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The Lees' apartment had a smell that Jisung would recognize anywhere: cinnamon swirling with whatever expensive detergent Mrs. Lee insisted on buying from the traditional market, and beneath it all, something indefinable that always whispered home to him. Even though it wasn't his home and it would never really be his.

He'd only meant to drop off some textbooks for finals. Somehow, as always, he ended up staying for dinner.

December in Seoul wasn't just cold, it was personal. The kind of cold that hunted you down, crawled under your coat no matter how many layers you wore, and settled into your bones like it planned to stay there all winter. Jisung had arrived with his face stinging from the wind, fingers so numb he'd fumbled with the doorbell twice before managing to press it. Mrs. Lee had yanked him inside with the urgency of someone rescuing a half-frozen puppy from a snowdrift.

"Eat more, Jisung-ah." Another generous heap of bulgogi landed on his plate before he could protest. "You're too skinny. That campus food is terrible, isn't it?"

"Mrs. Lee, it's really not that—"

"Please." Her hand waved through the air like she was batting away his objection. "Look at you. You're practically see-through."

Jisung touched his face without thinking, feeling heat creep into his cheeks. This wasn't the first time Minho's mother had fussed over him like this, as if keeping him fed and happy had somehow become her personal mission. His own parents lived down in Busan, they called, sure, asked about classes, sent money when he needed it. But they didn't notice things. Didn't see if he'd skipped meals or stayed up too late studying. Didn't pile food onto his plate with that particular fierce tenderness that made his chest ache in ways he couldn't quite name.

"Where's Minho?" The question came out casual, even though he already knew the answer.

It was like clockwork, really. Jisung arrived, Minho vanished. Simple as the seasons changing, predictable as the sun setting in the west.

"In his room, probably melting his brain with those video games." Mrs. Lee sighed in that particular way mothers do, equal parts exasperation and helpless affection. "That boy... I swear, sometimes I don't know what to do with him."

As if he'd been summoned by the complaint itself, Minho materialized in the kitchen doorway. He wore a baggy gray sweatshirt and his hair stuck up in a mess that should have looked ridiculous but somehow didn't. Some people were just blessed that way, Jisung thought with a flicker of resentment. Effortlessly beautiful in a way that felt almost cruel.

Their eyes met for maybe half a second. Then Minho looked away like the sight of Jisung had caused him actual physical pain.

"Hi." Jisung offered, because his parents had raised him to be polite even when it felt completely pointless.

Minho's response was something between a grunt and a mumble, nothing that could reasonably be called language. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and disappeared back down the hallway like Jisung was something contagious, something to be avoided at all costs.

That familiar ache settled in Jisung's chest, the kind that felt like pressing on a bruise just to see if it still hurt. And it did. Every single time. Minho treated him like he was invisible, or worse, like tolerating his presence required genuine physical effort. The most confusing part was that Jisung couldn't remember doing anything to deserve it. They'd been classmates back in high school, not friends exactly, but not enemies either. Just two people who existed in the same spaces without much thought.

Then freshman year happened. Jisung had started spending hours in the library where Mrs. Lee worked, and somehow they'd fallen into friendship. She'd bring him tea during late-night study sessions, ask about his classes with real interest, eventually start inviting him to dinner. And Minho? Minho had been acting like Jisung was an invasive species from day one.

"Don't mind him." Mrs. Lee's hand patted his, warm and reassuring. "He's just stressed about work."

Jisung nodded like he believed it, even though they both knew this wasn't about work. This was about something neither of them could quite name.

"Oh, before I forget—" Mrs. Lee stood suddenly, moving to the sideboard and retrieving an envelope. "I have something for you."

Jisung frowned as she held out two plane tickets.

"Mrs. Lee... what is this?"

"We're going to Japan!" Her smile could have lit up the entire apartment. "All three of us. It's an early birthday present, and a celebration for finishing the semester."

Jisung stared at the tickets in his hands like they might evaporate if he blinked. Tokyo Narita Airport. Departure date: five days from now. Dead in the middle of December.

"I can't accept this. It's too much…these must have cost a fortune."

"Nonsense! I've been saving for months." She was beaming now, eyes bright with plans. "I've always wanted to go back to Japan in winter, and when I realized your birthday lined up perfectly with winter break, I thought…why not make it special?"

