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Of many reasons I love you here is one
Craig Arnold, Bird-Understander
Jisung studies poetry because he likes thinking in the abstract. He enjoys seeing pockets of the world encapsulated in the briefest of moments, is fascinated by an author’s ability to twist a complicated situation into a simple metaphor. He’s even more intrigued by the way that a hundred people can read the same work and come out with a hundred different analyses of it. There’s an acceptance, in his area of study, that there’s no “correct” way to interpret something someone says. An author’s intentions are only one piece of the convoluted web that reflects a masterpiece, and he thinks he could make a life of studying every little branch that stems off from there, every interwoven aspect that inspires a connection.
His friends have a tendency to take things a bit more literally.
“I’m just saying that it was kind of gay,” Hyunjin defends, looking unnecessarily smug as he crosses his skinny little arms in his tight little cardigan. Jisung can’t stand when he gets like this. All holier-than-thou, like he knows something Jisung doesn’t, just because he’s nine months older and ten centimetres taller than Jisung himself. The only thing he keeps in those ten extra centimeters is hair spray and a debilitating superiority complex. “I don’t think it’s wrong of me to point out that what you said was an objectively gay thing to say.”
Jisung can’t think of an argument that doesn’t make him sound homophobic, so he tosses a french fry in Hyunjin’s direction and turns to the other members of their group. “Who even invited this guy?” he asks. “I thought brunch was a closed group activity.”
Predictably, the others ignore him. He gives leeway to Felix, who’s still reading over the poem Jisung brought to brunch today with furrowed eyebrows and a concentrated frown, but there’s no excuse for Seungmin, who’s playing 2048 on his phone and acting like he can’t hear the rest of them talk. Jisung throws a fry at him, too, for good measure. After all, Hyunjin wouldn’t be here, all up in Jisung’s face and confronting him with accusations of sodomy, had it not been for the pair’s year and a half long situationship. There are babies that can walk born the same day they started sleeping together. Jisung literally can’t conceptualise it.
“Stop ignoring us,” Jisung complains. “Participate in brunch-time bonding.”
“I don’t need to look at you to tell you that thinking of Minho while reading love poems is gay,” Seungmin drawls. “I think you can reach that conclusion on your own.”
“It’s not gay!” Jisung objects, fighting the urge to bang his closed fists against the table. He won’t stand for this, can’t even fathom the thought of letting his feelings towards his best friend be reduced down to something as trivial as physical desire. They’re soulmates. Beings crafted of carbon from the same star, of iron wrought from the Earth by the same volcanic eruption. It’s beyond a simple connection of body or mind. They’re intertwined from within the fiber of their very beings, connected on a level that he shouldn’t have expected a guy who won’t double text his situationship of eighteen entire months to understand.
“I dunno, Sungie,” Felix finally chimes in, looking up from the printed copy of Bird-Understander that Jisung brought in with an apologetic sort of smile. “It’s a pretty romantic piece.”
“It’s about birds!” Jisung tries to fight back. “Minho’s a zoology student! He likes birds!”
Hyunjin rolls his eyes, theatrically, stretching an arm over the back of Seungmin’s chair and trying to exchange a look with him that says can you believe this guy? Seungmin actually reciprocates (because he’s a bad friend, and can only afford giving attention to the people he wants to sleep with) before returning to his digital number tiles and going back to trying to look like he doesn’t know who the rest of them are.
“You’re not the only one with basic inferencing skills,” Hyunjin speaks again to Jisung, voice low. “We can tell the poem’s not actually about the stupid bird.”
“It’s not stupid,” Jisung retorts, almost knee-jerk as he thinks about the delight Minho had taken in the piece. The bird was his favourite part. Naturally. Jisung knew it would be. “The bird was the inspiration of the whole piece.”
Felix hums thoughtfully. “Maybe,” he says, because he often talks to Jisung like an over-eager preschool art teacher trying not to stifle his student’s creativity. “But I think the poem would have come to be even if it wasn’t about the bird. Even if it was whale-understander, or bus-understander, or cloud-understander. Cause the whole point is that he’s enamoured by her understanding something he could not, right? About loving someone who sees the world from different eyes, but shares it with you anyways.”
Stupid Felix and his stupid wealth of emotional intelligence. Jisung crams a fistful of fries in his mouth to avoid having to respond, which prompts Hyunjin to laugh in that witch-cackle way he often does, and Seungmin to stare at him like he single handedly painted every star in the sky with his bare hands. It’s stupid. Love is so fucking stupid.
“It’s not a love poem,” Jisung declares, once he’s finished chewing and cleared of any potential choking hazards. “It’s a poem about love. There’s a difference.”
“What’s the difference?” Hyunjin asks. “One makes it sound slightly less like you want to suck his dick than the other?”
Jisung throws more fries. Brunch does not end on a positive note.
the way you write me from the gate at the airport
so I can tell you everything will be alright
Jisung meets Minho on what is objectively the worst day of his entire life. Along with finding out his girlfriend of two years has cheated on him, he also flunked his chemistry final, setting him back half a semester to graduate. On top of all that, Felix announced he was moving out of the dorms to live with some of his dancer friends, rendering Jisung to live with whatever random person the university assigns for him next year. On top of all that, his mom texted him that the family dog needs surgery, meaning Jisung’s allowance for the rest of the school year is going to be stretched thin at most.
He decides to do what every stressed nineteen year-old does in the face of adversary. He sneaks into a frat party and gets totally hammered.
Technically, he was invited to the event, although Jisung is rarely ever truly invited to things on his own. There’s an unspoken expectation for him to bring his ridiculously gorgeous roommate tacked on to every summoning for him to attend a social event. He ignores them because of this, on principle, but today sucks and he’s not old enough to buy alcohol on his own, so he has to make due with what he’s got.
“You’re not on the list,” the “bouncer” at the door says. It’s actually some fresh pledge the frat must be hazing, having the poor kid stationed at the entrance to the greek-style mansion and turning away every person who’s not female or appearing capable of beating him up.
“I’m not, but my roommate is,” Jisung assures. “Look for Lee Felix. Or Yongbok, maybe. He sent me here first to scope out the place before he decides if he wants to come.”
The “bouncer” appears disbelieving of this. He makes a good show of flexing his muscles as well, as if reminding Jisung to rein his clippy tone in a bit, lest he find himself intimate with the rose bushes sat right off the ledge of the porch.
Before the guy can try and turn him away again, a warm hand makes contact with Jisung’s shoulder. Jisung flinches instinctually, not used to physical contact with anyone other than his overtly touchy housemate, but the stranger holds true.
“He’s with me,” the guy says. “Lee Minho. Our people are inside.”
