Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hyung, I can’t take it anymore.”

Minho stares at the ominous ceiling dangling above his head and wishes it would collapse on him.

“Jisung-ah,” he calls out into the phone, eyelids battling to stay open. “It’s two in the morning.”

“I-It’s actually one thirty, Minho-hyung,” Jisung hiccups on the other end of the call, voice raspy and wet and everything it shouldn’t be.

“Why are you crying at one thirty in the morning?” Minho sits up in bed, vision blurring at the edges from lack of sleep. “Where are you?”

The sob that gnaws its way out of Jisung’s throat has Minho’s mind reeling. Okay, this is not okay.

“Where are you, Han Jisung?”

“Outside your apartment.”

A sigh-like groan pushes its way from between Minho’s lungs. He rubs at his temples. “You have the keys,”

“Not anymore,” Jisung sobs. “Can you-”

With his thumb, Minho ends the call, and slides off the bed, climbing down the steep stairs. His bunny slippers carry him through the open-space living room and then some more, stopping just before the front door. He fetches the keys from the holder and unlocks the white door in two tries.

There behind it stands Han Jisung— Minho’s one and only best friend of over a decade—with tears running down his red face. His bottom lip is jutted out in the most pitiful pout that has Minho’s silly heart racing.

He sucks in a mouthful of air and steps up, towering over the brunette who’s not-so-quietly snivelling in the dark hallway.

“You’re going to wake up the whole floor. Get inside.” Minho scoffs because the gap in his chest is becoming bigger and bigger the more he looks at Jisung crying.

Jisung sniffles and chokes, pushing past the taller to walk inside the lukewarm loft apartment. He falls on his butt to untie his knotted shoelaces, weeping like a little child as he does so. Minho watches him, eyebrows furrowed, until he decides to help.

“Let me,” he exhales through his nose and crouches down, taking off Jisung’s dark green sneakers. He places them on the rack next to the other two pairs.

“Thank you, hyung-ah,” Jisung wipes his face with the back of his sleeves, further coating them in saline tears.

“Get off the floor.”

“Help me?”

And how could Lee Minho ever say no to those wet deer eyes that look back into his own with such burning passion? He’d be crazy to do that.

“Up,” Minho holds out both of his hands, hauling Jisung back on his legs.

They head inside and drop on the fluffy beige couch next to the tall windows. Jisung sinks his hand into the crevice and fishes the remote, turning the TV on. Minho doesn’t say anything out loud, but he internally screams at his heart to calm down.

Jisung’s breathing has roughly returned to normal now, body occasionally jolting with a sob. His eyes are fixed on the movie he put on.

Minho bites his lip, side-eyeing the boy shaking like a leaf beside him. “Are you cold?”

“No,”

“Hot?”

“No,” Jisung sucks on the inside of his cheek and turns his head in Minho’s direction. The TV screen is the only source of light, artificially making his eyes shine green and spark pink. More tears queue to fall. Minho digs his nails into the cushion on his lap to withhold himself from reaching out.

“You’re shivering, Jisung-ah. For how long were you outside?”

“A few hours,” he gulps, breaking eye contact. Minho sighs in relief.

“In winter? You are an idiot.”

He attempts to smile, but the corners of his mouth don’t seem to want to reach his ears. Another cry escapes from his clogged-up throat.

“What’s up with you?” Minho knocks his knee into Jisung’s, a puzzled look overtaking the sleepiness all over his face. “You’re not upset I called you an idiot, are you?”

“Minho-hyung, no,” Jisung’s lips wobble at the same time his voice does. “What if I am cold?”

Perplexed, Minho searches through the stars hidden in Jisung’s eyes for an answer. Why didn’t you just say so? He wants to ask that, but he knows his best friend too well. The answer is hanging in the charged air tensing and clenching in the small space separating the two of them, like it always is.

“Then I’ll hug you,”

“You’ll hug me if I’m cold?” Hope erupts in the form of raised eyebrows and batting eyelashes, driving Jisung to subconsciously minimise the distance between their bodies. “Really?”

“Really.”

“’M so cold, hyung-ah,” Jisung whines, putting on a show by exaggeratedly trembling and chattering his teeth. “Freezing to death here, in this icy apartment–” he continues, watching as the expression on Minho’s face gradually changes from unimpressed to endeared. “If only Minho-hyung was here to warm me up, oh…’

Oh my god.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

With a nervous chuckle, Minho wriggles closer to Jisung. He looks down at him, staring intensely; mouth open and all, until he decides he’s had enough. His arms wrap around Jisung’s back, palms finding home right there over the dark hoodie he’s wearing. He leans his chin on the nearest shoulder and breathes in once, twice, three more times until his senses are filled with Jisung.

That traitor of his pulse starts exceeding the normal range again, and a tint of fuchsia pink embarrassment creeps up his neck.

Can you feel the consequences of your actions, Jisung? Can you feel the way my heart calls out for yours?

Minho doesn’t want to face reality, so he doesn’t dare ask.

Instead of mulling over his thoughts and killing the ecstatic butterflies in his stomach, he focuses on the special way Jisung is breathing right in his ear, hiccuping like a withered flower forgotten in the rain. He inhales again, the waft of a familiar scent— something fresh yet spicy, like amber and musky citrus— behaving the way a lullaby does.

They don’t hug often. Jisung is very clingy, always looking for the chance to have his hand attached to Minho’s bicep or his leg snaked around Minho’s calf. Minho is quite the opposite.

Not because he hates touching Jisung, no, god forbid.

It’s because he likes it a bit too much, actually.

So, he eventually has to put a stop when things get out of hand, right? He tries to do that all the time.

But now, he’ll let Jisung have this hug. Hence, oh, his shirt is wet? When did his shirt— shit, Jisung is crying again, head buried in the safest spot where Minho’s shoulder meets his neck.

“Jisung-ah,” Minho rubs his back, and in between cries, Jisung hums in contentment. He squirms to show that he likes it. Minho finds no problem in sneaking his hands under the two layers of clothing and pressing his icy fingertips to Jisung’s bare flesh.

A shiver. He reels in that. His nails begin scratching Jisung’s skin, just a graze, a gentle reminder.

He lets Jisung cry for as long and loud as he needs, occasionally squeezing the fat on his hips to make him whine.

Jisung’s tears feel eternal, freely trickling down his face and getting lost somewhere he and Minho connect. He squeezes at Minho’s pyjama shirt, testing the strength his fist holds. Lets go before it can get wrinkly. Minho wouldn’t have minded.

“Jisung-ah,” Minho whispers against his nape, the frantic strands of curls there tickling the tip of his nose. “My back hurts.”

“Don’t wanna move, hyung,” Jisung whimpers and Minho feels all the blood rush up to his head, fuzzying his thoughts. Too much. He tries to pull away, but Jisung only manages to get closer.

That damn string. Minho read one too many articles about it after Jisung brought the topic up to him under their pink tree.

Currently, their thighs are touching everywhere. Jisung has successfully climbed and straddled Minho’s lap, leaving him to sit still against the backrest of the couch. Great.

“Are you drunk?”

“Of course not!” Jisung cries into his ear, wet lips pressing a delicate kiss on Minho’s jugular just once and never again. An accident turned into something deeper by Minho’s stupid brain. “I just,” he stops to sniff and wipe his snotty nose on Minho’s shirt. “I just really need you, Minho.”

Oh. Okay. Minho can try and make do with that information.

“You have me,” he pulls back one hand and clings it to Jisung’s hair, running his fingers through it.

He feels hot and cold all at once. Winters have always been eventful and chilly, and the radiators in his apartment don’t work at their full potential. The warm feeling comes from being near Jisung, his… Well, best friend.

His ears have probably gone red, and it’s no doubt that the sobbing man in his lap can feel how fast his heart is rabbiting in his chest.

“I know I have you, hyung,” Jisung rubs his face against Minho like a kitten before he pulls away, centering his weight on his knees that are digging into the couch just millimetres away from Minho’s thighs. “But for how long?”

“Until my last breath, Jisungie,” Minho’s throat congests pathetically. “Why are you being so emotional right now? Are you really not drunk?”

“‘M not! I don’t drink, y'know that,”

“Then?”

Jisung looks down, where he’s sitting on Minho’s abdomen. He quickly veers his head away to the side and stares out the window, at the starry night and the sparkling city.

“Hm? Jisung,” Minho lets his hands move on their own accord, both of them choosing to rest on Jisung’s narrow waist. Magnetised to it. “You can talk to me. Why are you not talking to me?”

“It’s embarrassing..”

“Surely not as embarrassing as the time you were heading to your first date ever and a bird shat on your head, then you stepped in vomit and almost fell into the river,”

“Minho! Hyung!” Jisung wails, watching the smirk forming on Minho’s face in horror. “You are terrible,”

“What? I didn’t send that bird after you.”

“I hate you,”

“You don’t mean that.” Minho pinches his skin.

“I-I do!”

“No,” he tuts with a tilt of his head. “Say you don’t mean it.”

“But Minho, I d–”

“Hyung. It’s hyung, Jisung-ah.”

“Sorrysorrysorry,” Jisung giggles and starts writhing when he feels fingertips tickling at his skin. “Please– Minho, Minho-hyung, stop,” he battles with his hands, desperately trying to get them off. It’s futile.

The sound of his laughter has Minho falling into a fit too, eventually stopping the teasing. He pushes Jisung off of him, and he falls on the couch with an oof.

“Are you going to tell me why you showed up here at the crack ass of dawn crying your eyes out, or do I have to guess?” Minho runs his palms through his hair to fix the messiness.

“Oh,” the happy expression on Jisung’s face drops. “I- I got evicted from my apartment.”

Minho ceases to breathe.

“You what?”

“The- he kicked me out, hyung,” Jisung looks close to crying again, but he’s probably run out of tears. “The landlord said it’s because I broke too many things and didn’t repair them in time, but- but I swear I was gonna! Hyung, I swear,”

“Oh, Jisung,” Minho reaches and collects the last tear from Jisung’s left eye. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know! I know,”

“He is a horrible man. Does he not know how hard you’re trying? My Jisungie is a very hardworking man. A job on top of college…what does he even know?”

“Mhm,” Jisung huffs. “It’s so unfair. I’m now homeless. Can you believe that? This is crazy.”

“Just how much have you been through this month alone?” Minho wants to laugh, because on the whole, the fact that unfortunate things keep happening to his best friend can be seen as funny, but. Jisung doesn’t deserve any of it. He feels terrible about it.

Han Jisung has cried so many times in this exact apartment to Minho, telling him that he’s so unlucky, helpless, hopeless. And Minho wiped his tears every time, patted his butt and let him know that he doesn’t have to go through this alone, that he has people who are there for him, that he will be there for him for as long as destiny wants.

“I am so tired, hyung,” his shoulders droop. Oh no. “I don’t understand why I can’t have one peaceful week? That’s all I’m asking for, really! Just one,’

“Life isn’t meant to be fair, Jisungie. If it was, then wouldn’t it be too easy? Sometimes, you need to spice things up. It makes you stronger.” Minho brushes the back of his hand against Jisung’s icy cheek. “You are strong.”

“Why can’t those hardships come when I’m stable, mentally and financially? I literally have to go sleep on the streets now. What the hell.”

“As if I’d ever let you,” he scoffs. Unbelievable. What kind of friend would Minho be if he were to leave Jisung alone during such a cold winter?

“Then what-”

“You’re not the brightest star, Han Jisung-ssi,” Minho gets lost in his gaze for a second. The statement is not true, far from it actually, but Jisung doesn’t have to know that. “My home is big enough for two.”

For a long while, Jisung watches Minho closely, as though he can’t believe the words he spat out. Once his brain processes everything, the natural spark in his glossy eyes comes back after maybe months, and Jisung jumps into his arms, suffocating Minho with his own feelings.

“Fuck, Minho! Thank you so much! I love you, dude!”

Ouch.

“Anything for you,” Minho murmurs, and it’s more than true. He pats Jisung’s butt until he gets the memo to move away.

The show on the TV is still going on, now halfway through the episode. Minho’s eyes search for the clock nailed to the wall above the kitchen counter, and he finds that his vision has been getting poorer and poorer. Ophthalmology appointment, noted down.

“I have work early in the morning,” he says as he stands up. “I say we should head to bed.”

Bed.

Ohmygod. There is only one bed.

Which, frankly, it should not be a big deal— Minho and Jisung have been friends since elementary school. They’ve bathed together a few times, drank from the same bottle, and taken naps under the same blanket throughout the whole of high school. So why does it feel like something it isn’t?

“Yeah,” Jisung nods, eyelids losing their strength. “I’ll go to the bathroom, you can go to sleep.” he stands up and lazily makes his way towards it, yawning. “You got any spare toothbrushes?”

“Check the last drawer,”

Minho lets Jisung be. He leaves his slippers downstairs and goes up the white-ish wooden staircase that leads to the loft where his bed (a mattress) stands proud next to the corner furthest from the railings.

It’s weird. The feeling storming in his chest is.

Why is he excited? Euphoric at the simple thought of sharing a bed with someone he already shares a heart with?

These emotions awaken memories he had buried in a graveyard years ago, back then in high school. When all of his classmates had girlfriends. When all of them wanted a girlfriend. He had been asked where his was, and he had just shrugged his shoulders.

I don’t feel the need to have one.

That was his answer every time. Because he had Jisung. If he had Jisung, then why would he need something as unnecessary as a girlfriend, a lover? Jisung was good enough.

And to this day, he feels the same.

He hasn’t dated anyone. Ever. Lee Minho is a twenty-four year old virgin who doesn’t know the meaning of romantic love.

On the other hand, Jisung is twenty-two and obsessed with all that love is. He’s had a few partners here and there, but they never lasted. His last relationship was four years ago, or at least that’s what Minho knows.

The mattress dips to the side, and Minho startles out of his mind. Jisung’s silhouette comes into view. To make him space, he rolls to the side, all the way to the wall.

Jisung settles in under the heavy cover, approaching him like a sly fox. Seeking Minho’s warmth. That’s fine, he can take it all.

“Thank you, hyung,” Jisung mumbles sweetly in proximity to his neck.

Despite the warmth provided by the fluffy blanket, Minho shivers. He shuts his eyes closed and hums, basking in the smell of minty toothpaste and— shit— lavender. Jisung smells like him under that musky layer of remnant perfume.

Minho bites his pillow and holds his breath until he passes out.

❀

In the morning, his alarm doesn’t go off, and Minho wakes up in a tangled mess. Jisung has his legs intertwined with his, front pressed to Minho’s back. If he focuses hard enough, he can try and make a song out of the sound of Jisung’s heartbeat. He’d rather not.

Work.

One second he’s snuggling with Jisung, the other he’s descending the stairs in a hurry.

He’s late to work. He’s late to work and his alarm didn’t go off and he slept with Jisung and the world outside is frozen. Fuck, he didn’t sleep with Jisung. What is he thinking?

Inside the tiny bathroom, Minho takes a cold shower that lasts more than it should. Soap gets in his mouth, his feet keep slipping on the grey tiles. He gets toothpaste in his right eye.

On the way out, once he’s clad in a buttoned white shirt and tightly fitted slacks on, he leaves some money in cash for Jisung to use in case he’s hungry when he wakes up.

That guy is always hungry. He’ll make use of the bucks well.

Finally, forty-five minutes late, Minho pulls up to the company building. He parks his car underground and takes the elevator to the ground level, from where he buys a medium sized iced americano and a ham sandwich.

His office is on the twentieth story, and four minutes pass before he finds himself sitting in his black leather chair that does nothing but continuously hurt his back.

Thankfully, the first meeting is at ten, which is in less than two hours. Until then, Minho munches on his breakfast and sips from his drink.

It might be winter outside, the middle of January, but Minho refuses to live a day at work without his intake of finger-freezing coffee. Sue him for that. Or don’t.

The computer set up on the large grey desk turns on, and he punches in the password. The inbox of the email app is filled to the brim with upcoming messages and requests. Minho lazily scans through them as he lets the coffee warm up in his cheeks, starting with the first one that had been sent.

He finishes the sandwich after replying to six emails and decides to take a break, because sleep came slow to him last night, and he definitely didn't rest for long enough.

Incoming call from Han Jisungie.

A bright smile instantly liquefies the ice in the plastic cup.

“Good morning, Jisung-ssi,” Minho joyously greets, cracking his back. “Have you eaten?”

“Hyuuung,” Jisung whines loud enough for the speaker to butcher that sweet honey voice of his. “You locked me in!”

“Huh?”

“I lost the keys to your apartment,”

Minho stares at the keyboard, then at the cold drink he’s holding, and lastly at the phone. As if he could send Jisung a virtual glare through it.

“I’m sorry,” he adds, a bit frantical. “They got lost when I was packing my things.”

“That’s okay, Jisung-ah.” Minho sighs after seconds of tortuous silence. “What do you need?”

“Uh, food,”

“There are some leftovers in the fridge. Have those. You can also make yourself a salad.”

Jisung hums along absentmindedly. Then, “I also need to go pick up my belongings before four.”

“I have a meeting at three.”

“Oh my God, what am I going to do? I’m stuck in your grand, luxurious apartment with no way to escape!”

That manages to breach a laugh out of Minho. Jisung is hilarious. Not all the time, but most. “Chan-hyung? He has a van. He finishes work at lunch today. I could give him my keys.”

It takes Jisung a few beats to reply. When he does, his tone is lower. “Bang Chan?”

“Hyung.”

“The one you hang out with everyday?”

“We work in the same place, Jisungie,” Minho playfully scoffs in disbelief. “Are you still letting jealousy win?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don't you?”

“I’ll–” the noise of something dropping on the ground and shattering in pieces echoes in Minho’s eardrums, making him wince. “Sorry, bad signal,”

“I don’t know what you just broke, but I have to go in five.”

Jisung sucks in a breath. “Come home soon, hyung-ah,” he pleads in the sweetest voice he could muster. “I miss you.”

“You’re already addressing it as home, hm?” Minho’s lungs expand to make room for that stupid excuse of a heart he has. His back is getting sweaty again.

“Home’s wherever you are, Minho, so yeah.”

That’s just an inside joke of theirs. It’s nothing that holds great importance. Jisung is following the script, playing along to the game they created years ago. Minho needs to stop forgetting that.

“See you tonight, Han Jisung.”

A yelp sounds through the speaker as Minho puts an end to their conversation. He sighs profusely and bangs the coffee cup on the desk, in deep need of some peace.

At least the weekend is right around the corner, Saturday marking the day of tomorrow. Minho will use the next two days to sleep and catch up on some anime he hasn’t had the time to watch.

Sometimes, Minho really wishes he was unemployed and rotting in bed all the time. Having a job— at a huge company, at that— is exhausting. Every bone of his is squealing for some recharging oil. He considers that to be Jisung, because Jisung always latches onto Minho and particles of him remain on his skin for an incredible amount of time.

His smell follows Minho to each cranny he visits. No matter how hard he scrubs his flesh, Jisung is still there.

It’s not a bother. Not a problem either. It’s just… too much.

Ah. His mind slipped to his best friend instead of the meeting again. Minho is supposed to recall the matters he’ll be presenting soon, but here he is, heart throbbing over someone it shouldn't be.

He shrugs his shoulders and stretches his legs before getting up and out of his tiny office.

In the hallway, he bows his head to the numerous faces he’s become accustomed to over the past year he’s worked here. They’re all blurry. Insignificant. Minho never cared enough to try and draw them on.

The meeting, like many others, is held on one of the last stories of the building. It’s a room with glass for walls and a large table in the middle, the projector useless above it. Minho seems to be the first to take a seat, and so he chooses the one he likes to consider his, because routine is good.

Like usual, the room fills with people in lavish suits and black ties. Minho welcomes them all with a withering smile on his face. He doesn’t waste time, getting straight to the point. It’s crucial to do that when you want more customers.

You cannot bore them with fairy tales or update them on the latest cartoons. Chan taught Minho this.

Chan is an angel lost on earth, Minho figured out. As soon as the meeting ends— at twelve— he’s waiting outside the conference room with tea and biscuits in his hands. Minho still finds joy in such little things.

“Any bad headache today?” Chan asks him as they head towards the terrace that overlooks the bustling city. People usually come here for a smoke break.

“Just a mild pressure,” Minho reassures him, taking a seat on a bench far from the railing. “Thank you for the snack.”

“For your batteries.”

It’s cold outside, as expected. Minho wishes he could turn up at work in his cat onesie.

“Chan-ah,” he wraps both of his hands around the steaming hot mug, letting the vapour wetly warm up his face. “Do you remember Jisung?”

“Han? Your boyfriend who detests me?”

His ears burn at that. Minho feels a gasp knock at his door, and all he can think about is dangerous zone, abstain. He clears his throat. “My- my best friend, yeah.”

“Right.” Chan looks unconvinced. “What ‘bout him? Did he get his butt stuck in the hamper again?

Minho chortles. “Not quite,”

“Got attacked by another goose?”

“I guess you could refer to his landlord as that.”

“Woah, mate,” Chan tilts his head. “This is getting serious.”

“Jisung lives with me now.”

“Okay?”

“Um,” Minho scratches the back of his head with warm fingertips. “He kind of needs you to be his personal taxi for today.”

“Is he gonna pay me good?”

“I will,”

“Sure. I don’t have much planned today. Where do I need to drive him to and when?”

“He’s at my apartment,” the black-haired younger man fetches his pair of two keys from the chest pocket of his jacket. “Unlock the door and leave him these. He’ll tell you where he needs to go from there.”

“Consider it done.”

The biscuit he cracks with his front bunny teeth tastes like sweet butter. He sends Chan a grateful little smile, and then they head inside to finish off today's work.

Back in the office two hours later, Minho looks over some paperwork. When the words start mingling with each other and turning into nonsense he decides to rest his eyes by looking out the window.

It hasn’t snowed since the middle of November. This new year lacks white.

He sighs. Jisung sneaks inside his head again, wrapping around his brain like a snake. A sly little snake.

Chan should have already met up with him. Maybe they’re on their way to pick up Jisung’s things. He can only hope that they’re getting along well.

Checking his wristwatch, Minho starts counting down the hours until he’s free to go home. The zoom meeting he has at three— which is in, shit, ten minutes— should only last half an hour, and that’s the last scheduled thing on his list today.

Waiting is boring. Today’s discussion is also.

Throughout the whole call, he thinks about Jisung and how much he wants to message him and see if he’s back at home, eating Minho’s food on Minho’s couch. That would be lovely.

As if to prove that the universe is all mighty, his phone pings, and Jisung’s beautiful face dominates the screen. He texted.

Han Jisungie

hyung

i’m hungryyyy

why is ur fridge empty????????

:c

 

Me

I am in a meeting.

I left you some money.

Order something.

 

Han Jisungie

oki

Minho turns his phone off and focuses back on the task at hand— the meeting.

Not that it’s more important than Jisung; it could never be. Han Jisung is as important to him as oxygen is.

The call ends up being longer than it should, and by the time Minho is twisting the key to get the car going, it’s a little over five o’clock.

He debates texting Jisung again, asking what he wants to eat so he could go and buy something, but he agrees with himself on sushi. It’s a food they’re both fond of, and Minho hasn’t eaten sushi in a long time, so he buys some without thinking too much about it. It makes sense.

