Archive of Our Own

Childhood friends. A cliche that many love, many hate, and many live through. Childhood friendship is a heart-warming thing, but only if it works out. 

Nostalgia is a bitch. Minho learned that the hard way. The picture of him and Jisung in middle school still hanging up above his bed, right next to his old, wooden cross. The only things above his bed, though, he only cares about one of them.

He doesn’t have the heart to take it down. He physically cannot bring himself to touch the frame, and sometimes it’s difficult to even look at it. 

He misses Jisung. He has for over ten years. Sometimes he wonders if Jisung misses him, but he thinks it unlikely, and he wouldn’t be mad at Jisung if he turned out to be right.

They used to be inseparable, attached at the hip. But then Minho caught feelings and ruined everything. It was his fault, really. He ruined everything yet still had the audacity to yell at Jisung and make himself seem like the victim. 

He misses Jisung.

He misses Jisung more than his own parents, who had passed the previous year. For some reason, he didn’t feel anything when he had heard the news. He wasn’t sad, but he wasn’t happy. Numb, maybe, or maybe he had finally stopped trying to feel something for the people he still calls his parents.

They didn’t deserve that title, but it felt wrong not calling them that. They fed him, clothed him, provided him with a roof over his head, that’s what a parent is, right? Someone who cares for their child, and keeps them warm, and protected.

But could his parents even do that?

If he took time to think about it, they did, but sometimes he would take too much time to think, and remember all of the horrible things they would do, just telling him they wanted what was best for him.

Was leaving his only friend behind really what was best? Maybe it was, but if it was, then Minho was okay with being wrong, and doing something bad for him, because at least Jisung would be there with him, helping him up if he fell.

Jisung isn’t here. Minho misses him.

He’d thought about calling, but what would he even say? “Sorry for moving away without telling you and then never reaching out for over ten years because I was too scared to admit my feelings.” 

Minho would rather get hit by a car.

He shook his head, hoping it would shake the thoughts out of his brain, but it doesn’t. It never does. He shoved his fists deeper into the pockets of his old jacket. 

The rain was heavy, too heavy. It hurt his head, even through his hood. Maybe a storm was coming, and Minho would get washed away, or his house would flood, and he could drown with his last thoughts being only of Jisung.

Yeah right, his luck isn’t that high.

His feet led him to the beach. It was empty, and cold, because of the rain. It was probably high tide, but Minho wasn’t paying attention to that, he didn’t even know why he was at the beach. He figures he was led here for a reason. Maybe it was a sign from God, but he scoffed at the thought. 

He doesn’t believe in God, not since he left Jisung. If God was real, would he really take away his best friend like that? Or, maybe that was Minho’s own fault. He shouldn’t have caught feelings. His parents loved to remind him how God felt about that. Maybe God was punishing him for feeling such a disgusting thing.

Was love really that disgusting?

Perhaps it was. Minho didn’t have to agree for it to not be true. 

He felt gross, like he could puke at any second, but that was probably his fault for getting himself worked up like this. 

The rain had started to lighten, and he was grateful for that. The sand under his butt was wet, and sticky, and the rock behind his back was uncomfortable. 

Someone stood in front of him, blocking the little bit of light Minho had shining on him. He assumed they were holding an umbrella over him, he didn’t feel the rain pelting against his head anymore. He stared at the shoes in front of him for a few seconds, they felt familiar but he couldn’t put his finger on where he had seen them before.

Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. It had a habit of doing that.

He looked up slowly, arms still wrapped around the knees hugged to his chest. His breath hitched when he saw the face of the person looking down at him. Down at him, but not down at him.

His mouth fell open slightly, eyes widening just a bit. Surely his mind was playing tricks again. He held onto the rock behind him as he stood, not looking away from the face of the person in front of him. 

He couldn’t speak, maybe he really was going to puke, but he swallowed the nerves back down and managed to choke out a word.

“Jisung?” 

He hugged Jisung fast, and tight, like he would disappear if he let go. They both stumbled a bit, but Minho still didn’t let go. Jisung hugged back after a few seconds, letting the umbrella fall to the ground. They were both getting soaked, but Minho didn’t care. Jisung was here, and real, and in his arms.

Minho pulled back to look at him, but still couldn’t form any words, so he hugged Jisung again. Jisung laughed and hugged him back again.

Minho replayed that sound in his head over, and over, so he would never forget it. 

Jisung tightened his grip. That was when Minho started crying. He tried to fight it, but he couldn’t, and it all came crashing at once.

Ugly crying. Wet, messy, snotty tears. Choking out sobs so hard his throat was raw after, and Jisung held him the whole time. They stayed like that for a few minutes, and Jisung had to push Minho away just so he could get some air.

Minho wiped his tears away with his sleeve that was already wet from the rain, “How?” He stuttered out, trying to steady his breathing, but failing, because Jisung was actually standing in front of him, smiling at him like nothing happened between them, like everything was a-okay and Minho hadn’t ruined everything.

“I moved here a few months ago. I’ve been looking for you since.” Jisung said, wiping away a few of Minho’s stray tears. Minho flinched back, and Jisung’s hand fell, and Minho’s stomach churned at the look on Jisung’s face. 

Minho’s parents aren’t here anymore, but the trauma they caused him was, and it was probably here to stay for good.

Minho still had questions. Lots of them. But Jisung didn’t say anything further, he just grabbed Minho’s wrist and started to walk away. Minho winced and pulled away, causing Jisung to turn his eyebrows upwards. He stayed quiet, and decided to just grab Minho’s pinky. Just like they used to do in elementary school.

Minho doesn’t self-harm, or he didn’t. He didn’t need to when he had his parents. He never understood self-harm, so he always told himself he would never do it, but then his parents died and he never got better mentally. Rock-bottom is a place he never wants to visit again.

He hasn’t cut in a few days, and he’s been proud of that, until he realized he just moved to a different form of self-harm. He pulled at his hair when he was upset, and he scratched at his skin when he needed a distraction. He’s only drawn blood a few times, but he’s scratched hard enough for the redness to stay for a day or two.

He hated it, but he couldn’t stop, nothing else distracted him like harming himself did. He hated how much he tried to distract himself, instead of facing the harsh reality that he had created for himself. 

He hated how much of a coward he was.

He walked alongside Jisung quietly, letting him swing their intertwined pinkies back and forth. The silence was awkward, or maybe that was just Minho. 

The rain had cleared up, but the skies hadn’t. It wasn’t bright out, the air was humid and foggy, and the tide was still higher than usual, but Minho didn’t care as much as he usually would, because Jisung had his pinky hooked around Minho’s and he was humming a song Minho didn’t know, they were walking along the beach together and Minho couldn’t be happier.

But, just like always, Minho had to sour his own mood by getting stuck in his thoughts. Like Jisung could read his mind, he squeezed Minho’s pinky with his own, looking over at him with a look that asked a million questions. Minho nodded, pulling Jisung a bit closer, seeking his warmth.

Jisung was like a heater with limbs, and Minho gravitated towards him without even realizing it, seeking the warmth he struggled to generate.

Minho was always cold, and he didn’t know why. He wasn’t sick, and he was always in a hoodie, but for some reason, he was never warm.

“So,” Minho cleared his throat, “Where are we going?” He was talking quietly. He still couldn’t believe Jisung was actually here, he thought he was dreaming. Jisung glanced at him over his shoulder, “My place.” He looked at Minho again, “If that’s okay? My roommate's nice. You might like him.” 

Minho nodded but Jisung couldn’t see him. Jisung still walked to his place, not hearing Minho object, because he didn’t.

Jisung led him to an apartment complex, one of the ones that are a whole building. The elevator ride was quiet, awkward, but again, that could just be Minho. He was nervous. Sweaty nervous, he couldn’t stay still. Jisung noticed, and tried to hold Minho’s hand to stop him from fidgeting, but Minho flinched away, and used the elevator doors opening as a distraction to avoid the look on Jisung’s face.

He hated flinching away from his touch, it made him feel small, and weak, and it made Jisung feel bad, and Minho hates making him feel bad. Jisung turned the keys into the door of his apartment. There was a plant right by the door, even though it was a hallway with carpet and an emergency exit at the end of the hall. Minho assumed the plant was fake, but he brushed the tip of his middle finger across one of the leaves and it was real. 

It was a nice plant. Bright green leaves and a clean white pot with a polished wooden table under it. 

Minho pulled his attention away from the plant as the door opened and followed Jisung inside, standing in the entryway awkwardly as he closed the door.

Jisung slipped his shoes off, switching them out for house slippers, “You can come in, you know.” He said with a small smile. Minho looked at him shocked for a second before rushing to take his shoes off, following Jisung again as he walked to the kitchen.

“Tea, right? With honey?” Jisung asked, not waiting for an answer like he knew he was right. He was. Minho hasn’t had tea in awhile, but he still likes his tea with a spoonful of honey, mixed in counter-clockwise because clockwise tastes weird.

He nodded and watched Jisung make him some tea, pouring it into a light pink mug with a spoonful of honey, mixing it counter-clockwise. 

Jisung handed him the mug, holding it from the top so Minho could grab the handle. Jisung walked over to the white couch tucked into the corner of the living area, decorated with a few throw blankets over one of the arms and a couple of decorative pillows. 

Jisung’s apartment was cozy. It felt like the home Minho never had. Minho’s house growing up felt fake, almost. There were crosses decorating every wall, even over the dining table, right above a small shelf housing a framed picture of Jesus. The frame was golden. Fake gold, but aged and fading, a few spots looked orange.

Minho shook his head, hoping it would shake the thoughts out of his brain, but it didn't. It never does. He doesn’t know why he thought this time would be any different.