Faux-bouncer checks his dumb plastic clipboard again, frowning. He must find Minho’s name, because his frown deepens, but he steps to the side. “Don’t cause any trouble,” he grunts, lightly checking Jisung’s shoulder as Minho pushes him inside.
Once they’re safely away from the entrance to the frat, Jisung risks a glance at his saviour. It’s hard to make out Minho’s feature in the dim lighting of the old the house, but he can recognise sharp eyes and a curved nose. Minho is very pretty. Pretty people attract girls. Jisung understands why Minho made it on the list.
“You’re ridiculously hot,” Jisung says, because he was born without a filter and also may have snuck one of those mini bottles of Fireball in his sleeve out of the gas station before he came here.
Minho scoffs, audibly, but he’s grinning as he says, “Damn. Pour me a drink first.”
Jisung learns many things about Minho very quickly. The first is that he’s ridiculously popular, if the sheer number of strangers that wave eagerly at him and clap him on the shoulder as they walk by is anything to go off of. He’s also a zoology major, though he performs with the dance team in his spare time, which is how he knows Felix and- one degree of separation- Jisung. He likes parties, but he doesn’t usually come to frat parties, because he thinks frat boys are unsanitary and poor company. He likes tequila, and hates vodka, and dances like it’s the only thing he knows how to do, like he’s gone his whole life with music thrumming in his veins. Jisung feels awkward and disjointed next to him. He dances anyways, because Minho demands it, and it’s kind of fun as long as he pretends they’re the only two people in the room.
Minho pulls him to the kitchen eventually, sweaty and in need of water. He gets Jisung a cup first, which prompts Jisung to add gentleman to the list of adjectives he’s thinking to describe Minho tonight.
“What’s your niche?” Minho asks him.
“What do you mean?”
The older (Jisung learned that, too, along with Minho’s blood type and star sign and the way he grabs his dance partners closer by the hips when the crowd attempts to separate them) waves his hand vaguely, and the pull of his arm tugs at the collar of his shirt. Jisung sees the way sweat beads at his sculpted collarbone, glowing under the obnoxious strobe lights in the party like beads of glitter against his skin. “Y’know, your niche. Your thing. I dance for fun and watch too many animal documentaries in my spare time. What’s your thing?”
Jisung bites his lip and thinks for a long moment. He’s never considered himself very interesting. He knows other people must not either, because they cheat on him on his birthday and break his heart three months later over the phone even though they’ve been dating him since high school. He feels too raw in this kitchen with Minho, and at the same time a lot like a little kid, meeting a stranger on the playground for the first time and leaving with their life story in his head and their heart in his hand.
“I write songs,” he eventually says. “Like, I’m a poetry major, so lyrics come to me a lot, but I recently started writing music to go with them. I picked up guitar and everything.”
Minho reaches out and grabs his shoulder, giving him a little shake. “I want to hear your songs!” he pleads. When he’s done shaking Jisung, his hand doesn’t move from his grasp, thumb resting just shy of the hem of Jisung’s shirt. He feels like he can make out the heat of each of Minho’s phalanges, like he’s branding the waves of his fingerprints into Jisung’s skin. “Let me take you back to my place. My roommate has a guitar.”
“Will he mind me using it?” Jisung asks, eyebrows furrowed in concern.
“Not at all,” Minho slurs a little bit, swaying with the weight of tequila and excitement. “He’s got another he keeps in the music building anyways. That poor thing’s just collecting dust in our living room.”
Minho’s place is only a few blocks away from the heart of their campus’s greek life, so the two decide to brave the walk, letting the chill of a November night sober them up a bit. He learns even more about Minho. Learns that he’s an only child, learns he likes cooking, learns he likes to hold hands when they cross the street just to stay safe when they’re drunk. His hand is warm, and dry, and a bit smaller than Jisung’s, though he thinks the palm might be wider. They swing their arms as they walk together and laugh at how garbage the frat’s playlist was and fail to stop each other from tripping over their feet when the sidewalk gets a little bumpy but they refuse to let go of each other even if it’d help their balance.
Minho’s apartment is quiet when they arrive. The guitar is propped on a stand in the living room, and it’s a pretty basic looking model, though it’s kept in a condition that makes Jisung think it’s well loved. Minho finally lets go of Jisung’s hand when he catches sight of it, sitting himself in the centre of his couch with his legs wide open and looking up at Jisung through thick dark lashes.
“Play me something pretty,” he requests.
“As pretty as you?” Jisung quips back without thinking, attention split between checking that the instrument is tuned and admiring Minho’s thighs. They’re built. Jisung might have to ask him his leg routine or something. He supposes that’s the body of a dancer, strong and dense.
“Prettier,” Minho softly responds.
“No such thing,” Jisung says. He loops the strap of the guitar around his shoulder, thinks for a moment, then begins to play.
Minho is silent for most of Jisung’s concert. When he finishes his first song, the older merely raises an eyebrow, prompting him to go through more. Jisung makes it through all the songs he’s learned since he picked the instrument up again, then decides to risk playing his own stuff, pleased when Minho closes his eyes and starts bobbing his head to the beat of the music.
“You’re pretty good,” he says, once Jisung is truly done and his hands are starting to hurt. “I really liked that last one.”
“Thank you,” Jisung beams. Minho opens his eyes, his own lips stretching into a grin at the sight of Jisung’s smile. He pats the spot next to him on the couch, and Jisung moves easily, folding himself into Minho’s space. He likes the older’s company a lot. Likes his warmth, the way his cologne smells sharp and spicy. Minho’s hand finds the back of Jisung’s neck, fingers tangling easy in the strands of hair at the base of his skull, and he lets his eyes flutter shut as he sinks into the feeling.
“You’re gorgeous,” Minho whispers.
Jisung cracks his eyes open. Minho is studying him, expression dark but not unkind. Jisung isn’t sure what to make of it. He feels something heavy settle in his stomach at the sight, and it doesn’t feel quite like anxiety, but it’s close enough to make him tense. Minho tenses in response, and as fast as the hand was in his hair, it’s gone. The older scoots back, putting some space between them.
“You’re very drunk,” he also says.
Jisung blinks a few times. He feels like he’s missed something, but then, he is pretty drunk. He nods tiredly, letting himself slump against Minho’s shoulder. “A little,” he says. “But still awake. You should show me that documentary about the otters you were talking about earlier.”
Minho is quiet. It goes on for long enough that Jisung leans his head back, peering up at him curiously. Minho is already looking down, expression just as curious, though some of that fondness edges back into the corners of his eyes.
“Okay,” he eventually says. “We can watch the otters.”
The last thing that Jisung learns that night is the way otters sleep. With their young tucked against their stomach, protected from the unsettling waves, while the adults of the bevy (that’s what they call a group of otters) link hands so that no one floats off. Jisung links his fingers with Minho’s as the documentarian says it, pointing to the screen and softly explaining, “We can’t drift away from each other.”