It also makes sense to take the elevator to the seventh floor where he lives, but Minho decides to clench his jaw and climb up the stairs.

Is he nervous? Why on earth is he nervous?

That… does not make sense.

There’s something wrong with his heart for sure. Is it tachycardia? Should he go to a cardiologist? Run some tests?

Or is it the thought of his best friend being merely a few steps away?

“Police!” Minho bangs on the door.

Silence from the other side. He knocks again, four times. Jisung finally opens the door. His eyes are big, teary, and his eyebrows have taken a cartoon-ish form.

“Hyung?”

Pause.

“Why does it smell like fire?”

Jisung stares at Minho for what feels like hours but it’s actually a second. “Oh,” he gulps. “Oh. Shoot.”

Thankfully, there’s no damage done to Minho’s apartment.

However, there’s flour and oil and… raw chicken? Scattered everywhere on the parquet. It’s chaotic. Minho feels like screaming. Not at Jisung. Never at Jisung.

“Han Jisung,”

“Hyung!” Jisung falls to his knees and buries his face in the plush of Minho’s thigh. “Minho-hyung, I am so sorry! All I wanted was to cook dinner for you! I’m sorry! I’ll clean it, I swear!”

Minho stares down at the muddle Jisung’s hair is in. He sighs and runs his hand through the strands, gently coaxing him to stand up. “Jisung-ah,”

“I really am sorry!”

“Jisung. Get up.”

“I understand if you hate me now, everyone does– I get it!” he continues, not crying but not calm either. He refuses to look up or part ways with Minho’s thigh.

So Minho does it himself, dropping into a squat in front of Jisung and tenderly cupping his glowing-red cheeks. “Jisungie.”

“Y-Yeah?” Jisung sniffs. There’s snot running down his cupid’s bow, and his eyelashes are clamped with unshed tears. Minho has to close his eyes for a second. Jisung is too much. He’s the smell after rain. The rainbow after a hurricane. The love of my life.

“Let’s clean.”

Jisung remains dumbfounded in the hallway while Minho steps forward inside the small kitchen connected to the living room. He bends over, grabs two pairs of blue latex gloves from the package inside one of the bottom cupboards, and starts with putting away the jars of spices and bowls. Jisung soon emerges too, struggling the littlest bit with sliding the gloves over his sweaty skin.

The two of them clean in a hush. Minho hums along to the sound of the fridge, and Jisung breathes loudly every now and then.

Several minutes later, the kitchen space looks new. Minho closes the two windows and throws himself down on the couch, his arm spread. Jisung remains standing next to it, pitiful and looking like a golden retriever that gnawed on the wifi cables. Minho frowns at him.

“What are you doing there? Come here,”

“I don’t deserve- I don’t wanna.” Jisung pouts reluctantly, and ohmygod he’s so cute like that.

“Jisung-ah, I brought sushi.”

In less than three beats, Jisung is next to Minho on the couch, (im)patiently salivating at the plastic bag waiting to be useful on the glass coffee table.

“Forget about cooking.” Minho tells him, unpacking one of the containers and handing Jisung some glued chopsticks. Jisung undoes them and hands them back to Minho, opting to grab his own himself.

“I knew you’d be hungry and tired, I wanted to help.” he picks up a sushi piece. “I’m sorry I’m good for nothing, hyung.”

Minho stuffs two more rolls in Jisung’s mouth, making him choke. “Don’t you ever say that again.”

“Bwhat-”

“You are everything, Jisung. Shut up and eat. I can hear your stomach crying from kilometres away.”

He shuts up and eats.

The sushi is amazing. It’s fresh, warm in the slightest bit, and wrapped well. Minho loves this place. He and Jisung used to go there weekly in high school, after classes. They’d eat and gossip and part ways hours later, only because their houses were in opposite directions. He misses that. He misses that a lot.

On the TV, an anime they know by heart is playing. Minho has watched it more than fifteen times at Jisung’s command.

“I’m full,” Jisung leans back on the couch with his palms patting a small exposed part of his stomach eleven bites later. “I am really so full, hyung.”

Minho swallows the last bit of food in his mouth before praising, “good boy, Jisungie.”

“I’m a good boy?” The spark in his eyes is a reminder of hope. “Me?”

“Yes,” Minho wipes some of the soy sauce off Jisung’s chin with his thumb, only to go ahead and pinch his cheek between the same finger and his index one. “My good boy.”

“Don’t– what the hell, Minho-hyung!”Jisung slaps his shoulder, hard and welcoming. “Are you mad? You must have gone nuts.”

“Sure.”

Jisung is blushing. The apples of his cheeks have raised up into the shiest smile, eyes downturned and shiny. The pink tint coating his cheeks is sweet. Like ripe strawberries. His eyelashes frame the emotions they attempt to hide. His lips are glossy. Is he wearing lipgloss? Lipstick? How can they be so naturally red and lustrous? Why is Minho mesmerized by his best friend’s lips?

“Quit staring,” Jisung murmurs, pushing Minho away, not one drop of effort shown.

“You don’t want me to.” Minho continues doing what he does best— admiring Jisung.

“I don’t.”

“Yeah,” he nods, shuffling closer. “Then why did you say that?”

“Um,” the brunette moves his eyes to the side. He feels cornered, Minho knows. He enjoys seeing him feel cornered. “I’m just teasing you, hyung. You always tease me! Why is it a problem now?” Jisung’s bottom lip juts out prettily.

“Who said it’s a problem?”

“You! You’re acting like it.”

Minho watches him huff and kick out his leg in retaliation with an amused smirk that goes beyond playfulness. “Am I? Poor Jisungie,”

“Yah!”

They laugh. It’s a harmony composed of a deep voice with honey hues curling at its ends and a high-pitched, soft melodic giggle that seems neverending. Moments like this one remind Minho of what he’s deprived of. Of what he could never have.

It was just not written in stars for him, and that’s okay too. He has to get used to it, eventually.

“Stop being a brat.” Minho tells him, shifting on his seat to sink into the backrest. The side of their thighs are touching. “I don’t like brats.”

“But you handle them so well,” Jisung is quick to answer. That smart ass.

“Only you.”

“Only me? There’s no one else, you’re saying?”

“Of course not,” he shakes his head and spreads out his arm behind Jisung. “It’s always only been you, Jisung.”

“Little ol’ me?”

He scoffs and flicks his forehead. “How annoying.”

“You don’t seem to mind,” Jisung smiles big like the idiot he is. “You don’t, right? You love me too much, hyungie.”

Yeah. I love you. I love you a scary amount.

“Keep dreaming, Han. Maybe it’ll become true one day if you do.”

“Wow. Way to ruin the mood,” he rolls his eyes petulantly and sticks out his tongue. Minho is so fucking fond.

“Was there a mood to begin with,” Minho tilts his head to the left, lowering his right arm so that it rests on Jisung’s shoulder. “Or were you just getting hot over nothing?”

“You have truly lost your mind!” Jisung gasps, grabbing a cushion pillow and using it as a weapon.

Minho ducks easily. “How wrong am I?”

“You’re projecting. Aha! I have you figured out.”

“What could I possibly be projecting, Jisung-ah?” he mockingly pouts his lips, palm caressing Jisung’s shoulder. “Hm?”

“You know. I don’t, but you do.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Right!” Jisung realises out loud, a light bulb illuminating atop his intelligent head. “It’s night. We should sleep. We really should. Aren’t you tired? You must be exhausted. Here, take off your shirt and go in the shower,” he mindlessly starts unbuttoning Minho’s office shirt. What the fuck.

Shitshitshitshit.

“Jisung, what on earth are you doing?” Minho catches his hands once they’ve done irreversible damage— unbuttoned three fasteners, leaving Minho’s collarbone out in the open. Vulnerable. “Aren’t you the crazy one now?”

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” Jisung’s eyes go huge, akin to balloons, staring at Minho’s exposed chest with clear interest. “You– hyung, your insanity is contagious!”

“Are you seriously blaming it on me now? Jisung, you started undressing me. I did not ask you to.”

“Your gaze did, okay?! Your eyes were basically like, oh, how I wish Jisungie would make use of his fingers and strip me down already!” he whisper-yells, still mortified, still fucking interested.

Has Minho really been that obvious?

“Are you…not the one projecting right now?” Minho has the guts to taunt him. He pulls away from Jisung, who suddenly transforms into a stuttering tomato. One squeeze and the white walls would be painted red with the amount of blood in his cheeks. They’re so flushed. Adorably flushed. Minho wants to risk it.

Wow. Woah. Okay.

“Button that shirt up! Now!” Jisung trips over his words as though they’re the hardest to spell.

Minho doesn’t. He gets up and runs off to the bathroom for a shower instead. He thinks he hears Jisung scream into a pillow, but what does he know?

He does like fantasizing a bit sometimes, after all.

Later that night, in bed, they’re lying side by side facing each other. Jisung is half asleep, whereas Minho doesn’t have one sleepy bit in him. How can he? How can he fall into a slumber after Jisung almost undressed him? Like, willingly unfastened his white shirt? It feels impossible to go back to normal now, but when was he ever, anyway.

Jisung’s face is lightened by the lamp with a timer beside the bed. It’s not doing wonders, and regardless of that Minho can easily read the thoughts Jisung displays like an open book.

“You’re too quiet,” Minho whispers, transfixed by the way Jisung’s cheek is squished against the pillow, lips having a small gap between them.

“I am?”

“Mhm,”

“Oh.” Jisung furrows his eyebrows in that cute way he does that has Minho clenching his teeth.

“I want to listen to your voice,” he says for whatever reason. Maybe he mistook soy sauce for alcohol. That must’ve been it. “It tastes good.”

“It– hyung, what?”

“Sounds good. It sounds good. Are you hearing things again, Jisung-ah?”

A pouty, angry look. Jisung throws his knee and it comes in contact with Minho’s. They both grunt. “I’m going to cry if you keep teasing me,”

“I am really, really into crying, I’ll have you know.” Minho nudges his foot back, caressing Jisung’s bare calf with it. He feels him shiver and sees his glare intensify.

“Minho-hyung, what?”

“What?”

“You are the weirdest person ever.” Jisung exhales, a waft of mint hovering in the charged air between them.

“That’s what you love about me.”

It’s true— Minho knows that now. He isn’t doubtful about it anymore, let alone scared. No matter what he thinks, says, or does, Jisung would never judge him. Jisung will always be there to match his weirdness.

“It’s not the only thing I love about you, hyung.”

Oh. Alright, then. There was definitely alcohol in that soy sauce. Minho knew he should’ve ordered the one he always gets, damn it.

“I beg to differ?”

Jisung inhales so much air it feels like he’s stealing it right from Minho’s lungs. With how close they are, he might as well be. “There’s so much to love about you, Minho. How could there not be?” he says, running his eyes down Minho’s face, settling on his lips at some point.

“What are you saying?”

“That you’re so much more than what you try to be.”

Minho remains silent. If he were to open his mouth, he’d probably say something stupid. Very stupid. Like I love you.

“You always tell me that I have a purpose on earth other than annoying you,” Jisung snickers as he says that. “I’m here to remind you that you’re just as needed here.”

“I know it already,”

“Then act like it.”

“I’ll try,” Minho sighs, locking eyes with Jisung. It’s a promise. He doesn’t like making them, because he always breaks promises. Unintentionally or not. He could never break Jisung’s promise, though. Wouldn’t that be like breaking his heart? Minho could never. Nope. Not in a million years.

Which is why he ignores the way butterflies bloom in his stomach at the mere thought of Jisung.

“What are you thinking so hard about, hyung?” Jisung waves his hand in front of Minho’s face until it becomes annoying. That beckons Minho to take hold of it and keep it captive in his own sweaty palm.

“You, Jisung. I’m thinking about you.”

“What are you thinking about me?”

I love you. My blood runs through my veins for you. My lungs welcome the air in for you. My eyes open every morning to see you. My hand flexes in search of yours. My lips shed in wait for those you own.

His heart cracks. He can feel it, deep in his chest, how that silly organ expands until it’s too much. It hurts.

Uh-oh.

“You look tired. Go to sleep.” Minho shuts his eyes and lets go of Jisung’s hand, letting it fall limp on the bed in the middle of them.

Jisung understands. He doesn’t pry. Doesn’t even whine. He follows suit, rolling onto his back and leaving Minho alone to drown in the pool of blood he created himself.

Minho doesn’t sleep, nor does he try to.

He lets his breathing go shallow and fast, lets the hollow take the place of what once belonged to his heart. What an unfair thief.

But then again, life itself is an unfair thief. The world works like that.

❀

Saturday rolls along, and the two of them stay inside for the whole day. They watch a few movies, cook something (together, this time) and gossip.

Since Jisung is still in college, he has a lot of tea to spill. About classmates, the librarian, teachers— hell, even about the cafe across the street that Jisung swears it’s a money laundering place. Everything Minho wants and doesn’t want. And Minho wants. He wants so bad it’s driving him insane.

How is he going to live with Jisung until he gets back on his feet? Worse, how is he going to live without Jisung when he gets back on his feet?

It’s a known fact that Minho cannot live without Jisung, after all.

“You’re doing that again,” Jisung pouts, poking Minho’s thigh with his finger.

“Huh?”

“Zoning out. Like, hello, earth to Lee Minho?”

“Oh.” Minho shudders, rubbing his temples. “Sorry. I am listening.”

“Are you not feeling well?”

“No. I mean, yeah, I am well. Continue your story about Inho.”

Jisung stares back at him with a betrayed look. “Hyung,” he scowls. “I finished that story three stories ago.”

What?

Has Minho really not been paying attention?

That’s unlikely. Minho always pays attention to Jisung. Minho always makes sure that Jisung is listened to.

Shit.

“I- sorry, Jisung-ah,” Minho disconnects from his body, letting it become one with the fluffy fur of the couch.

“Minho,” Jisung shifts so that he’s facing him instead of the TV. Is he concerned? “Am I bothering you?”

He’s quick to answer and reassure Jisung. “No! Of course not. Not ever,”

“Okay.”

Okay.

They snuggle closer when cold creeps at the door, sharing a blanket, the leftover pizza, and two hot cocoa mugs. They don’t talk. They don’t need to, anyway. They just watch another movie together while enjoying the same body heat. It’s comfortable. Lovely, Minho dares to think.

On Sunday, they decide to leave the house since it’s a bit warmer outside.

The sun is up in the sky and smiling at Jisung. It’s an envious smile. Minho knows that it’s because Jisung shines brighter.

“We should go shopping,” Jisung suggests, bumping his shoulder into Minho’s when a couple passes by them a tad too close. “I ate all of your snacks.”

“Sure. Let’s go.”

Minho usually buys groceries from the store nearest to his apartment complex. It’s a ten-minute walk through the central park. It always lasts longer, though. He likes feeding the stray cats on his way back home.

Despite being the heart of winter, snow has yet to show up. The air is cold and being outside for too long can become bothersome easily. The wind isn’t being gentle on their hair, and neither is the path they go down towards the supermarket. Jisung trips three times and slips on ice once, almost taking Minho to the ground with him.

“I’m so cold, hyung-ah,” he whines, rubbing his hands fast enough to get some sort of friction. “Are you not?”

“We’re close.”

“But Minho, I might turn into a snowman before we even get to the store!”

“Insufferable,” Minho sucks in a chilling breath and holds out his palm “Here.”

Jisung slides his hand into Minho’s naturally, as though it’s his purpose to do that. Minho tries not to panic and brings their intertwined fingers in the pocket of his puffy jacket. He panics.

“Thank you, hyungie.”

They separate inside the store, Jisung running towards the snack sections and Minho towards the healthier options. He’s planning on cooking something tonight. Maybe pyeongnaeng? Jisung has been dying for cold noodles.

He goes through the mental list he secured in his brain, picking the ripest vegetables and sweetest fruits from the racks. Then, when it comes to dairy, he chooses plain greek yogurt and some ready-to-go protein shakes. That’s just for the general shopping he does once a month. To stock up on food.

When Jisung suddenly spawns behind him, Minho startles. “Don’t do that again.”

“Can’t promise it,” Jisung gives a toothy grin, gummies present and all. “What’d you buy?”

“Stuff,”

“Mm,” he takes a glimpse inside the shopping cart. He’s already dropped his items in it. “Chef Minho is coming back?”

“Yeah. Princess needs to be fed.” Minho internally face-palms himself for saying that. “The spider in the bathroom, I meant. Not you.”

“What.” Jisung stops in his tracks, hauling Minho back by his sleeve. Even though Minho’s body strength is definitely more advanced than Jisung’s, his body goes pliant in his vicinity. “There’s a spider in the bathroom?” he shrieks.

“No,”

How humiliating. Minho almost feels bad for himself. For his young self. That must be it, yes.

“So I’m the princess?” they start moving again, now towards the pet food aisles. “Please tell me I’m the princess.”

“You’re the princess.”

With the corner of his eye, Minho sees Jisung cheerfully raise his fist in the air and shout, “yippie!” for everyone to hear. What an endearing little thing he is.

“C’mon,” Minho walks faster. He looks through the different brands of cat food, searching for the lickable treats he buys all the time. Jisung is the one to spot them first. Again, Minho wouldn’t be able to live without him. He’s reminded of that every step he takes towards the not-so-promising future.

The cashier asks if they want a bag. Isn’t it obvious that they need it? Jisung bought a lifetime worth of snacks.

Minho pays, albeit Jisung moans about wanting to be the one doing it.

In the park, Minho analyses it in a search for the cats. They’re the owners of it, he knows that much. This place is their home. They should be nearby.

“Can we hold hands again?” Jisung shyly asks.

As if Minho could ever mutter the negation no to him. Ha ha ha. Ha. Impossible. Fork outside the kitchen.

They hold hands. Again. Jisung’s soft palm is sturdy against Minho’s drenched-in-sweat one, unblemished and warm and what heaven must feel like. Minho tries not to be weird about it, but that’s who he is so it’s whatever. He rubs his thumb on the back of Jisung’s hand, nervous out of his mind.

It feels like he’s a teenager hanging out with his crush one on one for the first time. Except this is his best friend whom he’s been spending his free time with for the past ten years, almost every single day.

He forgets about the cats. He even forgets the way back home. His senses have been overflowing with Jisung. Jisung, Jisung, Jisung. His mind chants his name until Minho realizes that Jisung, in flesh and blood, is calling his name.

“Yes?”

“Minho-hyung! The cats,” Jisung crosses his arms over his chest and even through his jacket, Minho sees how his biceps bulge out, screaming for an escape plan.

“The- oh,” he remembers. “The cats.”

“Place the bag on a bench and come with me, I saw two under a tree.”

Minho does just as told, leaving the freshly bought groceries down somewhere and following Jisung like a dog on a leash. He misses his hand. The comfort of holding it.

“Here, be quiet,” the brunette sticks the tip of his tongue out in concentration. “Get down. Did you bring the treats?”

“The what?”

“The treats, hyung.”

“Oh.” Minho scratches his nape, finding multiple beads of perspiration accumulating there at the base of his hair.

“Oh, Minho-hyung,” Jisung retorts, getting up and walking over to the white bench a few steps away from the tree. “What are you going to do without me?”

I don’t know, Jisungie. Die in a ditch out of sorrow.

“Thank heavens there won’t be a lifetime I’ll have to live without you,” he replies cockily to mask the vulnerability in his tone.

“Yeah. My hyung is so smart.”

“Thanks, princess.” Minho pats his head once Jisung’s back at ground level next to him.

“Shut up and focus on the assignment.”

Pspspsppsps, they call out like lunatics for two whole minutes, no sight of a cat, let alone two. Jisung heaves a beaten-up sigh. He stands crouched on the balls of his feet, glancing at Minho and the tree back and forth.

“They probably went to find shelter,” he tries to resonate, hand reaching out to wrap around Minho’s forearm. “We should go home. It’s cold.”

“Right.” Minho’s bones pop when he straightens his legs. He drags Jisung along with him towards the exit of the park, where they finally see a cat— it’s loafed on the gate, out of reach.

But. Minho and Jisung have never been sane anyway.

“Lift me up on your shoulders,” Jisung taps Minho’s arm three times to stop him from advancing any further. “So I can feed the cat.”

Minho whips his head around only halfway. Stares at Jisung with an incredulous look that says, are you serious or unserious? And Jisung looks like the former option.

Forty seconds later, Minho is huffing and puffing underneath Jisung.

Wait. No. That sounds bad.

Jisung is on a ride on Minho’s broad shoulders, thighs squeezing at his neck because he can’t sit still for not even one beat. Minho’s fingers are digging into Jisung’s knees, terrified out of his mind that he might drop him any time now with the way Jisung is leaning more and more towards the cemented gate post the cat is napping on at the top. Minho has a poor view of it, hence his disadvantageous height.

“Okay, there we go,” Jisung takes the treat package out of his pocket and rips off the top. He then applies pressure to the end of the tube and approaches the sleepy feline cautiously. “Pspspsps,”

Yaong, it cries out. Oh my god, this is definitely a kitten. Minho lifts his chin to try and see it with his eyes, but all he sees is Jisung’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he babies the cat.

Abort mission. Error. Error. Error.

“Are you done yet?” Minho pinches Jisung’s thigh through the thick pants he’s wearing.

“It just started eating!”

The concrete wall is suddenly the most interesting thing in the universe, so Minho’s eyes remain riveted to it. He’s doing a great job ignoring whatever this is until Jisung yanks on his hair and he’s sure it left a bald spot.

“Jisung-ah, can you stop pulling my hair?” he frowns, gently slapping his leg. In warning or jesting punishment, he doesn’t know.

“Sorry hyung, the cat bit my finger,” Jisung tightens his grip on Minho again— why on earth is he using his hair as leverage— and begs, “now place me down, please.”

He does just that, carefully lowering his body so that Jisung can slide off his shoulders. Of course he gets a hit in the head; Jisung doesn’t have one athletic bone in his body, and apparently he’s not very flexible either. His boot comes in contact with Minho’s ear.

“My apologies, shit,” Jisung rushes to caress the (inexistent) wound, and… okay, why is Jisung stroking Minho’s ear like that in public?

“It’s alright,” Minho swallows nothing down. “That’s enough, thank you. My ear is perfectly fine.”

“I didn’t mean to hit you, Minho-hyung, really,” the gaze he gives him has a pleading edge to it, eyebrows lowered and eyes squinted and lips fucking turned into a pathetic pout.

“Kiss it better then.”

Shit. What the hell is wrong with Minho?

“Oh! Good idea,” Jisung puckers the plush of his lips and draws closer to Minho. Minho cannot let that happen, head dodging it on instinct.

“Not in front of everyone,” Minho scowls, picking up the grocery bag from the muddy ground and rushing away. He can hear Jisung prattle on as he trails behind, legs too short to keep up with the speed Minho single-handedly chose.

“So I can kiss you at home?”

Kiss. Home.

“You want to kiss me, Jisung-ssi?” He masks the excitement by making a half arsed joke. Jisung stutters incoherently, and Minho knows that whatever it is he won’t be able to handle it, so he adds, “my fist will be more than happy to make friends with your lips.” while holding said fist up.

Jisung slaps his back hard enough to elicit a groan out of Minho, muttering under his breath about something along the words unfair, kiss, hyuuuung.