Jisung reached out to put his hand on Minho’s knee, but stopped, and pulled his hand away, placing it in his own lap. “So,” Jisung set his matching green mug down on the wooden coffee table in front of the couch. It was awkward again. “How have you been?” Jisung turned slightly, giving his full attention to Minho.

Minho shrugged. What was he supposed to say?

He could be honest, and dump everything that’s happened to him these past years onto Jisung, but that wouldn’t be fair. They’ve only just met again, and Minho didn’t want to ruin everything a second time.

“Good.” Minho answered weakly. It was far from the truth. Minho doesn’t think he’s smiled in years, but he can’t tell Jisung that. Not right now, and maybe not ever.

Jisung knew he was lying. Even after ten years, he could read Minho like a book. People like Minho don’t change. Well, they do, but Minho wouldn’t. Not by choice. He didn’t like change.

“You sure?” Jisung asked quietly, taking a sip of his tea. The quiet sound of his slurping and swallowing bothered Minho, but he didn’t say anything, he knew Jisung couldn’t help it, and it was wrong to get mad at someone over things they couldn’t control.

Minho nodded, strained, like he almost didn’t want to, “Yeah.” He forced a smile, but it wasn’t as big as he hoped, “What about you?” 

Jisung sat back, sinking into the cushions, and Minho watched as he thought, licking his lips absentmindedly. Minho watched the action, and then blinked a few times and moved his gaze somewhere else.

Jisung was still as pretty as he remembered. 

Jisung reminded him of spring. He was pretty like spring. Bright eyes, warm-toned skin that was smooth as paper, with cheeks that were always a light shade of pink.

Minho’s favorite season used to be winter, just because of how pink Jisung would get. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were always the prettiest shade of pink, and Minho couldn’t get enough of it. Now, Minho didn’t know his favorite season. Probably still winter, but he couldn’t say it if you asked.

He traced Jisung's face with his eyes, committing all of it to memory. Not like it wasn’t already, but he didn’t mind doing it again.

“I’ve been…better.” Jisung glanced over at him but looked back down at his lap, “After you left,” It hurt hearing it come out of Jisung’s mouth, “I didn’t really know what to do. I missed a lot of school, so eventually I just dropped out.” Jisung took a deep breath, “I managed to get a job working retail, at some random video game store, and even ended up making a friend there.”

Jisung smiled at the memory, but it seemed sad, “He’s nothing compared to you, Minho.” He whispered, but continued his story, “He and I ended up getting enough to rent an apartment, so we left town and moved here.” 

Minho didn’t think he could hate himself more than he already did, but listening to Jisung tell him what he did after he had left him behind made Minho want to hurl. And he almost did, everywhere, but Jisung managed to point him to the bathroom in time.

Minho was hunched over the toilet seat, breathing heavily, vomit covering the sides of his mouth. He had never felt so guilty in his life. He wanted to cry and beg Jisung for forgiveness, and then get mad at Jisung for forgiving him so easily, and then cry and beg him again. He didn’t know what he would beg for the second time, but that didn’t matter. He would do it anyway.

Jisung knocked on the bathroom door softly, “Minho? Are you okay?” Minho didn’t answer. “Do you need me to call someone?” There was no one to call. Minho didn’t have anyone.

“No.” His voice was raw, and quiet, but Jisung heard him. He left Minho alone, and Minho sighed shakily at the sound of his footsteps retreating. His forehead hit the cold toilet seat as he took a deep breath.

He felt stuck. Trapped. 

He was horrible at expressing his feelings, even small ones, and telling Jisung would probably just make everything worse, so he opted to stay quiet.

A little white lie never hurt anyone, right?

He flushed the toilet and washed his mouth off at the sink before washing his hands, splashing some water on his face. He sighed and looked at himself in the mirror. His eye-bags had gotten worse, he doesn’t remember him looking so sad, but it’s not like he was going to get any better, there was no reason for him to.

He was quiet when he walked back into the living area, painfully awkward. “Um,” He sniffed, wiping his dry hands against his pants, “Sorry…about that.” Jisung looked up at him and smiled but it left as soon as it came, “It’s okay.” He watched Minho sit down next to him, tense, “Do you need anything?”  Minho shook his head but kept his gaze on his lap, “No. It’s okay.” 

The next few minutes were more awkward than Minho could even comprehend, but luckily, Jisung’s roommate came home just when Minho was building up the courage to go home.

Maybe not “luckily”, but Minho didn’t want to say bye to Jisung. He hates being in awkward situations.

Jisung’s roommate had dark brown hair that almost reached his shoulders and a sweater that looked like he had made it himself.

Jisung introduced Minho to his roommate, who Minho learned was named Seonghwa. He was nice, comforting, almost. Minho was about to deny the reality of Jisung’s roommate, but then he took Minho’s hand in both of his and shook it, even when Minho didn’t shake back.

He picked up the shopping bags he came in with and nodded to Minho, “It was nice to meet you.” He said, still smiling, retreating back to his room. Minho tried to smile back, but he couldn’t and just watched Seonghwa disappear into the hallway.

It was awkward again, Minho standing in front of the couch, not sure what to do with himself.

“It’s getting pretty late.” Jisung said, pulling back the curtain in front of the door leading to their balcony, “And it's still raining.” Minho scratched his cheek lightly, a nervous habit of his, “It’s fine, I can still walk home.” Jisung looked at him, his eyes filled with pity. Minho hated that look, he saw it on everyone, “Minho, it’s not safe. Please stay.” 

Minho didn’t want to. He wanted to run home and rot in his bedroom, embarrassed and guilty, shutting away all of his problems because he wasn’t strong enough to face them head-on, but he couldn’t, because Jisung wouldn’t let him. The same look that made Minho sick to his stomach made him sigh, his shoulders slouching in defeat. He didn’t have to say anything, Jisung already knew he won.

He smiled at Minho before walking into the hallway, coming back with a pillow and a few blankets, handing them to Minho. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

Something Minho would always make him do during sleepovers. Minho has a fear of the dark, but his parents never took him seriously and scolded him if he tried to sleep with a lamp on. They never bought him a night-light because it was “too childish”, so Minho always had Jisung sleep in the bed with him.

He made Minho feel safe, even if they weren’t holding each other, which they were when they woke up, but neither of them would move. Only when one of Minho’s parents would come in.

“No,” Minho said, looking at the blankets in his arms, “It’s okay.” 

Jisung nodded but left the hallway light on, a small gesture that Minho was grateful for.

He set up on the couch, listening to Jisung’s bedroom door close. The blankets were warm but somehow the pillow was cold. He took a deep breath, flinching when thunder sounded. The rain had picked up, and it was mad.

Jisung’s apartment was dark, even with the hallway light on, and the heavy rain mixed with thunder didn’t help Minho one bit.

He closed his eyes but didn’t sleep, he couldn’t, tossing and turning on Jisung’s soft, white couch. He doesn’t remember the last time he got a full night’s sleep, even though he’s constantly tired. It rains a lot in this town. Maybe that’s why he has trouble sleeping. He hates rain, and thunder, but he hates bright, clear days too. The sun is always too bright, and everywhere is always so busy.

He hates how picky he is, he’s always so miserable.

✞

Minho stirred, listening to two people talk quietly. His head hurt, so did his back, and he drooled a little bit.

“I’m happy he’s here, Hwa, but he’s…” Jisung paused, looking over his shoulder at Minho, who was sleeping on the couch, curled up under three blankets, “He’s different. I’m just worried.”

Seonghwa poured his coffee into the light blue mug he picked out, adding a little bit of milk because he can’t stand plain, black coffee. “It’s been over a decade, Jisung-ah, of course he’s different.” Jisung glanced at Minho again worriedly, “And from what you’ve told me, and from what I’ve seen, he probably feels guilty for everything. He missed you, but he’s not gonna immediately get better just because you’re back.”

Jisung rested his cheek on his fist, listening to Seonghwa, because Seonghwa is always right. “It’ll take some time. You just have to support him along the way.” 

Jisung nodded as Seonghwa placed a hand over Jisung’s, resting on the kitchen island, “He needs you, Jisung.” Seonghwa squeezed his hand and walked off to his room before Jisung could reply, leaving him alone with a cup of cold coffee that he didn’t even want anymore. 

Seonghwa was good at reading body language. Maybe a little too good, but sometimes Jisung was grateful for his little skill.

Jisung drank the rest of his coffee quietly, thinking about what Seonghwa said.

Jisung forgave Minho for everything years ago. He said hurtful things, and made Jisung feel horrible, but Jisung wasn’t able to stay mad at Minho for long, especially seeing him now. He looked miserable and Jisung was sure he felt worse.

He set his mug in the sink after washing it out and walked over to Minho who was still sleeping. Fake sleeping, but Jisung didn’t know that. 

He watched Minho breathe, he almost looked peaceful, his chest rising and falling. He brushed a strand of hair out of Minho’s face, sighing. He fought the urge to kiss his forehead and walked away, going back to his room.

Minho listened for Jisung’s door closing before finally opening his eyes, pushing the blankets off of him weakly. 

He rubbed his eyes and sat up. He had to leave, he didn’t want to be here anymore. He barely slept, and he couldn’t stand being near Jisung any longer.

He folded the blankets he slept with and dragged his feet to the kitchen, shakily scribbling “I’m sorry” on a napkin before pulling his shoes on and leaving quietly.

He thought about walking home, but he couldn’t, he had work.

✞

An old bar downtown, shoved between two big office buildings which meant that it was usually packed around lunchtime. Minho didn’t like working here. People can get mean when they’re drunk, sometimes they don’t have to be drunk to be mean though. The job paid well, and his co-workers were nice, but everything else sucked, and Minho hated bars.