“Yeah,” Minho says, voice quiet. He gives Jisung’s hand a squeeze and assures, “I promise not to let you go.”
so you can tell me there is a bird
trapped in the terminal all the people
ignoring it because they do not know
what to do with it except to leave it alone
until it scares itself to death
The fact that Minho’s gay doesn’t bother him. The only experience Jisung has ever had with a gay person before Minho was Felix, but Felix is nice and funny and kind, so he can’t say he understands any of the hubbub around the homophobia that his own parents would often permit. Getting to know Minho introduces him to his roommate Seungmin, and Seungmin getting to know Felix introduces them both to Hyunjin, which is the closest Jisung’s ever felt to actual homophobia in real life. Still, he thinks that has less to do with the gay thing and more to do with everything else about Hyunjin’s personality. Jeongin comes in as Jisung’s roommate the year after Felix moved out, and Changbin and Chan are distant friends of Minho, who do adult things with him like pay taxes and schedule dentist appointments.
Three years and several family montages later, Jisung has himself a genuine, bonafide friend group. They eat brunch together. They even go out together sometimes, although Jisung can’t stomach alcohol the way he used to now that he’s on Prozac, so most of their parties are confined to the eight of them in someone’s apartment drinking soju from the gas station and playing board games while someone torrents an animated movie on the T.V.
The aftermath of these events is the worst part. These people might be Jisung’s friends, sure, but allowing them to see him at his most vulnerable also makes them his greatest enemy.
“It’s a cute picture!” Hyunjin scolds, standing on the tips of his toes and holding his phone just out of Jisung’s reach. Jisung refuses to jump after the device, not wanting to feel even more ridiculous while Hyunjin holds it out of his way. He resolves to collambering atop Changbin and Chan’s kitchen island instead, flailing aimlessly towards the device while Hyunjin shoves his palm against his forehead and tries to hold his body back.
“Why are you yelling?” Seungmin groans. He comes in from the bathroom looking like he spent the night in the tub, which may be a true statement. Jisung fell asleep long before the others started to drop. It’s how Hyunjin managed to take that photo, the one he is literally lording over Jisung’s head right now.
“Hyunjin’s creepy,” Jisung declares. “He’s a creepy stalker man and I will be contacting the authorities.”
“Grow up,” Hyunjin says, giving Jisung one firm push to the forehead before darting out of his reach. Jisung tries to chase after him, but he’s still glued to the island, and feels slow and groggy from their eventual night. He can’t stop Hyunjin from showing Seungmin the photo, and has to watch in horror as his friend’s face visibly softens at the sight of it.
“Wow,” he says. “This is… adorable.”
“Isn’t it?” Hyunjin coos.
“That is not what you called it earlier!” Jisung complains. He points an accusing finger in Hyunjin’s direction, not having the energy to offer any more exclamations when Jeongin shuffles into the room and Seungmin passes the phone off to him. “You called it-! You!”
“I, I, I,” Hyunjin mocks. “What did I say that was soo bad, Jisung? Go ahead, share with the class.”
Jisung’s hands ball into fists. He’s red in the face, and shouting this much with a hangover is giving him vertigo. He fears he’s going to fall off the counter. Of course Felix walks into the kitchen then, and when Jeongin passes the phone off to him, he squeals at the top of his lungs and darts into the living room to share with the rest of the rousing group.
Great. Just great.
The photo itself isn’t bad, actually. It’s pretty sweet. Minho must’ve fallen asleep not too long after Jisung, the pair slumped together on the couch with their legs intertwined and Minho’s arm wrapped over his shoulder. Minho’s other arm stretches across his body, reaching out to hold Jisung’s hand in a vice grip with no intention to let go. Jisung meets him in the middle, body turned as close to him as he can, face tucked against Minho’s shoulder and nose turned into his neck. It’s cute. Jisung would’ve found it really, really cute if Hyunjin hadn’t said-
“Don’t they look like such a couple here!”
He’s showing the photo to Changbin now, who looks like he can’t believe he was woken up for something as trivial as this. Chan- who’s koalaed around his back- nods politely at the image Hyunjin is showing him and is giving the picture one of his patented dad smiles.
Jisung can tell that Minho must’ve seen it as well. He has a peculiar look on his face, like he’s thinking really hard about something. Jisung can’t bear to look him in the eye.
The thing is… Hyunjin’s right. They look like a couple there. They look in love. Minho holds Jisung like he loves him.
“Big whoop,” Jeongin grumbles. “Minho and Jisung are gross. Can we go to Denny’s for breakfast? I think I need a Grand Slam before I can deal with you people.”
it makes you terribly terribly sad
Jisung keeps thinking about it. The photo. It’s not entirely his fault, since Hyunjin is the asshole that sets it as the groupchat’s background for three days straight, but even after Changbin switches it to a picture of a koala that looks suspiciously like Minho, the image remains burned into Jisung’s retinas.
Process of elimination determines he should talk to Jeongin about it. Hyunjin is out, for obvious reasons, and Seungmin’s bias to both his exclusively monogamous situationship as well as the object of Jisung’s anxiety makes him an unwise selection. Felix gets too excited over these things, and while Jisung could go to Chan and Changbin for advice, the couple only recently started inviting him to their studio for private sessions, and Jisung doesn’t want to fuck all that up by using the time to gossip to them about their mutual friend.
Thankfully, cornering Jeongin is an easy task. They’re no longer cramped into the same cardboard box their campus called housing, but they still live together in a tiny off campus place, close enough for Jisung to be able to walk but far enough that Jeongin doesn’t run into his peers while out of class. (He says they should have to pay extra if they want to see him off the clock.)
Another great thing about Jeongin is that it’s easy to broach topics with him. He’s not good at picking up subtlety, so Jisung has adapted to being as blunt as possible in his approach.
“Hey,” he greets his roommate after school one day, calling to him from the couch as Jeongin toes off his shoes. “Do you think Minho is in love with me?”
Jeongin doesn’t even pause. He’s reliable like that. He does shuffle into the room with a considerate look on his face, humming to himself before he answers.
“That’s the sort of thing you should talk to him about,” he starts, which is lame. Of course Jisung thought about that. Minho is actually the first person he thinks to talk to when he has a problem, but that’s hardly useful when the problem rests with him. “You guys have been together for a long time though, right? I’m sure he shares your feelings, hyung.”
…
Wait.
Wait.
“Wait,” Jisung says, after several moments of opening and closing his mouth. “Wait. Jeongin-ah, Minho and I aren’t dating.”
Now it’s Jeongin’s turn to be shocked. He flubbers for a few times, blinking rapidly as he tries to process this apparently brand new fucking information.