"But Minho—"

"Minho will be thrilled," she cut him off, though something in her voice wavered just slightly, betraying doubt she wouldn't admit to. "You both need a vacation. And you two need to spend time together. You're always so... tense when you're in the same room."

The word tense was probably the understatement of the century. The thought of spending several days in winter Tokyo with Minho, without his mother there to buffer every interaction, settled in Jisung's stomach like he'd swallowed a stone.

"Mrs. Lee, I really don't think—"

"Han Jisung." Her voice shifted into that maternal tone that didn't just refuse arguments, it made them impossible. "If you don't come to Japan with me, I'm going to be very, very sad. You wouldn't want to make me sad, would you?"

From somewhere down the hall came the unmistakable sound of a door closing. Hard. Harder than necessary.

"See?" Mrs. Lee whispered, though her smile looked a little forced now. "He's excited."

Jisung seriously doubted that "excited" was anywhere close to the right word, but the hopeful expression on Mrs. Lee's face made refusing feel impossible. Like turning down a gift from someone who'd given him so much already.

"Okay," he heard himself say, the word coming out on a sigh. "But only because you're absolutely impossible to say no to."

"Perfect!" She clapped her hands together, already planning. "Now, we need to get you proper winter clothes. Tokyo in December doesn't mess around."

Walking back to his dorm that night, Jisung couldn't stop his mind from spinning in circles. Five days in Tokyo. Five days of winter. Five days with Minho.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Mrs. Lee: Did you get home safe?

Jisung: Yes, Mrs. Lee. Thank you for dinner. And for... the trip.

Mrs. Lee: You're welcome, honey! It's going to be wonderful.

Jisung: Is Minho really okay with me coming?

The response took long enough that Jisung had time to unlock his door, drop his bag, and start second-guessing everything.

Mrs. Lee: Minho will be fine. He just needs time. He's a bit shy, you know?

Jisung stared at his phone screen, frowning. Shy? The words he'd use to describe Minho were "cold," "distant," "hostile." "Shy" had never once crossed his mind.

He fell asleep that night wondering what he'd done in some past life to deserve this strange cosmic joke—earning the mother's unconditional love while getting nothing but ice from the son.

The next few days blurred together in a rush of preparations while Seoul sank deeper and deeper into winter's grip. Snow had started falling the night before, blanketing the city in white that made everything feel quieter somehow. More isolated. Like the world had pressed pause.

Despite Jisung's protests Mrs. Lee dragged him through shopping mall after shopping mall, each one overheated and crowded while outside the temperature kept dropping.

"You need proper coats," she insisted, adding a sleek black puffer jacket to the already impressive pile of clothes accumulating in her arms. "Tokyo in December is brutal. And these sweaters…look, they're perfect on you."

Jisung's face had burned when the salesclerk smiled and mentioned that his mother had excellent taste. He'd started to correct her, to explain that Mrs. Lee wasn't actually his mother, but she'd waved it off before he could get the words out. Like it didn't matter. Like maybe, in some way that mattered more than biology, it was true.

Minho made exactly one appearance during these shopping expeditions. They'd run into him at a café near one of the malls, and Mrs. Lee had immediately insisted he join them for coffee. He'd muttered something vague about meeting friends and disappeared before anyone could argue, leaving behind only the lingering scent of his cologne and that familiar sting of rejection in Jisung's chest.

"He's nervous about the trip," Mrs. Lee had said, but Jisung noticed the small crease of worry that appeared between her eyebrows.

The night before their flight, Jisung was in his bedroom methodically checking and rechecking his suitcase when Felix flopped onto the bed beside him with all the grace of a falling tree.

"Still nervous about your romantic winter getaway with the ice prince?"

"It's not—" Jisung stopped, because what was the point in lying? "Yeah. I'm nervous."

"Hyung, the guy literally fled when he saw you coming. Like you've got some contagious disease."

"I know I'm not his favorite person." Jisung zipped his suitcase with more force than strictly necessary. "But his mom is amazing, and she invited me to Japan. I'm not going to waste this opportunity just because her son treats me like I'm something he stepped in."

"Maybe he likes you," Felix suggested, voice taking on that infuriating knowing tone. "You know, like those boys in elementary school who pull girls' hair when they're crushing on them."

Jisung grabbed a pillow and launched it at Felix's head.

"We're twenty-one years old, Felix. If he liked me, he'd know how to use his words."

"Unless he's genuinely terrible with emotions. Some guys are."