The walk home is peaceful. Minho carries the bag all the way to the building. In the elevator, Jisung leans against the metallic panel and has the audacity to pull a sulky face at Minho.

“What?” Minho mirrors that cute expression an exaggerated amount.

“Hmph,” Jisung turns away, nose scrunched with the force of his pout.

“Don’t be like that.”

“Hmphh.”

Minho grabs a handful of Jisung’s ass and squeezes. Just then, the automatic doors open and they’re caught red handed by one of Minho’s rationally annoying neighbours— Lim In-su. He always goes out in the mornings to play chess in front of the complex and then comes back up in the evening. He gossips everyone and everything. Minho despises him because he once started a rumour about Minho clogging the toilet that resulted in a chain.

It was the old lady next door, for fucks sake.

“I will call the police on you!” the man points his wrinkly finger at them. “You! Lee Minho!” or at Minho.

Well, that’s fair. It’s his hand gripping Jisung’s butt, after all.

Oh shit.

Jisung presses a button and the elevator doors close. When they do, he pulls away from Minho. “Are you crazy?”

“Crazy?” Minho tilts his head at him.

A gulp. Jisung faces away and they exit the elevator once it has taken them to the right floor, no irritating man scolding them this time.

Hah. How funny. It’s like when they were teenagers and holding hands while running in the rain after school. Minho’s grandmother would always get upset at them for that. You’ll get sick and be stuck in the hospital like your grandfather! She’d say. What a funny woman. Minho should bring Jisung along to pay her a visit.

“I’m sooooo hungry,” Jisung cuddles closer to Minho as he’s unlocking the house, resting his cheek against one of his shoulder blades. “Hyung.”

Minho hums, twisting the key.

“Hyung.”

He takes it out and presses down on the handle.

“Hyung.”

They enter the hallway of Minho’s small yet tall apartment.

“Hyung…”

Bent over to take off his shoes, Minho sighs. “What?”

Jisung slaps his ass and runs inside the living room, shoes already off. When did he— that little prick— Minho lets the bag fall on the ground and follows the trail full of giggles that turn breathless too soon.

Thanks (or not) to Jisung’s shitty stamina, Minho catches him before he can go up the stairs that lead to the loft and the bed. Their bed. Minho’s hand almost slips.

“Minho! Hey!” Jisung laughs, and the melodic vibrancy of it manages to fill a part of the void in Minho’s chest. “Hyung!”

“You brat,” Minho glares at him, tugging Jisung closer. One way or another, they end up on the parquet, Minho caging Jisung like he’s prey. He kind of is. He has that face.

The giggles don’t stop. Jisung doesn’t say anything for a while. He just keeps wheezing and rolling underneath Minho. As if he could escape. Minho is here to make sure he won’t.

From this angle, his best friend has the appearance of a treasured jewel. His hair is smooth on the floor, leaving his flawless face out in the open for Minho to worship. He’s blushing again. Minho knows that that’s simply Jisung’s body’s reaction to physical exertion, but he can play pretend. It’s what he’s been doing for seven years, anyway.

“Hyu-” Jisung chokes on his words from how hard he’s guffawing. “You–!”

“Do you think you’re in a position to be saying anything?” Minho tries to appear unamused, and he’s failing miserably. He presses closer to Jisung which turns out to be a terrible idea. He’s been having terrible ideas.

Jisung falls silent at that. He stops squirming, stops giggling, stops breathing. His eyes lock with Minho’s, then slowly stray to a forbidden part of his face. Huh.

His lips must be dry, that’s why Jisung is staring at them so intensely. Right! That’s what it is. Minho swirls his tongue, wetting his lips with saliva. Jisung’s starving gaze keeps track of its movements for the whole time.

Minho’s next breath he inhales gets stuck in his throat. His arms start hurting. Afraid that he’s going to end up squishing Jisung like a stroopwafel, Minho decides to kill the moment by getting off of him with the pretext that he should start cooking, since it’s already lunch and they only had fried eggs for breakfast.

“I’m making pyeongnaeng,” he announces, strolling over to the kitchen sink and thoroughly washing his hands before unpacking the forgotten groceries.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Jisung replies, already on his way there. He passes by Minho in quick steps.

And he doesn’t come out for the next forty minutes. Minho doesn’t mind much, instead he concentrates on his chore.

While everything is boiling, he puts on some music and sings along to it.

Eventually, he gets so lost in the sad lyrics that he almost jumps off the couch when Jisung comes out of the bathroom whistling and clapping his hands. Are the walls too thin or is Jisung’s hearing too good?

“Great concert,” he praises, stepping towards Minho in only a towel loosely wrapped around his hips. His hair is wet, droplets of water falling down like rain as he walks with a bounce. Minho forces his pupils to remain fixed to the TV. “You should quit that boring job of yours and become an idol. You’ll surely have lots of fangirls.”

Pftt. “What about fanboys?” Minho smiles. Refuses to glance at naked Jisung.

“Them too, of course. I’ll be the first in line.”

“Will you?”

“Yeah!” Jisung excitedly nods. He blocks Minho’s view with his body, now standing in front of the television screen and flexing his muscles. “Hyung, are my biceps growing?”

This very moment is when Minho realises that living in Jisung’s proximity will be the worst thing he’ll have to face. Holy shit. He is not coming back alive. He truly, seriously isn’t coming back alive. Jisung will be the death of him. There, on his gravestone —if he’s even worthy enough of one— will be written ‘Dead because of Han Jisung. May the right punishment knock at his door’.

But then again, Jisung doesn’t have a door anymore. It would hypothetically be Minho’s door. Minho will be haunted by Jisung even in his afterlife. What kind of love is this?

“Minho,”

“Stop their growth.” Minho chokes on spit. Was- is he drooling?

“Have you gone rabid?”

“Put on some clothes.”

“Why? It’s hot inside.” Jisung shrugs, shaking his head to get the last bits of water out of his hair.

“An hour ago you were crying about being cold.”

“Well I was outside back then!”

Minho clicks his tongue. Throws his head back and yells, “I’m going to throw you out the window, Han Jisung!” loud enough for even Lim fucking In-su to hear.

“You’d be too devastated if I were to die. You could never do something like that to cute me.” he furrows his eyebrows in that irritating, cocky way of his. “I know you too well, hyung-ah.”

“Don’t try me. I’ll do it and then jump after you. We can die together.”

“But wouldn’t that be too romantic?”

He’s approaching. Minho doesn’t lift his head from where it’s propped facing the out-of-reach ceiling. He listens to Jisung tiptoe his way next to him. “What does romance mean to you, Jisung?”

The movement stops along with Jisung. He’s probably thinking hard about it. He’s always been a thinker. Thoughtful and heartfelt. Minho’s gentle Jisungie.

“This,” Jisung disheveledly gesticulates to the invisible yet knowingly pink string connecting their ring fingers.

“Huh,” Minho allows himself one glimpse at Jisung’s pretty face. “Us?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, barely fathomable. “N-No-- dying together.”

Ah. That’s more like it. Minho shouldn’t have gotten his hopes that up in the sky. They don’t have wings strong enough to battle with the wind yet. He should’ve seen that coming. Silly little Minho and his silly big heart.

“Go put some clothes on. Dinner will be ready in a few.” His legs give out when he tries to get up from the couch. “Oh,”

“Minho-hyung,” Jisung scowls. “I’ll serve dinner.”

“It’s not done. You’ll burn the building down.” Minho intelligibly says. “You have college tomorrow. Go do your homework, kid.”

“Yah! I’m one year and eleven months younger than you!”

“Your project. I want it done by ten tonight. Understood?”

Jisung drops his hands by his sides and sighs in defeat. He nods his head, turns on the heel of his wet feet, and walks with a tail tucked in towards the box he brought full of his clothes. Where are they going to put those? Minho doesn’t have much space left in his wardrobe.

That’s a problem for tomorrow. Weekends are supposed to be stress-free.

The boiling pot is calling for him, so Minho finally tends to it. He picks up two bowls and prepares the food for two.

It’s ready to be devoured in fifteen minutes, and that’s exactly how long it takes Jisung to come back from the bathroom, now finally clad in some clothes— short shorts and an oversized hoodie.

“Thank you, hyungie,” Jisung smiles sweetly at him, sitting under the stairs area where the dining table is connected to the long kitchen counter. Minho is next to him, their elbows touching. “I love your cooking. I’m glad I was evicted.”

“Don’t say that, you dumbass,” Minho scolds just as lightheartedly. He nudges his calf under the high top table with his foot and repeats, “Dumbass.” with capital D for double emphasis.

“Can you stop bullying me? I’m just trying to enjoy my lovely cold noodles, and here you are calling me dumb. Does it make you feel better about yourself, hyung?”

Gosh. So adorably irritating. Minho will bite his head off. Eat him whole.

“Sorry, princess.” he mockingly sulks.

“Kyaahh!”

Minho shoves a piece of garlic bread inside Jisung’s mouth, and he gargles around it.

❀

Waking Jisung up might top every other hardship Minho has faced in his twenty-four to twenty-five years of living. He sleeps like a freaking log— unmoving, as dangerous as still water— and bites.

Jisung bites hard and vindictive.

The hand that falls victim to Jisung’s cute teeth is Minho’s left one that was on a mission to pinch Jisung’s nose. Minho doubles over in pain, his back pressed to the other boy’s side. Jisung remains dead asleep even with the weight of Minho on him.

“Wake the fuck up,” Minho, already wearing his work clothes, attempts to shake him awake. “We’ll both be late if you don’t.”

Of course Jisung doesn’t. Not even close to.

Instead, his dominant hand catches a tight grip onto Minho and lazily brings him closer until they’re practically cuddling. As in; Minho’s chest is glued to Jisung’s sweaty back. He can feel his heart buzzing through his skin.

Underneath the cover, it’s warm. It’s like the gentlest caress of a motherly hand. Sweet, peaceful, safe.

For one second, Minho’s arms wrap around Jisung, effectively hugging him. They’re touching everywhere. Jisung is everywhere: he’s everything.

Work.

Minho pulls his face away from the home it found in the back of Jisung’s neck. In one motion, he drags Jisung off the mattress, exposing his skin to the rigid morning air.

“No–!” Jisung cries out, scrambling to go back to shelter.

“Not so fast,” Minho grabs him by the hood of his hoodie. Jisung whines, turns his head around and gives him the most deplorable, pathetic eyes. Minho looks at the reachable ceiling and inhales so much air he almost suffocates. “Still no, Jisungie.”

“B-But hyung,”

“I’m already running late. Don’t be a brat now, okay?” He watches him until Jisung is driven to nod. “Okay.”

“Fine,” Jisung deflates. “You win.”

“Thank you. I made you breakfast. Go eat it and get ready while I schedule an appointment to make you a copy of the keys.”

The eating part isn’t a problem— Jisung devours all food in sight in a beat. The real challenge is waiting for him to get ready. Jisung changes three t-shirts and two chapsticks before he can finally say, “ready and steady, hyung-ah!”

They rush towards the elevator and down in the parking lot where they have to go through a hazardous mess of cars parked left and right. Minho spots his old grey car first, and it takes another seven minutes for the engine to warm up.

“If I’m late to work again, then I’ll make my boss personally call your number and scream at you.” Minho tells him as he pulls out of the underground garage. “Also, put your seatbelt on.”

“Minho-hyung, don’t be upset at me,” Jisung dramatically sniffs. The click sounds over the roar of the car. “Please.”

I could never be upset with you, Jisungie. You’re my angel.

“Then don’t give me reasons to be.”

“Oof.”

His college is not that far away, but given the traffic, Jisung is late to his first course. Minho sends him a look while he’s unbuckling his seatbelt, hand on the door.

“I start work at one and finish at seven today,” he starts searching for his backpack. “Hyung, where did you put my-”

“Jisung, I did not touch your school bag.”

“What?!”

Minho tries to be stern, to teach him a lesson— but he can’t. Jisung looks too adorable with his cheeks puffed out and fright in his eyes. “Backseats,” he sighs and motions with his head.

“Shit! Thank you so much, Minho, “ Jisung grins in relief. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” he continues, halfway out of the car now. They’re blocking the road with all this chit-chat.

“You’d probably forget your head back at home too.” Minho tells him, because it’s true. Jisung really is a forgetful person.

“Bye, hyung! See you tonight.”

And before Minho can answer with something as stupid as be careful, I love you, Jisung is thankfully out of the car and already on his way to the stairs that lead to the entrance of the college he enrolled in barely four years ago.

“See you,” he mutters once Jisung is as unreachable as the stars. He hits the pedal, now heading towards the locksmith he knows all too well (his best friend definitely hasn’t lost his copy of the keys to Minho’s apartment more than three times now).

He speeds up. The company is in the opposite direction from the tiny kiosk. He cannot, under any circumstances, be late to work again.

When he gets there, it takes five whole minutes to find a parking spot and one more to get the man to notice him.

“Hello, good morning,” Minho bows his head, already fidgeting with the keys in his hands.

“Lee Minho-ssi! Welcome again,” the man answers. He surprisingly looks happy. “Duplication for Jisung?”

With reddened ears, Minho nods. He’s a bit embarrassed on Jisung’s behalf as he hands over the right key, old and worn out. “Yes please,”

“It will be done shortly. Would you like a seat?”

“No, thank you. I have work in ten minutes.” Shit!

“Okay. Let me know when you’re free to pick them up, then.” he says, turning around and going over to the space he works in.

Minho practically risks getting fined with the way he’s rushing down the streets at lightning speed.

Inside the building, he doesn’t get to buy anything for breakfast because he has a call at nine— in less than ten minutes.

That’s okay. That’s okay because Chan sneaks inside Minho’s office in the middle of his regular team meeting with warm coffee and a brownie. Minho sends him an appreciative smile off-camera and puts the items to the side for later.

Everyone needs a friend like Bang Chan, yet not everyone deserves one. Chan is loving, kind, and the most hardworking person Minho knows. He puts himself in the last place, pulls all-nighters left and right so that the department he graciously works in is at its prime all the time, and treats a majority of individuals in this building with utmost respect, even though most of them haven’t earned it.

Chan took Minho under his wing one year ago when he first stepped foot into this intimidating facility. He taught him what to do and how to act to give a lasting impression. Each of his advice tips worked.

So Minho feels lucky to have found such a soft-hearted person in a world full of hateful envy.

The zoom call goes on and on for what feels like hours. Minho exhales in relief as soon as he clicks on the ‘leave’ button. The first thing he reaches for is the stained-brown white cup of coffee. It’s gone cold. Minho still enjoys every drop, since it was carefully brewed by Chan himself.

He wonders if the brownie was made by his coworker’s closest friend, Lee Felix. He loves baking brownies, and he is good at it too.

It tastes an awful lot like plastic and metal, though. Huh. Must not be Felix’s.

Checking documents and replying to emails, occasionally talking on the phone, joining meetings and presenting products might be straight up boring to some people, and Minho understands why that is as much as the other person.

This is not a job he dreads, because it brings him a big paycheck he uses to spoil his cats and Jisung.

But sometimes— sometimes Minho wishes he followed his dream.

During his young years, he was a dancer. Dance flowed through his veins, shut his mind off, and gave him a reason to live.

Jisung would dance with him.

Specifically in high school. Fucking high school.

They’d ditch class only to find an empty one to spend quality time together; also known as dancing with each other. Minho would wrap his hands around Jisung’s waist and Jisung would interlock his fingers behind Minho’s head. Their bodies would move easily, melt into each other.

Or they’d go to Seokchon Lake during the appearance of cherry blossom trees and hang out on the shore of the lake tete-a-tete until it was too cold to stay anymore. There were festivals going around, music playing, people cheering. That never stopped them from finding a quiet spot— their spot, under a marked tree that grew up slanted in a painful way— where they could enjoy one another.

Well.

You could say that they enjoyed one another a bit too much one particular night when the moon was huge and bright and the stars were twinkling like they had something to prove.

Under that beautiful pink tree, Minho and Jisung were sitting cross-legged side by side about seven years ago. The wind was blowing; not in a kind way. There was a singular blanket draped over both of their shoulders.

Minho remembers that they were listening to the distant tumult of whatever event was in season. He didn’t really care. He was only there, watching the sky reflect into the water, for Jisung.

“Thank you for choosing to stay with me tonight,” Jisung had whispered, eyes set on Minho’s.

“What’s a best friend good for if not being by your side at all times, Jisungie?” Minho had replied, the soft tone of his voice overlapped by all the other noises.

Then they smiled at each other. Not a cheeky, playful grin, no. The corners of their mouths turned upwards in a delicate way. A knowing little smile that brought them closer the more it widened.

It wasn’t that sudden when it happened, Minho can say with a hand over his heart. He’s sure that Jisung had held eye contact for so long that the microscopic spider spinned the silk string in pink and wrapped it around their ring fingers.

Now what happened— that’s history.

History that Minho loathes remembering just as much as he loves it. Because that was when his brain alchemy changed forever.

A short press of the lips. He can’t recall who had been the one to lean first, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. Minho and Jisung kissed, right there under the cherry blossom tree, right when its flowers were being ripped off of it by the breeze.

Jisung’s lips were velvety and welcoming, rightfully eager to feel more of what it's like to be pressed against another pair of the same kind for the very first time. Minho’s lips seemed shy, innocent.

That’s when it all started. Seven years back in high school, under the tree that was cut down some long time ago. Minho had gone to sleep with his fingertips squeezing at his own lips, the smile refusing to die even hours after the kiss. He had thought, are me and Jisungie a thing now? Will we kiss more often? I hope we’ll kiss more often. It was the best thing I’ve ever done.

No. They did not kiss more often. Never again, actually.

And now Minho is left with a gaping hole in his chest and the hugest crush on his best friend.

Huh. Crush. Jisung is so much more to him than that. He’s everything. Minho is utterly, inexorably in love with Jisung.

And it hurts. It aches. It burns.

“Lee Minho?”

His thoughts perish the moment a firm voice stills the room. Shit. He’s in a meeting. A physical meeting. When did he– how did he– how is it lunch already?

Minho stands up, looks at the people scattered around the table and excuses himself. “Sorry. Bathroom break. Bladder is too weak.”

He doesn’t have time to overthink it. The bathroom comes into view fifteen steps out of the soundproof room. Minho rushes to it, and thanks whatever deity watches over him that it’s empty.

In front of the mirror, Minho scrutinizes his reflection. He’s flushed. His neck is red— like, a Jisung amount of red— and his lips are so bitten they’ve become two times bigger than usual. Again, that’s a habit he picked up from Jisung.

This won’t do, Minho thinks as he slides his hand in the pocket of his suit jacket and takes out his phone.

Bulls-fucking-eye. Jisung texted him three minutes ago.

Han Jisungie

hyuuuuung

minhohyung

min

૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

hey donf ignore me

am omw to the bookstore now

maybe i cna find myself a hot bf

or gf

yk like in those fics

i used to read back then in elem

u remember?

tdy was boooring

without hyung it always is >ᴗ<

Minho stares at the message, at the flushed man in the mirror, and then at his shaky hands. He wants to gauge his own eyes out with them. How can Jisung be so– so fucking cute.

A twenty-two year old buff, muscular man with a deep voice and a stubble present on his face in the mornings and gone at night.

Me

Hey.

I’m in a meeting.

On break right now.

Are you at work?

 

Han Jisungie

minho !!!!!!

nooo im getting there tho

with slow steps

its rlly cold

my fingers aer freezing

(,,>﹏<,,)

 

Me

What a pity.

Seek shelter ASAP.

Get yourself a nice warm coffee from Stray Cafe.

 

Han Jisungie

aye aye hyung

waaaait

before u disappear again

what does ml mesn

mean

Minho stares at his phone with furrowed eyebrows. He’s been gone for two minutes from the meeting. He should probably go back soon.

He cannot leave Jisung on seen, though. No fucking way. He’d rather be fired.

Me

I’m not quite sure.

Mililiter?

 

Han Jisungie

jfdsdfjsknfks

minho

no !!!

u silly hyung

try again >^ω^<

What on earth could it mean? Minho has no idea. He’s confused and he’s late and he might get scolded for randomly disrupting the meeting with his need for a bathroom break. Need awakened by the train of thoughts that went on vacation way too early.

Because he really doesn’t have time to think this out, Minho does a quick google search. He gets provided with an answer immediately, and his skin breaks out in goosebumps.

He sighs, long and exhausted, now exiting the bathroom as he punches the letters on his phone screen.

Me

My love

 

Han Jisungie

(˶˃⤙˂˶)

yes?

Minho plunges head-first into the door of the meeting room, and hence it’s made out of glass, everyone sees him stumble back and almost fall on his ass.

Freaking Han Jisung.

At six, Minho is on his way home after having picked up the key and its copycat from the locksmith. He’s driving leisurely, no rush. Jisung won’t be home until later. He can heat up some food and catch up on a book.

Right. He can do that. Maybe even bake something. Cupcakes. Cookies. Anything that will help him stop thinking about seventeen years old Minho whose world had just been twisted upside down. He went down the rabbit hole and never felt the sunrays caress his skin again.

Fuck, he’s thinking about it again, isn’t he? Double fuck.

Triple for the person who overtakes his car like they got places to be at.

By the time he’s showered and changed into boxers with only a bathrobe providing warmth to his body, Jisung is knocking on the door. Well, more like practicing boxing with the door. Minho rolls his eyes and unlocks it for him.

Jisung’s eyes comically fall on the small part of Minho’s chest that can be seen as soon as the front door widely opens. Minho scoffs and steps aside to let him in.

“How was school?” he asks, leaning his hip against the wall with the rack for jackets.

“College,” Jisung corrects with a growl that sounds more like a meow. Alike to cheetahs. Cheetahs are very fast, by the way. Jisung said that once and rocked Minho’s world.

“How was college?”

“Mh,” he shrugs, throwing his backpack somewhere in the living room. The laptop inside of it cries out when it makes contact with the hard floor. Jisung bends down right in front of Minho to untie his sneakers.

“Mh what?” Minho looks away, then walks off to the open space area. He picks up Jisung’s school-but-make-it-college bag and places it on an armchair.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

For a second, Minho frets. His heart drops on the floor, and he’s deadly afraid that it’s going to grow legs and run in front of incoming traffic.

Or worse, it might stop beating for the reason it pumps blood for.

“What happened?” Minho examines the position of Jisung’s brows, then the depth of his pout. “What happened?”

“Hyunjin and Jeongin got caught making out in the bathroom again.” Jisung groans.

“By who?”

“Me! I literally saw his tongue down his throat. Like,” he tries to remake the scene. Minho scrunches his nose.

“Ew.”

“Exactly! And then I bumped into a shelf at work and thirty books fell, hyung. One fell on my head. You know those stupid cartoon scenes made specifically for kids to make them laugh? Yeah.” Jisung goes on and on, a bit too talkative for someone who was throwing a tantrum not even a minute ago. “Guess what? There were kids who laughed at me.”

“Of course. That’s your luck,” Minho laughs. To himself, because Jisung is not amused. Not in the slightest.

“But that wasn’t the worst part.” he wanders in circles, going back and forth from the living room to the kitchen space. “That very book that decided to have a meet-cute with my head was about how to deal with being a virgin. So not only did it call me stupid but also single.”

Minho bursts out laughing. His cheeks hurt from how raised they are. “What-” he tries to catch his breath, but it’s terribly hard when Jisung looks at him like that. “Oh my god. Your life is unreal.”

