inside is just prolonging the uncertainty. Say, what if your feelings have more in common with his own than you think?”

“What if they don’t?”

“Ji, the path goes both ways, but someone has to start walking it first.”

“Who’s the one with the fancy metaphors now?”

“I’ll dump this coffee on you.” Except only the ice is left in his cup.

A laugh, and some pressure is released from his chest. Still…

“What if you’re wrong?”

“Are we only speaking in questions now?”

“Felix.”

He sighs. “Then I’m wrong, and the world keeps on spinning, and I’ll be there for you, just as I am right now,” Felix looks at him with a small, warm smile. “And I think Minho will be there for you just the same, whatever the outcome.”

Jisung lets out a sigh of his own. “I don’t doubt that.”

They sit in comfortable silence, sipping from cups long devoid of caffeine. The shadows of the people walking by outside of the shop dance on the surface of their shared table.

“I wouldn’t worry too much, if I were you. Just throwing that out there.”

“What do you mean?”

“As I said, don’t take my word for it,” Felix looks at him pointedly, and snorts. “But Minho has got to have the worst case of heart-eyes I’ve ever seen when they’re directed at you.”

“Now you’re just saying things,” Jisung looks out the window, feeling a swoop in his chest.

Thump, thump, thump.

“Hey, I don’t ever say anything I don’t mean,” Felix tilts his head to the side, appearing on Jisung’s periphery. “Anyway, I’m not telling you this to get you thinking about it more than you should.”

“Then what for? Because that’s all I’m gonna think about now.”

“I just don’t want you to feel like you're walking on eggshells around him,” He drums his fingers on the table, and Jisung brings his hands up from under it. “Don’t think about it too much, yeah?”

“I’m trying not to.”

“I know you are.”

༄.°

Jisung is standing outside of Minho’s studio when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

Minho [5:34 PM]
I’ll be out in 5

Jisung [5:35 PM]
okayy im outside

Jisung [5:37 PM]
did u see there’s a yogurt ice cream place next to your work?

Jisung [5:37 PM]
should we get some

The hum of traffic reaches Jisung’s ears when he unplugs his earphones from his phone, rolling up the wire to put them back in his bag. He notices his umbrella is missing when he opens it; he must’ve left it at the dorm when he left in a rush earlier in the day.

Cars rush past him as he rocks back and forth, from the balls of his feet to his heels, hands deep in his pockets. The day’s chilly, and the rays of light that peak through gray clouds are not quite enough to warm him up.

“You want to get ice cream with this weather?”

Jisung whips around, smiles when he sees starry eyes and raven hair. Said hair is slightly damp around the edges of his face—from dancing no doubt—and Minho runs a hand through it as he approaches, likely an attempt at taming it.

“There’s no such thing as bad weather for ice cream.”

Minho considers it. “Can’t argue with that.”

“So, how did it go, hyung?” Jisung aligns his step with Minho’s as he starts walking to the stand a few meters away.

“It went well. They mostly showed me around the studio’s spaces and went over basic stuff to know about, but I got to join a class and met one of the groups I’ll be working with,” Minho says contently, looking at their synchronized feet. “There’s this one guy who wouldn’t stop staring at me the whole time.”

Jisung hums, and says under his breath, “Tsk, he should get in line, then.”

“What for– staring at me?” Minho turns to look at him anyway, a smirk playing on his lips. “Talking from experience?”

Jisung chides himself for not being quiet enough, before quickly looking away, a small grin spreading across his face despite himself. “No,” Jisung scoffs, suddenly much more interested in the rough surface of the sidewalk. “Just saying.”

Minho chuckles. “Well, it is hard not to stare when you’re captivated by something. I’d know.”

Jisung looks up then, a question on the tip of his tongue, but Minho is already walking up to the girl from the ice cream stand, so the thought vanishes into the air as quickly as it formed.

Polite smiles are exchanged and the whir of the machine drowns the noise of the street. A lever is pulled, and swirls of white fall into two cups. They bicker about what toppings are best, and a quiet laugh is shared when they all end up in their cups anyway. The air is cold, but there’s a sweet scent to accompany it.

They walk down the street—cups filled to the brim with toppings in hand—talking about everything under the sun. Jisung turns to look at Minho after a bad joke, and finds himself engrossed. The cars dash behind him, blurred streaks of red and white light creating a stark contrast against his almost too perfect silhouette.

Jisung’s chest feels tight, but he blames it on the flood of sugar coursing through him.

