Archive of Our Own

If Han Jisung could have melted straight into the floor, he would have.

His first day at a new school, back in Korea after several years in Malaysia, and for some ungodly reason, Mrs. Kim had decided he needed to stand at the very front of the classroom like some kind of circus act.

"Go on, introduce yourself," she said brightly, as if she hadn't just tossed him into a lion's den.

Every single face in the room was staring. His palms were already sweaty, and his fingers kept worrying at the seam of his school sweater like it was the only thing keeping him safe. He could hear his heart in his ears, loud and fast.

"Uh-I'm... Han Jisung," he stammered, voice cracking halfway through his own name. "I... Um... I just moved back from Malaysia."

Mrs. Kim smiled in that way adults did when they thought someone was being shy for no reason. "Tell us something interesting about yourself."

His mind scrambled like someone had taken all his thoughts and thrown them into a blender. "Interesting," he repeated, as if saying it slowly enough might help him figure something out.

And then, because his brain was a traitor, the first thing that came out was:
"One time, I nearly got eaten by a crocodile."

A ripple of giggles ran through the class. Someone snorted. His face burned.

But now he had to commit, so he swallowed hard and kept going.

"My dad used to do this jungle tour," he began, words tumbling over themselves. "In Malaysia, there are a lot of jungles, but only one place you can actually go in. On the tour, you take a boat along the river, and there's this shallow spot where you can swim. It's still inside the jungle, though. That day it was pouring rain, so the water was higher than usual.... Like, waist-high for a normal adult."

He held his hand just below his chin. "But I was a kid then. It came up to my neck. I got swept towards a waterfall and grabbed onto a stone. I was hanging on like-" he mimed clinging to a rock, "-and I was thinking, 'What do I do? What do I do?'"

He took a breath, and then: "Then I looked behind me... And there was a crocodile tail. And seeing that, I realised I was going to die if I let this go!"

The sniggers got louder. He wanted to sink into the floor.

And then-
"Aish, shut up, will you? I'm trying to listen!"

The voice came from the back left corner. Jisung followed it with his eyes until he landed on the boy in the last row, slouched in his chair like he owned the place. His hair was a little messy, his gaze sharp, but he was looking at Jisung with something like interest, not mockery.

Jisung didn't know him. But right then, he was so absurdly grateful.

He cleared his throat and continued, still clutching at the sweater seam. "One of the native tour guides who worked with my dad grabbed my hand and pulled me out. He told me I could've gotten seriously hurt. I was so shocked, and even now it... It scares me when I think about it. That's my scariest memory."

Mrs. Kim gave a polite little clap, but the tilt of her head said she thought he was probably making it up.

"Thank you for sharing, Jisung. You can take your seat-" she gestured toward the empty chair next to the boy who had defended him, "-over there, next to Minho."

Jisung made his way down the aisle, feeling every eye on him. Minho watched him approach, expression unreadable, and as he sat down, Minho leaned over in his chair just enough to murmur:

"Cool story."

And for the first time that morning, Jisung's chest didn't feel quite so tight.

From that point on, they were inseparable.

It started small. Minho would save Jisung a seat in the cafeteria without being asked. Jisung would slip Minho an extra snack during break. They walked home together most days, falling into an easy rhythm, Minho doing most of the talking at first, filling the silence until Jisung found his footing. It wasn't long before Jisung was making Minho laugh so hard he had to hold onto his stomach.

Somewhere in their first week of friendship, Minho found out their birthdays were six months apart, his in March, Jisung's in September. It wasn't much, but Minho seized the opportunity immediately.

"Technically, I'm older," he'd declared with mock authority. "Which means you have to call me hyung."

Jisung had rolled his eyes, pointing out that six months barely counted. But Minho refused to let it go, and eventually, the nickname stuck.

By the end of that first year, it was just a given: where Minho was, Jisung wasn't far behind.

They went through the usual ups and downs of school life, bad test grades, too much homework, friendship drama swirling around them... But they always had each other's backs.

One memory always stood out to Jisung years later: the night before their midterms in their second year of high school. They were crammed into Minho's bedroom, textbooks spread everywhere. Minho was lying on his stomach, feet kicking lazily in the air, while Jisung sat cross-legged on the floor, scribbling notes and muttering formulas under his breath.

"You sound like you're trying to summon a demon," Minho had said, poking Jisung in the side with his pencil.

"Better a demon than failing math again," Jisung grumbled.

They'd ended up studying until two in the morning, Minho making tea for them both, Jisung stealing Minho's blanket without asking. It wasn't exactly fun, but somehow, being together made it bearable.

Another time, Minho convinced Jisung to watch a horror movie with him during the summer break.

"I'm telling you now," Jisung said as they settled on the couch, "if you leave me alone after this, I will hunt you down."

Minho just smirked. "Relax. I'll protect you from the ghosts."