They reminded him of his dad. 

For someone who was a priest, he sure drank a lot. Sometimes he would get physical when he was drunk, but most of the time he was asleep. He only got mad when he was woken up. Which was how Minho developed the fear of leaving his room. He still gets scared sometimes, even though he lives alone.

“Earth to Minho?” His co-worker, Changbin, snapped his fingers in front of Minho’s face, causing him to scowl and continue wiping off the mug he had in his hands, “You’ve been zoning out more than usual today. Everything okay?” 

Minho scoffed, “Define ‘okay’.” Changbin huffed a laugh but dropped it. Minho wasn’t one to talk about his feelings, especially to people he wasn’t super close with, but Changbin could tell something was wrong. Anybody with eyes could tell something was wrong with Minho.

He sighed and set the towel he was using on his shoulder, looking up at the sound of someone walking in.

Jisung and Seonghwa.

His breath hitched at the sight of Jisung, dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that hugged him way too good to be legal.

“I’m taking my break.” Minho said hurriedly, rushing to the back while Changbin complained.

He hid in the employee’s only room, which was just a small room with a fridge in the corner and a small couch in the other. He put his hands on his cheeks, which were uncomfortably warm, and took a deep breath, counting to five after he inhaled. He repeated this a few more times, steadying himself.

His school counselor taught him that. One of the only things he remembered about her, which made him sad, she was like a mother to him, but then his real mother took him away from her, claiming he didn’t need counseling and getting mad at the counselor for just doing her job.

He would’ve stayed in the back for the rest of his shift but he needed money, so he went back out behind the counter.

Seonghwa and Jisung were sitting at the opposite end of the counter, talking to each other so luckily, they didn’t notice Minho. Or they didn’t until Changbin made a big scene about him coming back.

“Jeez, it’s about time, thought you’d be back there forever.” Minho knew he was joking, he was in the back for barely five minutes, but it still caught the attention of Jisung, and Minho shrank into himself under his gaze. “Sorry.” Minho whispered, staying on the side of the counter farthest away from Jisung.

He kept to himself, serving customers the best he could, but then he noticed Jisung get up in the corner of his eye. He hoped and prayed that he was just going to the bathroom, but he wasn’t, he sat himself in the stool directly across from Minho, staring him down. Minho avoided eye contact, but glanced up occasionally, seeing Jisung just look at him.

“Can I get you something?” Minho asked, his voice small, “Are you avoiding me?” Jisung got straight to the point, and Minho shrank into himself again, “No.” He was quiet, he didn’t want to talk about this right now, he just wanted to get his shift over with.

“Minho, please talk to me.” Jisung looked at him with glossy eyes, like he would cry if Minho pulled away enough, “I..” Minho looked around, trying to find an escape, but Changbin was talking to a customer and Seonghwa was on his phone, and nobody around them was drunk enough for Minho to use them as an excuse, “I can’t.”

“Please, Minho.” Jisung would get down on his knees and beg if he needed to. Minho’s breath was heavier, faster, everything was louder and he was suddenly hyper-aware of his surroundings. His eyes were getting blurry and he was hot, the bar was a hundred degrees all of a sudden and Minho couldn’t breathe.

“Minho?” Jisung’s voice was distant and muffled even though he was right in front of Minho.

Minho needed to leave and get some fresh air. Maybe throw up in the dumpster behind the building. Or quit his job and move across the country so he never has to see Jisung again. But that wouldn’t be fair to Jisung, he’s been looking for Minho, missing him, and as soon as he finds Minho, he wants to leave him again.

Minho is a coward, he knows that. He’s a coward with trauma who can’t stand up for himself or face his fears. He runs in the face of confrontation just to hug himself to sleep in his dark apartment. He’s pathetic. He doesn’t know why Jisung is so insistent that they talk. Why does he care about Minho after everything that happened? Minho doesn’t deserve someone to care about him like that.

Minho was close to passing out, maybe he already did, he doesn’t remember laying on the couch in the break room. The back of his head hurt, like he had hit it on something, but he doesn’t remember that either.

“Dude, are you okay?” Changbin’s voice sounded, a door shutting behind him. Minho rubbed his head and sat up a bit too fast, the room spinning, “My head hurts…” Changbin scoffed and sat on the table in front of the couch, “Well, yeah, you kind of hit it against the tile floor.” Minho furrowed his brows, wincing slightly, “What?”

Changbin looked him up and down, “You passed out…do you not remember that?”

Minho shook his head and then regretted it immediately after, “Damn. You’ve been out for awhile, your shift ended two hours ago. I just finished closing.” Changbin stood and walked over to the few lockers next to the door, opening his and grabbing his stuff, “Be careful getting home, Minho.” Changbin said before he left, leaving Minho alone in the cold break room.

He stayed sat for a few more minutes, cradling his head in his hands, his eyes squeezed shut.

Did Jisung leave? What happened after he passed out? Questions swam around in his head, bouncing off of the walls, making his head hurt worse. He stood up, holding onto the wall to walk over to his own locker. He didn’t have much stuff, just a bag with an extra pair of clothes for just in case.

He tossed the strap over his shoulder and shut his locker, wincing at the sound of it slamming shut. Every sound felt ten times louder now.

He left the bar, steps slow but not every steady, he still wasn’t feeling the best. A loud enough noise would probably make his head explode, and he felt like he was gonna puke at every turn.

He locked the door to the bar behind him, the lamppost on the sidewalk shining down on him. He felt a hand on his shoulder as soon as he turned the key, finally locking the door fully. He jumped and dropped the key in his hand, wincing at the sharp turn.

Jisung bent down and picked the key up, handing it back to Minho, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Jisung was quiet, like he felt guilty about something, Minho hated that. He had nothing to feel guilty about, everything was Minho’s fault. Doesn’t he know that?

“It’s okay.” Minho took the key back, speaking quietly. He was tense, awkward. His head hurt and he wanted to go home, but Jisung was here and that was making him feel worse.

“I waited out here for you to make sure you were okay.” Jisung gestured behind him to where Minho assumed he was previously standing, “I tried to go to the back but Changbin wouldn’t let me.” He said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m sorry.” Minho forced out, staring at the concrete under his feet.

Jisung furrowed his eyebrows, “For what?” Minho gulped, backing up a few steps, “I…I need to go home.” He tried to walk away but Jisung followed him, "Let me at least walk you home?” 

Minho shook his head, looking everywhere but Jisung, “No.” He said, probably a little too fast, simply trying to go home.

“Minho, did I do something?”

Minho’s breath was fast again, and he was hot, and he was about two seconds away from projectile vomiting everywhere. He couldn’t speak, everything he tried to say came out quiet, and he couldn’t think straight, everything was spinning. He was close to tears. He needed to go.

“I’m sorry.” He squeaked out before turning around and walking away as fast as he could, which wasn’t very, but Jisung took the hint and let him walk away, standing under the light of the lamppost, watching him get farther, and farther away.

Minho put his sweaty hands on his cheeks, cringing at the feeling of them. He took a couple deep breaths, counting to five after each inhale.

He didn’t want to act like this around Jisung. He wanted to talk everything out and be friends with Jisung again, but Minho was a curse. Light rain that would only turn into a thunderstorm over time. He hated himself and his burdens, and he didn’t want Jisung to deal with anything Minho brought along with him. Those were his problems, Jisung didn’t deserve to have to babysit him just because he has a little bit of trauma.

✞

His apartment was located in an old, run-down building. It was a cheap studio apartment with air conditioning that only worked when it wanted to.

He shoved his jacket off, dropping it by the front door. He didn’t have a coat rack, he didn't want one either. He pulled his shoes off and left them by his jacket. 

His cat, Dori, started playing with his jacket, hiding under it and attacking the zipper. He cracked a small smile at Dori’s antics. He loved that cat. 

Sometimes he considered Dori a miracle. He adopted Dori a few months ago, when he was on his way to wherever he was going. A bridge, maybe, if he got lucky and came across one, but if he didn’t then he would lie and say he just went on a walk. In the back of his head, he was asking God for a sign to stop him from completing his original goal.

Ironic, wasn’t it? Wanting to die but fearing death. He would laugh at the irony, but he didn’t want to.

He didn’t think God would hear him, but he sighed when nothing happened, his shoulders deflating in defeat and fear when a bridge overlooking a large river entered his sight. He looked both ways, not that he really cared whether he got hit or not, but it was muscle memory. He lifted a foot to cross the street but something stopped him. A meow.

He looked down and saw the tiniest kitten he had ever seen in his life pawing at the bottom of his jeans. It looked like it had just been born, wobbling every time it tried to walk. It was skinny but loud, meowing up at Minho with all of its might.

Maybe God was listening. 

His parents never let him get a cat, or any pets for that matter. They were always too loud, or messy, or needy. Even if he asked for a senior cat that only he would have to take care of, then it was wasting money on a cat that would die in a few months. If he offered to pay for it and keep it in his room so they wouldn’t have to see it, they ran out of arguments but still said no.

He crouched down to pick the kitten up, cradling it in his palms. He didn’t know how to hold a cat, especially one this small, but it settled in his hands as he stood.

He put him in one of the inside pockets of his jacket to keep him warm, it had rained the previous day so it was still a little chilly.

He walked home, keeping a hand on the lump in his jacket where the kitten was sleeping.

He decided to name it Dori. A gift from God, in some cultures, and that’s exactly what Dori was.

He looked away from Dori playing with his jacket to sigh, his day finally affecting him.