After scraping their cups clean, Minho takes Jisung’s from his hands and deposits it in the nearest trash can along with his own.

They barely take a few steps, close enough to brush shoulders, when the first raindrop falls. Right on the tip of Jisung’s nose, followed by another one on his shoulder, and one on the crown of his head. His hand instinctively goes to his bag, a much too empty space reminding him of his forgotten umbrella.

But before he can even register his disappointment; the sky opens up, and the sidewalk is being painted a slick, charcoal gray in an instant. He looks up at Minho, wondering if maybe he is better prepared than Jisung, but the brief smirk he grants him in return is enough of an answer, so he’s not surprised by the next word that leaves his mouth.

“Run!”

And Jisung would roll his eyes at the obviousness of the command, but Minho’s hand is already closing around his, and he’s being pulled into a run through the weeping streets before he can even form a witty response.

The rain, now coming down in sheets, plasters their hair to their foreheads and turns the world into a shimmering blur of greys and silvers. Any words are lost in a burst of laughter as he’s dragged along. Each splash of their feet in the growing puddles sends a spray of cold water into the air and a shiver up his spine, but he doesn't care. They’re running, and Minho’s looking back at him with a smile mirroring his own, the city lights reflecting in the wet asphalt like scattered diamonds. A feeling of pure, unadulterated joy bubbles up inside him, a warmth that has nothing to do with the exertion that running demands for, and everything to do with the hand clasped tightly in his.

In the midst of his elation, Jisung doesn’t register Minho was leading them to his apartment until he’s being shielded from the rain by his building’s small canopy.

Now protected from the pouring rain, Jisung lets out a flustered chuckle while running a hand through his hair, the adrenaline of the moment not letting the smile drop from his lips.

He feels another tug at his hand, and belatedly realizes his hand is still in Minho’s grasp. They both look down briefly at where they’re hands are joined, before letting go of the other without a word.

“Come on. It’s cold, and we’re drenched.” Minho’s words come out a little out of breath, and Jisung can't help but smile at the sight of his friend—with flushed cheeks and stray droplets clinging to his eyelashes—looking endearingly windswept. When Minho turns towards the stairs, Jisung silently follows behind, teeth clattering as they make their way up.

Minho fumbles for the keys when they reach his front door, and when he’s finally able to open it, Soonie is there to welcome them with a curious look. After slipping off their shoes and shedding their coats, Minho pads past the foyer and down the hallway, leaving Jisung the duty of giving Soonie his respective headpats.

Jisung is getting up from his crouching position, knees trembling lightly, when Minho comes back, a thick towel in hand.

“Here,” Minho says, handing Jisung the fluffy towel. “You can hop in the shower, I’ll leave some clothes for you on the bed.”

“Oh– okay, thanks.” he says, shifting from one foot to the other in his dampened socks.

Minho touches his arm lightly, and the shiver that makes its way down Jisung’s spine is not from the cold. His friend smirks at him as he says, “Don’t want you getting all sniffly on me.”

And so, with flushed cheeks and shivering limbs, Jisung makes his way down the hall. He can feel a pair of eyes on him, but he tells himself their Soonie’s.

A haze of steam, sweet-scented hair products, and soft drapes of fabric later, Jisung slips out of Minho’s bedroom feeling like a new man, the warmth of the shower still lingering like a gentle embrace. He revels in the softness of the sweatpants and hoodie Minho had left for him on the bed, breathes in the faint smell of sweet vanilla and musk they carry.

Towel draped over his shoulders, he makes his way back to the living room. Minho is standing by the kitchen, hip resting against the counter and eyes buried on his phone, steam coming from the kettle by his side. He’s still wearing his dampened clothes, and Jisung can see his bottom lip trembling slightly.

“Your turn,” Jisung croons as he approaches him, drying off his hair with the towel hastily. “Oh– what should I do with my wet clothes?”

When Minho looks up, his gaze lingers a moment too long, followed by a rapid blink as he sets down his phone. Jisung cocks his head to the side just as Minho speaks up. “Uh– right, don’t worry about that. I’ll get them back to you after I do the laundry.”

“Really?” Jisung grins, and then adds, “Then, can I also use your hair dryer?”

“You don’t have to ask, Sung.”

“So, you're saying I can just raid your house whenever I want?”

“I thought you were doing that already?” Minho flicks his forehead lightly. “Changbin is still looking for that diffuser you borrowed, like– months ago.”