An hour later, Jisung was hiding behind a pillow, squeaking every time the music got tense, while Minho sat there laughing so hard he could barely breathe. But true to his word, Minho didn't leave him alone afterward, they ended up sleeping in the same room, Jisung refusing to admit he felt safer that way.

By their final year of high school, Minho had his sights set on dancing, spending hours practicing routines. Jisung found himself drawn deeper into music production, spending late nights experimenting with beats on his laptop.

They supported each other without question. If Minho had a dance showcase, Jisung was in the front row, cheering louder than anyone. If Jisung had a performance, Minho was the one hyping him up backstage.

They applied to colleges in the same city without even discussing it. It wasn't a plan so much as an unspoken rule: wherever one went, the other would follow.

Their first apartment together was actually the dorm room they shared in their first year of college. Two beds, one tiny desk, and an unspoken agreement to steal each other's food without asking.

Cramming for exams became a tradition. Minho pacing the room with his notes in hand, Jisung sprawled across the bed complaining that he was "too tired to think." They made up ridiculous mnemonics for facts just to remember them, laughing until they cried.

On weekends, they'd watch anime marathons or horror films, Jisung still refusing to watch the latter alone. Minho would tease him mercilessly about it, but he never refused to keep him company.

There was also the infamous spicy ramen incident. Jisung determined to keep up with Minho, who could eat the spiciest food without flinching. Five bites in, Jisung was bright red and gulping down milk straight from the carton, while Minho nearly fell off his chair laughing.

By the time they graduated at twenty-four, moving into an apartment together wasn't even a discussion.

"Should we just find a place together?" Minho asked one day over coffee.

"Obviously," Jisung replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Minho landed a job as a dance instructor at a local studio almost immediately. His days were filled with music, movement, and the satisfaction of seeing his students improve.

Jisung, meanwhile, threw himself into his work as an independent songwriter and musician. Most weekdays were spent at his desk, headphones on, tinkering with melodies. Weekends were for gigs at small venues, or writing sessions with his other friends from college, Bang Chan and Changbin, as part of their group, 3Racha.

They fell into a comfortable routine in their shared apartment. Minho would come home sweaty and exhausted from teaching, and Jisung would shove a bottle of water into his hand without looking up from his laptop. Dinner was often eaten side by side on the couch, a show playing in the background, Minho's legs resting over Jisung's lap.

It was a life that felt easy, ordinary, maybe, but for them, it was everything. And after ten years of friendship, neither of them could imagine it any other way.

___________

The morning light spilled through the thin curtains, landing across the couch where Minho was curled up like a cat, fast asleep. His hoodie was half-zipped, his hair messy from falling asleep there last night after swearing he was "just resting his eyes."

Jisung padded further into the room, rubbing his own eyes and suppressing a yawn. He paused when he looked at Minho properly, a soft smile tugging at his mouth before he could stop it.

It wasn't unusual to find Minho in strange positions around the apartment. Asleep on the couch, sprawled on the floor with a game controller in hand, perched on the kitchen counter eating cereal straight from the box. But there was something about the way the morning sun lit him up now that made Jisung's chest ache in a way he tried not to think about too much.

He crossed the living room, tugging a blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over Minho before sitting at the other end. The other man stirred but didn't wake, only muttering something incoherent before settling deeper into the cushions.

Living together had become second nature by now. Jisung knew exactly when Minho would be home from the dance studio. Minho knew Jisung's coffee order better than Jisung did. They shared groceries, split chores, argued over nothing, and ended most evenings on the couch, Jisung with his laptop open to a half-finished project, Minho with his feet tucked under Jisung's thigh to keep them warm.

They were comfortable. Safe.

And yet...

Sometimes Jisung caught himself wondering when exactly the line had blurred.

He could remember the exact moment Minho became his best friend. It had been confirmed for him in high school, when Minho stayed up all night with him before a big exam, feeding him snacks and forcing him to take breaks.

But when had it become more than that?

Was it the time Minho got his first part-time paycheck and spent half of it on a fancy microphone for Jisung's music projects?
Or maybe the night Minho caught him crying after a failed application to a songwriting program, pulled him into a wordless hug, and didn't let go until Jisung's breathing evened out.

It might have been the countless casual touches, the hand on his shoulder in crowded places, the brush of fingers passing him a drink, Minho leaning against him on the subway without thinking twice.

At some point, it stopped feeling like friendly skinship and started feeling like Jisung's entire heart was caught in those moments.

And now... Now it was too much to ignore, but too dangerous to admit.

"Stop staring at me," Minho's voice broke into his thoughts.

Jisung blinked, realising Minho had woken up at some point and was peering at him from under the blanket.

"I wasn't," Jisung lied automatically.

Minho smirked. "Sure you weren't." He sat up, the blanket sliding off his shoulders, and stretched his arms high over his head before promptly flopping sideways against Jisung, resting his head on his shoulder.

Jisung went stiff for half a second, then forced himself to relax like it was nothing. "You're heavy."