“I am tired, Minho-hyung! Try to be in my shoes for one day. One!”

“My foot would not fit inside your tiny shoe,”

Jisung takes a strawberry mitten from where it was cuddling with its lover on the kitchen counter and throws it at Minho’s head. It makes a bonk noise that has Minho gasping for air.

“I hate you! First you leave me on seen, and now you’re laughing at me. I hate you!”

He would reply, but he’s way too busy wheezing. It’s not even that funny. It’s not even that funny and he’s dying of laughter.

Gosh, he is so in love with Jisung.

His face muscles pull back to normal almost instantly at the reminder. Fuck.

“Go wash up. I still have to set the table.” Minho gets up from the couch and beelines for the fridge. He has no idea what to actually heat up, because there are no leftovers inside of it from last night. “Or order something,” he later adds to himself, Jisung already under the head of the shower.

Now the question is, what should he order?

“Jisung-ah,” Minho knocks on the bathroom door.

“Huh?” Jisung calls back. “I cannot hear you, hyung! Come inside!”

Alright. Minho presses down on the handle and steps inside the steamy, damp room. He doesn’t look in the shower’s direction. Not once. He stares at the mirror above the sink instead, straight up ahead. “What do you want to eat?”

“Ha?” Jisung lowers the running-water pressure.

“I’m calling a restaurant. What does your tummy want to be filled with?” Minho feels his ears redden.

“Oh. Um. I have no idea. Come and ask it?”

There’s no way that Han Jisung is a real being. No fucking way. Minho does not indulge in that. He glues his feet to the wet tiles and lets his eye twitch. “What do you want to eat, Jisung? Be quick or I won’t get you anything. Seriously.”

“Pizza! I’m craving pizza so bad right now,” Jisung hurries. The sound of sloppy soap bounces off the walls. “Can we get pizza?”

“Fine.” and Minho is out of the bathroom in the next second, heaving behind the closed door. The water is running at full power again.

The pizza place is actually a tourist trap. One normal sized pizza costs as much as three fluffy cat beds. Minho still calls and orders two— both Jisung’s favourites.

And a slice of cheesecake.

He goes over to the TV and awkwardly stands in front of it, searching for a good movie they could watch while eating. It’s only seven, and Minho is hungry out of his mind. He only ate some soup for lunch at work. He wonders if Jisung ate anything. He hopes that he did.

Minho gets the chance to ask him that ten minutes later, when Jisung is freshly showered and this time not naked. He’s wearing grey sweats. At least that. How is he not cold, though? Minho worries his lip under the pretext that Jisung will get sick.

“What did you have for lunch?” he raises the question while patting the spot next to him on the couch he just sat on. Jisung graciously makes his way towards it.

“Some instant ramen from the store next door,” the wet-haired boy replies, manspreading until their knees are sharing warmth. “It wasn’t terrible, but I put way too much spice in. I could only eat, like, half. Choonhee-noona took the rest.”

Ah. Jisung’s boss. She’s the manager of the bookstore. Kim Seungmin’s older sister. Seungmin works as the cashier.

“Nice,” Minho puts on a cat-like smile. His phone suddenly starts ringing, and he hands over the remote to Jisung. “Must be the pizza. Go ahead and choose a movie.”

Jisung chooses Howl’s Moving Castle, Minho finds out when he comes back from the door with two big pizza boxes and another tiny container. He sets everything down on the coffee table and claims his spot back. Jisung is already peeking inside, gasping excitedly when he sees the flavours.

“Hyung, you’re the best!” he flashes a smile and stuffs his cheeks with the first slice.

As always, Minho watches Jisung watch the movie they’ve seen a hundred of times now. Jisung still has the same expression every time— his eyes shine, his mouth lifts uncontrollably, his nose gets stuffy towards the end and he sheds one tear from his left eye.

He only eats three slices and leaves the rest for tomorrow.

“This was the best movie I’ve ever seen,” Jisung wipes his nose with the back of his hand and reaches for the mysterious, unopened container. “You got me cheesecake!”

“I always do,”

“You always do. Thank you!”

“Eat,” Minho pats his thigh and allows his hand to rest there, somewhere near Jisung’s knee.

“You want some?”

“Sure,”

“Nyam,” his tongue pokes out as he concentrates on feeding Minho the last bite of the cheesecake, eyes focused on his greasy lips. “Good, hyung?”

“Yeah,”

“Let’s head to bed. I have school tomorrow.”

“College,” Minho corrects with a grin, slapping Jisung’s butt when he gets up. Don’t blame him. It was all up in his face. How could he not?

Upstairs, they snuggle close. Not enough to cuddle, but Jisung’s leg is over Minho’s thighs and his breath is fanning Minho’s hot neck. He can feel that Jisung is almost falling asleep, whereas he seems unable to. Thoughts keep him awake.

“Jisung?”

“Hm?” he raises his leg higher.

“Who texts you that?” Minho takes a hold of it and keeps it in place.

“Texts me what?”

“My love.”

Jisung moves so fast their heads knock into each other. With a hand rubbing the side of his face, Jisung looks down at Minho. “What.”

Minho forces one eyelid to open. “Who’s saying that to you?”

“No one,”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Jisung tilts his head to the side like a confused puppy. Even in the dark, Minho can pinpoint his features and expressions with no sweat.

“Sleep,” he brings his palm up and lowers Jisung back on the pillow by his cheek.

“G’night, Minho.”

❀

Things go surprisingly well from there.

For the whole week, they share a similar routine. Minho wakes up first, cooks Jisung something small for breakfast, gets ready for work, fights for fifteen minutes trying to wake Jisung up, drives Jisung to college when he has morning classes, goes to work, comes back from work before Jisung, takes care of dinner if he’s not too tired and if he is he orders takeout food, they spend the evening together doing whatever, and go to sleep under the same heavy blanket.

Living with Jisung comes easy to Minho, although it comes across as far from it.

They fall into tandem like things have always been this way. Like Jisung has always lived with Minho. And in a way, he has.

Somewhere deep inside Minho’s heart, Jisung carved a home. A part of Jisung’s soul has spent years decorating Minho’s heart with memories of the two of them dancing together, going on karaoke dates, hiking, visiting dreamy landscapes, eating in the cosyness of Minho’s apartment, and the one with the biggest frame, their first kiss.

Building a house using the fabric of Minho’s heart walls hurts. Jisung keeps digging crevices and creating new rooms. He appears to never be satisfied.

Does he know that it’s painful? Jisung most likely doesn’t. He would never do anything to hurt Minho. If Minho ever suffers because of Jisung, then it must be his own fault. Never Jisung’s.

Time passes by with the winter snow-less and the temperature growing higher and higher each chance it gets. At the end of January, Minho buys a small wardrobe and Jisung helps him assemble it. They arrange Jisung’s clothes together. The ones that don’t fit go inside Minho’s closet. By late February, when Jisung has a small one-week vacation from college, it already feels like spring. And it’s nice.

Until it isn’t.

Chapter Text

“Can we dance?”

Minho chokes on his food and sputters it back inside the bowl filled with bibimbap. Jisung goes ewww and looks at Minho like he’s revolted.

It takes the older one filled-to-the-brim glass of water, two slaps on the back and the worried expression on Jisung’s face to get back to normal. Minho inhales in as much air as he can to make up for the few seconds he spent suffocating.

“Hyung, are you okay?” Jisung frowns, now standing up behind Minho’s tall stool. He places a hand on his shoulder and starts massaging it for whatever reason. Minho shivers.

“Yeah,” he clears up his throat for the last time. “Yeah. As good as new.”

Jisung seems unconvinced. Still, he sighs in relief and reclaims his seat next to Minho where they’re facing the boring white wall consisting of a knockdown texture. Maybe it’s not that boring— they can try and make do with the shapes of it. Jisung’s a true expert at that.

In the three years Minho’s been living here, he has yet managed to buy a dining table. Since it was always just him, he didn’t mind staring into nothingness while enjoying his meals on an extended part of the kitchen counter right under the steep staircase. It was convenient enough for him.

Not for Jisung, though. He has the attention span of a toddler and gets restless when he’s eating. His brain needs constant stimulation, otherwise his leg starts bouncing.

As kids, they’d watch wildlife documentaries on Jisung’s grandma’s old, barely-working TV during lunch. Minho wasn’t the biggest fan of those channels. He still did it for his best friend.

Now, Jisung gulps down his food like it’s his last meal just because he wants to finish it quickly and go back to the couch. Minho would let him eat there, but he’d rather not have to vacuum every day. He loves Jisung— really, he’d more than take a bullet for him— but. Cleaning is already something he dreads doing.

So he has to find the time to look up some small dinner tables, preferably circular. There’s enough space for one in the big open-plan space of his apartment.

“Or we can watch a movie,” Jisung adds after realizing that his question was left unanswered.

“You want to dance?” Minho puts the half-eaten portion aside, deeming that he’s full. He doesn’t like eating much for dinner. It sometimes upsets his stomach.

Jisung gives him an incredulous look. “I was thinking you’d wanna.”

Truth is, it’s been a long while since Minho last danced. He misses it. He awfully misses pursuing his passion.

“Like, right now?” he vaguely gestures to the two of them, both clad in sweatpants and baggy t-shirts. There’s a stain on Jisung’s chest, some non-spicy sauce having dripped from his mouth earlier.

“Why not?”

“We just ate and it’s late and tomorrow is Thursday,”

“It’s nine, hyung. We used to stay up ‘til sunrise in high school!” Jisung pouts at him, holding out his palm. “We’d sneak out with blankets and run to the park. Have our breakfast there.”

“Key word, high school.” Minho raises a brow at Jisung, then looks down at his hand. He uses it to get up from the chair. Once his back has fully straightened, he starts cleaning up and putting the leftovers inside the fridge. “Energy drinks with gummies and chips wasn’t breakfast.”

“You don’t want to dance?”

Minho exhales slowly. He lowers the bowls into the sink and turns to look at Jisung. “I do want to dance,”

He gets a grin in response. Jisung reaches for him again, both hands carefully wrapping around his forearm. “Then bring it on, dancer boy.”

“Don’t call me that. You’re not sexy.” he grimaces. Allows Jisung to lead them further into the living room.

“I wasn’t trying to be!” the brunette whines and aggressively drops Minho’s hand. He takes the remote from where it had randomly been thrown on the couch and opens youtube. “Let me set the mood,”

“Are you not trying to be sexy right now?” Minho crosses his arms over his chest and watches as Jisung struggles.

“Is it working?”

“It isn’t.”

“Fuck.” Jisung groans. He searches up the name of a song and clicks on the middle button as soon as he’s found it.

A delicate, barely-there tune starts playing. Minho recognizes it before the first lyric; from the breath the singer he’s loved for years takes.

Betelgeuse is their song, and has been since forever. They’d dance on it the most. Not with choreographed moves, no. Sometimes slow, a waltz. Other times hyped, screaming the lyrics together. Minho wonders what’s it going to be like tonight. He doesn’t mind either, that is.

“Minho-hyung, c’mere,” Jisung extends both of his hands this time. Minho acts out a scene of rolling his eyes and grumbling under his breath, to which Jisung giggles while exclaiming, “hyung!”

“Fine,” Minho shakes the thoughts out of his head and approaches him.

Jisung restarts the song again. Fresh new start. Then, he wreathes his hands around Minho’s waist, grip tightened on his t-shirt. Minho looks down at him with big, dumbfounded eyes. He worries that Jisung will have him figured out soon.

“Dance,”

“That’s not it, Jisung-ah.” Minho says. He removes Jisung’s hands off of him and pushes them up to hang around his neck. After Jisung has intertwined his fingers behind Minho’s head, he comes to rest his on Jisung’s lovehandles. “Did you forget?”

“Mhm,” Jisung nods, pushing closer, closer, closer, until they’re sharing the same humid air and their fronts are pressed together. “We haven’t danced in a while, hyung. Of course I forgot.”

Minho feels the loud beat of his heart. How his arteries pulsate underneath his skin. How his breath is growing shorter, shallower. Sees how beautiful Jisung is, with his excessive blinking habit that he stole from Minho and his stupidly bunched up cheeks. He wants to ruin him.

In a gentle way. He wants to kiss him until his lips change colour. He wants to mark him up in places only he can see, until Jisung’s blood selfishly replaces his own. He wants to make him squeal in excitement and scream in ecstasy.

He wants and wants, but he knows he can’t have.

Even back then, although his romantic feelings for Jisung hadn’t developed, there was something. A spark, a burning star ready to explode into trillions mini paroxysms of hope, of something that was gradually getting bigger the more time passed.

Minho was never scared. Of those snowball-like emotions that rolled down the precipitous hill over and over. He accepted them as soon as they started making a home out of his chest cavity. He felt appreciation towards a boy, cool. Oh, the boy happened to be his best friend, also cool. It was like that.

Until they kissed and never brought it up again.

After that, Minho started keeping to himself. He tucked those lovely feelings back inside where they came from. Stopped lingering just to feel the familiar texture of Jisung’s skin more. Refused to grant Jisung the heaviness of his gaze on him.

Just so that he could be at ease. So that he wouldn’t have to go to sleep and pray for his heart to transform into a stone overnight. Being in love with someone he couldn’t dare think to have hurt, because it came with the inability to move on. That was mostly Jisung’s fault.

Jisung was always flirting with Minho. Brushing his fingers through his hair, grazing the small of his back when he passed by him, holding his hand tighter when they crossed over a high-up bridge. How could Minho not let himself be pulled deeper into the void?

He liked his attention. He liked having someone as loving and gentle as Han Jisung in his life. He was a blessing.

A blessing carrying the taste of a curse.

“I’m here to remind you.” Minho tries to ground himself and not destroy everything they’ve built.

“Do it, then,” Jisung’s voice has turned into a mere warm whisper spoken against Minho’s lips. Their noses are touching now, and Minho fights the urge to chaw on Jisung’s.

“I’m trying.” he lamely mutters, nerves biting at his flesh. “You’re making it hard to focus.”

Thankfully, that makes Jisung move back a bit. Only to look Minho in the eyes— what’s that glint he’s carrying in his irises? — and ask, “why is that?” with the most shit-eating grin he can muster.

“Take a wild guess,” Minho forces his muscles to taut. “We’re not even dat– dancing, Jisung. You’re just grinding on me.”

The smug expression on Jisung’s face morphs into surprise, then realisation, and finally horror. He gasps, searches Minho’s eyes for the answer to an unspoken joke. Jisung’s bottom lip juts out. “If I’m grinding, then you are, um, thrusting..? into me. Yeah. Take that.”

Minho’s burst of laughter is so sudden that saliva spews out of his mouth.

“Minho! What is wrong with you?” Jisung pushes him away, pausing the ad that started playing when the song ended. He scorns at Minho, cute like that. “You- you’re– what is wrong with you?!”

But Minho can’t stop laughing. He wraps his arms around his tummy and bends his knees, chuckles freely falling from his mouth in high-pitched ah ah haa’s.

“What are you laughing at? Stop! Stop laughing!”

How can he? Impossible. Jisung is too fucking adorable. If he were to stop, he’d probably dive in and wreck him.

“Hyung,” Jisung whines, walking over to where Minho has doubled down, and slaps his shoulder. “I’m going to cry. I'm seriously going to.”

You have no idea how badly I want to see you cry, is what Minho wants to say, but it’s such a relief that he’s too busy cracking up at— Minho has no idea what he’s laughing at, actually.

It reminds him of their life back in school.

Usually on Saturdays, when they didn’t have anything to do, they’d go to the mall and enjoy some junk food and boba tea, which Minho hated. Afterwards, once their stomachs were full, they’d get to the shopping. Jisung would grab the craziest, most eye-torturing pieces of clothes. He’d look Minho in the pupils, and with a pout he’d beg, “hyung, please try this on! It fits you sooo well.”

How embarrassing was it that Minho would go into the dressing room and put on whatever atrocities Jisung would hand him? Probably very. Regardless, that made Jisung laugh, so Minho was willing to humiliate himself.

Bless his gay little heart.

“Sorry,” his thoughts have bullied Minho into calming down. He sighs, out of breath. “Sorry, Jisung-ah. Can we dance now? For real,”

“No! Fuck you,” Jisung raises the middle finger. As though they’re back to the old times, and not adults full of responsibilities and with jobs. If a time machine existed, he wouldn’t think twice before capturing Jisung’s hand and running inside of it.

“Fuck me? That’s no way to talk to an elder, Jisung-ssi.” Minho clicks his tongue, adjusting his spine back into place, eyes locking onto Jisung’s own. “No manners whatsoever.”

Another song starts playing, and it’s once again one that Minho’s brain registers as a precious memory. This one is more upbeat.

“Whoever dances better wins.”

Jisung stares at Minho like he grew another head. “And who’d be the judge of that?”

“Me? Obviously.”

“Ha? Who do you think you are?” he tilts his head, eyes squinting into a line.

Minho tsks. “Someone who has dance running through his veins.”

“I say we call Hyunjin ove-”

“No.”

“Why?” Jisung’s perfectly-shaped eyebrows meet in the middle. “He’s also a dan-”

“No.”

If Minho has jealousy issues and a flaming desire to be possessive, then that’s his business and no one else’s.

“Damn it. Fine,”

“Do you want to dance or piss me off?” the direction of Minho’s head changes from Jisung to the clock. It’s almost ten. “I’m getting sleepy over here,” he continues with an exaggerated yawn.

“So I bore you?”

He doesn’t indulge. Instead, Minho passes by him and steals the remote from his hand. Jisung attempts to get it back, but Minho blocks him with his arm. “One more song.”

Just like most of the things Minho confesses to Jisung, that’s false too.

Because two hours later, the two of them are jumping around and singing along to their favourite anime openings. Minho is sweating like crazy, and Jisung’s voice has gone hoarse. To Minho, it’s still the most beautiful melody. Even when it cracks at the edge of an English word, when he starts wheezing out the air from his expanded lungs.

Lee Minho is a liar, but not an all-time one. When he said that Jisung’s voice tasted good (it was an accident three years ago that Jisung, to this day, refuses to let go), he meant it. It probably tastes like pudding. Minho loves pudding.

The song comes to an abrupt stop, and the only sound echoing off the walls now is their panting. Minho swipes his palm across his forehead. It comes back full of sweat.

Jisung doesn’t look much better. His long bangs have curled at the ends, and they stay glued to his skin. His nose shines in all its glory. An eyelash managed to stray from all the others, resting on his cheekbone. Gorgeous.

“Thank you,” Jisung sighs, taking a long breath in. He takes the hem of his t-shirt and lifts it up, using it as a towel. Minho tries not to look and fails pathetically. The lash is gone, lost in the black mass of fabric.

“I’ll go shower,” he announces, wiping his hands on his grey sweatpants.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“No. I’m showering first.”

“Hyung,” Jisung sulks. “We should save water. It costs a lot, right? It must be so expensive. Your poor wallet,”

“My wallet’s fatter than Soonie, thanks.” Minho giggles at the reminder of his cat. He misses Soonie and the other two chunky babies so much.

“Not too much on my Soon!”

They don’t end up showering together despite Jisung’s attempts at convincing Minho to do so. Maybe he’s down bad and definitely stupid, but not to that extent. Seeing Jisung’s naked body for a few minutes is not worth risking ten years of a friendship.

Nonetheless, they do fall asleep close together, with Jisung drooling a pool on Minho’s collarbones and Minho’s fingers tangled in Jisung’s hair.

❀

Things start getting horrible from there.

Jisung’s midterm exams are approaching with fast feet, and Minho is having a hard time taking the constructive criticism his boss gives him. He burns out around late March, when he catches a cold so hard on his body that getting out of bed seems like the biggest task he’s got to do, although in reality that would be attending today’s meeting. Important with how it’s the only one this week.

And Minho tries. He forces himself out of bed a little before seven. Sniffs his way downstairs and has to blow his nose four times to be able to breathe again, only for it to get stuffy seconds later.

After emptying his bladder and brushing his teeth, he begins to cook breakfast for the sleeping beauty upstairs. It’s routine. His limbs do the work, without any orders signaled from his brain.

He cracks an egg in an oily pan and lets it fry until it’s both crunchy and gooey. Jisung likes it that way.

While it cooks, Minho looks through the medicine cabinet to get a pill to suck on for his throat. Unfortunately, he’s run out of them. He swears under his breath and leans his head on the fridge to his right, nausea creeping up his throat at the smell of egg.

With his eyes closed and saliva building up in his mouth, Minho remains like that for some time. Until a hand curls around his waist, settling on his lower belly. He jumps.

“‘Sung?” he croaks out, throat stinging, probably an angry red.

“Morning,” Jisung whispers against his nape in that deep, slightly scratchy voice of his. “You alright?”

“Mhm,” Minho leans back into Jisung. Allows himself to be held.

“You’re kind of hot,” he brings his other hand up and feels around Minho’s neck, his cheeks, his forehead. “Shit, you’re burning, hyung.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah,”

Minho sighs, pushing a cough back down. “Ah, what a pity.”

The kitchen catches a burnt smell, and he fights to get Jisung off his back. It’s futile. “Jisung, the food,”

“I’ll take care of it. Go lay down on the couch for me,” Jisung frees him measly moments later that were spent with them hugging. “You’re staying home today.”

“No way. I have an important meeting at twelve.” Minho stands still, watching Jisung’s broad back, how his muscles flex under the thin shirt. He blames the cold for how he almost drools at the sight. Geez.

“I don’t give a flying fuck about your important meeting at twelve,” he scowls, turning off the electric oven with one touch of his fingertip. “But I do care about your wellbeing.”

“Jisung, I can’t stay in.”

“Go to the couch, Minho.”

“I’m not staying in.” Minho tells himself, legs beelining for a comfortable place to rest on. He lies down on the couch.

“You are, and so am I.” Jisung lets the egg slide down onto a plate. He walks over to the fridge, looks inside it for something. Minho sees him take out the container with rice.

“Are you using my sickness as an excuse to skip classes? You little shit.”

Jisung glances back at him and narrows his eyes. “What? Hyung, no! I’d never.”

“Liar.”

“I’m for real!” He sets everything down on the counter and hurries over to Minho’s side, nudging him to get closer to the backrest. Minho awkwardly wriggles his butt towards it. “I just wanna take care of you,”

“And ditch your morning courses at the same time,”

“Coincidence! It’s a big coincidence, hyung.”

Minho giggles, and it hurts to do so, but he doesn’t stop. He kicks his leg out to risibly hit Jisung. “Don’t be so cute.”

“Minho-hyungie thinks I’m cute?”

“I know you are. You know you are.”

What is he saying? Minho has no idea. He most definitely has a fever. That’s why he’s saying things he only ever thinks.

“I am, yeah,” Jisung nods with a convinced grin. He takes a hold of Minho’s ankles and places his legs over his lap. “Wait. Hyung! Stop changing the subject!”

“Neither of us is staying home today.”

Jisung grunts and his head thunks against the wall when he throws it back.

One of them stays home, and it’s Minho.

But that’s only because Jisung swore to go to college and work if it meant Minho would rest all day.

Although he should’ve gone to the company today, he’s thankful he gets to stay under the sheets enjoying a warm cup of peppermint tea made by Jisung himself.