"Or, and here's a wild thought, maybe he just doesn't like me. Period." Jisung collapsed backward onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. "Not everyone has to like everyone, you know?"

But falling asleep that night, Felix's words kept circling back, refusing to leave him alone. Was it possible? Could Minho's coldness actually be hiding something else? Something more?

He shook his head against the pillow, trying to dislodge the thought. Those were fantasies, the kind of thinking that got people hurt. Reality was simpler and infinitely crueler, Lee Minho didn't like Han Jisung, and Jisung would just have to survive five days in the cold of Tokyo with that truth sitting heavy in his chest.

Incheon Airport at six in the morning was its own special kind of hell, all fluorescent lights and announcement chimes and the particular exhaustion that comes from waking up at an ungodly hour. Jisung had barely slept, jerking awake every hour in a panic that he'd missed his alarm, and now he felt like a zombie held together by nothing but coffee and fraying nerves.

Mrs. Lee, because of course she did, looked absolutely radiant. She'd arrived in a perfectly coordinated outfit with thermoses of coffee and an entire bag of snacks, looking like she'd had a full eight hours and a spa treatment.

"Where's Minho?" Jisung asked, scanning the crowd.

"Right here."

The voice came from behind them, and Jisung turned around too fast, nearly dropping his coffee.

Minho stood there in black jeans and a charcoal sweatshirt, a cap pulled low enough to shadow half his face. His hair looked like he'd rolled out of bed five minutes ago and decided styling it wasn't worth the effort, and he carried only a backpack that seemed almost comically light compared to Jisung's overstuffed suitcase.

"Good morning." Jisung managed to make his voice sound normal and probably failing completely.

Minho's response was a slight lift of his chin, the bare minimum that could maybe be interpreted as a greeting if you were feeling generous. His eyes looked tired, shadowed in a way that made Jisung wonder if he'd slept any better than Jisung had.

The boarding process was mechanical, routine. Mrs. Lee handled everything with practiced efficiency while Minho and Jisung existed in their separate bubbles, wrapped in tense silence that felt almost solid.

It wasn't until they were actually on the plane, bags stowed and seatbelts fastened, that Jisung realized they'd be sitting together. Right next to each other. For over two hours.

"Your mom got you the window seat," Minho said as they settled in, the first complete sentence he'd spoken all morning.

"Does that bother you? I can switch if—"

"It's fine." Minho dropped into the aisle seat and immediately put on headphones, effectively ending any possibility of conversation.

Jisung turned to look out the window as the plane prepared for takeoff, feeling that strange melancholy settling over him like a blanket. Here he was, about to live out a childhood dream, going to Japan, seeing Tokyo in winter, and he couldn't even fully enjoy it because the boy sitting eighteen inches away from him made him feel like he was something inconvenient. Something to be tolerated rather than welcomed.

"You okay, honey?" Mrs. Lee leaned over from her seat across the aisle, concern written all over her face. "You look pensive."

"Just nervous about flying." he lied, the words coming easily now. "First time on an international flight."

"Oh, it's very safe. And Minho can help you if you need anything." She turned to her son expectantly. "Right, Minho?"

Minho made a sound that might have been agreement, might have been indigestion, hard to tell without looking at his face. He didn't glance up from his phone.

The flight lasted just over two hours, but it felt like it stretched into infinity. Jisung tried reading the book he'd brought but found himself stuck on the same page over and over, his attention fractured by Minho's silent presence. The way he breathed, steady and even. The subtle scent of his clothes, the warmth radiating from his body despite the careful distance they maintained.

At some point, exhausted from the lack of sleep and the emotional weight of everything, Jisung dozed off with his head against the window.

He woke to a gentle touch on his shoulder, fingers pressing carefully, hesitantly, like they weren't sure they were allowed to be there.

"We're here." Minho's voice came out softer than Jisung had expected, almost careful. "My mom's already getting up."

Jisung blinked himself back to consciousness, disoriented and uncomfortable, realizing he'd fallen asleep at an angle that had left his neck in knots.

"Thanks." he mumbled, straightening up slowly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't apologize." Minho was already standing, reaching up to pull down his backpack. "You slept through all the turbulence. Probably better that way."

There was something in his tone that Jisung couldn't quite identify. Concern? Relief? Maybe both, or maybe neither. Before he could analyze it further, Minho had moved into the aisle, already helping his mother wrangle her carry-on from the overhead bin.

