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Don't give it a name, let it be just as it is, here in my blood and my eyes, life and sap!
—Karin Boye, “Crisis”
It starts like this:
They’re in Jisung’s room, cluttered with his luggage and open cardboard boxes. He really needed to finish unpacking before his roommate Jeongin arrived, which was in approximately three-and-a-half days.
Minho is at Jisung’s desk, cramming his summer math practice while having a side conversation with Jisung, who had finished it a day after it was assigned. Jisung’s afternoon hadn’t been quite so productive—He had been mulling over his feelings for his best friend that had become, simply put, not-so-platonic, under various different pretenses. He had somehow deluded himself into thinking that it was natural to feel like this, that given all the times they’d proclaimed to be soulmates, he’d magically somehow make it happen before graduation. Soon, he would confess and at least be pathetic enough to shoot his shot and hope. Soon. As of now, he was replying to an email. Which he had been doing for the past twenty minutes.
Jisung sighs and closes the email draft. His gaze fixates on Minho, bowed over the desk, hastily scribbling down integrals. Jisung’s heart softens, as malleable as one of those overripe bananas in the cafeteria, and he wants, wants, wants.
A series of clicks. Minho stretches and yawns, “An entire afternoon of this drudgery and only 23 percent done.”
“100 percent here,” Jisung says smugly from the sofa. “When is the due date anyway?”
Minho scrolls for a solid ten seconds, “September third. Not exactly sure why the due date is all down here though.”
Before Jisung knows it, he blurts out, “Speaking of dates…”
“Yeah?” Minho tacks on half-heartedly, eyes still glued on whatever integral he was working on.
“Would you date me?” Jisung says to the ground.
Minho’s finally looking at him now, “What.”
Jisung ducks behind his laptop screen and secretly wishes his life were a particularly terrible Netflix rom-com so he’d be able to click out of it and never resume the episode again. The silence stretches out for way too long before he scrambles to respond, “I didn’t mean to–”
“Yes.” Minho cuts him off, still managing to sound nonchalant. “I would date you, Han Jisung.”
Jisung temporarily forgets how to function. Then, he’s overtaken by a lightheaded dizziness, and along with it an utter disbelief at Minho’s acceptance. He was incredulous, really: all that decision-weighing and endless planning and all it took was for him to ask? Still, relief floods every crevice of Jisung’s body, knowing that Minho had, in fact, reciprocated his feelings to some extent. Whether it was to the same extent, he’d worry about later. Jisung’s face hurt from smiling already.
Minho beamed back, then turned back to his laptop, “Now, which problem was I on again?”
(“I can’t believe you just agreed like that.” Jisung would later say. Then Minho’d shrug sheepishly and mumble something indecipherable under his breath before he switched the topic pointedly.)
(“For how long?” Minho had asked.
“Since February.” Jisung replied, shaking his head, “The sheer amount of melodramatic love songs I’ve written.”
“Show me.” Minho slits their fingers together. Jisung doesn’t know what to feel about the newfound warmth pressed against his palm, but what he does know is that it's real.
Jisung digs out a pair of headphones from his backpack and hands them over with a grin, “You’re most definitely not finishing that summer practice on time.”)
One shared bowl of instant tteokbokki later, they’re on the blue sofa—a cheap hand-me-down from Chan, who graduated last year, with a suspiciously large seal plushie–courtesy of Changbin—squished between them.
“So,” Minho turns to Jisung. He’s fresh out of the shower, the ends of his hair still damp.
“So,” Jisung echoes. As much as he’s fantasized about it, he couldn’t ever so much as bring up the topic of intimacy. His cheeks burned at the thought of it, and whatever courage he’d mustered previously had fled his flabby existence the moment he met Minho’s gaze.
“What should we do?”
“I’d prefer,” Jisung inhales sharply, then blurts way too fast, “somethingthatdoesn’tincludegenitalia, thank you.”
“Wasn’t planning on that.”Minho scrunches his nose in disdain. “Kissing, then?”
Jisung nods, gaze flitting to the gap on the sofa cushion between them. He carefully extracts the seal plushie and tosses it onto the carpet.
“Okay, then,” Minho breathes, “Kiss me.”
The kiss was rather anticlimactic.