“Are you serious?” he finally manages to get out. Jisung nods furiously, even as Jeongin sits next to him. “Wow,” he says. “That’s crazy.”
“Hyunjin took this picture,” Jisung says, like this is also new information and not something that’s been plaguing his mind and body for ninety-seven hours straight. He shows Jeongin the photo, and the younger seems to actually take the time to consider it now he knows there’s Layers. He goes as far as taking the phone from Jisung’s hand and zooming in to where his and Minho’s fingers weave together.
“And you’re not together?” he clarifies.
“No.”
“But you slept… like this.”
“We normally sleep like this,” Jisung says, like it could make it better. “It’s our Thing.”
“You guys have a sleep thing?”
“Our Thing,” Jisung says again, like it’ll sound better this time (it doesn’t), “It’s from when we first met.” His face feels hot. So ridiculously hot. He must look like a firetruck right now, red painted from the tip of his nose to the tops of his ears. “We watched this documentary about otters. They hold hands when they sleep, so they don’t drift apart. So we- yeah.”
“You hold hands,” Jeongin says slowly, “so you don’t drift away from each other. When you’re sleeping. On land.”
“We’d probably do the same in water,” Jisung continues trying to defend. “They actually hold the babies on their chest because they can’t swim, and since hyung can’t swim, I’d probably- yeah.”
Jeongin purses his lips. Blinks several times, slowly, staring at Jisung as he does so. After a beat, he tries, “You hearing this too, right?”
“I’m straight,” Jisung immediately defends. “I don’t- Minho and I aren’t like that.”
“Minho is like that,” Jeongin argues, which is true and fair and Jisung hates him for it. “You two hang out all the time. You go everywhere together, and wherever you don’t go, you text about. You tell each other good morning and goodnight and fall asleep clutching hands because you’re subconsciously trying to stay as close as possible.”
“You’re making it sound gayer than it is,” Jisung accuses.
“I’m literally not,” Jeongin retorts. “I actually think it is physically impossible to make this situation gayer than it is. I’ve had actual, gay butt sex, and somehow that was less gay than being a peripheral participant in whatever the fuck you and Minho have going on.”
Jisung throws his hands in the air. He snatches his phone back from Jeongin right after, then stomps over to the door, jamming his shoes on the wrong feet and snatching his key off the tray. “I’m done talking to you about this,” he declares. “I’m going to Chan and Bin instead.”
“They can’t tell you anything I haven’t already!” Jeongin yells, and even after Jisung slams the door shut behind him, he hears a belayed, “Straight people don’t do shit like this!”
You wish you could take the bird outside
and set it free or (failing that)
call a bird-understander
to come help the bird
Jisung doesn’t go to Chan or Bin. It’s not on purpose- he fully intends to make it to their studio- but his feet seem to have a mind of their own, and he lands himself on Minho and Seungmin’s doorstep with a sheepish smile and a bag of snacks from the nearby 7/11.
“Is any of that for me?” Seungmin greets him, blocking the door.
“I’m going through something right now,” Jisung tries not to spit back, but it’s hard when half the time he looks at Seungmin he sees a disembodied floating head of Hyunjin dancing behind him. Like the dude’s staked some witchy claim on the guy or something. It gives Jisung the heebie-jeebies. “Why don’t you call your long-term exclusively monogamous situationship to bring you snacks?”
“Fuck you, Jisung,” Seungmin grumbles, but he moves out of the doorway, allowing Jisung to shuffle in and kick his shoes off by a cat-shaped planter. Cat motifs decorate the whole of the Kim-Lee apartment, an unfortunate consequence Seungmin has to live with after getting Minho to agree to take the smaller bedroom. Jisung doesn’t know why the guy continues to allow it, since Seungmin spends most of his time in the twisted sheets of Hwang Hyunjin anyways. “I hope you choke on your gay crisis.”
Frankly, they deserve each other.
He opens the door to Minho’s room without knocking, unsurprised to see his best friend already eying the door, a lazy smile on his face and a hand scratching across the plushness of his stomach. His room is as tidy as it ever is, which is to say there’s a few garments strone over the floor and a couple books off his shelf, but mostly clean. Minho lays starfished in the middle of sheets, and at the evidence of Jisung’s arrival, he opens his arms adoringly and beckons the younger in.
Jisung moves like a possessed man. His feet barely seem to touch the floor, and he has Minho gathered in his arms in a second, face pressed into the man’s neck to inhale a deep breath. Minho smells like soap and detergent and the briefest hint of sweat. Jisung relishes in it, in the feeling of being close to him.
Jeongin’s words echo in his mind. He made it sound ridiculous, the sort of closeness that Minho and Jisung share. Like they’re dating. Jisung thinks he would know if he and Minho were dating. Jisung’s never really dated anyone before, but he’s heard about it. People that date kiss. They do more than kissing, sometimes. Jisung isn’t sure he can see himself doing that stuff with Minho. He’s never thought about doing that sort of thing with anyone before.
“Are you okay?” Minho asks him, voice deep and rough. It’s almost 2pm, but he sounds like he’s using his words for the first time today. Jisung feels his stomach turn. He wonders if he’s hungry.
“I’m fine,” he says instead, because if he mentions wanting something to eat now, Minho will ignore all the snacks he brought in favour of whipping Jisung up a four-course meal. He shimmies off the older instead, tucking himself between Minho’s body and the wall but keeping his arm splayed over the older’s stomach. Minho falls into the position easily, knowing that Jisung likes to be between him and the solid surface whenever he feels ill at ease. He stays on his back, but turns to where his laptop sits on his bedside table, screen frozen on a grab of a school of fish.
“‘Was watching something on National Geographic,” he explains without needing to. “Cool if I hit play?”
“Please do,” Jisung responds, ducking his head back into the crook of Minho’s neck and peeping his eyes out over the curve of his face.
It’s hard to focus on the fish when all Jisung can continue to think about is the picture. Minho isn’t holding him now, but it’s not hard for Jisung to imagine what it must’ve felt like in his mind. Of what it’s like for Minho to hold him like he loves him. Jisung feels his own grip around Minho’s waist tighten, and the older lets out a soft noise, but doesn’t object or push him away. In fact, Minho turns to lay on his side, pushing himself back until Jisung’s chest is pressed against the back of his shirt.
They’re… spooning.
It’s not like they don’t cuddle. Jisung cuddles lots of his friends. In fact, for the entirety of his freshman year, he and Felix pushed their measly twin mattresses into one mega-bed so that they could cuddle every night. Jisung’s just feeling sensitive about it, with Jeongin’s words echoing in his mind. It’s not like that. Jisung’s never wanted to lie with a man, has never wondered what it’d be like to explore one.