He thought about eating, his usual diet consisting of just cheap ramen packets from the convenience store down the street, but he decided against it, all he wanted was to go to sleep.

He attempted to sleep. Several different positions over several hours of him forcing his eyes shut, nodding off for a few minutes but not being able to get any actual sleep. He huffed, throwing his blanket on the floor and flipping over onto his stomach. This is one of the moments where he wished his air conditioning worked, it felt like it was a hundred degrees.

He sat up, eventually admitting defeat and feeling around in the dark for his phone that he left in his jacket. He groaned and pulled himself up off of the mattress, dragging his feet over to where he left his jacket, fishing it out of one of the pockets.

He flinched when the screen turned on. He didn’t remember his brightness being set that high.

3:25 AM

He sighed and put his phone in the pocket of his pants, pulling his jacket back on. He couldn’t sleep, obviously, so he was going to do the next best thing and go on a walk, because what’s more relaxing than a walk at three in the morning.

It was quiet out, Minho liked that, but it also creeped him out a little bit. No background noise to distract him from his thoughts.

He walked, no specific destination in mind. 

His feet led him to the park. An old, wooden bench in front of a fountain in the middle of the park. There was someone sitting there already, Minho considered turning around and going home, but he would recognize that side profile anywhere.

He paused, unsure of what to do. Should he sit down, or should he leave? Jisung was obviously here to be alone, probably for the same reason Minho is, but just as he turned to leave, “Minho?” 

Minho stopped, slowly turning around to the sound of Jisung’s voice. He looked sad, tired, his hair was messy and the hood of his jacket was over his head. Minho was stuck now. If he left, he would look like a jerk, even more than he already did, but if he stayed, he would be trapped in an awkward situation. The worst kind of situation.

He sniffed and walked over to the bench, sitting next to Jisung. Their knees brushed and Minho moved away.

It was quiet, awkward. Minho didn’t know what to do. Was he supposed to start a conversation? He didn’t know how to do that without sounding like he’s never left his house in his entire life, which wasn’t too far from the truth. 

Luckily, Jisung decided to speak up first, “Couldn’t sleep?” 

Minho nodded, “Yeah.” He spoke quietly, still a little stiff. Jisung hummed and nodded, stopping the small conversation there. Or Minho thought.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Jisung looked over at Minho, sitting up a little bit.

Minho gulped, the collar of his shirt felt tighter all of a sudden. His palms were sweaty. “I’m not.” He whispered, obviously lying, “You are, Minho.”

Jisung sounded mad, Minho wanted to run away and hide. He hated when people were mad at him, it made him feel horrible. Like a small, scared puppy. He loses all ability to speak, and defend himself.

“I’m sorry.” Minho said, still quiet. Jisung turned towards him fully, pulling a leg up onto the bench. Minho side-eyed him and gulped nervously. Jisung sighed, he was frustrated but wasn’t taking it out on Minho. He knows how Minho is, or was, he knows better than anyone. He could pick Minho out of a room full of look-a-likes. 

“I just don’t understand Minho.” He turned back, looking at the fountain in front of them, listening to the sound of the water, “I forgave you years ago.” Jisung whispered.

Minho wanted to cry, he was about to, but he wiped the tears away before they could fall.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing!” 

Jisung wasn’t mad. He was frustrated, sure, but not at Minho. It’s not Minho’s fault that he’s like this, Jisung knows that, but Minho doesn’t, and he doesn’t know how to help himself either.

Jisung sat up, “Look,” He looked at Minho, “Why didn’t you tell me when you moved?” Jisung looked desperate, Minho had to answer, he couldn’t run away this time, but it was hard. When he was a kid, and tried to stand up for himself or explain things, his parents would get mad and say he was “back-talking”. So, Minho gave up, and he’s had trouble with it since.

Minho shrugged. 

“Minho.”

He looked away, unable to hold eye contact, “They wouldn’t let me.” He blinked a few times, fidgeting with his fingers, “I tried to go over to your house, to tell you, but they wouldn’t let me.”

Minho was telling the truth.

His parents only told him about the move last minute, when over half of the house was already packed up. He tried to tell Jisung, but his mother slapped him and forced him to go pack up his room. Rambling nonsense about Jisung being harmful, and a bad influence, when in reality, Jisung didn’t do anything. Everything was Minho’s fault.

Jisung sighed, “I still don’t understand. Why wouldn’t they let you? Why did you say all of those things? What did I do?”

Minho gulped again, swallowing his nerves and trying to grow a backbone. He couldn’t tell Jisung the truth.

“My parents found out that I had feelings for you and wouldn’t let me see you anymore because they saw both of us as vermin.”

About the things that Minho had said, he doesn’t know why he said them. None of them were true.

His parents wouldn’t have caught them if Minho wasn’t stupid. Jisung should’ve pushed him away, thrown Minho’s hands off of him and spat at him for even attempting something like that, but he didn’t, so Minho kept going. That was the worst decision of his life.

“My parents were right about you, Jisung. You’re disgusting.”

The last thing he said before stomping out of the empty classroom, his words echoing off the walls. Minho cried that day, and it almost killed him. He cried so hard he threw up, multiple times, almost passing out. He didn’t mean a single word, he wanted to run back into the classroom and apologize. Beg and plead, try to convince Jisung somehow that he didn’t mean it, but he was a coward who kept walking home, and by then, it was too late.

“You didn’t do anything.” Minho picked at his nails. The noise was bothering him, but he had no other choice. “Obviously I did.” Jisung said, staring holes into the fountain, “You didn’t.” Minho said, probably a little too fast, “It was my fault,” He had found his backbone, but it was slowly slipping out of his grasp, “All of it. You didn’t do anything.”

Jisung looked at Minho with his eyebrows upturned and his lips pressed into a flat line. Minho never noticed how good Jisung had looked lately, he was too busy drowning in guilt and self-hatred.

His cheeks were still chubby, which Minho was glad about. His hair was wavy and a little grown out, his eyes were big, and brown, and wet, and full of pity.

The slope of his nose, the curve of his cheekbone, Minho noticed it all, and he wanted to keep noticing, but Jisung looked away and Minho suddenly realized that he had been staring.

“It wasn’t your fault, Minho.”

He didn’t believe Jisung, not for one second.

“Yes, it is. I shouldn’t have tried to-” He paused, cringing at the memory, “Kiss you.” He whispered, staring down at his lap, watching himself ruin his fingernails.

Jisung put his hand over Minho’s, forcing him to stop fidgeting. Minho tried to pull away, but Jisung tightened his grip. “If it makes you feel any better,” Jisung squeezed Minho’s hand, getting his attention, “I liked it.”

That made Minho feel worse.

Minho liked it too. He shouldn’t have, he still shouldn’t, but he did. The tiny brush of their lips before Minho’s mom barged in. Minho still thinks about it, and then he cries. Sometimes he throws up.

Guilt is a horrible feeling.

Jisung’s phone rang. It was Seonghwa, asking where Jisung was because it's four in the morning and Jisung wasn’t home. When Jisung hung up, he looked at Minho, eyes shining with something that Minho couldn’t read, “What’s your number?”

“My number?” Minho asked, confused, and his brain a little blank. Jisung nodded. Minho pulled his phone out after a few seconds of looking at Jisung, and his brain trying to process what Jisung was asking. The last time Minho gave someone his number was when Changbin invited Minho out to get drinks with him and his friends. Minho never went. He faked being sick.

Jisung put Minho’s number in his phone and handed Minho’s phone back to him. He didn’t even realize he had handed Jisung his phone.

Jisung put his own phone away and waved before walking away, “See you later, Minho!” He called out behind him, leaving Minho on the old, wooden bench, confused and nervous. Minho didn’t know why he was nervous, but he was. He couldn’t really help it anymore.

✞

Minho winced, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. The single pillow he slept with had gotten flat, which meant that he woke up with headaches every day. Some were small and went away fast, but others were very noticeable and stayed for way too long. Medicine wouldn’t help either.

He knows it’s not just his pillow, but it’s easier to blame it on that than acknowledge the actual reasons.

He hasn’t texted Jisung. He thought about it on his way back home but chickened out. What would he say, anyway? He was too awkward to text first. Or text at all. Phones work both ways, sure, but Jisung shouldn’t have to reach out first. Minho should be more mature, more stable, probably, but he wasn’t, and he isn’t.

He got ready for work with slow, sluggish movements. He had no energy. If his energy could be in the negatives, it would be.

He considered eating while feeding Dori, but decided not to, he had lunch yesterday. Probably.

It was foggy out, a little misty. The wind was cold, nipping at Minho’s nose. He pulled his jacket closer to him. He was sensitive to temperatures, he didn’t know why. 

The walk was nice, even if his only layer was his old jacket. 

He didn’t have a long shift today. It was the bar owner’s anniversary so he closes early but gives everyone a full day’s pay. He was nice like that.

Changbin was already behind the counter when Minho walked in, bickering with Hyunjin while he restocked and cleaned the counter while Hyunjin just sat in the stool across from him, doing nothing but teasing Changbin.

“It’s not your fault you're short, Binnie, it’s okay.” Changbin gripped his rag tighter, taking a short breath, “I’m not short!” Hyunijin jutted his lip out but left Changbin alone, making Minho his next victim as he walked behind the counter to help Changbin, “A little birdie told me you passed out yesterday.”

Minho looked at Changbin with furrowed brows, “You told him?” Minho wouldn’t usually care, it wasn’t a huge deal, but Hyunjin liked to tease and he would never let Minho live that down. Changbin shook his head, putting his hands up in defense, “I checked the cameras.” Hyunjin said with a smile, looking at his nails.