Hours pass, and his cold seems to get better the more he naps. But then Jisung storms through the front door, choking on crocodile tears. Minho hears more than he sees. He instantly tries to get up, get his feet to move down the stairs. They don’t listen.

That’s fine, because Jisung hurries up to the loft and clashes his body into Minho’s, face coming to nestle in the heat of his neck. Minho shudders.

“Hey,” he directs his palm to the back of Jisung’s hair, threading his powerless fingers through his soft strands. “What’s wrong, Jisungie?”

He waits for an answer— a nod, a shake of his head, a louder sob. Jisung fully plops down on Minho, bodies aligned and touching everywhere. He doesn’t speak out his thoughts. What’s been troubling him.

Neither does Minho try to pry it out of him. If Jisung needs Minho to know, he’ll let him in on his own.

So he simply lets Jisung wail in his arms as he often does, occasionally rocking them in an awkward manner.

Minho can feel his best friend a.k.a roommate’s tears wet his skin, and he wonders if he’s drowning in the space he’s hidden himself in. He wants to pull away, yet he refuses to be the first one to burst Jisung’s bubble of safety.

“H-hyung,” Jisung whimpers wetly against his collarbones. “I’m dead. I’m so fucking dead.”

“You’re thriving and alive, Jisungie,” Minho presses the lightest kiss against his temple. Huh. Hadn’t his fever gone down hours ago? It must’ve come back. “You’re here. With me.”

Jisung just holds on tighter, cries a tad harsher, and in the end falls asleep snuggling close to Minho, their souls entwined.

The next day, Minho feels a bit better cold-wise. However, each bone in his body is screaming at him, calling him a stupid, piteous loser. Jisung, as small as he is, managed to crush Minho under his weight for the whole night. Of course, Minho isn’t mad. He’d let Jisung break his arm in three and then enthusiastically hold out his other one for the same fate.

It’s an understanding that Jisung would never, but.

“Jisung-ah,” he mutters, not making any effort to move. He knows that he has to wake up and go to work and Jisung has to go to college. He still doesn’t withdraw from how Jisung is clinging onto him, arms loosely encircling his neck and hearts steadily beating against each other.

“Mm,” Jisung whines, slithers closer. Minho appreciates the warmth that comes with it.

They don’t budge. They sleep for three more hours, skipping everything important-or-not that day. When they rise awake at lunch, it’s only because the mattress has transformed into a basin of sweat from their entangled bodies.

Minho doesn’t ask Jisung why he barged in crying last night or why he’s so quiet today.

Instead of pestering him about his emotions, he puts on Howl’s Moving Castle and orders food. Cheesecake included. Jisung’s mouth manages to curl upwards the tiniest bit. That has Minho sigh in relief.

April feels like a slap to the face for the both of them.

Jisung spends all of his free time with his nose buried in books, and Minho falls harder for him. Which, truth be told, he thought it was impossible by this point.

How hard does one have to fall for it to hurt?

He thinks the answer is closer than it should be. Maybe across the street, or maybe down in the park.

Their park, by the lake.

Anyway. It’s Monday and Minho has just gotten back from work. He’s surprised to see Jisung on the couch, unconscious in a slumber. Poor guy. He must be exhausted.

“Han-ah?” Minho softly calls out, but he’s met with silence. Yup. Fully gone into dreamland.

It’s a bit cold inside the apartment, the window left ajar. He silently closes it and reaches for the blanket on the armchair, draping it over Jisung.

Now that he’s close to his face, Minho notices it. Tears, and a lot of them, dried on his cheeks. He frowns.

Jisung cried? Again? He has been coming home with a puffy face and a raspy voice for the past week. What is going on that he isn’t telling Minho? What is he hiding?

Minho hates being curious. He can’t exactly help it, though. This is his best friend. He has to know what has been bothering him.

Yet still, he never asks. Doesn’t get the chance to.

For the following few days, Jisung skips both college and work whereas Minho grumbly returned to the company building first thing Tuesday in the morning. He didn’t have any meetings set on that particular day, and today, it being Friday, he has a short zoom call.

Insignificant, if you ask him. He’d rather coddle Jisung in their bed and spoon-feed him the way he deserves.

During working hours, he worries. He thinks about Jisung and feels like screaming.

Why has he turned into a shell? He won’t tell Minho anything. He barely smiles, and when he does, it looks forced. As though his facial muscles had been pulled into different directions by some strings. Minho knows all of Jisung’s smiles— can name them, too.

Besides whatever this one is.

He tries really hard not to show his concern because things like that freak Jisung out. He does not want to freak Jisung out.

Which is the reason he never asks why. Why Jisung had returned home crying his eyes out a week ago. Why Jisung has been giving him the silent treatment. Why Jisung takes fifty-minutes long showers and walks out red-eyed.

Why?

Minho is currently waiting for Jisung to come back home so they can eat dinner together. He said he was going on a walk to clear his mind. Minho asked if he could tag along. Jisung scoffed and closed the door in his face.

Okay, then. That’s fine. Sometimes he needs to be alone. We all do.

Five hours have drained since then. Minho waits and waits and waits, and Jisung never comes back.

At first, he doesn’t worry. Jisung is twenty-two— as much as he loves being taken care of, he can perfectly live on his own. He has the intellectual capacity not to depend on Minho for a peaceful living.

And, okay. Minho starts worrying the following day, on Saturday, when he’s making himself lunch and cooks food for two mouths. Where is Jisung? Why isn’t he replying? Minho had spam-texted him the moment he woke up in a cold bed.

He wonders whether he’s at a friend’s house or at his parents’. Both options seem plausible.

But why did he say he was going on a walk, leaving the option that he’ll return open? Did something happen to him? Surely, it would’ve already been on the news. Right? Minho should stop fretting.

Nothing went wrong. Jisung is fine, wherever he is. He’ll get back to Minho soon.

Won’t he, eventually?

It’s bound to happen. There’s no other possibility. Jisung wouldn’t leave his best friend in the shadows. It’s not like he woke up one day and decided to break things off. That’s unlike him.

There ought to be some sort of goal here, because chopsticks are only meant to be split with an underlying purpose. You don’t get to break them apart if a hot meal isn’t laying in front of you.

His phone starts ringing. Minho’s eyes light up, feet hurrying over to the coffee table. His expression falls when he sees that it’s not Jisung who’s calling.

Incoming call from Bang Chan Hyung.

Regardless of his initial disappointment, Minho answers in seconds.

“Hi, hyung,”

“Minho? Hello,” Chan’s voice is muffled by distant sounds. Minho makes out music and unknown voices. “Hello?”

“I’m here, Chan,” he rests his phone between his ear and shoulder, taking a seat down at the counter to eat. Jisung’s portion remains untouched in the steaming pot on the stove.

“Can you hear me?”

“Perfectly fine, yes.”

“Phew!” the man on the other end of the call sighs. He clicks his lips. “Alright.”

“Um,” Minho places the spoon back down and sets his phone on the table next to his bowl, accessing the speaker. “Why’d you call?”

“Ah, right! Changbin has been wondering why Jisung is ignoring his and Felix’s calls,”

So it’s not just Minho he’s ignoring. Is that good or bad? Should he be happy or distressed?

“Mine too.” Minho looks in disgust at the soup he’s supposed to eat. Suddenly, all of his appetite is gone.

Chan must’ve paused whatever he was doing because all sounds come to a stop. “What do you mean? Don’t you two literally live together?”

“He left a while ago,”

“Huh?”

“Chan-hyung, I don’t know.” he bites down on his tongue. “He left. I have no track of his whereabouts. I’m thinking he’s taking a break from everything, but–”

“Minho, you need to find him.”

Minho needs to find him.

Just like their hearts had found each other at the right time. Minho has to do the same. Why isn’t he?

“I need to find him,”

“Hyunjin called Felix and told him that Jisung’s been skipping classes. Hell, he and Jeongin-ie haven't seen him in forever! They’re really worried, Minho.” Chan explains. His voice takes a shaky tone, unnoticeable to those who aren’t familiar with him. “I am worried. When did he leave? Did he say anything?”

“Last night,” Minho feels like throwing up. He pushes away from the table. “He said he needed to go on a walk. I wanted to go with him, but he blatantly refused. I let him go, hyung.”

“You let him go.” he repeats. “That’s okay, he needed some alone-time. But why hasn’t he been answering us?”

“I don’t know,”

“He talked to Felix three days ago, on the phone. Felix reported that Jisung seemed fine, his usual self.”

“Jisung hasn’t been his usual self for a week now.” Minho recalls. He wants to punch himself in the face.

How could he be so blind? So stupid? Why did he let him go?

It was clear that Jisung didn’t feel well.

“Fuck, hyung.”

“Minho?”

“It’s my fault.”

Chan steps in before Minho can finish his sentence. “Don’t say stupid things, man.”

“I let him go, hyung. I opened the door for him. I- I didn’t ask what was wrong with him. Why he was acting the way he was. It’s all my fucking fault.”

“Minho-yah,”

“How did I not realize? He was– he came back home crying every night, and never once did I look inside his heart. What is wrong with me?”

“Minho.”

“It was so obvious. Jisung’s spark came loose a week ago and– and I never fucking— hyung, I need to find him.” Minho’s breathing is getting weird. He’s not going to break down. How can he let Jisung leave and then cry about it? Minho won’t let himself cry about it.

“I’ll come pick you up in thirty minutes. We’ll find him together, okay?” Chan says, and it’s final.

“No,” Minho shakes his head as though Chan can see him. “No, I’ll take my car. It’s my fault.”

“Minho. Jisung left on his own. He’s grown, made the decision himself. He knows what he’s doing. We’ll find this stray kid when he wants to be found. Okay? It’s not your fault. It won’t ever be.”

The thing is that it’s not Minho who lost Jisung. It’s Jisung who lost himself.

When, where, and how? What had happened on that Wednesday night, when Jisung came crying to Minho?

“Did you eat, Minho?” Chan’s soft, loving voice breaks through his thoughts. He looks at the soup, at the fridge, and his stomach growls.

“No. I can’t eat, hyung. I can’t eat while knowing Jisung is starving somewhere out there.”

“Minho. Jisung is okay. Don’t jump to conclusions so fast. He could be at his mother’s house, for all you know.”

“I feel like he isn’t.” Minho pours the soup back into its original container and leaves everything in the fridge.

“We’ll go somewhere to eat and discuss places where he could be. Don’t starve yourself.”

“I’’m not,” he mumbles.

“I’ll text you the location. See you there in a bit. You better not be a no-show, Lee Minho.” Chan jokes. Minho does not find it funny. He ends the call and forces the scream back down.

❀

Minho can’t eat. Everything that makes it past his throat climbs right back up. His head is starting to hurt from how stressed he is. Jisung still hasn’t replied to his fifty-three messages and seventeen calls.

Chan watches him closely, urging him to at least take one bite from the ramyeon waiting to be eaten in front of him.

“Minho, you won’t be able to look for ‘Sung on an empty stomach. Do you want me to force-feed you?”

“Ew,” he knits his eyebrows. “Don’t even joke with that.”

“Okay, damn.” Chan feigns the wound with a laugh. “But eat. We don’t have all day. It’s already two, and I need to go to Changbin’s parents tonight.”

“Why?” Minho looks at the food one more time before he raises the chopsticks to his mouth and stuffs a few in his cheeks. Like Jisung does. Fuck.

“We’re all going on an expedition tomorrow morning,” he explains, taking a gulp from his sparkling water. “So we’re sleeping over at theirs.”

“I see.”

“Yeah. But us two have time,”

He chews, feeling the texture on his tongue and scrunching his nose. “Do you think we’ll find him?”

“Minho, he’s not a forgotten dog wandering in parks. We’ll find him if we search for the spots he’ll most likely be at.”

“Like?” his eyes shoot up towards Chan, all hopeful.

Chan deadpans. “You’re the one who knows, not me. I’m not even friends with Jisung!” he throws his hands in the air, almost knocking down his glass.

“Then why are you helping me?”

“Because I care about Jisung, even if we’re not close. He’s my boyfriend’s acquaintance, and Felix’s best friend. I worry about him, too.”

Minho stares at him. He almost loses his composure at the kind look Chan gifts him. He gulps down without having fully chewed.

“He’s a good kid. I’m sure he’s safe.”

“Jisung is reckless, hyung.” Minho shakes his head.

“You’ll see that he’s fine. Make a mental note of where he could be. Like, places he likes. I don't know.”

Minho tries to think.

The first spot that comes to his mind is the flower field a few minutes away from Jisung’s childhood house, the park next to the Han River, the library next to his college, and lastly thousands of cafes they’ve tried out together.

“There are a lot, man.” Minho squeezes his eyes closed.

“We have five hours or so.”

Chan ends up paying, despite Minho’s attempts at convincing him not to. Fighting with Chan is definitely not a good idea, so in the end, he had to give up and let him pay for his ramyeon cup.

They leave Minho’s car in the parking lot of the fast-food boutique and take Chan’s black van.

“So? Where are we off to?” Chan twists the key and the engine roars to life. Minho buckles his seatbelt, leaning back on the passenger seat. He takes an appreciative sniff. Chan is a very clean person who always keeps things neat. His car smells tidy.

“Uh,” Minho shifts, hand raising up and thumb coming to rest under this bunny-like front teeth. He doesn’t bite, but he appreciates the comfort. “Let’s try the library? Jisung-ie has always liked quiet places.”

“Which one?”

“Let me put in the address,” he reaches for Chan’s phone.

Off they go to find Han Jisung, wherever the wind had decided to carry him.

Not at the library, Minho jots down in the mental note he’s made. Not the park next to our apartment either.

He crosses out endless possibilities, and by the time the clock hits four o’clock, he wonders whether Jisung hopped on a plane to fly far away from Minho’s weird persona. Could that be it?

“Minho-yah, stop thinking,” Chan places his warm palm on Minho’s thigh for a second. “Lets try his workplace. Maybe he went there. Maybe Seungmin knows.”

“If I don’t know, then surely nobody else does.” Minho sighs. Watches Chan move his hand back on the steering wheel. “But it’s worth trying.”

They try. Chan parks his vehicle a few streets away from the small building Jisung works at and they get out together.

Jisung has worked here for two years now. Minho used to always stop by. He’d say hi, hand Jisung a cup of coffee and some food, then leave to go home. He never stuck around because Choonhee would always get mad at him for distracting Jisung from his work, whatever that meant.

The white doors they walk through are wide open, inviting book lovers inside the two-story store coated in pastel colours of yellow and shades of beige. There are stairs descending in spirals from the first floor to the ground one.

It smells like freshly made paper sheets. Minho isn’t one to die for this kind of atmosphere, but he still greets the staff with a tired smile on his face. “Hello,” he goes over to the till, eyes meeting Seungmin’s.

“Minho-hyung?” Kim Seungmin looks half-surprised, half-relieved.

“Is Han Jisung-ie here?”

Chan comes from behind, softly whistling to himself as he glimpses at the organised books of all genres laying on dust-free shelves. He doesn’t say anything other than a silent ‘good afternoon, Seungmin-ssi.’

“Jisung?”

“Yeah?” Minho tilts his head, the scarce hopeful glint in his eyes dissipating. Not at the bookstore, then.

“Um,” Seungmin looks towards the back. “You don’t know?”

What should Minho know?

“Huh?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what, Seungmin?”

“He quit, like, last week.” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing ever.

Jisung did what? Jisung quit work?

What the actual fuck.

Minho turns to search Chan’s eyes. For what? He has no idea. He really just seeks the comfort that his hyung brings.

“Why?” he mutters, attention back on the young cashier. “What happened?”

“No reason.” Seungmin shrugs. He fidgets around with a pen, accidentally throwing it out in the air. It clatters on the hardwood floor.

“Okay,” Chan clasps his hands, taking a firm hold of Minho’s shoulder afterwards. “We just wanted to say hi to Jisung-ie. Let’s go, Minho,” he stalks towards the outside world, where the sun is still shining and the trees are still green and people are still laughing.

They’re halfway out the door when Seungmin rushes to Minho, stopping him from leaving.

“Hyung,” Seungmin’s eyebrows shoot down. “Please make sure Hannie is okay. He’s been ignoring my calls.”

Mine too, Minho wants to confess, but he isn’t too keen on creating panic, so he smiles at Seungmin and reassures, “Of course I will.”

The next place they visit is Jisung’s most favourite cafe, although it is improbable for him to be there. Honestly, this could count as a tiny, well-needed break.

Chan orders an iced pineapple juice drink and Minho a simple, unsweetened cappuccino.

“Ah, so refreshing,” Chan closes his eyes, humming around the white paper-straw. They sit down at a table next to the window, where the sunrays can kiss their skin.

“Yeah.” Minho waits for his drink to cool down. He’s not even a big fan of cappuccino.

“You’re scaring me.”

“I’m scary?” his head drops to the side, eyes squinting. He’d play into the joke if he didn’t feel so devastated at the thought of Jisung disappearing out of thin air. Did the ground swallow him whole? Did the sun finally let jealousy win? Minho is going to risk it all and fight it, even if that means being burnt alive. Turned into ashes.

If that was his destiny, then his ashes would flow along with the wind, and he’d end up somewhere next to Jisung. Probably in his hypothetical house that has a fireplace, where Minho will serve to warm him and his hypothetical family during cold winters.

“No, you’re cute,” Chan babies in that squeaky voice of his which Minho has tried to run away from for months now.

“Bang Chan,” Minho glares at him. The affection in Chan’s eyes grows twice in its size.

After aimlessly sitting in the bistro for about fifteen minutes, Minho decides to try one more thing— call Jisung’s parents.

They are both busy people who care about their son like the back of their heads, and so Minho really didn’t want to stress them out with something as trivial as Jisung going for a walk and never returning.

But if Jisung turns out to be hiding at his mother’s house with his puppy (Bbama whom the two of them greatly love yet never see), then Minho can sleep peacefully tonight.

“Sorry, Minho,” Chan pulls the door of his van closed, settling in the driver’s seat. “I really am sorry we couldn’t find him.”

Five hours. Nine spots. Jisung is nowhere.

“I’ll call his parents.”

“Do you want to fill in a report to the police if he’s not back by tomorrow? I can help you with that.”

“That sounds too serious. Please never say that to me again.”

Chan scoffs in an amused way. He puts the car into gear, their next destination being where they left off in the first place. “Okay. But let me know once you’ve considered it.”

“Alright.”

The ride back to the parking lot is silent, short. They part paths too soon, and Minho is left alone with his thoughts once more.

He has no other choice than going back to his lonely apartment to drown in whatever feeling is gnawing at his heart.

That’s what he does.

❀

Minho is starting to grow dizzy with worry.

So, since it’s ten o’clock and the air inside his apartment has gone humid, he agrees with himself to go on a walk. Just like Jisung had— except he’s actually planning on coming back home afterwards.

Seokchon lake is not that far away by car. Minho wraps himself in a jacket and puts a cap on his head, deeming that the tiredness has taken away his attractive facial features.

In the car, Minho finally makes the call, despite it being late. He knows that Jisung’s father usually stays up, so he’s the one he contacts.

As expected, the man answers several moments after the initial ringing noise.

“Hello?”

“I’m Lee Minho-ssi,”

“Ah! My favourite boy,” Jisung’s father cracks into laughter. Minho can briefly hear the voice of a woman in the background. “Glad you called!”

“Yeah,” Minho feigns a smile. “I was just wondering whether Jisung-ie was home?”

“Oh, this reminds me of the old days,” his father randomly recalls. He fumbles a bit with the phone, assumingly putting the speaker on. “Yoonhae, doesn’t this sound like the times Minho would knock at our door to ask if Jisung wanted to go play outside? How lovely!”

Minho lets himself bask in the feeling of lovely memories resurfacing. He drives down the street at a reasonable pace, listening to the two voices on the other side of the phone.

“How lovely!” his wife repeats, barely audible.

“That’s right, that’s right,” Minho nods to himself. He checks the side mirror before switching lanes. “Is Jisung there?”

“Well,”

The breath he inhales gets stuck in his throat at the expectation of a positive answer. Minho’s grip on the wheel tightens a hurtful amount.

“Yoonhee-ya, yeobo, Jisung told us not to tell anyone where he is, right? I can’t let Minho know, oh no,” the man whispers, trying to be silent. To tell a secret.

A secret that makes Minho abruptly swerve right. What?

Jisung deliberately told his parents to lie to him? Jisung doesn’t want Minho to know where he disappeared? What the hell.

“Sorry, Minho-yah sweetie, we don’t– Jisung-ie is not at home right now!”

“Okay,” Minho finally exhales, and it’s through his nose. “Okay. Thank you.”

“My yeobo made an amazing cake if you do want some,” Jisung’s father quickly adds. “Come over sometime, we miss you!”

Then a dog barks, and Minho really does feel like he’s missed.

The smell of cherry blossoms fills Minho’s lungs with a waft of fresh air as he walks down a lively pink path. He appreciates the cold breeze caressing his face in the form of gentle wind, and the distant giggles of a seldom passerby that doesn’t spare him one glance.

Thankfully, the park is pretty empty at this hour. The lantern poles stand tall between the slanted trees, illuminating the narrow street that overlooks the beautiful lake on Minho’s right.

He takes deep breaths in, mind spinning.

Why did Jisung remove himself from Minho’s life so suddenly? Was it something Minho did? Has he been too obvious, maybe?

Nothing makes sense.

Thursday night they enjoyed dinner together, and Jisung even laughed for five seconds at a joke Minho made. Friday morning Jisung refused to wake up, and Minho covered his breakfast with a napkin. Friday afternoon, when Minho got back home from work, Jisung was getting ready for his so-called walk.

Fuck.

Did Minho not hug him tightly enough? Did Minho not hold his hand when it needed to be held?

Where did it go wrong?

A mosquito starts dancing around his head, and he frantically waves his arms in order to get rid of the annoying buzzing violating his ears. He must be looking so crazy right now.

Which, truly, he’s not far from turning insane.

Jisung has always been that person to Minho. Made for Minho, he dares to think.

Whenever he’d get too hyped about something trifling and his heart rate exceeded the limit, Jisung was always there to calm him down. And he was the only one able to do it. Jisung has always known how to handle Minho’s weird sides perfectly.

Frankly— Minho would be a lost cause without Jisung there to tend to his odd traits.

How come the world tried to tear them apart?

Minho finally makes it over to the most pivotal place. He jumps over the bushes that separates the path from the shore of the lake and walks faster towards the empty spot that once contained the witness of blooming love.

As expected, the tree isn’t there anymore. It hasn’t been for years.

But the memories remain engraved in the rocky sand, buried deep beneath. Minho clenches his fist until his knuckles go white. He steps closer, feels his heart twitch, and drops down next to the trunk of a healthy tree.

He closes his eyes, lets the wind take care of his reeling mind. He could fall asleep here.

“Hyung?”

Ah. He must have already fallen into a slumber, because he’s dreaming about Jisung again. How nice.

“Minho-hyung?”

When Minho instinctively opens one eye, he catches sight of Han Jisung. He instantly sits up, mouth left agape like he can’t believe it. “Jisung?”

“What are you doing here? It’s late.”

Minho looks at him and blinks seven times. Is he for real? “What are you doing here?” he sits up straighter, rubbing at his face. Is he dreaming?