"You love it," Minho said, voice muffled.

Jisung's heart thumped hard against his ribs. He kept his face neutral, eyes fixed on the TV remote in his hand. "Shut up."

Minho chuckled and stayed exactly where he was.

That was the problem, Minho never noticed how easy it was for him to ruin Jisung's composure without even trying. And Jisung... He'd gotten far too good at pretending it didn't affect him.

Some days he wished he could go back, to when it was just friendship, clean and simple. But most days, he couldn't imagine not feeling this way.

Minho had somehow managed to mould himself perfectly to Jisung's side on the sofa, one long arm slung lazily across his middle, his head tucked in against Jisung's shoulder. It was the kind of position that made it nearly impossible to move without dislodging him, which, Jisung suspected, was entirely the point.

They'd been half-watching some variety show, the TV filling the silence between them with laughter and canned applause, when Minho let out a long, dramatic sigh.

"Do we really have to go out?" he muttered, his voice low and rough with leftover sleep. "Can't we just stay home and cuddle and watch films? I'm feeling lazy today."

Before Jisung could respond, Minho snuggled further into his side, curling in like some oversized cat determined to claim its spot.

Heat crept up the back of Jisung's neck. His mind betrayed him instantly with an image of agreeing, of pulling Minho in closer, letting the afternoon slip away under a blanket, the two of them in their own little bubble.

But he knew better.

"You're forgetting," Jisung said, forcing his voice into something steady, "we've already blown off the guys twice to do exactly that. If we cancel again, they'll kill us."

"Worth it," Minho replied, without even opening his eyes.

Jisung swallowed hard, before abruptly shoving at Minho's shoulder, perhaps with a little more force than necessary, until he reluctantly slid away with a groan.

"Up," Jisung ordered, ignoring the faint, aching pull of loss where Minho's warmth had been. "Before I'm stupid enough to agree with you."

Minho cracked one eye open and smirked, clearly amused. "You're no fun."

"One of us has to be the adult here," Jisung shot back, standing and heading for his bedroom to get ready, mostly so Minho wouldn't see just how red his face had gone.

The little restaurant they'd picked for lunch was bustling, the low hum of conversation blending with the clink of cutlery and the occasional hiss from the kitchen. The smell of garlic and sizzling meat hung in the air, making Jisung's stomach grumble as he followed Minho to the back corner table where their friends were already gathered.

Seungmin was sitting pressed up against Felix in a way that looked casual, but Jisung noticed the way Felix's hand was curled loosely around Seungmin's knee under the table. Across from them, Hyunjin and Jeongin were sharing a plate of something, Hyunjin feeding Jeongin a bite without even looking like it was unusual.

Sometimes Jisung wondered if it was physically possible to be third-wheeling two couples at the same time. Apparently, it was.

"About time you two showed up," Hyunjin called, raising an eyebrow as they approached. "We were starting to think you'd bailed on us again."

Felix grinned, his accent lilting warmly. "Third time's the charm, huh? We were placing bets on whether you'd actually make it."

Jisung opened his mouth to protest, but Seungmin cut in with that matter-of-fact voice of his. "You've cancelled on us twice for... What was it? 'Movie nights'?" His tone was dripping with implication.

Minho didn't even blink. "Date nights," he corrected, sliding into his seat like he owned the place.

Jisung nearly choked on his own spit. "They weren't date nights-"

"Well, can you blame me," Minho interrupted smoothly, leaning over to hook an arm around Jisung's shoulders, "for wanting to keep my Jisungie all to myself sometimes?"

Before Jisung could wriggle free, Minho gave him a playful tug that nearly yanked him clean off his chair. The table burst into laughter, and Jisung could feel the heat crawling up his neck.

"You're impossible," he muttered, shoving at Minho's arm, though he could still feel it draped warmly around him.

"See?" Jeongin piped up, smirking at the two of them. "Old married couple. Exactly the same as last time we saw you."

Felix nodded earnestly. "No, seriously, I half expect you two to show up wearing matching jumpers one of these days."

"They'd totally do it," Hyunjin agreed, grinning as he reached over to steal a fry from Jeongin's plate.

"We're not-" Jisung began, but Minho spoke over him again.

"We already have matching slippers." He said it with such deliberate nonchalance that Jisung's jaw dropped.

"You're not helping," Jisung hissed, though his voice lacked any real bite.

Minho just smirked, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Once the teasing died down enough for them to actually look at the menus, the conversation drifted into catching up on the last couple of months. Hyunjin had been working on a new dance project that he was both excited and stressed about. Jeongin had picked up a side job at a café and claimed he was now an expert at latte art. "He can make a heart shape," Hyunjin said, looking absurdly proud.

Felix and Seungmin had recently taken a short trip down to Busan, which Felix described in detail while Seungmin occasionally cut in to correct his more exaggerated claims.

"And you two?" Felix asked, turning the spotlight back on Minho and Jisung. "What've you been up to?"