Minho rolled his eyes, tying his apron with ease, “God, I hate you.” Hyunjin smiled bigger and laughed, “Aw, I love you too, Min!”

Just as Hyunjin’s sentence finished, the bell above the door rang, signalling that someone had walked in. It was Chan, the bar owner, dressed in a button-up shirt and dress pants, obviously on his way to something fancy.

“Hey, guys!” 

He was as chipper as usual. Minho was a little jealous that Chan could keep a smile on his face so much. A real, genuine smile. He was so happy all of the time. Jealousy is a disease and Minho is riddled with it.

“Minho, can I talk to you real quick?” Chan asked, nodding his head to the back room. Minho nodded and followed Chan, his exit being supported by Hyunjin's instigating “oooo’s” and Changbin telling him to shut up.

“Changbin told me what happened yesterday.” Minho held back an eye roll. Chan cared, but Minho didn’t want him to. He was a grown man, not a child. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I know you’ve…struggled in the past. Just wanted to check up on you.”

Minho sighed and avoided eye contact, “I’m fine.” He got quiet, Chan knew he was lying.

“Are you sure?”

Chan knew how Minho was. He met Minho when he was at rock bottom, wandering around, crossing the street not caring about what happened to him. Chan had almost hit him while driving but braked just in time. When he had gotten out of the car, he asked Minho if he was okay, and Minho broke down.

Chan was surprisingly understanding for a stranger. He hugged Minho as he cried and offered him a ride home, which Minho accepted, even if it wasn’t the safest decision.

He visited Minho for a few days after, always giving him a plate of desserts that his fiancee had baked. Minho was uncomfortable at first, not used to having people over, but he got used to it, and started to like it. Plus, Chan’s fiancee was amazing at baking brownies.

“I’m fine. I was just tired.”

Chan looked at Minho, observing his face. Minho shrank into himself a little, uncomfortable with the staring but Chan sighed and nodded. That same disappointed dad nod combined with a hand on Minho’s shoulder, “Okay.” He squeezed Minho’s shoulder, shaking it a little, “Just take care of yourself. Please.”

Minho nodded, still avoiding eye contact. 

Chan patted his back before leaving the room. Minho heard him say goodbye to Hyunjin and Changbin before hearing the bell above the door ring again, signalling his departure.

Minho sighed, placing his hands on his cheeks before taking a few deep breaths, counting to five after each inhale.

When he calmed down, he walked back out to the bar area, listening to Hyunjin and Changbin bicker again. For once, he was grateful for their annoyingness. It got his mind off of everything, even if it's for a little bit.

✞

Jisung called him for the first time when Minho got home and was standing in his kitchen, staring at the microwave, waiting for his cup of ramen to finish.

The ring scared him. He jumped a little, the phone vibrating against the counter aggressively. He reached for the phone but froze when he saw the name flash across the screen.

Jisungie

It rang a few more times as Minho got his thoughts back in order. He swiped the accept button and held the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

There was rustling on the other end but Minho couldn’t tell what Jisung was doing. “Hey, Minho!” Jisung sounded too happy to talk to Minho, it almost made him suspicious, “Are you free later?”

Minho stuttered for a second, “Uh, yeah.”

The beep of his microwave made him jump. He put his phone on speaker and set it on the counter to pull his ramen out, holding it by the top so he didn’t accidentally burn himself.

“I found this cool movie but I don’t want to watch it by myself, and Seonghwa is over at his boyfriend's house.” Minho could hear the eye roll in his voice, “If you wanted to, we could have a movie night, and maybe talk a little bit.” Jisung whispered the last part, but Minho still heard it, even through the quality of his phone speaker.

He stared into his ramen, considering Jisung’s offer. Minho would love to have a movie night, but he probably shouldn’t. He doesn’t want to talk, he’s scared, Jisung will get mad at him again and he’ll make himself seem like some heartless idiot.

“Minho?” 

He blinked a few times, realizing how long he had been zoned out, “Sorry. Uh, yeah, we can have a movie night.” 

He cringed internally at the sound of his own voice, tight and small. Jisung didn’t notice. He probably did, but he ignored it, and Minho was thankful for that, “Great! I have to clean up a little though.” Minho nodded then realized that Jisung couldn’t see him so he just stayed quiet, so it was awkward now.

“Just let me know when you’re on the way, okay?”

Minho nodded again and then rolled his eyes at himself, “Okay.”

He could hear the way Jisung smiled, and he could picture exactly what he looked like, “Awesome. Goodbye, Minho.”

Minho didn’t get a chance to say goodbye back to him before he hung up, leaving Minho with a cup of ramen that was slowly getting cold.

He sighed and wiped a hand down his face, stopping at his mouth, staring wide-eyed at his reflection in the microwave.

What was he doing? He shouldn’t have said yes, he shouldn’t have even answered the call, but he panicked, and now he was panicking even more. 

“It’s just a movie,” He told himself, “Nothing will happen.”

He was wrong.

He arrived at Jisung’s apartment a few hours later. Nervous, again, but that’s just how he was recently.

Jisung answered the door in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that made his chest look amazing. It squeezed his arms through the short sleeves and made them look ten times bigger, and if Jisung lifted his arms enough, it would expose a little bit of stomach, but that was enough to distract Minho.

“You came!” Jisung said, stepping aside to let Minho in. Minho hated how he said that, it made him seem like a loser. Not that he wasn’t, but he still didn’t like it.

The apartment was clean. Very clean. If Minho looked hard enough, every surface would probably start sparkling like they do in cartoons.

He slipped his shoes off and followed Jisung around like a puppy, not knowing what else to do. “I bought snacks.” Jisung pulled a bag of Minho’s favorite chips out of a paper bag sitting on the counter, “I hope these are still your favorites.” Minho grabbed the bag and looked at it. 

Knowing Jisung remembered everything about him, even after all this time and everything Minho put him through, it hurt. It hurt because he doesn’t understand why Jisung does it. If Minho was in his shoes, he wouldn’t be half as forgiving as Jisung is. Minho has a tendency to shut people out, and not talk about how he feels. He lacks communication skills, but he also lacks the skills to fix that.

He blinked a few times, snapping himself out of the trance he was in. Jisung was sitting on the couch, turning the movie on. “You coming?” Minho looked surprised for a second but nodded, walking over to the couch to sit next to Jisung.

He kept distance, sitting on a whole different cushion.

Jisung didn’t specify what the movie was. He said it was an anime, which Minho enjoys, but he didn’t say it was a romance.

The main character, a girl who had been through multiple relationships, her last one abusive, struggles to accept the other protagonist having real, genuine feelings for her.

It was a cute story. Minho related to it, in a way. But, he and Jisung were both guys. The movie was about a man and a woman, the way it should be.

He felt sick for thinking that. It was wrong. 

He wasn’t like that. He couldn’t be like that. 

Jisung moved a little closer, just enough for their arms to brush. Minho tried to scoot away, but he was up against the arm of the couch. He gulped and Jisung moved closer.

He was starting to sweat, it was getting hard to focus on the movie. Jisung intertwined their fingers, gripping Minho’s hand tight enough that he couldn’t pull away. He could definitely feel how sweaty Minho’s palm was. There was no hiding it. If he looked at his hand close enough, there would be tiny beads of sweat staring back up at him.

The final straw was when Jisung laid his head against Minho’s shoulder.

“Isn’t this nice, Minho-yah? It’s just like old times.” 

There it was again, that overwhelming urge to vomit everywhere. He stood up from the couch so fast that Jisung didn’t have time to register it, causing him to almost fall face first into the spot where Minho previously sat, but he caught himself in time.

“What’s wrong?” Minho heard Jisung behind him but his voice got quieter the closer Minho got to the bathroom, holding a hand over his mouth so he didn’t spill his guts everywhere.

He emptied his stomach into the toilet, hunching over it and dry heaving. His stomach hurt, and his throat, scratched raw from him throwing up.

He hated being like this. The overwhelming wave of guilt and shame controlling him and his thoughts. He wanted it to stop, but he didn’t know how.

He still had feelings for Jisung.

The same feelings that cost him everything had never gone away, no matter how hard he tried, and he hated it. He hated himself.

The only way to get over it was to tell him, but he couldn’t. He physically can’t make himself tell Jisung the entire truth. But he has to. He knows that.

But not right now. Right now, he had to clean himself up and go back out to Jisung and apologize for interrupting the movie that Jisung wanted to watch with him. He washed his face and his hands and placed them on his cheeks, taking a few deep breaths and counting to five after each inhale.

He didn’t realize how long he had been in the bathroom until he walked into the living room and saw Seonghwa sitting next to Jisung, both of them crocheting together.

Minho didn’t know Jisung liked to crochet. He didn’t even know that Jisung could.

Seeing Jisung and Seonghwa next to each other, crocheting their own things but engaging in conversation at the same time. Minho stalked closer, Jisung didn’t notice that he was out of the bathroom.

“I think he hates me, Seonghwa.”

Minho’s heart shattered.

He wanted to scream and cry and tell Jisung that no, Minho doesn’t hate him, and he never will, but he was frozen. Forced to eavesdrop in on a conversation that he wasn’t invited to.

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Seonghwa stopped crocheting and looked over at Jisung, who followed his actions but instead of looking at Seonghwa, he stared at the paused movie on the tv. “Everytime I try to touch him, he moves away. I laid my head on his shoulder earlier and he threw up!” 

Jisung looked like he was going to cry, and it was all Minho’s fault. Again.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

Seonghwa sighed and set his yarn in the basket at his feet, setting his needles next to it, “Jisung. He doesn’t hate you.”