“Hey, it was an urgent need! Still is.” Jisung rubs his forehead where Minho’s blow landed as he shuffles back to the bathroom, and calls out, “Gotta get rid of the smell of paint in my dorm somehow.”

When Jisung comes back, hair dryer in hand, Minho tells him, “I made you some tea, by the way.”

Jisung perks up, sniffing the sweet scent in the air, and then, “Ah, you take care of me so well, hyung.”

“My selflessness knows no bounds,” Minho responds amusedly, then he’s padding down the hall and towards his bedroom, without looking back.

And Jisung would laugh at his deflection, because laughing around Minho comes as easy as breathing, but he also knows to look past that nonchalance of his, so the gratefulness seeps deep into his heart anyway.

A warm cup of tea in hand, the hair dryer momentarily forgotten on the coffee table, he sinks into the couch and picks up the remote. He goes over Minho’s list, browsing through shows and documentaries Jisung has queued up over time, landing on an episode about baby animals from a series they had already started. Soonie, sensing a prime cuddling opportunity, promptly curls up beside him.

Absorbed in the antics of newborn penguins, he barely registers the passage of time until his friend shuffles back into the common area, freshly out of the shower and dressed in warm clothes to mirror Jisung’s.

“I see your raid is being put to good use.”

Jisung blinks, snapping out of his engrossment. "Oh," he says, looking at the unused hair dryer on the coffee table. A small laugh escapes his lips, gesturing to the TV. "Baby penguins."

Minho rolls his eyes, a fond smile playing at his lips. “Cute.”

And Jisung agrees, baby penguins are cute, but why does he suddenly feel funny when he hears Minho say it?

Minho grabs the hair dryer from the coffee table and walks around the couch, plugging it into the socket by Jisung’s side.

“Scoot down.” Minho motions to the floor, and Jisung reluctantly peels his eyes away from the screen to look at his friend.

“Are you kicking me off your couch?”

“Yes. Temporary eviction,” Minho smirks, aiming the dryer not-so menacingly at his face. “I’ll dry your hair so you can focus on your penguins.”

“Oh?” Jisung lifts an eyebrow, considers it for half a second, though there’s not much to consider, and grins. “A thoughtful proposal. I’ll take it.”

Jisung drags himself off the couch, his rear hitting the smooth wooden floor. The cushions shift behind him, and he doesn’t have to look back to know Minho has taken a seat right behind him. A familiar sensation, the back of his head provides.

He hears the rumble of the dryer first, a sudden roar that drowns out the voice on the TV. It’s fine, he’s got subtitles anyway.

He feels the heat from the dryer next, a gust of air hot enough to dry but not enough to burn. He’s immediately enveloped by its warmth, a blast of air hitting the back of his neck and ruffling the hair on his head.

“Too hot?”

“No, that’s fine.”

Then, it’s a hand he feels, and it’s like déjà vu.

Same couch. Same series playing on the TV. Same hand going through his locks. Same person making his heart skip a beat.

Thump, thump, thump.

There’s a brief, almost involuntary reaction to his friend’s touch—a slight tension in his shoulders—but his mind doesn’t dwell on it this time. Not really. The warmth is all-encompassing, the rush of air steady, and Jisung sinks into it.

“Your hair smells nice.”

It seems on purpose now. Some entity somewhere looking for Jisung to go insane, surely.

“I mean, I used your stuff.”

“Oh, that must be why,” Jisung can practically hear the grin in Minho’s words. He tickles under Jisung’s ear, and it feels like tiny waves rippling through his neck. Jisung bats Minho’s hand away, and hears a giggle from behind. Something in his chest eases after that.

“I like it,” Minho adds, and Jisung’s cheeks feel as if Minho was blasting the air from the dryer right into his face.

The rhythmic whoosh of the dryer filling the room, Jisung finds that he doesn’t quite mind the noise of the machine overpowering his surroundings. A comforting white noise to quieten the buzz in his chest.

Then, there was the counterpoint: the soft touch of his friend's hand, a gentle flow of fingers carding through his hair, a welcome reprieve from the heat.

“Are those the babies?” Minho asks, his voice almost lost somewhere in the roar of the dryer, but loud enough to reach Jisung’s ears. He’s ruffling the hair on the crown of his head.

Now, there’s a difference. Jisung’s paying attention to the documentary this time.

“Yes. The temperature is still too cold for them, so you have the dads waddling around with their chicks clinging to their feet,” he replies, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“So, tiny little fluffballs hitching a ride?”