It’s not ecstatic like the novels claim it to be, and Minho does not taste like strawberries. There’s no camera zooming in, no stopping of time, or any of that pseudoscientific baloney. But Jisung could feel the heat emanating from Minho’s body, and then he’s reminded that Lee Minho of all people is kissing him—the Lee Minho he has hopelessly (or so he thought) pined over for the last six months, and that itself was enough.
“This isn’t what I expected, but it’s quite nice.” Jisung remarks.
“Agreed.” Minho hums, “Now, would you tell me how to integrate cosin squared?”
For the second time that night, Jisung obliges.
The next question: who should know?
Definitely not the general public. Jisung never really disclosed his own sexuality, and he was all for keeping it private. Despite Minho being pretty openly gay within their friend group, he wouldn't want their relationship out in the open either--especially considering how they’d risk violating dorm rules. “No intimacy on dorm.” Mr. Park, their lead dorm parent, had stressed three times during the first dorm meeting. As long as they stayed low profile, surely nobody would suspect—Minho, with all his loud shenanigans and straightforward attitude, didn’t seem like the type of person who would tolerate something as trite as in romantic relationships. In Minho’s defense, Jisung, with all his checkered flannels, his thick nerdy glasses, and permanently messy hair, didn’t exactly look like he was looking for love either.
So, close friends only then. Jisung’s social circle comprises his dearest roommate Jeongin, newly-established boyfriend Minho, Minho’s roommate Felix, Minho’s co-dance-captain Hyunjin, and his roommate Seungmin, who is rumored to have self-taught linear algebra in one month. Then there’s Chan and Changbin, who graduated last year. They had practically adopted Jisung and the inseparable (and definitely chaotic) trio even went as far as branding themselves after a hot sauce they were particularly fond of. Jisung feels the corner of his lips tug at the memory of the two seniors. They’d definitely be happy to hear about the news.
“Hypothetically, what would you do if I told you Minho-hyung and I are dating?” Jisung asks during the second week of school. Hyunjin and Minho are at dance practice, while Jeongin, Seungmin, and Felix (who ultimately chose taekwondo over dance) are slouched on Chan’s sofa playing videogames.
“Well, I’d tell you two to keep it out of my room,” Jeongin grumbles.
“Our room.” Jisung corrects him.
“No intimacy on dorm.” Seungmin mimics Mr. Park’s airy voice. Jisung suppresses a grin.
“I would be happy for you,” Felix says, with an endearing grammatical mistake.
And so with that, Jisung thinks, it’s not so hard after all.
They tell Hyunjin last, because, well, who other than Hwang Hyunjin was sure to make a big deal out of it?
“I knew there was something up with you two!” Hyunjin jumps up in excitement, knocking over a pen holder on top of his dresser. Minho starts picking up the spilled pens from the ground, one by one.
“I was right all along! Ohmygod Seungminnie, you have to hear this.”Hyunjin calls out.
“I already know, dumbass.” Seungmin calls back from the other end of the room, “Keep screaming and Mr. Park will give you an infraction for ‘Not Being Studious During Study Hall’.” There it is, his signature Mr.Park impression again.
Hyunjin turns back to the two, switching to a hushed tone,”But really, thanks for trusting me with this. I will probably paint something for you two.”
“Ugh, save your fantasies of romance to yourself.” But Minho’s smiling as he says this, and smiling when he drags Jisung upstairs and kisses him silly.
"Jeongin’s going to be back soon," Minho murmurs against Jisung's shoulder. They're sprawled across the now-organized room, homework abandoned somewhere between Minho's terrible jokes and Jisung's newly curated playlist.
"Twenty minutes," Jisung says, not moving. Minho's weight is warm and solid against him.
"We should probably—"
"Twenty minutes," Jisung repeats, and Minho settles back down with a soft laugh.
Outside, someone's playing music too loud, and a door slams shut. Inside, Jisung stretches his legs on Minho’s lap, and thinks he could count heartbeats instead of minutes.
Three weeks and counting—that's all they have, really. Jisung isn’t childish nor foolish enough to believe this was going to last forever. But Forever by Girls Generation is only 4:29, and that’s one of Minho’s favorite songs. Time spills between their fingers—gelatinous, silky, impossible to hold. Minho smiles, all bunny teeth and sunlight, and Jisung thinks, This. This is what I’ll mourn.