Minho is… warm. No more than usual, but his default is to run like a small furnace, so Jisung often relishes in it. Like this, Jisung takes the full force of his hair in his face, which smells faintly of lavender shampoo and something distinctly Minho. His weight is pressed against Jisung’s chest, his stomach, his knees, comforting him like a heavy blanket.
Jisung never dated much after his high school girlfriend, and when they were together, they didn’t do a lot of… that. Touching, and exploring, and experiencing. This didn’t bother Jisung much- he had other things to worry about (like passing chemistry and not accidentally wearing the same pair of jeans for long enough that they start to smell). From what he remembers of the girl, her skin was always soft, always smelled like baked vanilla and honey. Minho smells like sweat most of the time. Jisung sees him often his dance practices, where the whole room eventually smells of heat and bodies. He wears this deodorant that’s Fiji scented, and while Jisung has never been to Fiji, he finds it smells fresh and a little spicy.
He starts when he realises he’s leaned down to sniff Minho’s shoulder. Minho makes an inquisitive noise, but Jisung soothes him with a stroke to his stomach, and Minho relaxes against him again.
With his hand touching Minho’s stomach now, Jisung can’t believe how soft it is. He’s seen Minho shirtless before, and the man has a little tummy for sure, but he’s also got a solid core and the biceps to lift nearly as much as Chan on a good day. Jisung presses his fingers firmly against the shirt and can make out the swell of Minho’s abdominal muscles beneath his chubby skin. Jisung holds his breath for a moment, counts backwards from ten, then risks sneaking his hand under the hem of Minho’s shirt and splaying his fingers against his bare skin.
Minho hums appreciatively.
He’s just so tender. Hot against Jisung’s finger tips, stomach rippling under Jisung’s exploratory touch. Jisung takes a moment to graze the pads of his fingers beneath Minho’s belly button, and is somehow delighted to find the patch of coarse hair that’s decorating the skin. He scratches at it lightly, earning a sharp inhale from Minho. The muscles of his stomach flex, and Jisung lets his fingers follow the movement, digging into the concave area where his stomach used to be.
Minho relaxes again. Jisung allows himself to continue exploring, categorizing all the way Minho is different from what he previously knew. Stronger, coarser, warmer. The lower he lets his hand trail, the thicker the hair decorating Minho’s skin gets, until his fingertips hit brush the top of his pelvic bone and he lands on a forest thick, dark curls.
“Jisung,” Minho says, sharply. Suddenly, the younger’s wrist is in Minho’s grasp, and the older is dragging his hand out of the hem of his shorts. Jisung yanks his hand back like he’s been burned, and Minho turns on his side to look at him, cheeks blazing but expression nonjudgmental.
“Sorry,” Jisung squeaks. “I’m sorry. I was just- uh- distracted.”
“It’s fine,” Minho replies, a little tight. “Just- uh- started turning me on a little bit. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Electricity shocks the centre of Jisung’s spine. It lights a fire in his bones, the same way lightning striking a tree can start a forest fire. He feels its heat burn in his stomach, stretching out in every direction like a liquid fire seeping into his organs, raising through his blood and straight to his-
Oh.
He’s kind of hard.
Jisung swallows thick, shuffling his hips back so they’re not as close to Minho as before. “Sorry,” he squeaks out. “I wasn’t trying to- y’know.”
Minho relaxes a little. He’s still pink, but he gives Jisung a fond smile, the same one he gives whenever he thinks any of the younger one’s in the group has done something naive. “I know,” he promises. “I didn’t mind. Just- y’know- stay away from my dick, maybe, if you’re not actually planning on touching it.”
Minho’s dick. Minho has a dick. Jisung had never thought of it before, not until this moment, and it’s suddenly the most interesting thing he’s ever thought about in the history of the entire world. Minho has a dick. He wonders how long it is, how thick, if it flushes the same pink as his lips or if it’s darker like his nipples…
“Sorry,” he garbles again. “Sorry, I won’t- I’m not touching it. Scouts honour.”
Minho huffs a laugh- amused, somehow, like him having a dick isn’t currently an Earth shattering realization- then turns back to his documentary about fish.
Jisung wonders if the world is ending.
All you can do is notice the bird
and feel for the bird and write
to tell me how language feels
impossibly useless
Changbin and Chan are, objectively, the coolest people Jisung has ever met. He knows them through Minho, who was Changbin’s roommate for one year, and the two forged a lifelong bond over creatine powder and falling for frat guys that think they’re straight. Chan was one of aforementioned frat boys, though Jisung’s heard Changbin’s heart was so good, Chan decided to never leave. Jisung thinks it might be an innuendo for something. After all, the heart is located just beneath the left tit.
Regardless, they are both way too cool to be hanging out with Jisung, which is why it’s crazy that he has an open invitation to the studio Chan works for. After graduating, the older was invited to a six month internship that turned in to a full-time job for one of the biggest record labels in the country. Changbin got a real adult job upon his graduation, though he does consultant for Chan on tracks he gets writers block for. As does Jisung. Jisung is a consultant. He even got royalties once, and hung the check for six-and-a-half pennies on the fridge for three weeks straight until Jeongin tore it down and threw it in the trash.
Another thing about Changbin and Chan is that they’re established. They have matching rings, and a lease with both their names on it, and a car that they co-own. They’re the most established couple Jisung knows. He really thinks Hyunjin and Seungmin should sit down with them one day, if they ever want to get out of their unethical long-term exclusively monogamous situationship someday.
This is why Jisung determines they’re the best to go to for advice. He can’t work up the courage to bring the topic up, though, until Chan declares it’s break time for the three of them and rises from his studio chair. His knees pop with the movement, which makes Changbin burst into a fit of giggles, much to his distress. Still, Chan looks at Bin like his laughter feeds angels, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head as he makes his way out of their studio room.
The second the door swings shut, Jisung turns to Changbin and says, “You’re bisexual, right?”
Changbin gets this weird look in his eye. It’s the same one he gets when they get to barbecue, and the waiter brings out a tray of chadolbagi. Like he’s been waiting for this. “Yeah,” he confirms.
Jisung pauses for a second. Takes a long moment to consider his words, not wanting anything to be misconstrued. After several seconds of deliberation, he asks, “Do you think Minho would be sexier as a man or a woman?”
Changbin… doesn’t seem to know what to make of that.