“Um. I asked you first.” Jisung lamely retorts back, shifting until he’s all up in Minho’s personal space. To be fair, it was never Minho’s to begin with.

“Why did you leave?”

Jisung sighs. He looks at the lake across from them, so close yet so far away. The moon reflects into the water, beautiful as it usually is. It can’t capture all its grandeur, but Minho appreciates the way it tries to.

“You noticed?”

A scoff. Minho doesn’t mean to, but it escapes his mouth before he can stop himself. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I didn’t think you’d notice.” Jisung murmurs. Sad, pitiful, hopeless. Fucking hopeless again.

“Okay, what happened to you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hm. You don’t know?” Minho glances at him, watching him closely. He can tell there’s something wrong. The way Jisung’s voice has gone hoarse, filled with tears. How his hands are shaking. “Why did you tell your parents to lie to me if I were to ask about your whereabouts, Jisung? Why have you been ignoring mine and your friends’ desperate calls? Why did you not come back home?”

The last sentence falls apart at the end. Minho is— he’s getting emotional. It’s human to do so. Still feels a bit scary, though.

“Why?” he squeezes his eyes.

“Hyung,” Jisung pushes himself into him, trying to get as close as possible. Like he’s making up for the hours they were separated. “Minho, I had to.”

“You had to what?”

“Leave,”

Minho furrows his eyebrows at him. “No. No, you didn’t have to, Jisung.”

“You don’t understand!” Jisung exasperatedly throws his hands in the air. He’s trembling. He must be cold, only wearing a sweater and some long jorts. He’s so reckless.

“Then help me understand,”

Jisung pauses. His breathing has gotten rapid, frustration creeping in the lines on his unblemished face. He doesn’t look away from Minho as he mumbles a pained, “I’m a bother to you.”

It’s the way he says those words. He forces them out of his mouth in a gruesome tone, almost like he doesn’t want to believe them. Jisung looks like he’s been thinking a lot, and yes Jisung always thinks a lot, but this time it feels vexatious.

“You know you aren’t.” Minho shakes his head.

“I am! Ever since I showed up outside of your door that one night– you have been so stressed, hyung.”

“I’ve been stressed because of work, Jisung-ah, never you.” he resonates. And it’s true. Minho would never blame the tension in his bones on his best friend.

“No– I’m cursed, hyung. It has spread to you. Things are getting bad again for me, and it’s only a matter of time until I stain you too.”

Is he serious? He can’t be serious.

“Jisung, we’re not in an isekai anime,” Minho thoroughly scans the expression on his face. “This is reality. You’re not cursed, nor did you curse me. Why do you keep thinking that?”

“See? You don’t fucking get it!” “Language, Jisung.”

“Sorry, hyung,” the brunette’s head drops, now facing the scarce portion of grass they’re sitting on. “But you really don’t get it. No one does.”

“If I don’t get you, then who does? Are you hearing yourself?” He leans his head against the trunk, hard enough for the bark to dig into his scalp. If only he could, Minho would use a magic wand to shrink Jisung and put him in a jar for him to be assiduously scrutinized.

“I’m horribly unlucky. I can’t even remember the last time something good happened to me. I haven’t felt true happiness in months, Minho. Months!” Jisung makes himself small next to Minho, bringing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. He sulks. “I’m so tired.”

Minho can’t do anything other than place a warm palm on Jisung's back. He runs it up and down in a ‘I’m here, Jisungie,’ way. He clears his throat, watching the sky above them. “That’s because you only keep count of the negativity in your life. You never sit back to enjoy the beautiful moments. You think so much about how it’s all going to end soon that you forget to live in the present.”

“How can I enjoy something that is not meant to be enjoyed?”

“By just living. Seeing the world in a different light. Rather than thinking ‘oh no, everyone is against me’ you should view it as ‘I’m thriving, why should I care about anyone else?’”

Jisung opens his mouth to interrupt, but Minho continues his wise idea. “You do take critics to heart, don’t deny it. You listen to people’s feedback with attentive ears and let it ruin you.” he explains, running the fingers from his free hand through the grass blades underneath him. “You think life is about how others perceive you.”

“Isn’t it?” he whispers against the hard bone of his knee.

“It really is not.”

They go silent. The wind blows through the tree branches, forceful enough to shake the pink flowers off of them. They dance their way down until they fall on Jisung’s head like a halo, decorating his fluffy hair curled at its fried ends. Minho watches in awe, and for the nth time that day, his heart hurts.

“I hate my life.” Jisung’s words stab Minho in the middle of his chest. A sharp knife that manages to breach through the protective multi layered shell he single-handedly constructed.

He swallows nothing, throat contracting. “Then change, Jisung. Let me help you find joy in it again.”

“I don’t deserve you. Minho-hyung, you are a wonderful person. I can’t risk it and ruin you.”

This is new. Jisung always comes to Minho to whine about whatever hardships he’s facing. He’s not someone who hides himself behind a tall wall. Why does he suddenly want to distance himself?

“What are you saying?”

“I- I think I need to go.” Jisung finally raises his head up, looking into Minho’s eyes with glossy tears in his.

“Go where?”

“Somewhere far away. To a place from where I can’t hurt you.”

Minho bursts into tears.

It’s so out of pocket that Jisung flinches, lips forming an ‘o’ shape. He stares at Minho with surprise smeared over his youthful face, stuck in place for a beat or two. Then, when it finally clicks to him, Jisung reaches his hands and cups Minho’s cheeks.

“Hyung? What’s wrong?” he lets his thumb collect the running tears. “Why are you crying? Please don’t cry, fuck,”

He has no idea why he’s crying, actually. Minho felt a swift outburst crawl up his throat and wasn’t able to hold it in. He lets a sob out, another. It clogs his throat.

It’s been, what, years? since he last cried like this. Minho isn’t one to express his emotions through lachrymation. He prefers solving his problems logically, with nobody else involved. He doesn’t have the time to weep, to be a burden.

But Jisung talking about himself like that, saying that he wants to vanish from Minho’s life? That’s too fucking much, even for someone as strong as Minho.

“Hey,” Jisung shakes Minho by the head, probably trying to air dry his face. “Can you look at me?”

Although he doesn’t want to, his neck straightens on his own. Minho feels how wet his cheeks have become, how cold they’re getting thanks to the breeze. His lashes are clamped together, heavy above his eyes.

“You idiot,” Minho gasps out, hand coming to rest on Jisung’s sleeve, grasp tight on it.

“‘M not an idiot, what,” he pouts.

“You are the stupidest idiot on earth, Han Jisung.”

The way his voice breaks, genuine woe slipping through the cracks, might make Minho feel embarrassed any other day, yet tonight, as he stands before Jisung, he lets every sentiment he feels towards his best friend burn in flames.

His whole being is on fire, eyes stinging and lungs gasping. He’s crying silently, not a trace of suffering allowed to waft in the air to alert anyone passing by. He lets himself be pulled in Jisung’s arms, lets Jisung glide his thumb across his damp cheek. He even grants himself one pass to a sob, and it comes out in the soft crevice of Jisung’s neck.

“Oh, hyungie,”

“Don’t you—” Minho chokes on his own breath, nose runny and philtrum salty. “Don’t you know how much– Jisungie,” he cries out. The words are suddenly too much, feeling like lead on his tongue. Heavy, impossible to spit out.

“It’s fine, Minho, you can cry on me,” Jisung holds him close. “We’re okay.”

Okay. They’re okay.

They’re not okay.

Minho puts a negligible distance between their bodies, reaching the back of his hand up to wipe his face. It’s wet, and trying to dry it off is futile. He settles on letting the blowing wind do it for him.

“Hyung?” Jisung worries at his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed.

“I love you,” he avows— stares profoundly into his eyes as he does so— unable to keep it in anymore. It’s already over. Jisung is planning to leave, to throw away the past decade to the wolves to feast on. They’ll at least grow stronger.

“I- I love you too, Minho-hyung, you’re my best friend,”

“No.” Minho inhales. “I love you in a way I shouldn't, Jisung.” he exhales.

Jisung pulls back far enough for his brain to retain all the information of Minho’s face that his two gorgeous eyes transmit. He moves his lips, about to say something, just to end up shutting his mouth moments after.

“I like you so fucking much it’s driving me nuts.”

“You– You what?” he gives an empty stare that has Minho’s heart skipping a beat (in the wrong, terrifying way).

Seven years of aimlessly waiting. Seven years since they kissed for the first time, in this exact place. Seven years spent running along one-sided feelings. Seven years of pure mental torture.

“I’m in love with you.” Minho sobs again, louder, for everyone to hear. Hell, he’d scream it at the top of his lungs if his tongue wasn’t so useless.

There it is.

The true breaking point of their one-decade long friendship.

Or Minho thinks so.

What he expects in return to the confession is betrayal akin to horror in Jisung’s gaze, but Minho doesn’t even have time to process the hiccup that tears its way out of his throat because Jisung surges forward and kisses him, hard, on the lips.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. What the fuck is— why is Jisung— Minho’s breath catches in the back of his throat. His mouth, however, seems to have a desirous mind of its own, moving in tandem with Jisung’s own heart-shaped one.

It’s dizzying; not necessarily in a hot, all-consuming way. It’s more like an electric buzz that runs through Minho’s veins, setting each capillary ablaze. They naturally align their hearts, making a whole one, completing the missing puzzle piece that contributes to the interlinked stars shining above.

Is this the start of a romantic comedy or the end of unyielding yearning?

Minho yelps when Jisung sucks on his bottom lip. He’s never really kissed anyone, if accidents or dares can be excluded, let alone had his mouth be obliterated by someone as gorgeous as his boy best friend. Which, by the way, he’s dreamt of this moment countless times.

That’s for him to know and Jisung to never find out, though.

“Hyung,” Jisung pants in the stifling space left between their faces. The tips of their noses rub against each other whenever one of them jerks.

“Hannie,” Minho calls out right back, sliding his hand up to rest on the side of Jisung’s pretty head. He digs his thumb into his cheek, an adulatory touch.

“Kiss me again?” he puckers his spit-polished lips.

Like the starved man he is, Minho dives in to savour the taste of Jisung. Somehow, even seven years later, he hasn’t changed. He still wears that awful mandarine-chapstick— which, Minho wonders who would produce such atrocity—, he still knocks their teeth together, he still grows squeamish at the lightest stimulation provided to his sensitive skin.

Endearing would be the only appropriate word to describe Jisung.

“For how long do you wish to be kissed, Jisung-ah?” he focuses on his top lip, lapping his tongue at the seam.

A whine. “For as long as we’re both alive, Minho-hyung,”

They only halt when the atmosphere grows hot, similar to their first kiss. After pulling away at the same time, Minho glimpses at the redness on Jisung’s face, the swell of his lips, the way he’s slightly panting.

Minho huffs. He sniffs, tears now uncomfortably dry and heavy on his cheeks.

His body has gotten so light that he feels like he might float away if he were to let go of the grip he has on Jisung’s sleeve.

“Do you feel better, hyung?”

“Mhm,” Minho leans back against the tree, pulling Jisung towards him. Their bodies collide, shoulders bumping into one another. They grunt, look at each other, and laugh.

It has been a known fact that Minho is utterly obsessed with Jisung, which includes his voice, the sound of his laughter. But hearing it now, doused over by a layer of shyness, exhaustion, maybe want… oh, Minho has never been normal one day throughout his whole life. And Jisung, despite being the opposite in that sense, still loves him for it. Loves the weird, unwanted side of Minho.

“Sorry I ran away.” Jisung finally gifts him the words he’s been waiting to hear all day.

“I understand, ‘Sungie. Life gets overwhelming sometimes. You needed an escape. I just wish I could’ve been that escape for you.” He wraps his hand around Jisung’s wrist and squeezes reassuringly. “You’re the best thing to happen to me.”

“Do you mean that?”

“When do I not mean what I say?”

“I’m terrified of losing you, Minho. I like you so much. I’ve liked you so much. What if I become something you can’t handle?” Jisung grabs Minho’s hand to slide it into his. It’s sweaty, but warm.

“Then I’d become someone who can handle you.” Minho greatly cherishes the hold.

“Damn,” he giggles, tilting his head and smiling at him. “Minho-hyung, you’re such a flirt.”

“I wasn’t trying to flirt.”

“You should.”

Minho narrows his eyes in thought. “I should what?”

“Flirt with me,” Jisung presses his lips together into a firm line, pink cheeks bunching up.

“Okay.” he nods. Minho uses the trunk as leverage to get up, back aching and legs numb. “Let’s go.”

Jisung’s facial muscles work to draw his eyebrows together. His hands reach towards Minho, wanting to be pulled up on his feet. “Huh? Where?”

“Home.”

Chapter Text

“No.”

The aromatic bouquet of colourful flowers trembles in Minho’s hold. “What?”

“You can’t be my boyfriend.” Jisung shakes his head, leaning it back against the tree bark. The wind whooshes between his words in a chaotic sway.

“I thought- did I get it all wrong?” Minho frowns. His heavy hand lowers in defeat. “I thought my feelings were mutual,”

A beat. Jisung’s lips turn sulky, and his eyebrows are pinched together. He pats the spot next to him— beckons Minho to take a seat on the dewy grass. “They very much are, hyung.”

“Then why.. did you just refuse my confession?” He’s quick to act, grip tight on the multiple stems bonded by a pink string at the base. He sits down, letting the bouquet rest on his lap.

“I can’t ruin someone as amazing as you, Minho. My heart won’t let me, no matter how badly it wants to be intertwined with yours.” Jisung sighs. He turns around to stare at his still-best-friend. He points to the flowers, then.

Minho is at a loss of words for another minute. He’s dumbfounded, a bit hurt, and angry at Jisung. Not because he just rejected him, though. Never that.

But because he’s back at square one, talking down about himself, acting like he’s nothing but a cursed bother.

It’s been a little over a week since their last talk, since Jisung’s short disappearance. Since Minho confessed his feelings and they kissed. Then kissed again when they got home, and a few more times during the following days.

They’ve been kissing a lot, actually. After they’re done brushing their teeth side by side. Before Minho leaves for work. When he comes back. Underneath the warm sheets. Every time they’re alone, in the intimacy of their little home.

Like lovers do.

And yet— they’re not quite lovers. Jisung doesn’t want them to be.

“‘Sungie,” Minho narrows his eyes, handing him the blooming bouquet. He watches as Jisung smells each petal, humming in appreciation. He’s always loved flowers. “What if I wanted to get ruined by you? What if that’s what my heart desires?”

“Hyung.” Jisung’s facial muscles stop working altogether. His shoulders droop. “Stop saying bullshit.”

“The feelings I have towards you are bullshit?”

“No, but what you’re saying is. I’m not going to bring you down with me. I’m not that worth it. We can’t both be miserable.”

“Alright, then.” Minho huffs. He veers his head to watch the lake across from them. It’s calm. “I’ll help you become less miserable. I’ll have you acknowledge your worth no matter how much time it’ll take. I promise, Jisung.”

“Why?” His breath shudders in a hint of disbelief. Maybe a tinge of hope, too.

“Because I love you.”

❀

Minho keeps his words.

They enter the apartment at eleven, hurriedly kicking off their shoes and jackets. Jisung places the beautiful flowers in a vase filled with water. Minho beelines for the kitchen. Grabs a kettle to boil water into. He looks for the green tea bags in an upper cupboard. Jisung silently watches from the side.

“Go take a quick shower. Warm water. No longer than fifteen minutes. Do ten if you can.”

“Huh?” Jisung crosses his arms over his chest. Why is Minho suddenly ordering him around— planning his night routine? He’s capable of doing it himself, thank you very much.

“You heard me. You shower because it’s a necessity, not a pleasure. Stop spending an hour inside there boiling yourself.”

Jisung pouts at him, sticks out his tongue when Minho is facing the electric stove.

“Now off you go,”

“But hyung,” he whines. Minho ignores him, so off he goes. Grumbles on his way to the wardrobe to search for some pyjamas. Continues on throwing a silent tantrum even inside the bathroom. The walls are thin, Minho can hear his complaints through the layers.

Despite having (tried to) put on a serious persona, Minho prepares two tea mugs with a tiny smile on his face.

By the time Jisung’s emptied the bathroom, their soft drink is at the perfect temperature for consumption, and the clock shows that it’s only been thirteen minutes.

The two of them sit on the couch, the TV across brightfully playing a movie. The vase is on the coffee table, the leaves and petals obstructing half of the screen. Neither of them minds it.

Jisung smells like Minho’s body soap. Lavender. His fingers twitch on his lap, urging his hand to stop being such a coward of a limb. To just hold Jisung’s. Connect with his like it’s meant to do.

Minho refuses, sending negative signals to his brain. Do not engage. He needs to give Jisung some time to get used to this new air that surrounds them. He’d hate for his lungs to get ill because he didn’t inhale properly.

However, Jisung doesn’t seem to care much about that. He wiggles closer, using being cold as a pretext. Minho would roll his eyes but he’s way too fond. He lets Jisung nest against his shoulder, feeling the damp strands of his hair tickle his jaw. It’s comfortable. He doesn’t see the point in moving away.

“I’m sorry, hyung.” Jisung quietly says, head lolling closer.

“You don’t need to be.” Minho dares to rest his lips against the top of Jisung’s head. Doesn’t kiss the spot. Just keeps a light pressure against his hair, for him to know that he’s there. “I care about how you feel more than I care about my crush on you. I just want you to be okay with who you are.”

“I want it too,”

“Then let me help you. Let me show you the way. There’s nothing more that I wish for.”

For a moment, silence wraps the room in its vice. Jisung pulls away to stare at Minho. “I really like you.”

“So you’ve said,” he smiles. “I really like you, too.”

“I used to be scared.” Jisung confesses. It’s dark, but with the help of the television, Minho catches sight of the sad look that dominates his soft features. “I still am, a little.”

“Of what?”

“What I felt. It was strong, and it was towards my guy best friend. My brother used to always bring home his girlfriends through the years, and now his wife. While I.. was in love with you,”

“Oh.” Minho looks at his side profile. “And I am a guy.”

“Mm.”

“I’m sorry, Jisung-ah.”

“You don’t need to be,” he lets one corner of his lip tilt upwards. “I came to terms with my bisexuality a long time ago.”

“I’m proud of you, ‘Sungie.”

“Don’t make me emotional. I’ve run out of tears.”

“Drink your tea. It’ll help with that.” Minho leans over to pass Jisung his mug, taking the brown one for himself.

He likes green tea. It helps his body relax. He hopes it will have the same effect on Jisung.

They bask in the familiar lightweight atmosphere, the closeness between each other. It’s comfortable. It’s perfect. Just the two of them on the couch sipping on a warm drink before bed, tomorrow being a Wednesday.

Nobody likes Wednesdays. Minho has an idea, though. Since he’s going to teach Jisung how to take care of himself in the way he deserves to, he might as well go all in.

For tomorrow, he plans on waking him up early. They’ll stretch together, eat breakfast together, and he’ll drive Jisung to the campus before leaving for work. Then, at five once he’s home, he’ll order sushi. They’ll eat dinner. After that, go on a run. Minho doesn’t go jogging that much anymore, but he needs to start doing it again. Jisung will be tagging along from now on.

“We should get a gym membership,” Minho suddenly suggests. “I kind of want to start over.”

“Really?” Jisung places down the mug, going limp against the backrest.

“Yeah. Do you think you’d like that?”

“Maybe,”

“Okay.”

The second mug ends up on the table as well minutes later. Minho is about to stand up to go to the bathroom for a much needed shower when Jisung catches his wrist, bringing him back to his seat.

“Hm?” he breathes, the question pushed out of him.

“You know what I’d certainly like?”

“What?” Minho is under the impression that the answer will turn his guts upside down.

“A kiss.”

Oh. That’s exactly what he expected. It still surprises him, though. He doesn’t think it ever won’t.

“Get it yourself, you big baby. Always demanding things from me.” Minho plays right into it because, well, bantering with Jisung is fun.

“Hey,” Jisung pouts. His palm reaches to rest on Minho’s tensed thigh. “You’re the big baby. ‘M small, hyung. Little baby. Get it right next time.” His fingers spread, tips digging into the soft skin covered by the pants Minho is wearing. ”I’m tiny.”

Something in Minho’s chest leaps. He takes in a deep breath that fills the spot there. With his right hand planting itself on the side of Jisung’s neck and guilt eating at his flesh, his lips pucker in a silent but understood request.

Jisung’s smile before he kisses him is beautiful, like all of him is.

Their lips connect with a delicacy that stutters in the air they share. Minho’s heart says ditto and fights to escape through his throat, blocking his airways. With the temporary lack of oxygen, his mind grows dizzy. Or maybe kissing Jisung simply is that intoxicating.

His stomach flips, butterflies headbutting its walls over and over again. His palms have started to sweat, and his mouth ceases moving when Jisung bites Minho’s bottom lip to signal that he wants to take the lead.

Shit, that was kinda hot. Minho has to remind himself to do something, to give and take.

But all reminders remain as useless as his lips when Jisung chooses to climb into his lap. Make a home out of that spot. It’s always been his to have, anyway.

“Hyung,” Jisung has the audacity to whimper into the cavity of his mouth, and he lets his throat constrict as he swallows the sound for the butterflies to feast on. Minho doesn’t know when his other hand moved to grab at Jisung’s waist, and because the deed’s already done, he allows himself to leave it there.

Thankfully, Jisung looks like he loves it. Sounds like it. His thighs are squeezing Minho’s hips from where they caged him when he sat atop his muscular thighs, tightening and loosening as if he’s trying to get rid of some of the tension. Minho understands all too well.

Minho directs Jisung’s head to lean more towards the right so that he can sneak his tongue inside the wetness that lies behind the opening of his sweet mouth, gently licking at the seam, then greeting his top teeth, until it finally comes in contact with Jisung’s own tongue. He hums, content. He tastes honey, and beneath that sweetness, something so distinctively him.

Before this whole kissing-my-best-friend-Jisung thing, Minho had never made out with anyone. In his whole life. Sure, he’s shared a small amount of kisses during parties when he was a teenager, but those were never more than innocent pecks. He had the chance to do more— he’s been asked out quite a few times, too.

Alas, his crush on Jisung was far more important to him. He couldn’t just give up on the one his heart desired. And it’s good that he didn’t.

Because now he gets to suck on Jisung’s lips and lap his tongue full of his spit. He gets to inhale his exhales and revel in the shaky breaths coming from him. Delighted. He sounds so fucking delighted. Like his whole world has clicked into place the moment their bodies met in a messy tangle of limbs.

It’s been only a few minutes, and Minho is already growing needy. Jisung is warm on top of him, and that warmth surrounds all that he is. He thinks he might have to put a stop to this soon.

Albeit… it feels so good. Jisung is desperate, hands grasping at whatever they can reach. One is knotted in his hair, the other moving from his jaw, to his shoulder, down his chest. Minho shudders in sensitivity.

“Minho,” Jisung nips at Minho’s puffy top lip. It must be a raw red with how abused it feels. “Hyungie.”

”Mmn?”

“Do you- need help?”

”Humm? I don’t think so,” Minho tilts his head, gazing from below at Jisung’s bitten lips. They’re shiny with saliva that drools down his chin. His thumb moves to play with the raw flesh there, parting and pushing onto them.

”I think you might.”