Tokyo greeted them with a steel-gray sky and a temperature that made Jisung immediately burrow deeper into his new coat. It was a different kind of cold than Seoul, wetter somehow, more insistent.

"Welcome to Tokyo winter." Mrs. Lee said with a smile that looked almost wistful. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Jisung looked around the airport and then through the windows at the city sprawling beneath that heavy sky. And despite everything, despite the anxiety knotted in his stomach and the cold already seeping through his clothes, he had to admit there was something beautiful about it. Something raw and honest in that unforgiving cold.

The hotel in Shibuya struck that perfect balance between sleek modern design and traditional Japanese touches, all clean lines and natural wood, paper screens and minimalist elegance. Jisung stood in the lobby trying not to gawk like a tourist while Mrs. Lee handled check-in at the front desk, her fluent Japanese flowing effortlessly.

"Your mom speaks Japanese?" he asked Minho, who stood beside him absorbed in his phone.

"She lived here for two years before she married my dad." For the first time all day, Minho actually looked up, meeting Jisung's eyes. "She says they were the best years of her life."

It was the longest conversation they'd had in... months, maybe. Possibly longer.

"Must be really special for her, coming back."

Minho pocketed his phone and looked over at his mother, something in his expression softening around the edges. "Yeah. I guess it is."

A moment of silence stretched between them, not completely awful, almost approaching comfortably. Jisung was just working up the courage to try extending the conversation when Mrs. Lee returned, triumphantly holding up key cards.

"Good news and... interesting news," she announced.

"What's the interesting news?" Minho's frown was immediate and suspicious.

"My room is perfect. Beautiful suite on the tenth floor with a gorgeous view."

"And?"

Mrs. Lee held out a key card to each of them, her smile just a touch too innocent.

"There seems to have been a small mix-up with the reservations. The only available room for you two is a double with two separate beds."

Jisung felt his stomach drop somewhere into the vicinity of his shoes.

"Nothing else available?" Minho asked, and Jisung tried very hard not to feel hurt by the urgency bleeding into his voice. "Not a single room?"

"It's high season." the receptionist explained carefully, looking apologetic. "This is truly the last available room. But it's quite comfortable, two completely separate queen beds."

Jisung watched Minho's jaw clench, muscle jumping.

"I can find another hotel." Jisung offered quietly. "It's really not a problem."

"Don't be ridiculous." Mrs. Lee waved her hand like she was swatting away a fly. "It's already paid for. What's the big deal? You're two young guys, think of it like a sleepover."

Minho looked like he had approximately eight objections lined up, but he swallowed them all and said nothing.

The elevator ride to the eighth floor felt like it lasted several years. Jisung watched the numbers change hyper-aware of Minho's breathing beside him, of the space between them that somehow felt charged with static electricity.

The room, when they finally reached it, was actually nice. Two queen beds separated by a nightstand, a small sitting area with modern furniture, huge windows overlooking Shibuya wrapped in gray winter light.

"Not bad." Jisung said, setting his suitcase down beside the bed closest to the window.

Minho dropped his backpack on the other bed and made a beeline for the bathroom, closing the door with a click that felt painfully final.

Jisung let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. This was going to be a very, very long week.

Twenty minutes later, when Minho finally emerged, Jisung was carefully unpacking—hanging clothes in the closet with precise movements, organizing his toiletries on the dresser like he was performing surgery.

"You don't have to use all the space," Minho muttered, and there was something sharp in his tone that made Jisung freeze mid-motion.

"Of course not." he said quickly, maybe too quickly. "I was just organizing. Do you need space? I can move—"

"It's fine. I didn't bring much anyway."

Jisung nodded and continued unpacking in silence, acutely aware of Minho's eyes on him but not daring to check, not wanting to confirm it and have to deal with whatever expression might be on Minho's face.

"Are you hungry?" he asked after a minute that felt like an hour. "Your mom mentioned looking for somewhere to eat dinner."

"She said she wanted to rest first." Minho turned from where he'd been staring out the window. "We could just order room service."

The thought of sitting in this room eating dinner alone with Minho made Jisung feel a strange mixture of nerves and tension.

"Whatever you prefer."

Minho looked at him for a long moment, like he was on the verge of saying something important. Then he just nodded. "I'm going to take a shower. If you want to order something, I don't do well with spicy food."