“Then why does he act like that? He makes it seem like I’m…” Jisung hesitated, “Contagious.”

Minho blinked, trying to fight tears but failing, feeling it slide down his cheek.

Minho loved Jisung, but he didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to try to take something that he didn’t deserve, and ruin everything a second time, but he realized that by trying to avoid one thing, he was destroying another.

He didn’t want to ruin his relationship with Jisung for the second time, but in doing that, his apprehensiveness was making Jisung feel like Minho just didn’t care about him, when that was far from the truth. Minho would take a bullet for Jisung. He would sacrifice himself to anything and anyone if it meant that Jisung got to survive and live a happy life.

Jisung meant everything to Minho. He loves Jisung. Why couldn’t he say it out loud? Why couldn’t he just man up and tell Jisung the truth?

Minho was a coward. A sad, pitiful coward.

If his parents were here, they would humiliate him in front of Jisung. Drag him out of Jisung’s apartment by the ear while yelling at him about what the Bible says about homosexuality, and how wrong it is. Quoting Bible verses left and right on the way home.

But they weren’t here, and Minho was a grown man who was able to fight his own battles. He can, he’s fully able to, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to run and hide, like a bunny running from a predator, scurrying back into its den to hide and wait for the big, bad wolf to go away.

But he’s not a bunny. He has to face his battles and he has to face them now, or he’ll only make things worse. He had a history of doing that.

He turned around to open and close the bathroom door to make it sound like he was coming out for the first time. 

Jisung looked up as Minho walked back into the living room, stiff at the sight of Seonghwa but also the air in the room. The tension that filled it.

Seonghwa looked between them, studying the way they were looking at each other. Seonghwa knew how to read a room. He moved the pillow off of his lap and stood, nodding to Minho on his way out.

“Are you okay?” Jisung asked, avoiding eye contact.

Minho had to do it now, or it would never happen. But, starting it was his biggest struggle. He wanted to spill everything out like word vomit, but if he was going to do this, he wanted to do it right.

“We- I need to talk to you.”

Jisung blinked and nodded, setting his own ball of yarn down on the table in front of him, giving Minho his full attention. The attention made him nervous, but he needed it. He needed to tell Jisung.

He wanted to chicken out, but the smarter, more mature side of him was able to fight that urge, and keep him standing in the living room in front of Jisung, trying to figure out how to tell Jisung how he felt without making himself seem like an idiot.

He started to pace without even realizing it.

“I don’t know how to start. I don’t know how to do anything like this at all.”

Minho took a deep breath.

“Nothing that happened was your fault, Jisung. It was mine, everything was, and it always has been.” Jisung opened his mouth to argue but Minho held up a hand, and Jisung closed his mouth, “You’ve done nothing but be yourself and that’s what got me here in the first place.”

Jisung furrowed his eyebrows but let Minho continue, “My parents made me feel horrible about everything I did. If I ate junk food, it was gluttony. If I was proud of myself for passing a test, it was pride. If I didn’t want to do chores, I was too lazy and already halfway to hell.”

He kept pacing, alternating between running his hands through his hair and picking at his fingernails. Scratching at his palms occasionally.

“I wasn’t allowed to do anything, but then you came along and made me feel like a normal person. You were an escape. A distraction from how horrible my home-life was.”

Jisung’s eyes were glossy, both of them fighting back tears for different, yet similar reasons.

“God, where am I even going with this?” He asked himself, cradling his head in his hands.

“What I’m trying to say is,” He paused, taking a deep breath, “I like you, Jisung. I love you.” Jisung went wide-eyed. “I always have. I have since we met. Ever since you helped me up after I fell in elementary school with your stupid eyes, and your stupid cheeks, and your stupid glasses. I’ve loved you since you first slept over at my house in middle school and laid in the bed with me because I was too afraid of the dark to sleep by myself.”

“I’ve loved you since our first year of high school together, when we didn’t have any classes together but you would skip yours to come visit me at mine, every single day. I’ve loved you since we got food together after school and you wiped the ketchup off of my face because I didn’t realize it was there.”

“I’ve loved you since I tried to kiss you, and I loved you after I moved. When Chan almost ran me over, all I could think about was you. How much I miss you, how much of an idiot I am for letting myself lose someone like you. I didn’t mean any of the stuff I said that day at school. I was projecting. I was scared, because I was starting to realize just how far I had fallen for you, because I realized that there was no getting out of the hole that I had dug myself.”

“I should’ve never said any of that, and I should’ve been honest from the beginning, but I’m a coward, Jisung. I’m a big, fat, pitiful coward who can’t do anything for himself except run and hide instead of facing his fears.”

Minho didn’t know when he started crying, or when Jisung stood from the couch to walk over to Minho.

“You love me?” Jisung asked, quietly. Wiping a tear from Minho’s face with a soft enough touch that Minho barely noticed.

“Yes! And I’m such an idiot for not telling you, and making you feel the way that I did. I’m sorry, Jisung, I’m so sorry.”

Jisung grabbed the sides of Minho’s face and kissed him. Minho was shocked and pulled away, “Sorry, was that too much?” Jisung turned his eyebrows upwards.

Minho stuttered but laid his hands over Jisung’s, “No…sorry.” 

Jisung leaned back in and Minho met him halfway. Jisung’s lips were soft, and fit right against Minho’s, like they were made just for him.

Minho moved one of his hands to Jisung’s cheek. The kiss deepened, Minho pulled Jisung flush against him, chest to chest, sliding the hand on his cheek down to his lower back, splaying his fingers out and pulling forcing Jisung impossibly closer. He heard footsteps come down the hallway but they quickly retreated, the sound followed by a closing door.

Jisung moaned into the kiss but pulled away after, both of them panting. Jisung huffed a laugh and Minho tightened his grip on his lower back, “Woah.”

Minho cracked a smile and Jisung laughed. Minho brushed a strand of hair away from Jisung’s face, tangling his fingers through Jisung’s dark locks.

Minho doesn’t deserve to be happy like this. He doesn’t deserve to have Jisung like this. But if Jisung thinks otherwise, then Jisung’s opinion is all he cares about.

“What do we do from here?” Jisung whispered.

“I don’t know.” Minho whispered back, still recovering from the kiss.

“I think,” Jisung picked a few pieces of fuzz off of Minho’s shirt. A nervous habit. “I think we should try.” He said softly, “Just to see what happens.”

Minho nodded, “Yeah. I think we should.” 

They stayed there for a few more moments before pulling away when they heard Seonghwa’s door open again, “I assume you both talked everything out?”

Jisung looked away and blushed, and Minho smiled. It felt unnatural, weird, but Minho kind of liked it. He could get used to this.

✞

The bell above the door rang as Minho walked in, Changbin looked up at him, Hyunjin next to him but he was too busy with his nails.

“Don’t you look chipper!” Changbin exclaimed, causing Minho to roll his eyes, “Shut up.” 

He walked into the back to put his stuff up, only to be met with Chan sitting on the couch, scrolling on his phone. He looked up as Minho walked in and opened his locker, “Hey.” He put his phone in his pocket and stood up from the couch, approaching Minho.

“You look…” He studied Minho, making him slightly uncomfortable, “Different.” Chan squinted his eyes in suspicion, “What happened?”

Minho shrugged, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He put his bag in his locker and closed it, turning around to see Chan still squinting at him, “What?” Chan looked him up and down, “Something just feels different. You seem happier.”

Minho avoided eye contact, staring at the hardwood floor, “I made up with Jisung.” He whispered quickly, but Chan still heard him. His face lit up in excitement and he pulled Minho into a tight hug, “That’s great, Min!”

Chan was the only one who knew what happened between Minho and Jisung. Minho didn’t go super into detail when he drunkenly rambled to Chan about Jisung, but he told him enough that Chan knew why Minho felt the way that he did.

Minho told Chan about his feelings for Jisung, and Chan rubbed his back supportingly as he puked the alcohol and his feelings into Chan’s toilet.

Chan pulled away from the hug but kept his hands on Minho’s shoulder, smiling at him, “I’m happy for you, Minho, this is big.”

Minho nodded, giving Chan a small smile, “Thank you.”

Minho felt better. More than he had in the past ten years. He told Jisung how he felt, got everything off of his chest, and Jisung didn’t find him disgusting. Jisung didn’t get mad, and yell, and tell Minho that he hates him. Minho didn’t have to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness, but he was close.

Minho was doing better. He finally had hope.

✞

“Have you ever thought about therapy?”

Minho looked over at Jisung, who was lying on the couch crocheting. He was laying against the arm of the couch, facing Minho, working on his newest crocheting project. His thin, circle-rimmed glasses sat low on his nose and the halfway done sleeve of the sweater he was making for Minho was in his lap.

Minho side-eyed him in confusion but nodded slightly, “Kind of. I’ve heard about it but I’ve never actually thought about it.” He looked at Jisung, “Why?” Jisung shrugged, “I know a guy who’s a therapist and he said I would probably benefit from it. Thought maybe we could do it together.”

Minho put a hand on Jisung’s socked foot, squeezing it once, “I’ll do it if you do it, Jisungie. I trust you.”

Jisung smiled and continued crocheting, “Awesome.”

He smiled that cute, gummy smile that Minho loves, reaching his eyes. Minho loved seeing Jisung happy, no matter why. He loved listening to Jisung hum as he crocheted, a random tune that Minho had never heard before. He loved watching Jisung crochet. It was too complicated for Minho, but watching Jisung do it scratched his brain, he couldn’t look away. 

Sometimes, Jisung would invite Minho over during his nights with Seonghwa. They both crochet with some romance movie in the background while Minho sits next to Jisung, just watching him work.