When he doesn’t answer immediately, Jisung feels his breathing start to pick up. He continues, “I just mean, he’s a pretty attractive guy, but I should think he’d be hotter as a woman, right? Because I’m straight. But I can’t really imagine Minho looking like that. I mean, I know women can be strong, and they come in all shapes and sizes, and they’re all beautiful, but it’s hard for me to wrap my head around him having a pussy. Not that all women have pussies. Some dudes have pussies, and I totally rock with that, even though I haven’t met one yet. I probably wouldn’t want to sleep with him, even if he did have a pussy, because he’s a guy. But it’d probably be easier to sleep with Minho if he wasn’t a guy, because I don’t like guys, but I also can’t imagine Minho not being a guy. I think I like him the best as he is now, because that’s the version of him I’ve come to love, you know what I mean? I can’t imagine wanting to change any of that. Unless he wanted to, of course, but that’s a whole other-”
“Please stop,” Changbin says. Jisung blinks, and sees that Changbin has changed position now, leaning back in his desk chair with his eyes squeezed shut and his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am begging you to stop talking right now.”
“Sorry,” Jisung squeaks out, pressing his palm to his chest and trying to slow his beating heart. His face feels so hot for some reason. Maybe they should turn on the air conditioner. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about our friend like that, you’re right.”
“That’s not why I-” Changbin cuts himself off, releasing a long suffering sigh before opening his eyes again. “That’s not why I stopped you. I just think Chan should be here for this.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Jisung argues.
“You know it is,” Changbin argues, already moving to take out his phone so he can text Chan to hurry back. “I know you’re aware that what just came out of your mouth is some headassery, because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t have waited to bring it up after he left the room.”
Jisung supposes that’s fair, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.
When Chan comes back, he slides Changbin his favourite drink out of the vending machine, making the shorter man smile something sweet and pucker his lips in his direction. It’s disgustingly sweet. It’s giving Jisung’s cavities. He sits down in his chair between the two and swivels it in Jisung’s direction, giving him a disarming smile.
“Bin says you wanted to talk,” he starts.
“Right,” Jisung swallows thickly. “So. Uh. Do you think Minho would want to kiss me if he was a girl?”
Chan doesn’t know where to go from there.
but you are wrong
It’s not that Jisung is ignoring Minho. That would be ridiculous, and childish, and completely unnecessary. Minho hasn’t done anything wrong (other than touch Jisung like he’s irrevocably in love with him), and if Jisung has an issue with the way he’s acting, the adult thing to do would be talking to him about it personally and giving him the opportunity to explain his motivations behind the gesture.
He goes to a party instead. Like every stressed twenty-three year old does in the face of adversary.
It’s not a frat this time, but in some member of the dance team’s townhome, making it more crowded and intimate than other parties Jisung’s attended in the past. He’s nursing a single cup of jungle juice, because he’s still on Prozac and too much of this stuff will put him in a coma if he’s not careful. He was able to snag a seat on the couch pretty early on, just after Felix got pulled off by some friends for dancing, and Hyunjin sits next to him and pouts because Seungmin is here and he’s not giving him any attention.
“You could try talking to him,” Jisung suggests, because he’s a fucking hypocrite.
“You’re one to talk,” Hyunjin parries back, clenching his own cup of jungle juice in perfectly manicured fingers and glaring at every person around them that isn’t his mutually obsessive unethical long-term exclusively monogamous situationship. “You still obsessing over that pic of you and Minho?”
Jisung wouldn’t call it obsessed, exactly. He has made the picture the lockscreen on his phone, but that’s specifically because he doesn’t want to allow himself to forget Minho’s potential feelings. They’ll need to unpack it, eventually. Probably sometime after Jisung stops feeling like asking Minho if he loves him like that will inevitably lead to the destruction of their entire world.
“How do you even know if you’re gay?” Jisung finds himself saying before he thinks, because the jungle juice is hitting faster than he predicted. Not that he couldn’t have seen this coming. The stuff probably has the same alcohol concentration as a jug of isopropyl. “They got, like, a test or something?”
Hyunjin snorts a laugh. He must be drunker than Jisung realised, too, because his cheeks are beginning to flush and his movements are a little stilted. He sets his cup down in the sea that decorates the coffee table in front of them, then turns to look at Jisung seriously. “Make out with me,” he says.
“What?” Jisung nearly yells back.
“You’ve been bitching the whole time we’ve been here,” he continues, which is objectively untrue, because Jisung only started bitching when they sat on the couch together, “about if Minho likes you, and if you like that, and if it’s gay to not want to kiss him if he was a woman. Blah, blah, blah. What I think you actually need to focus on if you would kiss a man. And it’s your lucky day, because I am one, and I’ll kiss you if means getting you to shut the fuck up.”
Jisung considers it for a long moment. Kissing Hyunjin is basically like kissing a woman. Maybe not so much anymore, since he recently shaved his head and lost some of his gender ambiguity, but he’s still dainter than someone like Chan or Minho, so Jisung finds it easier to stomach the thought.
“Okay,” he finally determines. “Let’s kiss.”
Hyunjin seems shocked, for a moment, before shrugging and accepting their situation. He takes Jisung’s cup out of his hand, setting it on the table before looking back to admire his face seriously. He must be content with whatever he finds there, because one second they’re looking at each other, and the next, they’re kissing.
Jisung hasn’t kissed in a long time. Not since he was a freshman, and he didn’t know his girlfriend was going to break his heart. He doesn’t think much of her now, more focused on his kiss with Hyunjin and trying to figure out whether he thinks it’s nice or not.
It is. Nice. Hyunjin’s mouth his warm, and his lips are plush, and sighs against Jisung in a way that’s oddly satisfying. He reaches his hands up to cup Jisung’s cheeks, and they’re not as soft as Jisung’s girlfriend’s used to be, but it doesn’t bother him much. It’s still a nice kiss.
He goes to pull away, after a few moments of pecking, but Jisung finds himself cupping the back of the taller’s next, bringing him closer again. “Just a little more,” he murmurs. “Just let me-”
The second time their lips connect, Jisung’s body starts to hum.
Hyunjin moves more fluidly now, like he’s more comfortable knowing Jisung’s actually into it. His hands stay on Jisung’s cheeks, and while they’re nice and warm and solid, Jisung finds himself wishing the fingers a bit shorter and the palms a bit wider. He finds himself wishing it was Minho. He thinks Minho would be a better kisser than Hyunjin, though he has no proof of this, just a gut-hunch. While Hyunjin’s hair is prickly against Jisung’s thumb, Minho’s would be long and brush against the back of his hand, plenty thick for him to tangle his fingers into at the base of his skull.
“Yo-” Someone says, and then there’s the bang of a leg against the coffee table, and the sound of several cups dropping, and Hyunjin and Jisung separate to find three of their closest friends staring back at them. Felix must of been the one to speak, hand clutched over his mouth and eyes wide as saucers. Minho is next to him, and Jisung gets the impression he just arrived to the party, car keys dangling in his hand and jacket still draped over his shoulders. Seungmin is standing to his left. Seungmin looks… devastated.
They’re all quiet for a moment. Then, Seungmin chokes out a hurried, “I need- air-”, spins on his heel, and rushes out of the living room.