Jisung smiled despite himself, ridiculously pleased that Minho had shared even that small personal detail. Like it was a gift, however tiny.

Listening to the water run in the bathroom, Jisung allowed himself one brief moment of cautious, fragile optimism. Maybe these days in winter Tokyo could be the opportunity for them to finally understand each other. To break through whatever wall stood between them.

Their first full day in Tokyo dawned with a fresh blanket of snow covering the city, turning everything soft and white and strangely quiet. Jisung woke early jet lag still wreaking havoc on his internal clock and lay there in the blue-gray morning light filtering through the curtains, watching the world wake up outside their window.

When he turned toward the other bed, Minho was already awake. Sitting on the edge of his mattress with his phone in his hands, face illuminated by the cold glow of the screen, looking like he'd been up for a while.

"Morning." Jisung murmured, stretching carefully.

"Mm." Minho didn't even glance up.

Just like that, Jisung knew that last night's cautious optimism had been laughably premature.

Mrs. Lee had plans, an entire itinerary that probably violated some kind of tourism law. Temples in the morning, lunch in Harajuku, shopping, traditional dinner. But the moment they stepped outside the hotel, December cold hit them like walking into a wall.

"Look how beautiful!" Mrs. Lee exclaimed, gesturing at the snow-covered streets of Shibuya like she was presenting a gift.

And it was beautiful, in a brutal sort of way. Winter transformed Tokyo into something quieter, more intimate. People hurried past in dark coats, breath steaming in white clouds, cheeks already red from the cold even though it was barely nine in the morning.

"I can't believe I'm actually here." Jisung muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

"First time in Japan?" Mrs. Lee linked her arm through his as they walked, her warmth immediately comforting.

"First time outside Korea, really. Except for Jeju when I was fourteen."

"Oh honey, then this is going to be so special for you." She squeezed his arm. "Minho, do you remember your first time here? You were about twelve and absolutely refused to leave the hotel room because you were in the middle of some Pokémon game."

Minho grimaced, the expression so quick it was almost a flinch. "Mom—"

"You were so adorable! I had to bribe you with ice cream just to get you out the door."

Jisung smiled at the image, chubby-cheeked twelve-year-old Minho, grumpy and stubborn. It contrasted sharply with the twenty-one-year-old version walking several steps behind them now, hands shoved deep in his pockets, expression carefully neutral in that way that probably required genuine effort.

Senso-ji Temple was stunning under its blanket of snow, looked like it had been pulled from an ancient postcard. The smell of incense mixing with cold air, bells ringing somewhere in the distance, the overwhelming sensation of being surrounded by centuries of history... Jisung felt his chest tighten with something he couldn't quite name. Wonder, maybe. Or gratitude.

"It's incredible." he whispered, taking photo after photo despite his fingers going numb.

"You're going to fill your phone's entire memory before lunch." Minho commented, suddenly appearing beside him like he'd materialized from the cold air itself.

Jisung lowered his phone, surprised enough to just stare for a second.

"You're probably right. I just don't want to forget any of this."

Something flickered across Minho's face, too fast to read, gone before Jisung could begin to interpret it.

"You can always buy postcards. Professional photographers get better angles anyway."

"I guess." Jisung looked back at the temple, snow falling soft and steady. "But postcards don't capture how you feel in the moment, you know? They can't hold onto that."

Minho went very still, looking at him for a second longer than necessary. Then he turned and walked back toward where his mother was lighting incense, disappearing into the crowd like he'd never been there at all.

The rest of the morning followed that same frustrating pattern, brief flashes that felt almost like real connection, Minho letting his guard down for just a moment, followed immediately by him withdrawing. Physically walking away or emotionally shutting down, leaving Jisung caught in this exhausting cycle of hope and disappointment that was starting to make him feel slightly nauseous.

For lunch, they headed to Takeshita Street in Harajuku. Even in December, even with cold sharp enough to hurt, the street was pure chaos and color and life.

"What do you want to eat?" Mrs. Lee asked, eyes bright with possibilities. "Pancakes? Takoyaki? Ramen?"

"Whatever you want." Jisung said, still a little overwhelmed by everything.

"Crepes." Minho's voice cut through clearly. "There's a good place at the end of the street."

Jisung looked at him, surprised. "You've been here before?"

"Couple times. With friends."

Something about the way Minho said "friends" made Jisung wonder what kind of friends they were. But he didn't dare ask.