Jisung giggles under his breath, which Minho must see in the small shake of his shoulders. “Pretty much, yeah.”

Somewhere in the middle—the now grown penguins struggling to stand on their own feet, and Jisung struggling to keep the giggles from the tickling on his neck—they hear keys jingling, the front door swinging open, and Changbin enters the apartment, singing under his breath.

“Dude, the rain is bucketing down out there– oh, hey Jisung,” Changbin stops in his tracks, halfway through removing his coat. He doesn’t seem half as wet as Minho and Jisung were when they arrived.

“Hey man,” Jisung waves, giving him a small, casual smile.

“Why does only Jisungie get a hello?” Minho calls out over the sound of the dryer, not taking a break from his drying duties. Changbin’s gaze moves towards him, an unamused expression taking over.

“You're always here. It's like saying hello to my own furniture,” he calls back, his voice booming in the apartment even with the whirring noise that had taken over.

“Rude. Here I was thinking of having you try some new recipes, but I guess you’ll have to deal with eating burnt toast for the rest of the week.”

Changbin stares back, his eyes betraying nothing but playful annoyance. “You do know I can fend for myself in the kitchen, right?”

“With how often you steal my leftovers, it doesn’t really seem like it.”

“Just making sure they don’t go to waste, that’s all,” Changbin smirks, and then grabbing keys from the entryway table, “Anyway, I’m going to Chan’s. Just came back to drop off my stuff.”

“Do you know if he’s looking for a new roommate? Asking for a friend.” Minho says next, and Jisung can hear the smirk in his words, and he shouldn’t be as fond of that image as he is.

Changbin doesn’t seem even a bit fazed, ignores Minho as he continues, “I’ll leave you two to whatever you had going on before I arrived. Try not to set Jisung’s hair on fire, yeah?”

“Would it be better if I burned yours?”

Changbin sighs, and gives Jisung a knowing look. “Sung, I’d tell you to make a run for it, but I feel like you’re perfectly content where you are.”

And then he’s gone. Changbin has always known too much, Jisung thinks again. His neck is warm, and Jisung doubts it’s from the dryer.

A beat later, the machine clicks off, the sudden silence leaving Jisung’s ears buzzing. Minho gives his hair a final, playful ruffle, and then he’s leaving his place on the couch to unplug the cable and return it to where it belongs.

A thought suddenly pops up in Jisung’s mind, and his brain—seemingly bypassing the usual processing—sends the question directly to his mouth. “No cute braids today?”

Minho wheels around, a startled look on his face. A second, or two, and then it’s quickly replaced by a soft smile. “Are you trying to bribe me with those puppy-dog eyes?”

Jisung hadn’t even realized he was pouting.

“I mean– it’s kinda like your thing now, isn’t it?” Jisung touches under his nose with his forefinger, slightly embarrassed.

A light blush rises to Minho’s cheeks, Jisung’s sure to notice this time. “Yeah, I guess it kinda is.” And although Jisung’s minutely surprised by his answer, it gives him a little strength, a little courage. There really aren’t any eggshells around them, anyway. It’s just Minho.

“So, is it working?” He bats his eyelashes, makes his bottom lip a little more prominent than the other.

Minho chuckles, pulling at his earlobe. “A little, yeah.”

Jisung was definitely not expecting the admission. Was expecting another deflection, maybe.

So when Minho comes back from the bathroom—a bunch of colorful hair ties in hand—Jisung feels content. More than content, really. A little giddy, even. It’s a nice feeling.

It’s a small thing, a simple gesture, but it feels… significant. He’d expected teasing, a playful denial or a well-placed joke, anything but this quiet acceptance. A warmth spreads through him, a feeling of being seen, of being cared for in a way he was slowly starting to accept he really wished to have permanently. For it to be a new constant for them, in a way.

When Jisung goes back to his dorm, the rain having long taken his leave, he looks in the mirror. There’s two tiny braids there, peeking from behind his neck. One tied in green, one tied in pink. His chest feels tight, but he’s warm all over.

༄.°

“I take back what I said,” Hyunjin’s voice comes from where he’s slumped on the grass, pencil in hand, and sketchbook covering his face. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it to the showcase.”

“Why do you say that?” Felix questions from Jisung’s other side, book in hand, but not very interested in it.

Jisung doesn’t look up, his head buried in a vibrant jumble of colorful blocks, knobs and faders. The breeze ruffles the leaves above him, the rough bark of the tree a solid presence against his back.