"Work, mostly," Jisung said, fiddling with his glass of water. "I've been writing a lot with Chan and Changbin, doing gigs on the weekends."

Minho leaned back, stretching out his legs under the table. "And I've been teaching classes, same as always. Oh, and making sure Jisung eats more than just instant ramen."

"Sounds about right," Seungmin said, his tone dry.

"I can cook," Jisung argued.

"Yeah, you can," Minho said, his hand giving Jisung's shoulder a light squeeze, "but you never do unless I'm supervising."

That earned them another round of knowing looks from around the table, and Jisung decided to shove a mouthful of food in his mouth just to avoid having to speak.

By the time lunch was winding down, the teasing had mellowed into comfortable conversation, the kind that flowed easily between old friends. Still, every so often, Jisung would catch Minho's gaze lingering on him, that faint smile tugging at his lips, the one that made Jisung's stomach flip in a way he tried very hard to ignore.

It was in moments like this, surrounded by people but feeling Minho's presence more than anyone else's, that the line between friendship and whatever-this-was felt like it blurred just a little more.

They didn't get far from the restaurant before Minho started in again.

"Come onnnnn," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. "We've got the rest of the day free. Let's grab some soju, some snacks, and watch films. You know you want to."

Jisung gave him a sideways look. "You've been on about this all day."

"Because it's a good idea," Minho said without shame. "You'll thank me later."

By the time they reached the convenience store at the corner, Jisung had already stopped trying to argue. The automatic doors slid open, and the cool air inside hit them along with the familiar scent of instant noodles and fryer oil.

"Tell you what," Minho said as they wandered down the drinks aisle. "Gawi bawi bo. Loser pays for the drinks."

Jisung smirked. "You're on."

They faced each other between shelves of soju bottles and crisps.

"Gawi, bawi, bo!"

Jisung's paper met Minho's scissors. Jisung groaned.

"Best out of three?," Minho suggested.

They threw again. "Gawi, bawi, bo!"

Rock crushed scissors. Minho's face split into a grin.

"Best out of five?" Jisung tried.

Minho rolled his eyes. "You're unbelievable." He grabbed a few bottles of soju, tossed in some crisps and biscuits, and headed for the counter before Jisung could protest further.

"Hey-" Jisung hurried after him. "I lost, I'm paying-"

Minho waved him off without looking back. "Too late. I've got it."

The cashier at the counter rang up the items, his eyes flicking up to Jisung with a little too much interest for Jisung's liking. There was a slight smile there, and his gaze lingered in a way that made Jisung's skin prickle.

Before Jisung could decide how to react, Minho was suddenly right beside him, arm slung firmly around his shoulders in a familiar, almost possessive way.

"Come on, Jagiya," Minho said sweetly, his voice loud enough for the cashier to hear, "let's hurry up and get home so I can get you all to myself again."

The cashier's eyes went wide. He quickly dropped his gaze to the till and busied himself with the receipt like it was the most important task in the world.

"Hyung!" Jisung hissed the second they stepped away from the counter, his face burning. He slapped Minho's chest in mortification.

Minho burst into giggles, half-doubling over as they stepped outside. "The look on his face!"

"You're insufferable," Jisung muttered, though he was fighting a smile.

Minho just gave him that infuriatingly smug look, the one that told Jisung he'd already won, no matter what.

By the time they got back to the apartment, Minho had kicked off his shoes and was already digging through the bags of snacks like an excited kid.

"Glasses?" Jisung asked, pulling the soju bottles out and setting them on the coffee table.

"Nah," Minho said immediately, twisting the cap off one. "No point. We're finishing them anyway."

Jisung shook his head, amused, and followed suit. They clinked their bottles lazily before each taking a long swig. The familiar burn hit Jisung's throat, spreading warmth through his chest.

The coffee table quickly became a snack battlefield, triangle kimbap, crisps, popcorn, choco pies, biscuits, and more. They picked at everything in no particular order, flicking through film options on the TV until they settled on a mindless action flick.

Half an hour in, Minho reached into one of the bags and pulled out a box of almond Pepero. He waved it in the air, raising his eyebrows in a way that made Jisung instantly suspicious.

"Oh, no," Jisung said flatly.

Minho grinned. "Oh, yes." He tore the box open, took out a stick, and placed one end between his teeth. Then he leaned forward, holding the other end out towards Jisung.

Jisung's stomach did an unhelpful flip. Minho had no idea, no idea, how casually he could destroy Jisung's composure. It was infuriating.

"Hyung, I am not playing the Pepero game with you," Jisung whined, leaning away.

"Mmf w'y no'?" Minho mumbled around the biscuit stick, his voice pitched in that annoyingly playful way that made Jisung want to throw a cushion at him.

"Because," Jisung said, searching for a reason that wasn't 'because I'll stop breathing if I get that close to you'.

Minho tried again, leaning even closer. Jisung swatted him away.