Hyunjin’s on his feet in an instant. “Min!” he calls after him, uncoordinated limbs stumbling through the crowd as he chases him through the party. “Min, wait.”
Minho watches them go. Felix continues staring at Jisung, gears turning behind his eyes and a tragic frown pulling at his lips. Minho turns back after the two are fully gone, still staring at Jisung with that deceptively blank expression.
“Uh,” Jisung says. “Hey, hyung.”
“You said you had study group tonight,” Minho immediately accuses. Out of the corner of his eye, Jisung can see Felix starting to slip away, and has to fight the urge to grab the blond’s wrist and make him stay for protection. Unfortunately, nothing could protect Jisung now. “We were supposed to watch Living with Leopards. You cancelled.”
“Study group got cancelled,” Jisung quickly explains, and it feels so icky. He hates lying to Minho. He hates this distance between them even more, hates that Minho flinches back when Jisung rises from his seat and reaches to take his hand. Getting up makes Jisung realises he’s had way more alcohol than he intended to, and he stumbles with the force of his movements, nearly toppling into Minho’s arms.
“Jesus,” Minho hisses quietly, sniffing at Jisung’s breath then turning away with a scowl. “You smell like a liquor store.”
“I’m sorry,” Jisung says. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I don’t know why I cancelled on the leopards and I don’t know why I kissed Hyunjin and I want to go home.”
Minho observes him for a moment. Jisung doesn’t know what he’s looking for, doesn’t know how to be what Minho wants, but it must not matter, because then the older is patting his pockets and checking that Jisung has his keys and his wallet and his phone. “I’ll take you home,” he says. “Let me take you home.”
The car ride is tough. Minho keeps both his hands on the wheel, clenching until his knuckles go white and refusing to turn in Jisung’s direction. Jisung doesn’t know what to do or say to make it better. He doesn’t know why Minho is so mad.
“Are you upset I kissed Hyunjin?” he asks.
Minho’s fingers flex. He seems to choose his next words carefully. “I’m upset Seungmin’s feelings are hurt.”
That’s fair. Minho and Seungmin have been friends since childhood, fiercely loyal to each other even as they like to pretend they’re not. Jisung hadn’t been thinking of Seungmin at all when he kissed Hyunjin. He hadn’t thought of how his friend would feel, and it’s so shitty of him, and he doesn’t even know how to apologise for it.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Don’t apologize to me,” Minho retorts quickly, jaw clenched as he says it. “I just- I didn’t realise you liked Hyunjin in that way.”
“I don’t,” Jisung says, just as fast. “It wasn’t about kissing Hyunjin. I just wanted to see if I could do it. Kissing a guy, I mean.”
Minho is silent for several long clicks. After some internal deliberation, he gets out, “Still a shitty thing to do.”
“I guess,” Jisung concedes. He’ll apologise to Seungmin later.
Minho doesn’t talk again until they’re at Jisung’s apartment. Jeongin is home, but he must be sleeping, because his shoes are by the door but the entire place is bathed in silence. Minho helps Jisung work off his shoes, and gets him a cup of water from the kitchen, and coaxes him into a change of clothes before he tucks him into his bed.
He stops at Jisung’s door before he leaves, seeming to consider something for several long moments before turning back to him. “Why didn’t you ask me?” he asks.
Jisung blinks. “Ask you what?”
“To kiss,” Minho says. “I know our friend group is a little messy, but I’m single. You’re my best friend. I would have been happy to help you experiment if you wanted.”
Jisung blinks several times. And maybe it’s because he’s drunk that he hardly has to think of what to say, but the truth leaves his tongue before he even realises he means it.
“I didn’t want it be an experiment with you,” he answers. “Whatever happens with us… I wanted it to be real.”
Minho swallows. That tightness in his jaw returns, and he opens his mouth to say something, then slams it shut again. He turns and leaves Jisung’s apartment without another word.
You are a bird-understander
better than I could ever be
who make so many noises
and call them song
Felix finds Jisung tucked in the corner of the campus coffee shop, wallowing and feeling sorry for himself. He drops his backpack in the booth across from Jisung, then shuffles to the side the other sits on and crams himself into his personal space.
“You’re having a real breakdown over this picture, huh?” he asks. It’s a fair observation to make. Jisung is sipping an iced americano and staring at his phone’s lock screen like it’ll give him the answers to the universe. “Wanna talk about it a little?”
“He holds me like he loves me,” Jisung softly admits. “Why does he hold me like that?”
Felix hums, pretending to think when what he’s actually doing is stealing Jisung’s coffee. He takes a long sip of it before answering, “Because he loves you.”
And it really is that easy, isn’t it? Minho loves Jisung. Minho has always loved Jisung, since the day that they met and fell asleep on his couch clutching hands like otters and doing their best not to drift away. It’s overwhelming how much Minho loves him, how much he’s willing to give to Jisung, who has never done anything to deserve it. Jisung wonders how is that fair? How is someone so extraordinary as Minho going to devote the best of themselves to someone as simple as him?
“But we’ve known Minho loves you, haven’t we?” Felix muses. “I guess what I don’t understand is why it bothers you so much.”
Seungmin joked once that Jisung could live without Minho, but Minho couldn’t do the same. Jisung didn’t get it at the time. Jisung is awkward, and a hermit, and incapable of connecting to anything that isn’t written in stanza format on an old inked page. He doesn’t get people. He doesn’t get their directness, and their complexity, and their multitudes. He prefers thinking in the abstract. It’s easier like that, when there’s no definite answer, when there’s no intention he’s forced to consider hidden between the words that someone is saying.
“Do you think he loves me in the way I love him?” Jisung asks, “Or in the way this picture makes it look like he does?”
Felix hums again, but he’s smiling. He’s smiling as he has the audacity to say, “Are those really two different things?”
These are your own words
your way of noticing
and saying plainly
of not turning away
from hurt
Seungmin tries to avoid Jisung, but what he doesn’t know is that Jisung is crazy. Jisung is all too willing to break into his and Minho’s house when neither are home and sneak an airtag into the sole of his work shoes when no one’s around to stop him. Jisung follows Seungmin on Apple Maps for three days straight, and once he determines the younger visits the campus quad after his shift on Thursday, he surprises him there by the fountain with a iced latte and an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry I kissed your somewhat toxic, mutually obsessive, unethical, long-term, exclusively monogamous situationship,” he starts. “I didn’t consider how you would feel when I did it, and that was shitty of me. I was being a shitty friend.”
Seungmin takes the latte. With a judgemental glare, he says, “You don’t sound sorry when you say it like that.”
“You’re right,” Jisung nods, but he doesn’t apologise for calling it like it is. He’s not that good of a person.