“It’s just– ah, it doesn’t feel right,” Hyunjin sighs, mumbling the words against paper. “It’s missing something. Something… grand. Dramatic.”

“Try looking in the mirror. Instant drama,” Jisung quips, and Felix’s laugh bubbles out into the wind.

“Very funny,” Hyunjin gibes at Jisung, not bothering to remove the sketchbook from his face. “I don’t know… Actually, I’ve been wanting to do something natural. Like more organic-looking than what I usually do, but my mind is blank.”

Jisung fixes one of his headphones over his ear, listens to the beat he’s mixing, not entirely satisfied with it.

“You could always draw a tree. Or a rock. Very organic,” Felix snickers, trying and failing at getting past a page on his book.

“Such insightful friends I have, I should come to you for help more often,” Hyunjin peeks over the top of his sketchbook, glaring at them, but Jisung’s eyes are still glued to the screen.

Jisung only hums, his eyebrows furrowing from not getting the tempo quite right.

“What do you want to do then?” It's Felix who grants Hyunjin a proper response, his book now discarded on the grass.

“I need something that just– calls for the audience to look at it,” Hyunjin continues, rolling around so he’s laying flat on his stomach. “Something with– like, movement. Like… those nature documentaries Ji’s always watching. I like that sort of storytelling and I want to evoke that sort of feeling, you know?”

Jisung finally looks up, a flicker of interest in his eyes. “Oh, that would be cool, actually.”

“I can’t believe it took marine talk to get your attention,” Hyunjin rolls his eyes.

“I’ve been paying attention! I was just focused on this as well, but I’m not anymore.” Jisung takes off his headphones, closes his laptop and puts it back in his bag. “Anyway, I just remembered something. Do you know about Japanese pufferfish’s mating rituals?”

“Not particularly, no,” Hyunjin humors him, seemingly glad to have his friend’s attention, even if they stray from the topic. They’re all used to it by now. “Enlighten us.”

“Okay so,” Jisung sits up, suddenly excited to share his recently acquired information. “The males spend days—yes, days—creating these incredibly intricate geometric patterns in the sand as a mating ritual.”

“And they say romance is dead,” Hyunjin nods in appreciation.

“Yeah, like– they meticulously carve these ornate circles, sort of like underwater crop circles, just to attract a mate,” Jisung gladly completes his idea. He remembers reading about it and thinking it’s crazy how these fish are hardwired to perform such intricate tasks for the purpose of reproduction.

“That’s actually pretty cool,” Felix hums, and Jisung revels in his friends’ interest in his penchant for random knowledge. “A little over the top, but cool.”

A lightbulb seems to go off in Hyunjin’s head then, and he says, “Oh, did I mention Innie is a biology major?”

“Innie? Do you mean Jeongin?” Jisung cocks his head to the side, just as Felix asks, wiggling his eyebrows knowingly, “Did Jisung talking about mating rituals remind you of him?”

“I– yes, to the first question, and no, shut up,” Hyunjin grumbles at Felix, and Jisung must’ve become an expert in blushing, because he can easily recognize that faint pink dusting Hyunjin’s cheeks. “He just came to mind because of your shared liking of nature or whatever.”

“Right, not because you want to carve patterns on the earth for him or anything,” Felix snorts, and cackles when Hyunjin attempts a jab at him.

“No! That’s not what–” Hyunjin sits up, but stops himself from whatever he was gonna say. “You know what, you might actually be onto something.”

Now it’s Jisung’s turn to snort. “How so? Do you want to carve patterns on the floor for him?”

“Not literally, no,” Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “But you got me thinking. It's kind of perfect, don’t you think? Nature and art… there’s no separating one from the other.”

Jisung isn’t sure he’s following. “And…you think that’s you and Innie?”

“No– I mean… mayb– can we forget I mentioned him?” Hyunjin pouts at him, before speaking up again. “I just got an idea, hear me out before I lose it.”

“I’m listening,” Jisung titters. Hyunjin side-eyes Felix, who just zips his lips tightly and throws the imaginary key over his shoulder. Jisung chuckles.

“Don’t you think it’s cool that nature is just– so chaotic, and has so much going on all the time, but there’s still some sort of beauty in that?”

Jisung gets a little bit of whiplash from the sudden change of topic. He nods anyway.

Talking with Hyunjin is unpredictable, but he welcomes it all the same.

“It’s a language!” When he’s speaking, Hyunjin talks with his hands, his flailing limbs looking to complement what his mouth enunciates. “A way of communicating something that words can’t quite capture.”