A third time. Jisung ducked.

Finally, Minho sighed dramatically, pulling the stick out of his mouth. "Your loss." He bit into it with a loud crunch, grinning smugly as he chewed.

Later, when the soju bottles had nearly all gone, they both reached for the last one at the same time.

"Oi, I saw it first," Minho said.

"You absolutely didn't." Jisung's hand closed around the bottle neck just before Minho's fingers got there.

"It's strawberry flavour!" Minho's voice rose in mock outrage. "You know it's my favourite."

"It's mine too!" Jisung shot back, twisting away.

What followed was a ridiculous tangle of limbs, Minho leaning over him, Jisung nearly falling over the side of the couch in his determination to escape. Jisung managed to twist the cap off and take a triumphant swig, cackling in victory.

"Too late now," he said, holding the bottle up out of reach. "It's got my germs. Can't have it."

"Watch me," Minho said.

Before Jisung could react, Minho climbed fully on top of him, pinning him down by straddling his hips. Jisung froze, his breath catching as Minho plucked the bottle from his hand with maddening ease and drank from it without hesitation.

The moment stretched.

Minho had just drunk from his bottle. His lips were where Jisung's had been only seconds ago.

And more importantly, much, much more importantly, Minho was still straddling him, his weight warm and solid, his face far too close.

Jisung swallowed hard, his pulse thrumming in his ears.

"Worth it," Minho said simply, taking another sip before handing the bottle back.

Jisung wasn't sure if the warmth in his face was from the soju anymore.

Minho didn't move straight away. He stayed there, straddling Jisung, the faintest smile playing on his lips. The TV flickered in the dark room, the blue-white glow painting one side of his face in light while the other fell into soft shadow. It made the lines of his jaw sharper, his eyes darker, and Jisung thought, not for the first time, that Minho was almost unfairly pretty.

His hair fell in a loose fringe across his forehead, a little messy from the day. The corners of his mouth curved up, the expression easy and warm, but there was something about the way he was looking at Jisung that made it hard to breathe.

Jisung didn't move. Couldn't, really. His gaze stayed locked on Minho's face, his thoughts blurring into something that felt far too dangerous.

Minho's smile faltered the longer Jisung didn't speak. A flicker of concern crossed his expression.
"... You okay, Jisungie?"

The words snapped Jisung out of his haze. He blinked rapidly, forcing a small laugh that sounded almost normal. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Think the soju's just gone to my head a bit."

Minho studied him for a beat longer, then leaned back, finally easing off him. "Lightweight," he teased gently, though there was still that little crease between his brows.

He offered a hand, pulling Jisung up into a sitting position. The warmth of his grip lingered far longer than it should have.

Minho let him have one more swig of the strawberry soju before sliding the bottle from his hands with a shake of his head.

"Alright, that's enough for you."

"Hyung," Jisung whined pitifully, making a grab for it, "one more sip."

"You just had one more sip," Minho said, holding it out of reach.

"But-" Jisung cut himself off before he could say 'but your lips were just right there'. Even so, the thought lodged itself in his head and refused to leave. His mouth tingled faintly, the idea of an indirect kiss suddenly feeling far too dangerous for him to be thinking about while Minho was sitting this close.

Minho set the bottle on the coffee table and reached for a bag of crisps. "You need food. Soak up the alcohol."

Jisung reached out automatically, expecting Minho to pass him the bag. Instead, Minho plucked out a crisp, leaned over, and held it right in front of Jisung's mouth.

"... What are you doing?" Jisung asked flatly.

"Feeding you," Minho said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Jisung's cheeks warmed. Still, he opened his mouth, letting Minho place the crisp between his lips. Minho smirked and repeated the process, one crisp at a time, eyes never leaving the TV, Jisung occasionally having to chase the crisp with his mouth when Minho's hand wasn't quite close enough.

They stayed like that until the bag was empty, Minho tipping the last crumbs into his own mouth before setting the packet down on the table.

Without a word, he shifted back into the couch, then reached over and pulled Jisung's legs into his lap. His hands came to rest lightly on Jisung's knees.

The film carried on, the light flickering across their faces, and Jisung almost forgot about it. Until he realised Minho's fingers were moving.

Slow, absent-minded patterns traced over the fabric of his joggers, curling across his knees and then down to skim his thighs. Shapes without meaning, casual as anything... But each brush sent a small shiver up Jisung's spine.

He told himself it was nothing. Minho was always like this. It didn't mean anything.

But it was getting harder and harder to ignore the ministrations sending flutters down into the bottom of his stomach.

The steady, rhythmic movement was hypnotic, dragging his attention away from the film until he was acutely aware of nothing but Minho's fingertips and the slow circles they were making.

His breath felt uneven, shallow, like he'd been holding it without realising.

It was stupid, so stupid, to be reacting like this. They'd been tangled up on couches, leaning on each other, shoulder to shoulder, for years. This shouldn't feel different.