The thing about Seungmin is, regardless of how upset Jisung might have made him, he’s still going to forgive him. He’ll forgive Hyunjin too, even if the guy were to rip Seungmin’s heart straight from his chest and stomp all over it. Seungmin loves fiercely, and loyally, and tragically. It’s not fair. Jisung doesn’t deserve forgiveness this easily, even if he brought Seungmin a latte from the nice place on campus.
“You should punch me in the face,” he says.
Seungmin nearly chokes on his latte. “I’m sorry?”
Jisung nods, because this makes perfect sense. This evens the score. He pretty much punched Seungmin in the face, metaphorically, when he made out with his toxic mutually obsessive long-term exclusively monogamous situationship. And Minho too, in a way, although all Minho-related thoughts for Jisung are being compartmentalised in a tiny box in the corner of his brain that he doesn’t have to think about for the next century or two. So he focuses on Seungmin instead. Seungmin, who should most definitely punch him in the face.
“It’ll make you feel better,” he assures. “Punching things always makes me feel better.”
Seungmin crosses his arms, thoughtful. His latte swishes with the movement. “Maybe you are straight,” he muses. “I feel like that’s a straight thing to say.”
“I’m probably not,” Jisung admits, which earns him a wide-eyed stare, so he continues, “I have a literature lecture after this, though, so I’m not really worried about that right now.”
Seungmin considers this for a solid few moments, then shrugs. Fair enough. Still, he says, “I’m not going to punch you.”
“You should,” Jisung encourages him. “I really think it would help.”
“How would punching you help?”
“You’re mad at me,” Jisung says. “I know you don’t want to be, but you are. And I don’t blame you. I know you and Hyunjin have your weird, toxic, mutually obsessive-”
“Please stop calling us an exclusively monogamous situationship,” Seungmin complains. “We’re friends with benefits at most. I don’t own him.”
“But you want to,” Jisung nods understandingly. “I get it. So you can hit me.”
“I’m not going to hit you.”
“Please. Please punch me.”
“I’m not punching you.”
“Please. Just one punch.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“I don’t want to hit you.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m not going to hit you.”
“Okay.”
A long pause. And then, Seungmin punches him directly in the face.
you have offered them
to me I am only
giving them back
Jisung cries after getting punched. It’s really embarrassing. Seungmin fusses over him, asking why he’s crying, and Jisung screams You hit me!, and someone calls campus security and they get escorted to the university police station. Jisung refuses to press charges, assuring the officers that Kim Seungmin is an upstanding citizen that he provoked, and then Seungmin pretends to consider pressing charges for all of three seconds until Jisung starts crying again and campus security asks them to leave.
On the way back to Seungmin’s apartment, he buys Jisung an ice cream cone, and they decide they really are even this time. Tit for tat. Kiss for punch.
Jisung misses his literature class, but it’s kind of worth it for the reaction he gets when they return to Seungmin’s apartment, which is also Minho’s apartment, and has the joy of seeing Minho freeze mid-step when he spots the bruise blooming on Jisung’s cheekbone. He makes it across the living room in three strides, and then he’s all up in Jisung’s personal space, hands cupping his cheeks and forehead nearly brushing his own.
“Who did this to you?” he demands.
“Woah,” Jisung eases him, reaching up to clasp his wrists and rub the soft skin on the underside. Minho smells nice today. A little sour, like he’s spent the whole morning laying around. He doesn’t have any classes to teach until this evening, when the older women come into the studio he moonlights for to do Zumba. “I’m all good, hyung. You should see the other guy.”
Seungmin snorts.
Jisung shoots him a glare, and the younger makes himself scarce fast, disappearing to his room. He lets Minho drag him to the bathroom, grumbling too quiet for Jisung to understand. He pulls their first-aid kit out from beneath the sink, and Jisung hops on the counter, swinging his legs idly as Minho digs through it.
“I promise I’m fine,” he continues to assure, even as Minho smears some of a cream on the back of his hand. The older stands between Jisung’s legs, gripping his chin with his free hand and taking his own look. They’re so close like this. Jisung can make out each of Minho’s individual eyelashes, notices the slight discoloration near his nose and the single freckle dotted on his left cheek. He lets go of Jisung’s chin to spread the cream over his bruise, staying close as it sinks in to check the rest of his face for damage. Once he’s satisfied, he moves to take a step back.
Jisung doesn’t let him.
His legs loop behind Minho’s, ankles locking behind his knees so he can’t take a step away. Minho loses his balance a little, hands landing on the counter at either side of Jisung’s hips. His eyes are wide, cheeks a little flushed from how close they end up.
“Jisung,” he says, soft.
Jisung brings his hands to the collar of Minho’s shirt. It’s an old thing, threadbare with the logo of an Australian company worn distressed over the front. The material is scratchy in a nice way, and Jisung toys with the fabric there, unable to meet Minho straight in the eye.
“Do you remember that poem I read you?” he asks. “It’s called Bird-Understander by Craig Arnold. It reminded me of you.”
Minho smiles. He smiles with just the left side of his lips a lot, quirked up into a smirk that makes Jisung hum under his skin. “Yeah,” he says. “With the bird in the airport. I remember.”
Jisung licks his lips. His heart is jack hammering in his chest as he continues, “It’s a love poem.”
“You read me a lot of love poems,” Minho tells him.
“Most love poems remind me of you,” Jisung confesses. “Everything I love reminds me of you.”
Minho only stares for a moment, and then his hands move, lifting off the counter and settling on Jisung’s hips, and then Jisung is being kissed. And Minho kisses like he dances. Like it’s the only thing he knows how to do, like he’s gone his whole life with a desire for Jisung thrumming in his veins. He crowds Jisung against the mirror of the bathroom, licking into his mouth with an eagerness that Jisung is greedy to meet. Jisung’s hands move from his collar to his hair, and it’s just like he imagined, thick and wavy and perfect to tangle his fingers into.
The weight of Minho’s hands on him is as grounding as it is exhilarating. He rubs his thumbs into Jisung’s hips, and lets his palms slide down to the meat of Jisung’s thighs, and gives the skin under them a firm squeeze. Jisung’s breath stutters, and his hips cant up, and he wants more more more-
He forces himself to pull away. Minho doesn’t let him get far, hands still glued to his thighs and forehead pressed against Jisung’s. Jisung lets his eyes open, and Minho’s already looking at him, eyes shiny and crinkled with the force of a big smile.
“Hi,” Jisung whispers.
“Hey, bug,” Minho mumbles back. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Jisung licks his lips. “Best I’ve ever been.”
Minho reaches up, sliding a hand up Jisung’s forearm until their palms meet. Jisung lets Minho entangle their fingers, and then gives him a squeeze. “So we can’t drift away from each other,” he says.
“I’m not gonna let go,” Jisung promises.
if only I could show you
how very useless
they are not