“Like… giving form to something that was already there?” Jisung asks, almost to himself. He must’ve hit the nail on the head, because Hyunjin nods enthusiastically.

“Yeah, exactly. An expression of something else,” he continues, and taps the back of his pencil to his lip as he thinks. “Say like– pufferfish. They do this grand gesture just so they can find the right mate. Isn’t that beautiful?”

Talking with Hyunjin is unpredictable, confusing even, so sometimes Jisung doesn't know what to say next.

He goes with what he knows. “Isn't that just survival?”

“Is it?” Hyunjin makes a face, one he does when he’s deep in thought. “I suppose it is. I don’t know. But in the end, it’s still an expression of their desire.”

Once Hyunjin goes on with his musings, there’s no stopping him, Jisung thinks. So he listens.

“Humans, though! We do the things we do because we feel. We give and we ache to be given back.” Hyunjin doesn’t realize it—or maybe he does—but while he gets lost talking about art, Jisung gets lost in his head.

Days of deep thought—ones that involved starry eyes and silky, raven hair—had left Jisung unusually receptive. Maybe that’s why his brain had slowly started unraveling layers of meaning in Hyunjin’s words, whether deliberately spoken or not.

“I agree. People’s actions rarely have no meaning, right? As simple as they are,” Felix speaks up, but Jisung is now busy picking at the grass beneath his feet. Grounding.

“Yeah! With art, at least, it’s all so… intentional. Same thing goes for love, I think, whatever form it may come in.” Hyunjin concurs, and then, asking no one in particular, “Isn’t that what’s so special about it? Simple things being significant?”

Something, something, a simple gesture being significant. The tightness on his chest feels almost like a second skin to him now.

Jisung looks over at Felix, only to find him already looking back.

Talking with Hyunjin is unpredictable, a little too on the nose too—when you pair it with Felix’s inquisitive eyes—, and it makes Jisung think about things he wished would remain buried in the back of his mind.

Or heart, said mind supplies.

“I take back what I said. You guys can be pretty insightful,” Hyunjin saves him the trouble of following that up with a response, then returns to the white of his pages, now sketching with renewed enthusiasm. Felix also suddenly regains interest in his book, so Jisung is left to stare at the three pieces of grass he had plucked from the ground. He could probably turn the pieces into a tiny braid, if only they were long enough. Strong enough.

Jisung isn’t quite sure what was so insightful to Hyunjin about what he said. To him, at least, it was the other way around.

The words echo in his mind.

To feel and to be felt.

To give and to be given.

To love and to be loved.

That last one his mind supplies, once again.

Hyunjin has always been a romantic, but maybe Jisung is one too.

༄.°

Jisung has always thought humans carry small loves in their hearts, no matter their form. Like the small love he held for nature documentaries, and the way his friends always seemed to remember this little fact. He'd glimpsed it in the breathless urgency of the man sprinting across the street earlier that morning, a bouquet clutched in his hands like a secret. He saw it in the affectionate glint in his friends' eyes, even after one of Changbin’s painfully bad jokes. He witnessed it in the quiet devotion of the old woman by the river, whose weathered hands were always turning pages of an equally weathered book when he walked by Sunday mornings.

He’d like to think he feels it too in the impromptu picnic Minho had taken him on that same morning.

Minho [10:57 AM]
Jisung-ah
The weather’s nice
Wanna go out?

Jisung [10:59 AM]
only if u bring snacks

Minho [10:59 AM]
Who do you take me for
I packed them already

Minho meets him by the river, a knitted bag hanging from his shoulder. Jisung was joking about the snacks, but he feels warm when he peeks inside the bag and sees all of his favorite goods and some more. Minho brings out a checkered blanket and lays it under the broad canopy of a lacebark pine, its leaves a vibrant green that filtered the sunlight into dappled patterns. He also fishes out a small speaker, and a soft melody starts playing from it after he links it to his phone. Jisung briefly wonders how impromptu this picnic really was, but the thought goes as fast as it comes.

They talk, their voices weaving through one of Jisung’s favorite songs, punctuated by playful bickering and shared giggles. The sun is shining bright above their heads, but a cool breeze still reaches Jisung’s cheeks as he bundles up in his scarf. He’s glad he’d grabbed the piece of cloth—despite the warm light that crossed his curtains—just before he went out underdressed.