”What do you mean, ‘Sung- oh.” His eyes grow twice their size when he realises what Jisung just implied.

Shit. When did he- why did he- Minho is more than mortified. He burns bright red, chin tucking into his own chest in shame.

“Hyung,” Jisung uses one finger to force Minho into looking at him.

“I’m going to take a really cold shower.” He decides. “Go to sleep, Han-ah. I’ll join you in ten.”

Jisung looks like he wants to say no. Wants to push, to keep kissing Minho. Yet he doesn’t. He presses one last light peck on the tip of Minho’s nose and gets off his lap, readjusting his pyjama shorts that are long enough to hide his thighs but not his pink knees.

“Come soon, hyung. Don’t take too long. I’ll miss you.”

“Don’t worry, jagi.” Minho smiles crookedly. His breathing is so unleveled that it’s uncomfortable to his lungs to welcome air that doesn’t come from Jisung.

As he promised, Minho takes possibly the coldest shower of his life, forcing unattractive thoughts into his head. He gets out seven minutes later and brushes his teeth for two.

Back in bed with Jisung, he scolds his body for the way it reacted from just some kissing and grinding.

“You’re back,”

“Mhm.” Minho spreads out his legs and arms, making space for Jisung.

Jisung happily engages, rolling until he’s squishing the older. Minho wraps his limbs around him, hugging him close until all points are in contact.

”How was your shower, hyung?” He giggles, that sweetheart. His face buries itself in Minho’s hot neck.

”I’ll tickle you if you don’t shut up, Jisung.”

“Aw, are you embarrassed?”

“Quiet.” Minho purses his lips. He squeezes the boy clinging to his t-shirt.

“Soooo cute.” Jisung belly-laughs. Noses his jugular.

“Good night.”

“Night, jagiya. I’ll change and live happily for us.”

The next day, Minho does exactly what he planned to do. He wakes up fifteen minutes earlier than usual and turns to his side where Jisung is spread on the bed, slobbering steadily onto the mattress. He watches for a while. Appreciates this raw, natural sight of Jisung. He’s gorgeous. He can’t help himself from leaning down to press a kiss against his forehead.

Then, he gets to trying to wake him up by running his fingers through his bangs, pushing the strands back.

“Hannie,” he whispers. “Wake uuuuuup.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even reply. Continues to stay asleep in a probably much more peaceful world.

Minho doesn’t let down. “Han-ah, c’mon. You need to get up.”

Again, a blissful lack of response. Minho almost lets him have his beauty sleep.

“Wake up, baby,” he says into his ear, hand coming to gently shake his shoulder. Jisung stirs. Tucks himself into the pillow.

“Not today, jagi.” Minho sighs. Eventually, he pulls the cover off Jisung, and he jumps like a cat at the coldness that bites at his skin. Minho feels bad.

“Why?” He whines, curling into a ball to reminisce about the feeling of a thick blanket protecting him.

“You need to freshen up. I’ll make breakfast, and we’ll eat together today.”

“Together?”

“Mhm,” Minho grins. He leans down to steal a peck. Almost regrets it afterwards. ”Go. Make it quick.”

Jisung complains while going down the stairs. Nevertheless, the bathroom door opens and closes. Minho stays sitting on his knees on the low bed staring at the wall for two more minutes. He finally gets off and scrambles through the drawers for some clothes to wear at work.

It’s thankfully a chill day today. He can’t recall having scheduled any meetings, in person or online. At least that.

For breakfast he heats up some leftover chicken breast inside the microwave and puts aside plain rice with cherry tomatoes. He’d make a banana shake as well, but they ran out of milk.

”Wanna try a shake with water?” Minho jokingly asks Jisung once he’s back from the bathroom, clad in some simple cargo pants and a sweater.

“I’m going to throw up on you.” Jisung’s look of disgust would be funny if his threat wasn’t so seriously considered.

”Mhm.” He grins. Pushes away from the counter to welcome Jisung in a tight embrace.

“What’s this for?”

”Can’t I hug my best friend?”

”Did you just call me your best friend? After you got ha-“

Minho acts first before letting the thought filter in his mind. He grabs onto Jisung’s ass and squeezes until the knuckles from his left hand cramp up. Jisung squeals, fighting to pull away.

”Hyung! Hyung, hyung, stop,” he laughs, baffled. Rubs at his butt to ameliorate some of the pain. God, he’s so cute.

“Get to stretching. Follow my movements.”

”What?”

”Stretch your muscles.” Minho reiterates. “It awakens your body. Essential in the mornings, especially lazy ones. Come on.”

Without further ado, he starts to gently rotate his head. Moves it up and down, side to side, eyes never leaving Jisung. Jisung who’s staring at him in a funny way, seconds away from bursting into a fit of laughter. He does follow Minho’s movements, though.

“Shoulders now,”

Jisung’s always been good. He does whatever Minho tells him, in his own funky way. Tries to be funny. Annoying, maybe. It’s too bad that Minho is head over heels in love with him. Infatuated.

It only takes four minutes to fully wake up, feeling refreshed. Jisung sits down on his chair, mumbling about how bad his muscles hurt.

That’s his way of begging for attention. Minho, the weakling that he is… gives right in.

He places both plates with chicken and rice on the counter, claiming his place next to Jisung. It’s a blessing that he’s ambidextrous— more left handed than not— because he instantly reaches his other hand to massage Jisung’s closest arm, grip tightening around his biceps, releasing shortly after.

Buff, despite having given up on the gym months ago. It’s clear on his face that he takes pride in his body. As he should.

”Eat well, ‘Sungie. Long day ahead for us two.” Minho announces over the sound of chewing.

With his cheeks full, Jisung raises those cow-like eyes at him. “Mwhat? Why?”

”You’ll figure it out later. We’re leaving in thirty minutes, so be ready by then.”

“Um. Okay.”

In the car, Jisung won’t stop pestering Minho about their conversation earlier. He’s too curious. Exaggerates that he won’t be able to focus in class because of it. That if he fails his exams (which are coming pretty fast towards him), it will be no one’s but Minho’s fault.

”Sure, bug. Whatever you say.”

”Bug?” Jisung scrunches his nose, staring at the driver. At his hands, precisely. Minho drops his left one on his own lap to (safely) show off for a bit. It works.

“Yeah. You look like a bug, bug.”

”What.”

”Small, cute… annoying.”

”Hey!”

”Hello,” Minho fights off the smirk pulling at his mouth. Hah. He’s so fucking funny.

”Stop playing! Aish, you’re so,” Jisung grumbles. Little baby indeed. “Hmph.”

”Cat got your tongue, ‘Sung?”

“Focus on driving. My first class starts soon and I need to gossip with Hyunjin before it. Hurry.”

“I thought you didn’t want to go?” Minho bites the inside of his cheek. He’s been doing that a lot lately. The buccal mucosa there is beginning to become damaged the more his teeth scrap against it.

”Shuddup.”

”So grumpy when you don’t get your way.” He chuckles, steering the wheel more towards the right. “What do you want to gossip with Hyunjin about, anyway?”

”Things. Life. Crushes. You.” Jisung shrugs his shoulders, dropping the sun visor mirror above his seat and checking his face. It’s gorgeous, no wonder. A bit puffy from the slice of chocolate cake he inhaled yesterday. It only makes him more precious.

”Me, huh.’

“Obviously. You’re, like, our top gossip person. There’s so much to say about you.”

”Wow. If I didn’t already know that you’re obsessed with me, I would’ve been a bit freaked out.” Minho admits. He would’ve probably loved it, actually, but. Whatever. Details.

”You’re the obsessed one who’s had a crush on me for a decade, you weirdo.” Jisung gets sulky.

“You with your big ego.. Only seven years, Hannie. Don’t get it mixed up.”

”Ugh. Drop me off here, thanks. You’re giving me a headache.”

“Nah.”

He is obliged to drop him off three minutes later, once he’s stepped on the break in front of the big building. Jisung is gathering his things, one strap of his backpack barely holding onto his shoulder.

”Bye.”

“You forgot something, Jisung-ah.” Minho’s finger has started tapping on the leathered wheel, awaiting something.

”What?”

His lips pucker. Jisung looks into his eyes, then his gaze lowers. He faux-sighs, letting the handle of the car door go as he reaches over to press his mouth against Minho’s.

There, in the middle of the parking lot, where students are walking solitary or in pairs. The tinted windows are of great help to mask their little moment, thankfully.

“Good?” Jisung moves out of his proximity before Minho can deepen their kiss.

”Good boy.” Minho agrees, dumbly. He pats Jisung’s butt on his way out of the car. Drives away with a smile plastered on his face.

Work is boring today. His head hurts from standing in front of his computer for two whole hours, checking emails and exchanging messages of importance back and forth with countless different people he’s never met before.

Chan makes it better during lunch break, though.

“Hey, man. How’s Jisung?” Is the first thing he asks when he catches Minho out on the terrace upstairs, enjoying a cup of black tea. He’s trying to erase caffeine from his daily intake.

”Doing pretty well,” he replies, staring out into nothingness. Chan sits down next to him on the bench. It’s sunny outside. The clouds cover her, though. “Thanks. How about yourself?”

”I’m good. Kind of tired, I must admit. Works kicking me in the rear.”

Minho hums in understatement. “Call in sick ‘til next week. It’ll help you plenty.”

”No way.” Chan shakes his head, stretching his legs out and almost causing a lady to trip over his feet. He immediately apologises to Jihyo (before getting his own office Minho used to work in one with her and two other men), who beams, unbothered.

”You’ll burn out.”

”How’s your relationship with Jisung going? Y’all got together yet?”

Typical Bang Chan. Always one to switch the topic when it falls on anything regarding his life. He’s too careless towards himself.

“I’ll get you back on that later,” Minho huffs. “No, he rejected me. I asked him out last night.”

”He.. what? Seriously? I thought your feelings were reciprocated.” He looks genuinely confused.

“He does like me romantically, I have little to no doubt about that. We’ve been.. um. Nevermind. I can tell that it’s mutual.”

”Ah,” Chan nods. “I understand. But don’t get hurt, Minho-ssi. I’d hate for the spark in your eyes to die.”

“Won’t, hyung. I love him. I’ll be okay for as long as he lets me love him. It’s what I thrive in. What I was made for. You probably don’t get it.” Minho feels the need to defend himself. His poor little heart that gave up on beating for itself.

”Wow. That’s deep.”

“Is it?”

”It really is. Now, go enjoy some muffins I left you in your office. They’re with raspberries. I need to meet up with someone.” Chan grunts as he stands up, fixing his tie. Minho barely wears one nowadays. Only when he has physical meetings to attend.

Down inside his office, Minho finds the two cupcakes. He unwraps one and takes a shy bite. It smells sweet.

His phone pings, announcing a new message. Does it again. Few more times, until Minho forces himself to check it. A happy look instantly breaks on his face.

Han Jisungie

hyunghyung

hiyaa

whatz my fav hyung up to

am in my last class rn

(,,>﹏<,,)

Me

Why aren’t you paying attention?

Han Jisungie

s boring wo u

i js wanna talk to u

:p

Me

What is it that you want?

I just finished my lunch break.

I’m eating some muffins Chan brought me.

Han Jisungie

that so?

yuuumzzz

now im hungry

:ccc T^T

Minho notices that he should get back to work soon, so he does what he knows best: spoil Jisung. He sends him money, tells him to enjoy whatever it is that he craves.

The thanks he receives are never ending; Jisung spams his phone, even calls him once. Minho tightens his fist under the desk to keep it at bay. Distractions are not good when work is involved in the game.

He knows that he’ll make it up to his friend as soon as he gets home, therefore he doesn’t bother replying to any of those thousands of cute texts.

“Minhooooooo,” Jisung jumps into his arms as soon as he steps foot into the narrow hallway of his apartment.

“Hey there,” Minho wraps an arm around his midriff, resting it on the dip of his lower back. He kicks off his shoes, uncaring of where they end up thrown in the end. He has a pretty boy in his arms, after all.

“Missed you so crazily much. I was itching to get home and kiss you, hyungie.”

Oh. Oh, okay. Alright. Minho’s eye twitches in its protective socket.

”I’m home now,” he says, suddenly out of breath. He didn’t even climb the stairs. Is there something medically wrong with his heart?

”Yeah,” Jisung agrees. “Let me help with your jacket.” He doesn’t even wait for Minho to process his words before fisting the fabric of his coat, unwrapping it from his shoulders. He lets his touch linger. Hangs the fabric on a rack before taking Minho’s hand and dragging him further inside.

”What did you eat for lunch?” Minho asks, eyeing the younger’s bursts of energy.

”Got myself something sweet because your gesture was too,”

“You are awfully adorable. Run before I munch on your cheeks.”

”Oh no, hyung.. which cheeks?” Jisung feigns a perplexed look. He looks so adorable confused that Minho finds himself hoping he won’t ever get to figure something out again.

“Whichever I choose.”

“You freak!”

“This is nothing,” Minho attempts to wink in his direction. They make it to the middle of the room, standing near the TV. It’s playing a random playlist on YouTube. “Don’t call me a freak when you were humping me last night like it was a lifeline.”

Jisung blushes instantly. His face turns beet red and it spreads down his neck, supposedly under the offensive shirt he’s wearing. “Minho-hyung,” he whines, powerlessly punching his arm. ”Felt good.”

Minho seriously needs to learn how to shut the fuck up. How to stop setting himself up for failure. Now, the tip of his ears are stained fuchsia pink. What a brave mistake.

”I’m happy Hyung makes you feel good.” His palm caresses Jisung’s clenched jaw. It relaxes under his touch.

“I’m starving,”

“I’ll order sushi. What do you want?”

He does just that— orders their usual dinner from their favourite place. Even though Jisung’s already had dessert today, he still gets him a slice of cheesecake. To apologise for leaving him on delivered, maybe. Or seen. Whatever he calls it.

There’s a knock at the front door half an hour later (which they spent talking about their day, nothing out of the ordinary), and Minho pays for the meal.

They eat on the couch, watching some dramatic movie about unrequited love. It’s pitiful. Real.

“I love cheesecake,” Jisung says for the tenth time this week, cream smeared around his mouth. He always manages to get himself dirty in one way or another. Minho will not think about the implications of that.

”I know you do. That’s why I got you a slice.”

“You’re just the absolute best, Lee Minho. One day I’ll marry you.”

”Yeah?” Minho's veins are about to explode due to the excess amount of blood abruptly filling them. “We’ll have cheesecake at our reception. Your bouquet will be full of daisies. I’ll make sure it will end early so we can have time alone for the rest of the night. We’ll drink red wine on the balcony of our hotel and cuddle under the stars.”

”Oh,” Jisung smiles, likely imagining the words Minho so easily spat out. He stops munching on the last bite. “You sound like you’ve been planning this since you were eleven.”

”Close, Han-ah.”

“Our wedding will be a success, then.”

Minho nods. He turns sour quickly, though. “You’re talking about us marrying but yet you rejected me not even yesterday?” His head drops to one side. Mockingly.

”Doesn’t mean that I’ll reject you in the future too,” he puts the empty dishes aside, forgotten on the coffee table.

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

”No. Try again in a week. You’ve run out of diamonds.”

“What?” Minho purses his lips. What the hell does that even mean? He has no idea. It’s most definitely a reference to one of Jisung’s favourite video games. He wouldn’t know.

”Seriously, hyung. Until I don’t get significantly better, I’m not going to risk us. There’s nothing more I’d hate than doing that to you, who’s been so patient.”

”Then go change into something more comfortable and let’s go on a run.”

”No fucking way. Over my dead body.”

…

”Ah, hyung-“ Jisung moans from somewhere behind. Minho keeps up a constant pace, feet fighting against the asphalt. “Minho, jagi, please,”

”One more kilometre.” Minho shouts over the wind. He allows himself one glance back at Jisung. And woah; he’s sweating from head to toe, drenched. His eyes are squinted. His breathing is so quick it looks like he might take off soon.

Since it’s getting late, Minho nicely offers him mercy. He gradually stops running, coming to walk along the exhausted boy.

“Only four kilometres.” He hisses, wiping his forehead with his forearm. “Could’ve been better. Not bad for your first time, though.”

Jisung wheezes. He trips, catches himself mid air. Trips again. Never falls, albeit he’s close to. “Can we- home, please,”

”Fine.”

The walk back home is full of gasps and coughs. Jisung, other than whimpers, is silent. He’s not usually, but Minho figures that he’s overdone himself. Killed all of his energy. He deserves a treat.

His treat awaits for him only after they’re both thoroughly showered (separated, of course). Minho is lying in bed, looking at the ceiling and its weird texture. Jisung climbs right next to him, head dropping like lead on the pillow. He groans.

”Tired?” Minho asks, slightly amused. He places one palm on Jisung’s back. Between his shoulder blades.

“Dead,”

”Oh no. Not good. What can I do?”

Jisung turns to lie on his side, facing Minho. He supports his head with his elbow. His fresh smell is clear even from the little distance they’ve set between their bodies.

”Hm?”

“A good night kiss, a bed time story and a massage.”

”Aha. What’s the magic word?”

”Fuck you and your running,” Jisung grumbles petulantly. He’s acting like he didn’t enjoy spending time connecting with nature. Literally— he almost fell face-first into a trimmed bush.

”Nah-ah, wrong.” Minho pinches the fat on his hips. “Try again.”

”Jagiya, I’ve been good,” he morphs his face into one of a begging dog’s, looking irresistible. Damn it. “Please kiss me.”

”Then what?”

”Just kiss me first, you bastard. That’s my priority.”

The angered groans Jisung keeps forcing out of his throat are lovely. Minho can’t hold himself back anymore. He dives in to kiss the pout off Jisung’s rosy lips.

Routine. Minho moves his mouth, Jisung follows. Minho licks at his seam, nips a bit to ask for access, Jisung gladly accepts. Minho searches his mouth for pleasure, Jisung hands him it.

It’s slow and sensual, but not in a sexual, feral way. Although Minho feels like eating his face, he keeps his licks light and kisses soft. He’s gentle in his ministrations. Gives Jisung just what he asked for. A bed time kiss.

He pulls away beats later, when Jisung grows a bit squirmy. Minho pecks the corner of his mouth and lets go of his waist. He reaches his other hand off the mattress to press on the button that turns off the lamp beside. The room grows dark.

”Thank you, Minho-hyung.” He inches closer to Minho’s welcoming chest. Clashes his face into it, right over his heart, where Jisung has engraved himself since the stars aligned for the two of them.

”Want a story, too? You baby.”

”Mm-mm. Can you just scratch my back?” his lips move into the cheap material of Minho’s black pyjama shirt.

”’Course. Good night, jagi.”

“Nighty night.”

On Thursday morning, Minho wakes Jisung up early again. Stretching takes a tad more time today because the latter is too sleepy for his limbs to work. Minho excels in patience, so he lets him slack this time.

Breakfast is simple but filling, and the ride to Jisung’s college is quiet. They kiss softly— just a press of lips to bid each other good luck— and only meet again at six, when they go on a date.

It was unplanned, really. Minho was bored at work and decided to take Jisung out. Be a good boy friend. Maybe the space between boy and friend will close if he is.

They’re headed to the cinema. Nothing exquisite. Neither of them prefers luxury over mundane things. Watching movies is their hobby, actually.

“Will you buy me popcorn and nachos, hyung?” Jisung already sounds hyped, excitement bouncing off the walls of the car. Minho bites his bottom lip as he focuses on driving and not on how cute Jisung is.

“I’ll even buy you VIP tickets.” He replies, humming along whatever song is playing on the radio.

“Wow. You make it sound like I’m your sugar baby. Would you like me to be your sugar baby?”

”Not quite. I need the money for my fur babies. Nice offer, though.”

“Am I not your baby?” Jisung is definitely pouting right now. Minho won’t look.

“You are.”

”That’s what I thought.”

Inside the cinema, Minho lets Jisung hold onto his arm while they walk through crowds of people. It’s busy tonight. Seems like everyone and their mother had the same idea. It’s fine. As long as Minho gets to enjoy watching Jisung watch a movie.

He chooses a romcom. Romantic comedy. Jisung loves those, and a new one just aired. What a great coincidence.

As promised, Minho buys the tickets. Not VIP, but tickets nonetheless. Jisung is still tightly holding onto him, both hands wrapped around the junction of his elbow. Minho asks for a medium popcorn and nachos with two sauces. He carries everything to the cinema room, up the stairs, to their seats all the way towards the very back.

Jisung sighs as he sits down, stretching his legs. The ads are already rolling, which must mean that the movie will start anytime now.

There aren’t many people inside. It makes sense.

“At least pretend to be interested, hyung.” Jisung makes grabby hands towards the popcorn box. Minho tilts it towards the left seat.

“If there’s a sexy scene, I’m fleeing.” Minho swears.

“Aw, you can’t handle a bit of spice? Will that get you all nervous, Minho?” There’s a dubious smile on Jisung’s mouth. That little prick. He’s onto something.

“I’m just not a freak like you, Han-ah. I prefer thrillers.”

“Not a freak, he says. I don’t know if I believe that. Sounds like bullshit to me.”

”Pftt.” Minho pathetically retorts. Wordless.

”Scared you’ll get turned on, hyung?” Jisung bats his eyelashes, dropping a palm on Minho’s clenched thigh. His heart jolts.

“Fuck off,” he pushes him away, almost spilling the nachos.

The movie starts. It’s bearable, Minho can admit. Not too bad. Jisung breathing next to him is enough to keep his attention going.

It’s nice. Watching a movie with your crush who apparently is in love with you back. There are a few awakened butterflies turmoiling in his tummy, and his hands start sweating when Jisung leans his head on his shoulder every time he bursts into laughter.

Life is good when you get to share these intimate moments with your favourite person. Minho is more than delighted to chew on cheese-covered nachos while stealing glances at Jisung every now and then.

He doesn’t really know what the movie is about. Something like neighbours who keep mixing up their apartments and eventually they fall in love. He wouldn’t understand even if he was paying attention.

In the car, Jisung eats the remaining popcorn. He feeds Minho some too, with his own fingers. Minho playfully licks at them, just to be an annoying brat. Jisung complains. They laugh about it.

The run is only thirty minutes long, hence both are so tired from such a long day. It’s enough to oxygenate their brains, so that’ll do.

Back inside the loft apartment, after showering, they kiss. To make up for the hours they weren’t. It’s awesome. Awesome sauce, like Jisung would say if he wasn’t too busy eating Minho’s lips, chewing on them. It’s too late for either of them to even think about initiating more— they leave it at that.

After all, Minho won’t do anything intimate with someone who isn’t his lover. Once he finally gets Jisung to stop rejecting him, he’ll let himself dwell on such sinful thoughts. Jisung’ll let him.

Next day, they make a gym membership with a PT. Personal Trainer. They’ve both been to the gym before. Lifted weights. Did strength training. It was all the way back in high school, though. They do need professional assistance. It feels like a fresh start.

The first day is the hardest. It’s evening and Jisung cries out every time the PT makes him add another kilogram to the dumbbells for biceps curls. Minho is there to witness sweat racing down his back that is covered by a tightly fit compress shirt.

He stays nearby, refusing to leave his side. He knows Jisung gets nervous while doing new things on his own. It’s human to do so. He never minded holding his hand.