At first, he felt like a third wheel, but Seonghwa reassured him that he was glad to have Minho over, and even bought extra snacks for him. His favorite flavor of chips.

Minho started to feel like he belonged. It became a routine. Every Friday, Minho goes over to their apartment and he helps Seonghwa prepare snacks while Jisung sets up the movie. Minho cuddles up on the couch next to Jisung, wrapping himself in a blanket that Seonghwa made, and switches between watching the movie and watching Jisung crochet.

It was mesmerizing, how skilled he was at it. He always wore the same pair of glasses, just for crocheting. He looked like a grandma. Minho loved it.

✞

Tomorrow was Jisung’s birthday. Minho had to make it perfect.

He knocked on Chan’s front door, scratching at his cheek nervously. Chan’s fiancee, Felix, answered the door in a light pink sweater, his hair tied up in a short ponytail, “Minho! Hi!” He looked surprised but happy to see Minho, “Chan isn’t here right now.” Minho swallowed his nerves. He hasn’t talked to Felix much, but he and Chan used to help Minho during his toughest times, so he knows he can trust Felix. “I know. I actually had something to ask you.”

Felix’s eyes widened and eyebrows practically shot up to his hairline, “Oh, alright. Come on in!”

Felix led him to the kitchen, where he had cookies baking in the oven. Minho doesn’t think he’s ever seen Felix not baking, or without desserts on a plate and ready to go.

Minho sat at the kitchen island while Felix prepared him a cup of tea. A spoonful of honey, stirred counter-clockwise.

“So,” Minho said, “Tomorrow is my…boyfriends birthday.” Felix smiled at Minho, sliding the mug of tea across the counter to Minho, “Boyfriend, huh?” Felix said, raising his eyebrows. Minho gave a small smile but continued, “I wanted to ask if you could make him a cake. I-I’ll pay you and it doesn’t have to be big, it’s just for the two of us, and-” Felix cut him off, “I’ll do it, Minho.”

Minho gave him a small smile, “Thank you.” Felix smiled and nodded, “So, tell me more about this ‘boyfriend’ of yours.”

✞

Minho put his hands on his cheeks and took a few deep breaths, counting to five after each inhale.

Today was Han's birthday. No biggie.

Except it was a huge deal. It had to be perfect.

He turned the cake left and right a few times, making sure the stand was facing the right direction. His presents were set on the table next to the cake, a large “happy birthday” banner hanging on the wall above the table.

He got Seonghwa to help with decorations. He assisted Minho in blowing up multiple red balloons and setting up a few red streamers on the ceiling. Red was Han's favorite color, but that’s all Minho really had for decoration inspiration. The cake had white frosting but red dollops around the top and bottom edge. He put a few candles above the writing.

“Minho, it’ll be okay.” Seonghwa put a hand on Minho’s shoulder, trying to calm him down, “Sorry, I’m just…” He sighed and scratched at one of his cheeks, “This has to be perfect.” Seonghwa nodded, “I know.” 

Minho heard the key turn in the lock and jumped, Seonghwa squeezed his shoulder as a silent way to tell him to stay calm. Minho grabbed one of the confetti poppers off of the table, holding it out in front of him.

Jisung walked in and shut the door behind him, jumping at the loud popping sound, turning around to see Seonghwa and Minho standing by the dining table, surrounded by falling confetti, “Happy birthday!” They yelled in unison.

Jisung laughed, his hand over his fast–beating heart, still surprised from the confetti popper.

He walked over to Minho, kissing him on the cheek, “You guys did all of this for me?” He looked around at the decorations, and the cake, and the presents, all his favorite shade of red. The exact shade.

His favorite color had always been the same shade of red that Minho’s ears would get when Jisung would playfully flirt with him. The same shade that could creep up his neck if Jisung tried to stay close to him during the winter, intertwining their hands.

Minho set the confetti popper down and pulled a lighter out of his pocket, quickly but carefully lighting the candles on the cake. It wasn’t very big, a small circle, but it was enough for all three of them and that’s all Minho cared about.

“Make a wish.” Seonghwa said, his hands together in excitement. Jisung paused, thinking, before blowing the candles out and pulling Minho into a kiss after. Seonghwa clapped and Minho looked at him surprised, “What’d you wish for?” Minho asked while Seonghwa grabbed a knife from the kitchen to cut the cake with.

“You. In every lifetime.” Jisung whispered. Minho blushed and avoided eye contact, Jisung kissed the corner of his lips as Seonghwa spoke up, “Okay, birthday boy. How big of a piece do you want?”

✞

Seonghwa left after they ate cake, claiming that he had a date with Hongjoong, but he left with a not-so-discreet wink in Minho’s direction, so Jisung knew he was probably lying.

Minho was lying on the couch, Jisung on top of him, his index finger tracing random patterns on Jisung’s arm. They were watching one of Jisung’s favorite movies, Howl’s Moving Castle. Minho had never seen it, but what better time to watch it for the first time than on Jisung’s birthday, with Jisung laying on top of him, half-asleep.

“Hey, Minho?” Jisung spoke up after moments of silence, his voice slightly muffled from his face being smushed against Minho’s chest. 

“Yes, Jisungie?” 

“So, it’s my birthday, right?”

“Mhm.”

“And I can ask for anything I want, right?”

Minho side-eyed him suspiciously, “Yes…?”

Jisung suddenly shot up, straddling Minho’s hips, “There is one thing I want, that I didn’t ask you for.”

Minho gulped, unsure of what to do with his hands, eventually setting them on Jisung’s waist, “Which is?”

Jisung hesitated. He was nervous.

“You can tell me, Jisung.”

Minho squeezed Jisung’s waist reassuringly, “I want to have sex.” 

Minho paused, his eyes widening slightly. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, unsure of what to say. Jisung shrank into himself at Minho’s silence, moving to get off of him, “Sorry. It’s probably too early.” Minho shook his head and grabbed Jisung’s arm before he could climb off, “No, I…I didn’t say ‘no’. I was just shocked.”

“I’ve never done…it before” He whispered the last part, suddenly finding himself nervous. Jisung looked surprised, “Oh.”

Minho’s never dated. He’s had his sights set on Jisung since they first met, even without realizing it. He hasn’t dated, and he hasn’t wanted to. Unless it was Jisung. 

“We don’t have to-”

“No!” Minho got loud but cleared his throat and quieted down, “I want to, Jisung.”

Jisung nodded, “Okay.” 

“Okay.” Minho parroted.

Neither of them moved for a few minutes until Jisung leaned down, kissing Minho softly on the lips. He pulled back, both of them looking each other in the eye before Minho put a hand on the back of Jisung’s head, pushing him into another kiss.

Jisung whimpered, and Minho wanted more. He might not be super experienced, but that didn’t mean he had no idea what he was doing. He tightened his grip on the back of Jisung’s head, moving one hand down to grip his ass, squeezing when he whimpered into the kiss again.

Minho would be embarrassed about how fast he got hard, but he wasn’t, he was too distracted with Jisung kissing a trail down his neck, starting to suck and bite at the skin.

Minho tilted his head back, giving Jisung more access. Jisung bit down, not hard, but enough that Minho could feel it. He licked over the bite before moving farther down, but stopping.

“Bedroom?” He whispered. Minho nodded, “Yeah.” He was out of breath, from kissing and from excitement.

They both stood from the couch, but pulled each other into a kiss. It was messy, and wet, and uncoordinated, and Minho loved every bit of it, his hands on the side of Jisung’s face, not letting him move as he claimed his mouth as his own. 

They stumbled down the hallway, Jisung walking backwards and opening his bedroom door behind him, not breaking the kiss. Minho kicked the door shut behind him and pushed Jisung onto his bed, climbing over him to kiss him again.

Jisung nudged Minho’s shoulder, silently telling him to flip them over, and he did. Minho was on his back, staring up in awe as Jisung climbed onto his lap and pulled his shirt off.

“Jisung, what the fuck.” He said with a playful scoff. Jisung furrowed his eyebrows, “What?” 

Minho had seen Jisung shirtless before, but that was in the high school gym locker room when Jisung was still teenage-boy skinny. Jisung had tattoos and Minho was just now finding out. A long one on his side, trailing past the hem of his pants, and another one above his pec. Minho closed his mouth to stop himself from drooling.

He slid his hands up Jisung’s sides, admiring his honey-skin and the dark ink decorating it.

“You’re beautiful, Jisungie.” He whispered, his hands moving up Jisung’s sides, up to his chest, and squeezing.

Jisung gulped, and adjusted himself, grinding down against Minho on “accident”. Minho bit back a moan.

Jisung slid his hands up Minho’s shirt teasingly, “Your turn.” Minho smirked and sat up, keeping Jisung on his lap, but he paused when he grabbed the hem on his shirt.

“What’s wrong?” Jisung brushed a strand of hair away from Minho’s face. Minho hesitated, “Nothing, I’m just,” He avoided eye contact, opting to stare at Jising’s side tattoo, “Just a little insecure.” 

Jisung smiled and kissed Minho’s jaw, setting his hands over Minho’s, “You’re perfect, Minho-yah. You don’t have to be nervous with me, I won’t judge you. I would never judge you.” He pulled back, looking Minho in the eyes. Minho nodded, “Okay.”

He lifted his shirt, tossing it over his shoulder across the room somewhere.

Jisung stared, but it was in appreciation, and awe. Minho was fit. He had muscular arms and the biggest, juiciest thighs Jisung had ever seen, but Minho was a little soft in his stomach, and he didn’t like showing it off or wearing tight clothes.

Minho gulped, moving his arms to cover himself but Jisung stopped him, “Don’t.” He whispered, leaning in to kiss Minho again, who met him halfway.