Except it did.

The warmth of Minho's hands seeped through the thin fabric, and every time his thumb drifted just a little higher on the inside of Jisung's thigh, it felt deliberate. It wasn't, couldn't be, but Jisung's brain was too busy spiralling to form a better explanation.

"Sleepy?" Minho's voice cut through the fog, low and soft, and Jisung realised he'd been staring blankly at the TV without absorbing a single frame.

"I-" He cleared his throat, forcing a weak smile. "No. Just... Zoned out."

Minho hummed, clearly unconvinced, but didn't press. His hands stayed where they were, still tracing those lazy, mindless shapes.

Jisung made himself focus on the film, on anything other than the solid weight of Minho's thighs under his legs or the quiet heat curling low in his stomach. He could play this off. He could.

But god, it was getting harder.

And, unfortunately... So was something else.

A rush of heat flared in his cheeks, panic sparking sharp and fast in his chest. Without thinking, Jisung snatched one of the throw cushions from beside him and dropped it into his lap, holding it there as casually as he could manage.

The idea of Minho noticing, of realising exactly what his hands were doing to him, sent another wave of mortified heat through him, curling tight in his gut. It was bad enough that Jisung couldn't get his own head under control; the thought of Minho knowing was unthinkable.

He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the TV, willing his body to calm down and pretending he wasn't one ill-timed glance away from complete disaster.

Minho shifted slightly, the couch dipping under his weight as he adjusted his position. His hands stilled for a moment before one of them lifted, his fingers brushing lightly against the side of the cushion Jisung was clutching.

"What's this for?" Minho asked, eyes flicking down briefly before returning to Jisung's face.

Jisung's heart lurched. "Comfort," he blurted out, far too quickly. "You know. So my legs don't get pins and needles."

Before Jisung could process what was happening, Minho stretched out along the couch so that he was lying on his side, legs bent, his head settling onto the very cushion Jisung was clutching over his lap. One arm hooked lazily around Jisung's thighs, holding him in place as if he had no intention of moving any time soon.

Jisung stared down at him, wide-eyed. "...Hyung?"

"What?" Minho murmured, glancing up with mock innocence. "Don't I deserve some 'comfort' too?"

Jisung's brain promptly short-circuited.

He didn't respond, partly because he had no idea what to say, partly because he couldn't decide which was worse: that Minho had stopped tracing those infuriating, flutter-inducing patterns on his thighs... Or that now, his head was resting alarmingly close to Jisung's crotch, with only a thin, flimsy cushion standing between them.

The knowledge made Jisung's pulse pound so loudly in his ears he barely registered the film still playing in the background. He shifted slightly, as if to test whether he could move, but Minho's arm tightened just enough to keep him exactly where he was.

Jisung was doomed.

The film rolled on, but Jisung couldn't focus on it, not with Minho's arm draped over his thighs and the weight of his head pressing lightly into the cushion in his lap.

It was impossible to tell how much time passed before Jisung noticed the change. Minho's breathing, steady but uneven before, had smoothed into something softer, deeper. His shoulders rose and fell in a slow rhythm, his face relaxed in the faint glow of the TV.

Asleep.

Jisung exhaled quietly, torn between relief and something warmer, heavier in his chest. He glanced towards the clock, deciding it was probably time to call it a night. Carefully, he shifted his weight, easing forward to stand... But even in his sleep, Minho's arm tightened around him, holding him firmly in place.

Jisung froze, looking down at the sleeping man sprawled half across his lap. There was no way he was getting out of this without waking him.

He let out a low, resigned sigh and leaned back into the cushions. "Fine," he muttered under his breath, as if Minho could hear him.

Settling in, he stared up at the ceiling, already knowing it was going to be a long night. Between the awkward position and the constant awareness of Minho pressed so close, sleep was going to be impossible.

But for some reason, he didn't try again to move.

Jisung surfaced from sleep to the sensation of something repeatedly prodding his cheek.

"Stop," he mumbled, his voice rough.

"Wake up," came Minho's voice, far too chipper for whatever hour it was.

Jisung forced his eyes open, blinking against the light filtering through the curtains, only to find Minho leaning over him, one finger still poking at his cheek. From this angle, Minho's face filled his entire field of vision, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and mild concern.

"How's your head?" Minho asked.

Jisung froze for half a second before the possible implication caught up to him, heat rushing to his face. "Fine," he muttered too quickly, scrambling to push himself upright. Minho's head lifted from his lap as Jisung sat up, and for a moment Minho just gazed up at him from the cushion. It was... Disconcerting.

A dull throb behind Jisung's eyes pulled his focus away. He groaned softly, pressing a hand to his temple. The telltale pounding of a hangover made his whole skull feel like it was pulsing.

Minho chuckled under his breath, finally sliding off the couch and padding into the kitchen.

When he returned a moment later, he held out a bottle of water and a couple of painkillers. "Here."