They shower there and go out for some ice cream, although the spring breeze hasn’t carried itself away just yet. Minho orders mint chocolate. Jisung gets himself strawberry and plain milk chocolate. Two scoops in a waffle cone. Minho watches him lick it with a hungry gaze.

Hungry for some real, nutritious food, don’t make him out to be a freak. He’s not.

“It’s nice,” Jisung squeezes Minho’s hand, fingers intertwined between their bodies. They’re currently walking along the pedestrian paths of Seokchon park. It’s beautiful, even though the pink leaves are falling to their death the more time passes.

“Yeah. I love it here.”

“Everything is so pink and pretty. Like you, hyung. Pink and pretty.”

”I’m pink and pretty?” Minho eyes him down. The fingertips of his right, empty hand are sticky because of the ice cream that melted.

“Mhm. You usually turn pink when nervous.” Jisung chooses to explain merely that part. It serves to prove his point— Minho starts blushing a light rose colour. ”That’s what I’m saying, hah.”

”You find that cute?”

”Everything you do is cute. You should’ve seen your face while on the leg press. Which, wow, I’m not going to mention your thighs because that sight was not cute on its own, but. Your face while concentrating on pushing those weights? I just wanted to kiss you all over, really.”

He’s ranting. Minho is definitely Pinkie Pie’s twin right now with the way he’s so unbelievably flushed. Does Jisung even realise what effect he has on Minho’s poor heart?

”You can kiss me all over and more, Jisungie.”

A week and a few days later, they both decide to fully quit drinking coffee. Caffeine is not good. Instead, Minho starts making more shakes. With fruits or vegetables. Adds flavoured protein powder too, for gains.

He personally is holding on pretty well. He used to have a huge coffee phase in his younger years, but gradually it became something insignificant to him. Quitting it is a piece of cake. Of cheesecake.

Even at work, he doesn’t feel any sort of need to consume even one drop of it. He’s fine with tea and whatever. Occasionally juice from the store on the ground floor.

On the other harsh hand, Jisung acts like he’s dying more often than not. He’ll go to Minho, drop on his body, and whine, ‘hyung, I can’t do this anymore! Please, make me some coffee, with milk and lots of sugar!’

Minho does not indulge, no matter how adorable the younger is. He pats his butt, pecks the side of his face and makes him tea.

They fall into a domestic routine soon. Minho makes Jisung go on short walks, come with him on long runs. Jisung always complains. Cries out for mercy, for Minho to stop this torture.

Going to the gym is the same, except he’s not only moaning out loud to Minho, but also to their PT. And trust— that bulky man is one to be feared when irritated.

Not drinking coffee is a bit easier for him now, though, and that’s a great start. However; Jisung will sometimes lie to Minho, tell him that no, cute hyungie, I didn’t drink coffee today. Why would I have? And Minho will catch on because he can taste the bitterness on his tongue when they kiss.

Still, it’s clear that Jisung is starting to feel much better about himself, coffee or no coffee. His mind is clearer, retaining information comes easier. He’s more fit: doesn’t get tired one minute into a jog anymore. After eight now. Minho is proud, and he chooses to go easy on him.

Of course, their relationship is doing well too. They spend most of their time together, giving that Minho’s apartment has barely any walls to seclude the rooms. If they do need some space, then they simply sit at different corners on the couch.

Ah, and Minho bought that dining table. It’s circular and big enough for two. Now Jisung can watch his romcoms while munching on food all he wants.

Life is treating them well. Minho couldn’t be more thankful.

By May, Jisung has shown significant changes. He appears to be a new, happier version of himself. He still shares the same old interests, still acts the same. His mindset has tasted freedom, though. That’s a good thing.

At the end of the month, Minho has to attend a conference in another city. Jisung weeps for a bit, hugs him so tightly he feels a rib squeak in agony, and kisses him until he’s out of breath.

“Promise me you’ll call me in case of anything,” Minho cups his cheeks, running his thumbs on the red apples of them. “I’m one call away.”

”Yes, hyung.” Jisung is holding onto both of Minho’s wrists, copying the movement on his pale skin. “You too.”

”Kiss me once more?”

Jisung doesn’t really need to be asked twice. He surges in to kiss him lovingly, letting one last dramatic peck lingering on the thin, sensitive skin of Minho’s lips. It’s cute how he’s acting like Minho is going on a one-month vacation, when truly it’s just a two-day trip to Incheon.

Regardless, goodbyes are always hard, even if they’re not long lasting.

Minho drives all the way there. He misses Jisung’s presence the whole time— him singing in the passenger’s seat, him feeding Minho while he’s focused on getting them safely to their destination, him giving Minho the sweetest pecks when they arrive.

It’s so painfully clear that Minho is infatuated with Han Jisung. He’s been, for as long as he can remember. But was it always this strong? This powerful? This soul-crushing?

Why is Jisung still not his boyfriend? Minho of course wants him to take his time, to not jump into a relationship he’s far from ready from. At the same time, he wishes they could be officially bonded. They’re already soulmates, that much they’ve known since day one.

How much more does he have to wait? A week? Month? A year? He’s willing to wait even five for someone as special as his best friend. He truly is. How conventional would that be for his poor heart, though?

He needs to calm down. Jisung loves him. In more than one way. That’s enough for now.

At the hotel, Minho spends the night alone wishing he wasn’t. It’s cold, the sheets feel like a canister of icy sea water, and the darkness eats at his soul. In the morning, it feels the same. There’s no morning kiss or quick make out session on the kitchen counter. He brushes his teeth alone, chooses a lonely table in a corner to have his breakfast at the self-serving buffet.

The first meeting goes well. He reunites with a few old friends from college, introduces himself to dozens of other people. He wouldn’t be stuttering so much if Jisung was there to hold his hand.

It’s boring, nonetheless. He tries his best to pay attention, to interact with everyone else as much as he can. He also eats a lot. Lets his body feast on all this fancy five-star-hotel food.

Damn it. Jisung would’ve killed to be here. Minho snaps a quick picture of his dinner, just to be a tease. Jisung’s reply is instant.

It’s evening, so he’s probably studying for his last exams.

Han Jisungie

omgomgomg

r u kiddingmee

that looks fire

m so hungry wo u here hyung

ive been surviving on ramen n rice

dont u feel bad ???

Me

Sorry, Han-ah.

I’m coming back tomorrow, so hang on!

I’ll take you out somewhere nice if you want.

Han Jisungie

eeeekkkk iam so excited!!!

but id rather js bee w u

home

alooone

i miss ur kisses.. and ur hugs

and ur touch

wanna feel ur hands on my waist

i like it (〃ω〃)

Minho feels something hot creep up his spine, all the way to his mushy brain. He scrunches his eyes closed and— he would definitely curse Jisung out in his head if he wasn’t so whipped and weak.

He tells himself he’ll reply to those messages later, when he’s in the privacy of his own hotel room. Away from everybody’s judgemental eyes. Where he can squeal to himself, shove his face into the rock-hard pillows he uses as a temporary replacement of Jisung.

Better than nothing, right?

Not quite.

The piece of beef he’s currently chewing slides down his throat, choosing the wrong path. Minho chokes, embarrassing himself further. People pay him no mind, though. They’re all focused on their own food, their conversations. Minho wishes he didn’t feel so alienated.

As soon as the food is digesting in his stomach, Minho gets up and hurries upstairs. He unlocks the door by swiping the key card on the lock.

Before replying to Jisung, he chooses to go get ready for bed. He doesn’t plan on leaving the room until tomorrow, so he might as well take a quick shower.

It eases his nerves, the hot temperature he stays under. The sprays of water hit his skin repeatedly, as if punishing him for something bad he’d done. He doesn’t recall what it could possibly be about, so maybe the sprays are just built like that.

At the same time though, the pressure can be changed. Minho uses it at its maximum. So then why is he complaining?

Oh. He’s also complaining about his inexistent romantic relationship with Jisung in spite of the fact that they do everything lovers do. Why can’t he be fully satisfied with that? With kissing, holding, having him?

Ever since he was little, Minho has been called selfish. He himself doesn’t recall one instance that could have given anyone such an impression about him, but. He always puts people before himself. He always puts Jisung before himself. He’s reckless, uncaring of what might happen to him for as long as his Jisungie is safe and sound.

Minho exits the steamy shower cabin and dries his body using a pristine towel. He doesn’t bother with putting on a t-shirt, choosing only some brown sweatpants he’s owned for about four years now.

Now all prepared for bed, he calls Jisung, on video. He misses his face and stupidly deep voice.

Jisung picks up three rings later. He’s wearing a gray hoodie with a cat on it. Minho thinks it looks familiar.

“Hi,” Jisung is the first one to speak, a big smile on his face. It looks like he’s lying down on his back in bed, chin present but hidden by his curly long-ish hair.

“Hey,” Minho sends a beam back. He lies down on this tummy, head propped on a pillow. The camera catches his bare shoulders and a bit of his lower back, mostly hidden by his head.

”How’s it there, hyung? I miss you.”

”Miss you too, so much,” he sighs. “Everything’s fine. Bit boring, but what can I do.”

”Oof. Poor jagi. I wish I was there with you.”

”Me too.”

The younger bites his lip, using the back of his free hand to rub at his eyes. “Went to the gym today, PT-hyung scolded me. Said I was too distracted. I was just thinking about how much I needed your kisses of encouragement.”

”Aw, ‘Sungie,” Minho mock-says, grinning with his top teeth snapping at the camera. “Imagine.”

“You are cruel.” Jisung frowns. He messes with the bangs framing his face. “For leaving me here alone. How could you?”

”Cruel, huh? Hannie can’t last one day without his hyung? Is that how far your obsession goes, or is there more I’m unaware of?”

”More. But I can’t tell you right now. Jagiya, when are you coming home?”

Minho sucks in a breath, rolling over so that he’s in the same position as Jisung. He holds his phone in his right hand. His naked collarbones are visible, but only that. Jisung is most definitely not looking him in the eyes. “Tomorrow, in the evening. I’ll pick you up, and we can go somewhere to eat.”

”Ooh, where?”

”Somewhere nice, so dress in something you’ll feel comfortable wearing. I have this fancy restaurant in mind.”

”You’re taking me to a fancy restaurant?” Jisung’s eyes shine, accentuated by the bedside lamp Minho knows is turned on next to the mattress.

”I am,”

”Ohmygod. This is such short notice!”

”Don’t fret. Just wear whatever you feel great in. I’m not going to show up in a suit.” he shrugs. Jisung would look great in anything.

”Ughughugh, okay. Fine. I just don’t wan’ embarrass you, hyungie.”

“Oh please, as if. Don’t speak nonsense. I’ll hang up.”

“Nooo,” Jisung whines.

They talk until later, gossiping about Jisung’s college friends and Minho’s workmates who are not so inviting. He would’ve preferred to stay home.

Thankfully, the next day comes quickly. The meeting is just a wrap-up of everything discussed yesterday, so it only lasts thirty minutes. Minho already checked out of the hotel in the morning before leaving for the conference room set up by staff, with desserts and sodas scattered all over the tables.

None of that holds any significance to him when in less than two hours he’s going to steal Jisung’s breaths again.

The radio music is loud, and the wind thrashes through the car when Minho rolls the window down for a taste of fresh air. He’s nervous. Hella nervous. Doesn’t have a reason to be, yet his sweaty fingertips have stained the leathered wheel. He’s driving with both hands.

A flower shop comes into view as soon as he gets off the highway. He kills the engine, then gets out of the car. The woman behind the dirty counter greets him along with the abundant smell of flowers.

He picks a bouquet of red roses decorated by daisies. It’s not big, but Jisung has always been a man who appreciates the little things. Minho pays and swarms out, continuing the rest of his ride towards Jisung. He texts him one more time to let him know that he’s arrived in the city, not far from home.

Twenty minutes later, Minho exits the car. He doesn’t go upstairs, though. He waits leaned against the passenger's door, bouquet in hands. The petals are shaking. He tells himself it’s due to the breeze. As though there’s any here, in a parking lot surrounded by tall and newly-renovated buildings.

In the reflection, he checks himself. His face is a bit puffy and there are dark circles under his eyes. His white button-up shirt is wrinkly, tugged in his brown slacks. The tie has half-come undone, sitting messily over his heart.

On the other hand, Jisung looks.. ethereal. Minho straightens up at the sight of Jisung in a casual suit meant to imitate a short coat and black dress pants that are wide-legged.

“Holy shit,” Minho mumbles out loud. He backs away from the car, stepping towards Jisung, who is already hurriedly making his way into the tall9er’s welcoming arms.

“Minho-hyung! You’re back!” The brunette rests his face in the warmth of Minho's neck, talking in a low, excited tone. “I missed you so much,”

“Hey, bug.” It’s whispered against the top of Jisung’s head, in his freshly washed hair. It smells like coconut. Minho is obsessed.

“Took you so long. Thought you ran off.”

A laugh that revertebrates through the both of them from where their souls are physically connected. ”Pftt. You and your irrational fears again.”

“Can’t help it,” Jisung slightly pulls away, hands on Minho’s broad shoulders. He gives his body a glance. Whistles. “When did you get so hot? You make me want to… consume you.”

”As exciting as that sounds, our reservation is soon, so we should head to the restaurant.” Minho completely moves to the side. He remembers the flowers and hands the bouquet to Jisung with a murmured, “for you, honey.”

”Aren’t you the sweetest!” The boy mewls, pecking his cheek as a thank you. Minho opens the door to invite him in. The car’s a bit dirty, but neither seems to find that an obstacle.

Once they’re both buckled up, Jisung smells each flower. He concludes that they all have a unique smell to them. Minho nods along, never once doubting his words.

The restaurant isn’t that far by car. Things appear to be moving at a fast pace tonight, and Minho wishes it wasn’t that way. He wants to take his sweet time on this official date. To live in the moment and not be frightened of the future or shaken by the past.

They’re sat a table on a terrace that overlooks a tiny lake. It’s not their lake, but it is close to home.

“This is nice,” Jisung sighs. He looks happy. Minho loves that look on his face. He thinks it suits him best. “Thank you for taking me here even though you must be so tired.”

”Being with you is my source of energy, Jisung-ah. Thank you for agreeing to come here with me.”

”I mean, listen. It’s a free filling meal. Nobody would’ve said no.”

“Yah, did you only come for the food?” Minho gently kicks him in the shin under the table covered by a long red cloth.

“You’re included in the meal!” Jisung throws his hands in the air to defend himself.

“Am I, now? What are you planning, Han Jisung?”

“Nothing! Really, hyung. Nothing.”

They order drinks first. Non-alcoholic. Minho is the driver and Jisung cannot handle it. He gets shitfaced too soon. So: they each get a strawberry lemonade, sweetened.

For food, Jisung orders duck breast with mashed potatoes and smoked veggies on the side. Minho’s go-to is kalguksu. He knows that’s Jisung’s favourite— he’ll most likely have to share. Clearly he doesn’t mind.

While waiting, Jisung brings up how thankful he is for the flowers he left in the car. He says they’re pretty, wonders where Minho got a bouquet with daisies from. Nevertheless, he leaves the option that he might love to be gifted some more open.

During the younger’s yapping session about what Hyunjin and Jeongin have been up to, Minho notices how he’s nervous. There’s definitely sweat building on his forehead and his facial expressions are a tad more intense than usual. Also, his leg is surely shaking under the tablecloth.

Thing is, Jisung is not the only nervous one. Minho feels like he’s about to barf all over this nice place.

Is it because of the sudden change in the air? What’s up with it, anyway? Why isn’t

his body relaxed? Why is his heart beating so damn fast? Why is Jisung nervous?

The answer comes later the same night, after they’ve finished their meal. It’s during dessert— Jisung is eating cheesecake and Minho half of a slice of chocolate cake. The other one is already digesting in Jisung’s stomach.

It’s unexpected, the well-awaited question spoken out loud by both men at the same exact time, words synced.

“May I be your boyfriend?”

Oh god. Jisung just- he-

Minho’s free glass of water spills as he stands up and surges to kiss Jisung over the table. They’re not alone, but not surrounded by strangers either. It’s a pretty secluded spot with a breathtaking view.

“Hyung!” Jisung scolds in embarrassment. Still, he touches Minho’s cheek and gives him one kiss. “I’ll be your boyfriend. Always.”

”I’m yours, Jisungie. Finally.” Minho says it more to himself for the simple reason that he can’t believe it.

Seven years of waiting. Seven years of self doubt, of rejecting love from other places, of insecurities building up. In the end, it was all worth it. Everything clicked into place. The puzzle found its home. His heart changed into a vibrant colour.

They put an end to their night out with a few photos taken by their nice waiter. She happily directs them how to pose, makes sure the lighting is correct and that nobody disturbs them. When they kiss for the last picture, she suppresses a squeal.

Minho pays for everything. He feels hazy, like his mind randomly grew wings and started flying around aimlessly.

Jisung won’t stop giggling by his side. He sounds out of it. He makes sure he’s touching Minho at all times while they head towards the car, not wanting to be apart from him for even one millisecond.

“After you, prince,” Minho opens the door for him. Pats his butt as he climbs inside.

“I might prefer princess.” Jisung says with a blush dusting his cheeks. Minho clicks his tongue in a fit of cuteness aggression and rounds the car to get to the driver’s seat.

On the whole way back, they hold hands. Minho has his right arm stretched to the passenger’s side, resting on Jisung’s lap, caged by his own tiny two ones.

“Did you like tonight?” Minho asks while they wait at a red light. He doesn’t know why, but for some odd reason, he’s doubting himself.

Was he too much? Too excited?

”I can’t wait to show you how much I loved it. Love you.” Jisung tightens his grip. He sounds sexy. Minho steps on the acceleration pedal.

“I love you, jagi.”

He means it. He means it with all his heart. He swears it. He’s never felt so at peace before. He loves Jisung, and he loves him freely. He’ll love him until the day he’s meant to, and there’s a great chance that he’ll care for him even beyond that.

Beyond that refers to when his soul will be looking for Jisung’s, out of his body. When all that is left of him will be fissured bones buried in the chasm of dirty underground, and the only thing the bugs eating at his decomposing flesh can taste will be memories of Jisung.

The garage door slides up once the camera recognizes his plate number and Minho descends the car into the private parking lot. The engine’s roars echo off the quiet walls as he slowly drives around in search for his paid spot. Jisung points to it.

His neighbours seem to be away, his car being one of the only ones remaining in this section. He backs it into the lot, foot not lifting itself up from the pedal until the beeps turn annoying.

Before he can open his door, Jisung places a hand on his forearm.

“Hm?” Minho smiles at his boyfriend. And oh god, it feels heavenly to finally be able to refer to him as that.

“I’m really thankful, hyung.” He plays with Minho’s sleeve, fingers squeezing. He’s not looking him in the eyes. Rather, his gaze is lowered. It’s on his mouth.

“Will you be able to show me?”

They meet in the middle, over the car’s console. Lips on lips. Hands seeking one another, to touch, to feel. It’s sweet, but there’s a trace of desperation in the way Jisung moves. Minho would rather they take it slow. For now.

But by the time he’s pulled away to refill his lungs with new air, Jisung has already claimed his spot in Minho’s lap. Shoot.

On cue, his hands fly to hold onto Jisung, not wanting him to hurt himself. The space is crowded, uncomfortable. He tries to move the car seat back, but his fingers are useless. Can’t find the button.

This will do, then. Minho returns his full attention to the beaming boy in his lap. He smiles up at him, and Jisung nervously toys with his tie.

”You didn’t put it on right.” Jisung calls him out. He tsks. Pulls at the material, pretends to fix it.

“Sorry, Han-ah. But why would I have if you were going to take it off of me anyway?”

For some wicked reason, Jisung’s breath cuts short with a squeal. He lets go of the tie in favour of appreciating Minho’s neck. His palms press over the burning sides of it, not applying pressure, but using it as a way to gain control, to direct Minho’s head to face the ceiling so that they can kiss easily.

Minho licks into the heat of his mouth, and this time, it feels different. Not in a bad, uncovered territory way. It’s more like a realisation that this isn’t in fact a dream. It’s reality. It’s Jisung and Minho making out in an old car, exploring each other in a discreet manner.

It’s Jisung bringing one hand down Minho’s chest, toying with his buttons, teasing yet never to the point of irreversible desperation. It travels lower, the ghost of it over his belt. Minho shakes underneath him.

Jisung grins against his lips, hand untucking the shirt to pinch at his belly. He moves from that spot again, slowly. He’s not rushing. The blood in Minho’s veins is.

“You make me the happiest.” Minho feels him whisper in his ear, leaving a foggy cloud of warmth behind.

“Mm,” is all he can lamely reply with. Jisung isn’t really doing anything— he’s simply sitting still on top of Minho, hands leisurely tracking his sensitive spots. There’s a kiss here and there from time to time, on his face, on his jaw, his neck. Everywhere he can reach.

That alone can get him to break. To burst into hot-red flames that leave only unforgiving ashes of his heart.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” Jisung sadly says. He gazes into Minho’s darkened eyes, searching for something that is surely there. Has been for a long time now.

“I would’ve waited forever for you.” Minho is quick to assure in a hushed voice. He runs his palms along the sides of Jisung’s middle in delicate gestures meant to bring comfort.

“But you shouldn’t have. I wouldn’t have wished for you to do that.”

“It’s not like I could help it.”

“Ooh, you are so in love with me. It makes you look stupid.” Jisung tries to joke. He steals another kiss from the older’s tainted lips.

“Yeah. I’m stupid for you, jagi.” Minho quietly begs for more, eyelashes lowering to caress the soft skin of his cheeks.

“I love that for me. The hottest guy is my boyfriend and I get to kiss him whenever I want? Sounds like fucking heaven.” The boy sighs, leaning down. He nips at Minho’s jaw, sucks a tiny mark into his neck, lets his tongue leave wet glides all over. It tickles. It also feels phenomenal.

“Hottest guy, huh?” It’s more of a pant than it is a reply. Minho’s fingers twitch and squeeze at Jisung’s waist, feeling tingly all over. He preens under the attention.

He’s never been cared for so intensely, and now that he knows what it is like to have his skin covered by soft lips, Minho doesn't think he could ever go back to being normal.

“Mmn,” Jisung catches a grip on a strand of Minho’s hair. He doesn't pull.

The following kiss is filled with more need than desperation. Tongues wrap in a dance, twirling into synchronized pirouettes. It’s wet. It’s warm. Addictive, drawing Minho in further. Clawing him to keep that burgeoning heat.

His chest is burning, blossoming into hot-red flames that set his veins ablaze. They pulsate under the thin layers of his skin, pour into his love-filled heart until it can whisper Jisung’s name letter by letter with its beats alone. This is what it means to be loved.

Love is said to be the leader, but leaders are known to be alone. So what if love is actually one of a kind, a pilot that needs a companion to be safe? Love might be like cherries, shiny red and coming in a pair, rather than beaten-up by rain and alone.

Whatever. The denotation of love doesn’t matter to either of them, because they both know that whichever idealistic definition humans may have given it, the feeling they share is more than a grouped pile of futile words with no permanent gist.

Minho thinks back to where it all started. And in that paradisal moment during which their hearts are perfectly aligned with the stars, over the spot where a rustling tree used to grow stands the memory of two young fools experiencing blooming love for an eternity where love has no meaning and, most importantly, no written end.