He pushed Minho back down, keeping his hands on his chest to keep himself steady as he kissed a trail down from his neck, to his collarbone, stopping at his chest to suck a few marks into the smooth skin before continuing his trail down.

Minho watched as Jisung kissed the pudge of his tummy, fiddling with the button of his jeans. He looked up at Minho with big, wet eyes. The kind Minho had trouble saying no to. He nodded and tangled his hand in Jisung’s hair.

Jisung unbuttoned Minho’s pants and slid them off, along with his boxers, leaving Minho cold and bare underneath him. It was like a dream come true.

“God, you’re perfect.” He said, pulling himself back up to kiss Minho again, deep and hard, with meaning. A million words he couldn’t say out loud, all poured into one kiss.

Jisung pulled back to peel his own pants off, his sweatpants landing on the floor right next to Minho’s, leaving him in his boxers. He kissed Minho again, nibbling at his neck as he grabbed a bottle of lube and a condom out of his nightstand.

“I’ll go slow, okay?” He said, preparing one of his fingers. Minho nodded, sprawled out under Jisung. His legs were spread, one lazily wrapped around Jisung’s waist while Jisung held the other, gripping the meat of Minho’s thigh as he pushed the tip of his middle finger into his hole, watching his reactions closely.

He pushed in deeper, watching the way Minho’s jaw dropped and his head leaned back, pushing against the pillows. Jisung moved his finger in and out slowly, pushing in deeper and deeper until he was up to his third knuckle.

Minho moaned as Jisung pulled his finger out, pushing back in with a second one. In and out, in and out, slowly stretching Minho out, rubbing against his walls. Minho’s moans were breathy, and his back was arched. He’s never felt anything like this and he wanted more, because he was greedy.

“More…” He stuttered, gripping Jisung’s bicep as he leaned down for a kiss, “Be patient, jagi.” 

Minho leaned into his kiss, Jisung sucking up all of his moans as he pushed a third finger in. Minho gripped his arm tighter, his other hand tightening around the sheets, his fingertips going white.

Jisung pushed his fingers in and out. He pulled back to watch how deep his fingers were inside Minho. He bit his lip, watching his fingers move in and out of Minho, rubbing himself through his boxers.

“Jisung-ah.” Minho whispered. He was out of breath, staring at Jisung with a layer of light sweat across his forehead, he gulped, “I’m ready.” 

Jisung nodded, “Okay, jagi.” He pulled his fingers out teasingly slowly, dragging his fingertips against Minho’s walls. 

Minho watched as Jisung pulled his boxers off, dropping them on the floor next to their pants. His cock slapped against his stomach, and Minho has never drooled so fast in his life.

Jisung held Minho’s thighs, moving them so his legs were wrapped around his waist. He held Minho’s hips and squeezed as he lined himself up, “You ready?” 

Minho nodded, taking a deep breath, but nothing could’ve prepared himself for the stretch. His back arched, Jisung wasn’t even halfway in. Jisung took one of his hand off of Minho’s hips to hold his hand, Minho squeezed his hand tight as Jisung bottomed out, going still to let Minho adjust.

“You okay, jagi?” He kissed Minho’s knuckles individually, watching as he took a few deep breaths and nodded, “Y-Yeah,” He swallowed, forcing his nerves down, “Sorry. You can move.”

Jisung intertwined their hands and started to move. He was slow, letting Minho get used to it, but he gradually sped up, hitting all of the right spots to leave Minho a moaning, crying mess, his back arched so bad it started to hurt.

Jisung followed the tear sliding down Minho’s face, and it only spurred him on more, because Jisung was greedy.

He sped up even more, grabbing Minho’s ankles and placing his feet over his shoulders. He held Minho’s legs as he thrust, drawing in pride as Minho cried, and babbled, lost in the raw pleasure and ecstasy that clouded the room.

Minho felt the knot in his stomach tighten and stopped Jisung before it could snap, “W-Wait.” He lowered his legs and pushed Jisung’s shoulder, silently telling him to lay back. He laid against the sheets and watched as Minho straddled him, kissing a trail down his neck, to his collarbones, stopping to suck a mark right under his tattoo.

He ran a light hand down Jisung’s side, giggled when he accidentally tickled him.

He grabbed Jisung’s cock and stroked him a few times, just to tease, before lining himself up and sinking all the way down in one motion.

They moaned in unison, and Minho had to hold onto Jisung’s chest to stop himself from falling forward, but it was also an excuse to squeeze his pecs. He’s been looking forward to that this whole time.

Jisung’s hands flew to Minho’s waist when he started moving. Grinding and rotating his hips like he had done this a million times before.

“Are you sure you're a virgin?” Jisung said, breathless, his eyes fluttering shut from Minho’s movement, “Yes,” Minho laughed but it turned into a moan when he hit his prostate, “Oh my god.” He whispered, his head falling back.

His thighs were burning, but he couldn’t stop, he was so close, and if the way Jisung was moaning and whining underneath him was anything to go by, he wasn’t too far behind.

Minho bounced up and down a few more times before the knot finally snapped. He leaned forward, nails digging into Jisung’s skin, and came with a loud moan. He sobbed, the waves of his orgasm were overwhelming, but worth it. Jisung came a few seconds after Minho from the way he was clenching around him.

Neither of them moved. They were panting, and sweaty, and Minho’s stomach was covered in cum.

“I think that was my favorite birthday gift ever.”

Minho laughed and detached his nails from Jisung, wincing at the half-moon marks he left behind, “Not the crocheting needles?”

Jisung smiled and squeezed Minho’s hips, “Those are a close second.”

Minho climbed off of Jisung, flopping onto the bed next to him. Jisung sat up and Minho shamelessly stared at his back muscle flexing as he peeled the condom off, tying it and throwing it out, pulling his boxers back on after.

He left the room but returned with a damp washcloth and cleaned Minho up, kissing his forehead once he finished.

Minho dragged himself up to lay against the pillows, still out of breath and a little sore. Jisung climbed in behind him, throwing the blanket over them and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Thank you.” He whispered, kissing the back of Minho’s shoulder.

“Of course, Jisungie.”

✞

“You have a guitar?”

Minho blinked, looking up at Jisung as he stared at the black guitar case peeking out from under Minho’s bed, “Oh, yeah,” He scratched his cheek, “I don’t use it. It was my grandpa’s.”

Minho doesn’t invite people over to his house. He never has. It’s not like there’s space for it.

But Seonghwa had kicked Jisung out of the apartment. Seonghwa and his friends have dinner together at least once a month and it was Seonghwa’s turn to host, “Jisung, I love you, but I need peace and quiet to prepare for this.” 

So, Jisung came to Minho. And, he couldn’t really blame Seonghwa for what he said.

Jisung pulled the guitar out from under the bed and blew the dust off, coughing when it blew back into his face. He unzipped it and pulled the guitar out, admiring the way it shined in the little amount of light coming in through Minho’s curtains.

Dori was laying in Minho’s lap, purring so hard he could probably vibrate the entire couch, Minho included.

Jisung walked over to where Minho was and sat on the chair across from him. 

He tuned the guitar, turning the knobs left and right and strumming it a little bit.

When he started to play, Minho thought he had died and gone to heaven. The tune was beautiful, it blessed Minho more than his baptism did.

He knew Jisung could play, but he didn’t know he was this good.

Jisung hummed along to the song he was playing. They way the strings vibrated underneath Jisung’s fingertips had Minho entranced. He didn’t think he could fall deeper in love with Jisung, but watching him play guitar, humming along to it, and nodding his head, Minho wanted to marry him, and grow old with him with more cats than Minho could count.

When Jisung finished, he set the guitar down and leaned it against the table he was sitting on. 

“So?”

“That was amazing, Jisung-ah. Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Jisung blushed, looking away, “My older brother taught me before he moved away.”

Minho smiled at his reaction, “That was really good.”

Jisung stood and walked over to Minho, leaning down to pull him into a kiss, “Thank you, jagi.”

✞

“And how does that make you feel?”

Minho stared at his therapist like he was insane. He had just trauma-dumped about his entire life to this guy and he had the audacity to ask how it made him feel?

“How do you think it makes me feel,” He squinted at his name-tag, “Kim Seungmin.”

“How am I supposed to know that? You told me what you’ve been through, how your parents were, what you said to Jisung, but you never told me how you really felt about everything.”

Minho blinked. Kim Seungmin had a point. He hadn’t realized that he had done that, “Oh.”

Seungmin nodded, “So, Lee Minho. How does it make you feel?”

Minho hated Kim Seungmin, but he gave credit where credit was due. Kim Seungmin was a good therapist.

✞

Childhood friends. A cliche that many love, many hate, and many live through. Childhood friendship is a heart-warming thing, but only if it works out.

And it did. At least for Minho.

He watched Jisung from the kitchen as he stirred his tea absentmindedly. Jisung had his glasses on, a ball of yarn in his lap as he crocheted, making Minho another sweater because winter is right around the corner. Dori was laying on the couch above Jisung’s head, loafing but falling asleep with his head still up.

There was a random show playing on the tv. Minho didn’t know it very well but it was one of Jisung’s favorites, so he watched it often.

Minho overcame his fear and agreed with Jisung when he asked him to move in for the nth time. Seonghwa surprisingly didn’t care, as long as Minho agreed to help with rent, which he did. He also helps with groceries, because Minho finds grocery shopping almost therapeutic.

Minho was happy. Content.

He didn’t think it would ever happen. Not after the past ten years. But it did, and Minho couldn’t be happier.

He loves Jisung, more than anything. And he knows that will never change.