Jisung took them gratefully, swallowing the tablets with a long drink before slumping back into the sofa cushions. "Remind me why I let you talk me into multiple bottles of soju?"

Minho's smile widened. "Need I remind you that you literally fought me for the last bottle."

"But it was strawberryyyy," Jisung whined, dragging the word out before instantly wincing when his own voice made his head throb harder.

"Awwww. Poor baby," Minho pouted, the exaggerated expression doing nothing to hide the glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Shut up," Jisung muttered, sinking lower into the cushions.

"Tell you what," Minho said, leaning back and stretching his arms above his head, "let's go out for a bit. Get some fresh air. It'll do you good."

Jisung groaned. "Fresh air sounds like effort."

"That's because you've been welded to the sofa since last night."

"I'm hungover," Jisung reminded him pointedly.

"Which is exactly why you need to get up and move around." Minho tilted his head, watching him. "Come on, it doesn't have to be far. We could stop at the park for a while."

Jisung made a noncommittal noise, clearly unconvinced.

Minho smirked, already knowing how to win. "We can stop at the store on the way and get snacks."

There was a beat of silence before Jisung sighed, eyes narrowing. "...What kind of snacks?"

"Whatever you want."

Jisung hesitated for a moment longer, then finally muttered, "Fine."

Minho's smile was all satisfaction. "Knew you'd see it my way."

The shop was busy enough that they had to weave their trolley through clusters of people lingering in the aisles. Jisung steered while Minho, clearly treating this like his personal game, tossed items into the trolley without warning.

"Rice, tuna... Bananas," Minho said, dropping each one in with a decisive thunk.

Jisung stared down at the growing pile. "Are you planning on feeding us or building some kind of survival bunker?"

"This is food," Minho replied, as if it was self-explanatory.

"This is your food," Jisung countered. "You eat this stuff nearly every day. If you carry on, you're going to start looking like a banana."

Minho just smirked. "At least bananas are good for you."

"At least bananas are boring," Jisung shot back, nudging the trolley down the next aisle.

Minho followed, then let out an exaggerated sigh. "Fine. I know one thing we can both agree on."

He veered toward the refrigerated section, pulled open the door, and grabbed a punnet of strawberries, holding it up like it was some kind of prize.

Jisung couldn't help it, the corners of his mouth softened into a smile. Sometimes, it helped that they shared the same favourites.

"Alright," he said, taking the punnet from Minho and placing it carefully in the trolley. "That one can stay."

Minho's smirk returned. "Knew you'd see reason eventually."

They made their way through the rest of the aisles, tossing in a few bags of crisps, some bottled drinks, and a packet of biscuits that Jisung insisted on. When they passed the alcohol section, neither of them even glanced down the aisle, both still feeling the lingering effects of the previous night's soju.

"Not touching that again for at least a week," Jisung muttered under his breath.

"Make it two," Minho agreed with a grimace.

By the time they reached the checkout, the trolley was comfortably full. Minho reached for his wallet, but Jisung was faster, tapping his card against the reader before Minho could even get his out.

"I was gonna get it," Minho complained, frowning.

"I owe you from last night," Jisung said, brushing him off and accepting the receipt from the cashier.

Minho narrowed his eyes but didn't argue further, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as Jisung pushed the trolley toward the exit. "This isn't over, Jisungie."

"It never is," Jisung replied, fighting a smile of his own.

The walk to the park didn't take long, the early morning sun casting a soft glow over the quiet streets. When they reached the gates, Jisung immediately felt the change in the air. Fresher, cooler, the faint scent of grass replacing the lingering tang of city pavement.

They followed a winding path until Minho stopped near a patch of open grass beneath a tall tree. "Here's good," he said, slipping his bag from his shoulder.

From inside, he pulled out a neatly folded picnic blanket.

"You actually brought that?" Jisung asked, surprised.

"Of course. Someone has to think ahead," Minho replied, shaking it out before spreading it flat on the grass.

The park was blissfully quiet, one of the less popular ones in the city, and almost empty at this time of day. A couple of joggers passed by in the distance, but otherwise it felt like they had the whole place to themselves.

Jisung sank down onto the blanket with a sigh, grateful for the peace. His headache, which had been lingering stubbornly all morning, was finally beginning to ease without the background noise of traffic or chatter.

Minho set the bags down beside them, crouching to start pulling out the snacks and drinks they'd bought. "Alright," he said, glancing at Jisung with a small smile, "let's eat."

They unpacked the rest of their haul between them, the blanket soon covered with packets and containers. The microwaved rice pots Minho had insisted on, shrimp crackers, biscuits, bottled tea, and, of course, the punnet of strawberries waiting off to one side.

They ate slowly, trading bites back and forth, lapsing into an easy quiet as the breeze carried the sound of rustling leaves. From where they sat, they had a clear view of a small pond, the water rippling gently as a pair of tall, elegant birds moved through the shallows.