The crepe place turned out to be small and cozy, a warm refuge from the cold biting at them outside. Jisung ordered simple strawberry, Mrs. Lee got something elaborate with matcha, and Minho ordered chocolate banana. When it arrived, Jisung noticed the way Minho's eyes lit up just slightly, such a small thing, barely noticeable, but it made Jisung's chest do something complicated.

"Is it good?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Minho nodded, already taking another bite. "Chocolate here tastes different. Less sweet, more complex."

"Can I try it?"

The words escaped before Jisung's brain could catch up and stop them. Minho froze with the crepe halfway to his mouth, and the silence that followed felt like it lasted approximately ten years. Jisung was about to take it back, to laugh it off and pretend he'd been joking, when Minho slowly pushed his plate toward the center of the table.

"Go ahead."

Their fingers brushed as Jisung reached for the fork and Jisung felt that touch like an electric shock straight to his nervous system. He glanced up quickly, wondering if Minho had felt it too, but Minho's face gave away absolutely nothing.

The crepe was delicious, rich and subtle and exactly how Minho had described it.

"You're right." Jisung said, pushing the plate back carefully. "It's really different."

The rest of lunch passed in an atmosphere that was marginally less tense. Minho even smiled a couple of times, real smiles that reached his eyes and made Jisung's stomach flip. When a group of tourists struggled with their camera and asked for help, Minho volunteered without hesitation, chatting with them easily in English.

But the second they stepped back outside into that biting December cold, the walls went back up. Like someone had flipped a switch, and suddenly Minho was unreachable again.

The afternoon shopping started off well enough. Mrs. Lee navigated the Harajuku shops with the precision of a military general, hunting down gifts for friends back in Seoul with impressive efficiency.

It was in a small accessories store, one of those overwhelming places crammed with cute things from floor to ceiling, that Jisung saw it.

Tucked in a corner, in a section specifically dedicated to couples' items, sat a keychain of two teddy bears hugging each other. They were done in soft pastel colors, light pink and baby green, with rosy cheeks and tiny hearts floating around them like bubbles. It was aggressively cute, the kind of thing Jisung would normally feel embarrassed about liking.

But something about those little bears, the way they clung to each other like they were the only two creatures in the entire world, made his chest ache in a way he didn't quite understand.

"You like that one?" Mrs. Lee's voice startled him badly enough that he actually jumped.

"Oh, no—I was just looking." He moved away from the display quickly, maybe too quickly.

"It's very sweet. The bears look like they're in love."

Jisung's face heated. "It's kind of cheesy though."

"Sometimes the cheesiest things are the most beautiful ones." She smiled at him with that knowing look mothers seem to be born with.

They moved on to other sections, other displays, but Jisung found himself glancing back at those teddy bears every few minutes. Like they were magnetic, pulling his attention no matter how hard he tried to focus on something else.

"Are you seriously going to stand there pining over a keychain?"

Minho's sharp voice cut through Jisung's thoughts like a knife, making him spin around.

"I'm not pining." he mumbled, defensively.

"If you like it so much, just buy it and let's go. We're wasting time."

There was something in Minho's tone, something cold and contemptuous that made Jisung feel small, foolish, like his taste in things was somehow pathetic and childish and worth mocking.

"I don't want it." he lied, the words bitter on his tongue. "I was just looking."

Minho stared at him with an expression Jisung couldn't read at all, then shrugged with elaborate indifference. "Whatever."

That single word hurt more than it should have. Jisung didn't understand why, it was just a stupid comment about a stupid keychain, but suddenly there was a lump in his throat and his eyes were stinging and he had to look away before Minho could see how much such a small thing had affected him.

They followed Mrs. Lee to the next section in silence that felt heavier than before.

"You okay, honey?" Mrs. Lee asked as they left the store, concern written all over her face. "You look pale."

"Just tired." Jisung managed. "Jet lag catching up, probably."

"We should head back to the hotel so you can rest."

"No, I don't want to ruin your plans. I'm fine, really."

Mrs. Lee gave him that look, the one that said she could see straight through his lies, but she didn't push. She never pushed. That was one of the things Jisung loved most about her.

The traditional café was objectively beautiful, all tatami mats and low wooden tables, paper screens filtering soft light, but Jisung could barely appreciate any of it. His mind kept circling back to the store, to the keychain, to the way Minho had made him feel ridiculous for wanting something soft and sweet and harmless.