Jisung likes the corner of the park they were nestled at. It makes him feel like he's stepped into a hushed, secret clearing; a niche for just the two of them, adrift in a world of their own making. That’s what it feels like to Jisung, at least. He wonders if Minho feels that way, too.

The rustling of the leaves and the chirping of birds mute the distant hum of traffic, fading the city's usual clamor into the distance.

Jisung just wishes it would mute his own thoughts too. Stop the thinking, thinking, thinking. He’s been doing too much of that.

He should say something. Stop prolonging the uncertainty, or whatever Felix had said.

It's just words, right? Just... feelings. Words that feel like they're going to burst out of him. Like a swarm of fireflies, trapped in a jar.

So many thoughts, so many words. He should choose them right.

Maybe this little niche of land and sunlight they found themselves in is a great place to do so.

“Did you know glowworms’ light comes from their organs?”

Sometimes, words don’t come out the way you want them to, Jisung supposes. It’s a start.

“I did not know that,” Minho says in return. He’s crumpling up one of the empty gummy packages they had eaten. “Tell me more.”

“Yeah, they– uh, have a bioluminescent organ in their abdomen. That’s why they glow from the inside.” Jisung scratches at his tummy, as if his own internal light was starting to flicker, making him itch with nerves. How absurd feelings are.

“I’ve always wondered… is that something they can control? Or is it just– like, an involuntary reaction?”

“Hm, I think they can?” Minho always asks about the random knowledge Jisung throws at him, and he always answers them with excitement. His response is automatic, and he’s glad he’s got the facts to soothe his nervous state. “Like, I’m pretty sure the intensity varies if they… feel exposed to danger or something.”

“Ah, I see.”

Maybe glowworms weren’t the best approach for his task at hand.

With a sigh carrying the weight of his unspoken thoughts, he sinks upon the checkered cloth, his scarf coming up to cover the lower half of his face. Maybe Minho will think he just needs to lay down after all those snacks.

Perhaps he can carry this weight for a little longer. He could probably live with this quiet ache, this constant, low-humming longing. They do say silence is golden. But god, gold sure is heavy.

Is it normal to give it this much thought? Jisung isn’t sure. He’s just feeling so much, and he wishes he knew what to do with all of it. He was a walking contradiction. A romantic disguised as a pragmatist. Or was it the other way around?

He’s thinking too much.

Thinking, thinking, thinking about the two shiny eyes that were regarding him curiously at the moment. They are conspiring against him.

He watches Minho, the way the light filters through the leaves and catches his hair, and wonders if the moment is ripe.

“Remember what you said the other day?” It’s Minho’s voice that cuts through his thoughts.

Jisung’s eyes snap back into focus. Minho isn’t looking at him anymore, his gaze now lost somewhere in the space between his feet. Jisung opens his mouth, a silent 'uh' escaping before he manages to gather his bearings.

“I say a lot of things.”

“You know, about how– um, playing with your hair is kind of like– my thing, or whatever,” Minho clears his throat mid-sentence. The day isn’t really that cold, but Jisung thinks the tip of Minho’s ears take on a darker shade of pink.

Maybe he was a little too lost in his head, because Jisung wasn’t expecting Minho to bring that up of all things.

“Oh, right– yeah,” he chuckles awkwardly, bringing his hand up to his face, and brushing his finger against the tip of his nose. “What about it?”

“I’ve just been thinking about it,” Minho looks somewhere between Jisung’s face and his own, not quite meeting his eyes. He can probably see how hard Jisung is biting his lip right now. “I mean– you know I feel very comfortable with you, right?”

He can also probably see the confused look and flushed cheeks on Jisung’s face. “I– yeah of course I know. I feel the same way. You make me feel at ease, hyung.”

“Right, you too. So, uh– I was just considering it, and I got to the conclusion that I don’t think the hair thing is my thing. But rather–” Minho finally looks at him, bright red ears and all. “Being with you is my thing, Jisung.”

Jisung feels his body freeze for what is probably half a second, before a nervous giggle bubbles out of him. “Wait– what?”

“I– yeah, I don’t know. I’ve always known you were a big part of my life and all, ever since I met you,” Minho continues, unknowingly shaking the jar of fireflies that Jisung kept inside him with every word he uttered into the wind. “But I’ve just been whacking my head around the fact it’s not just one part of me that you occupy–”

“Hyung, what are you saying?” Jisung interrupts stupidly, two steps behind on whatever conversation they started.