Jisung nudged Minho lightly with his knee. "Look... Red-crowned cranes."

Minho followed his gaze. "Pretty."

"They're one of the rarest crane species in the world," Jisung said, his voice softening with interest. "They're considered a symbol of luck and longevity. Oh, and they do these elaborate courtship dances-like, really beautiful routines. It's part of how they choose a partner."

Minho hummed in acknowledgement, taking a sip from his drink.

"And once they find one, they mate for life," Jisung finished with a faint smile.

"Cute," Minho said.

Jisung turned his head toward him, but Minho wasn't watching the cranes. His gaze was fixed squarely on Jisung instead, eyes steady, unreadable in the soft midday light.

For a second, the air seemed to thin between them.

Jisung felt his chest tighten under the weight of Minho's gaze, the silence stretching just a beat too long.

He cleared his throat, breaking eye contact as he reached for the punnet of strawberries sitting between them. The plastic crinkled as he peeled back the lid.

Right on top, nestled among the others, was a strange-looking strawberry, the equivalent of two fruits grown together, their red skins pressed into one lopsided heart.

"Look at this one," Jisung said, holding it up for Minho to see.

Minho's eyebrows lifted in amusement, and he held out his hand.

Jisung passed it over before plucking another strawberry from the punnet for himself, biting into it as Minho turned the fused fruit over in his fingers, inspecting it closely.

Minho turned the fused strawberry over in his hand, his thumb brushing lightly across its dimpled surface.

"Do you think it's one strawberry that just grew weird," he asked thoughtfully, "or two strawberries that started out separate and just... Grew together?"

Jisung shuffled a little closer so he could look at it again, their knees brushing. "The latter, I think. Two strawberries were side by side, and just... Ended up closer and closer over time until they became one."

"Just like us," Minho said with a smile.

Jisung looked up at him then, startled by both the words and the way Minho was watching him. It was only then he realised how little space there was between them.

Without saying another word, Minho lifted the fused strawberry until it hovered between their faces.

"I'm not taking no for an answer this time," he said softly.

He placed one end between his lips, leaning forward, waiting.

Jisung's pulse spiked, his heartbeat drumming in his ears. His fingers twitched where they rested on the blanket, and for a moment, he wasn't sure if he could make himself move at all.

Every sensible part of his brain screamed at him to back away, to laugh it off, to keep things safe. But the way Minho's eyes stayed locked on his... It made moving away feel impossible.

He leaned in, slow enough that it felt like the world had narrowed to the space between them. His teeth caught the other end of the strawberry, the sweet scent of it mixing with the faint, familiar vanilla smell of Minho's perfume.

For a few seconds, neither of them moved, their eyes holding steady over the ridiculous fruit between them.

Then, the soft flesh of the strawberry gave way. The middle section dropped, tumbling down into Jisung's lap, and Minho closed the remaining distance before Jisung could even register what was happening.

The kiss was warm and unhurried, tasting of ripe strawberries and the faint fizz of bottled tea. Minho's lips pressed to his like they'd always belonged there, soft but certain. Jisung forgot how to breathe, forgot how to think, the only thing that existed was the rush in his veins and the heat of Minho's mouth on his.

When they finally broke apart, Jisung realised his hands were gripping the blanket so tightly his knuckles ached.

Minho didn't move far when they parted, just far enough to search Jisung's face, his expression soft but unreadable.

Jisung's breath came unevenly, his pulse still hammering. "Hyung I-" He didn't even know what he'd been about to say.

Minho's lips curved, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners. "Been wanting to do that for a while," he admitted quietly.

The words hit Jisung like another rush of heat, spreading from his chest to the tips of his ears. "You... What?"

Minho's gaze didn't waver. "What did you think all those 'date nights' were about?"

Jisung opened his mouth, then closed it again, his brain struggling to keep up. "I thought you were just-" He shook his head. "You're impossible."

Minho's smile widened, a touch of relief slipping into it. "Maybe. But I'm your impossible."

And before Jisung could overthink it, Minho leaned in again, stealing another quick kiss that left Jisung even more flustered than the first.

Minho didn't pull away this time. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, his free hand coming up to cradle Jisung's face. His palm was warm against Jisung's cheek, fingers brushing just behind his ear as if Minho wanted to memorise the shape of him.

Jisung's breath hitched, his hands hovering uselessly in his lap before one of them finally rose, resting lightly against Minho's side. The world around them seemed to fade until there was nothing but the taste of strawberries, the sound of their breathing, and the steady press of Minho's lips against his.

When Minho finally drew back, Jisung felt breathless, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly.

"What do you say?" Minho asked, his voice low, eyes holding Jisung's with an almost teasing glint.

Jisung blinked at him, dazed. "About what?"

Minho's smile curved knowingly. "Wanna make like red-crowned cranes?"

Jisung felt the corners of his mouth tug upward despite the heat still creeping over his face. "Or," he said softly, "like perfectly fused strawberries."