"The matcha here is absolutely excellent." Mrs. Lee remarked, pouring tea with practiced movements. "Jisung, you have to try it."

Jisung took a sip and nodded automatically, but the bitter taste only seemed to match his mood, making everything worse.

"Don't you like it?" Minho asked, and Jisung couldn't tell if there was actual concern in his voice or if he was imagining it.

"It's fine. Just strong."

"You can add sugar if it's too bitter."

"I don't need to."

The silence that followed was so uncomfortable that it almost had weight. Mrs. Lee was frowning at both of them now, clearly sensing something wrong but not quite sure what.

"So," she said with forced brightness, "what are you two planning for tomorrow while I visit my friend?"

Jisung had completely forgotten about that, Mrs. Lee had old friends in Tokyo she wanted to see, which meant he and Minho would be alone for almost the entire day. No buffer. No mediator. Just the two of them and whatever this awful tension was.

"Don't know." Minho muttered into his tea. "Probably just stay at the hotel."

"Absolutely not!" Mrs. Lee's voice became sharp with determination. "You're in Tokyo, you are not wasting the day sitting in a hotel room. Jisung, is there anything specific you want to see?"

Jisung glanced at Minho from the corner of his eye, catching the way his jaw had gone tight. The last thing Jisung wanted was to force Minho to spend an entire day with him, to drag him around the city like some unwanted obligation.

"I can explore alone." he said quietly. "It's really not a problem."

"Nonsense." Mrs. Lee's tone left no room for argument. "Minho, you're going to show Jisung around the city properly, and you're both going to have a wonderful time together."

Minho's jaw clenched even tighter. "Whatever you want, Mom."

The resigned way he said it, like he was agreeing to something unpleasant but unavoidable, made Jisung feel worse than if he'd outright objected. At least anger would have been honest. This was just... defeat.

"Really, Mrs. Lee, I can handle myself—"

"Han Jisung." Her voice went firm, maternal, absolute. "You're spending the day with Minho. That's final."

The rest of the afternoon crawled by under the weight of mounting tension. By the time they made it back to the hotel, both of them looked exhausted in ways that had nothing to do with walking through frozen streets.

"I'm taking a shower first." Minho announced the second they crossed the threshold into their room.

"Okay."

The bathroom door closed with a decisive click, and Jisung was left alone with his thoughts, which was possibly the worst place to be right now. He couldn't stop replaying the day, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong. Was it the keychain thing? Or something before that? Was he too enthusiastic about everything? Too much himself?

His phone buzzed against the nightstand.

Felix: How's it going with the ice prince?

Jisung: I think he hates me even more than I thought.

Felix: What happened?

Jisung: Nothing specific. Just... everything. He makes me feel like garbage.

Felix: Maybe you need to actually talk to him. Like, directly.

Jisung: And say what? "Hey, why do you act like my existence personally offends you?"

Felix: ...Yes. Exactly that.

When Minho emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, hair damp and curling slightly, wearing a clean t-shirt that hung loose on his frame, Jisung felt that familiar, frustrating twist in his chest. Even upset and confused and hurt, some part of him still thought Minho was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. Which just made everything worse, honestly.

"Your turn." Minho said without looking at him.

Jisung grabbed his clothes and escaped into the bathroom, letting the hot water run longer than necessary, trying to wash away the day's accumulated hurt.

When he finally emerged, Minho was sitting on the edge of his bed with his phone, frowning at the screen like it had personally wronged him.

"Everything okay?" Jisung asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

Minho looked up like he'd forgotten Jisung was even there. "Yeah. My mom wants us downstairs for dinner in ten minutes."

"Okay."

Jisung sat on his own bed to put on his shoes, and the whole time he could feel Minho's eyes on him. When he glanced up to check, though, Minho was already looking away.

"Ready?"

Minho moved toward the door but stopped with his hand on the handle, not turning around. "Jisung."

"Yeah?"

"About tomorrow..." He paused, and Jisung watched his shoulders tense. "You don't have to pretend you want to spend time with me. I can just take you to the tourist spots and that's it. You don't have to act like we're friends or anything."

The words landed like a punch to the stomach, knocking the air out of Jisung's lungs.

"I'm not pretending to be anything." he said, and his voice came out smaller than he wanted, more hurt than he'd intended to show.

Minho finally turned to look at him, and there was something in his expression that Jisung couldn't read, something that might have been pain or regret or maybe nothing at all.