“I’m trying to confess right now,” Minho tugs at his ear, and after what feels a minute too long, he adds, “Unless I’m reading this wrong– well, it’s still true, but I guess we could just pretend–”

There goes Minho stealing his line again. That’s what Jisung gets caught up on. “What? No, hold on, I was supposed to say that!”

Minho blinks at him, most likely startled by the lack of reaction. “Well, I’m saying it.”

He sits up so his message gets across properly. “No, I was like– mentally preparing for this! You can’t just– say it!”

Minho seems to catch on to what's happening, and his expression switches to one of fond, yet incredulous, amusement. “I didn’t just say it. I just told you being with you is my everything!”

Jisung couldn’t be more flustered by the situation even if he tried, but he doesn’t relent. “I– I was trying to confess just now! But, well… all I could think of was– um, glowworms.”

Minho actually laughs out loud now, and if Jisung wasn’t so fixated on the sudden turn of events, he would’ve babbled stupidly about his smile. “Are you saying I remind you of a worm?”

“No! I was going to give you a whole metaphor about the glowworms’ light and how you’re my light and—god, that sounds lame now—stop looking at me like that!” Jisung lets himself fall on the blanket once again, hiding behind his hands when he notices Minho’s undoubtedly smitten expression. He has looked at him like this before, but he’s only now realizing there might’ve always been some underlying reasons for it.

He’s embarrassed, flustered, and doesn’t know what to do with himself, and yet he lets his hands be guided away from his face when another pair tries to, only to find the most enamoured look in Minho’s eyes when he opens his own. How had he not noticed that look before?

“Han Jisung,” Minho says, scooting closer to properly look at him. He doesn’t let go of his hands. “When I’m around you I feel like I’m glowing from my insides, like those worms of yours.”

And it’s suddenly too much. He goes to cover himself again, feeling too vulnerable, feeling too much in general, but Minho doesn’t let up on his grip. Instead, with a swift, playful tug, he rolls Jisung over— their positions reversed— circling his arms around his waist. A startled yelp escapes Jisung’s lips, the sudden shift leaving him momentarily disoriented. Minho’s eyes, now looking up at him, hold a mixture of amusement and something deeper; something that makes Jisung’s heart pound against his ribs.

Thump, thump, thump.

Minho loosens the firm but tender grip around his waist to bring a hand up to Jisung’s face, brushing an unruly curl away from his eyes.

“I like you,” he breathes, lowering his scarf so he can caress his cheek softly. “A lot. In case that wasn’t clear.”

And Jisung might still have some remnants of embarrassment evident in his rosy cheeks, but he smiles his most genuine smile at those words. He feels like he might burst at the seams. Like the butterflies in his stomach are ready to take flight. “I like you too. A lot.”

Minho’s thumb lingers on Jisung’s cheek, his eyes tracing every curve of Jisung’s face. Jisung follows them with his own gaze the whole time. Then, with one last glance at Jisung’s lips, Minho lifts his head and closes the distance, pressing a light, fleeting kiss to Jisung’s lips. A gentle, almost hesitant touch, and it’s gone as soon as it came.

Jisung’s breath hitches, but one look at Minho—at his smile, at those gleaming eyes—and he’s leaning back down. Minho’s lips meet his again, this time a little deeper, a little longer. It’s a simple kiss, a soft press of lips against lips, but it carries the weight of finally spoken feelings, a silent promise hanging in the quiet air around them.

It doesn’t last long, both of them starting to grin so hard it makes it impossible to keep their lips pressed together. Their bodies stay pressed close though, and only the sky above them knows how long they stay there, looking into the other’s eyes as if there was no one else in the world. For them, it’s true.

“You know, on the topic of worms and little creatures,” Minho begins while caressing Jisung’s back over his sweater. “I’ve always thought you look like a bug.”

“I don’t look like a bug,” Jisung grumbles, leaning his elbows on either side of Minho’s head so he can play with the soft strands at his nape.

“Yes, you do. A cute little bug with adorable big eyes.”

“I never should’ve said anything,” Jisung starts to get up, but Minho’s firm grip around his waist prevents him from doing so.

“Nuh-uh. You can’t take it back now, bug.” Minho grins at him, bunny teeth fully peaking out, and Jisung knows he wouldn’t take his words back even if he could.

So maybe glowworms were a good approach in the end. Or maybe any approach would’ve been the best approach to Jisung’s troubles. It’s Minho, after all. It’s just them.

And Jisung’s chest feels tight again, but he'd choose it a million times over so long it means his heart was always full of this small, precious love.