"Whatever you say."

Walking down the hallway toward the elevators, Jisung wondered how it was possible to feel this lonely while standing right next to someone. How you could be physically close to another person and still feel like there were miles and miles between you?

The restaurant was traditional and elegant, all dark wood and paper lanterns, chefs preparing food on teppanyaki grills with theatrical flair. Under different circumstances, it would have been amazing. But the tension radiating between Minho and Jisung was so thick you could practically see it, making the air feel heavy and hard to breathe.

Mrs. Lee carried the conversation almost single-handedly, filling the silence with bright chatter about temples and how Tokyo had changed and what they should do over the next few days. She was either completely oblivious to the atmosphere or doing an exceptional job of pretending to be.

"And the day after tomorrow is your official birthday, Jisung." She smiled warmly at him. "I have something really special planned."

"Mrs. Lee, you've already done too much—"

"Nonsense! You're turning twenty-two. That absolutely deserves celebration."

Jisung noticed Minho tense up when she mentioned the birthday, his chopsticks pausing halfway to his mouth. But he didn't say anything, just went back to eating in silence.

After dinner, walking back through Shibuya's illuminated streets, Jisung found himself trailing several steps behind mother and son. He watched them walk together, Minho leaning down to hear whatever his mother was saying, and felt a sharp, ugly twist of envy in his chest.

How was it possible for Minho to be so warm and attentive to his mother but so impossibly cold with him? What was Jisung specifically that brought out this version of Minho, the distant, hostile one who seemed to wish Jisung would just disappear?

Back in their room, the nightly routine felt almost ritualistic in its awkwardness. They brushed their teeth standing side by side at the sink, carefully not looking at each other in the mirror. Changed clothes with their backs turned, protecting their privacy even though nothing about this felt private. Climbed into their separate beds with murmured "goodnights" that sounded more like endings than wishes for pleasant dreams.

Jisung lay in the darkness listening to Minho breathe, feeling more alone than he'd felt in months. Maybe years. The kind of loneliness that sits heavy on your chest and makes everything ache.

Maybe he should just look for an early flight home. Maybe being here was a mistake from the start, a nice idea that reality had turned sour.

His phone screen lit up the darkness.

Mrs. Lee: Sweet dreams, honey. Tomorrow will be beautiful.

At least one person in this family actually wanted him here.

Jisung: Goodnight, Mrs. Lee. Thank you for everything.

He fell asleep with his phone still clutched in his hand, wondering if Minho would ever look at him the way his mother did, like he was someone worth keeping around.

Jisung woke to the sound of water running in the bathroom and allowed himself a brief, foolish moment of hope. Maybe today would be different. Maybe without Mrs. Lee there to witness it, they could finally have an honest conversation. Clear the air. Figure out what the hell was going on.

That hope died a quick death the moment Minho emerged from the bathroom.

"Morning." Jisung offered, testing the waters.

"Mm." Minho was already pulling on a black sweatshirt, not even glancing in Jisung's direction. "My mom left already. She left money for breakfast."

"Do you have any preference for what we do today?"

Minho shrugged with elaborate indifference. "Whatever you want. You're the tourist."

The way he said "tourist", like it was just another word for burden, made something in Jisung's chest go tight and painful.

"Minho, if you really don't want to spend time with me, I can do things by myself. You don't have to—"

"Let's just go." Minho cut him off, already heading for the door. "Breakfast ends at ten."

Breakfast was an exercise in painful silence. Minho ate while scrolling through his phone, his entire body language screaming that he'd rather be literally anywhere else. Jisung pretended to read a Japanese newspaper he'd picked up from the lobby, understanding maybe one word in five.

"Where do you want to go?" Minho asked when they'd finished, tone flat and disinterested.

"I read about Asakusa? It's supposed to have traditional streets."

"I know where it is. Fine."

And so began what would turn out to be the most awkward, uncomfortable day of Jisung's entire life. Minho did exactly what he'd promised, nothing more, nothing less. He took Jisung to tourist spots, provided minimal information when directly asked, and maintained a polite but impenetrable distance the entire time.

Outside, Tokyo wore its winter like armor. The cold was brutal, the kind that made your bones ache and your lungs burn. People hurried past wrapped in scarves and heavy coats, breath rising in white clouds, everyone moving with purpose toward warmth.

On Nakamise Street, he followed a few steps behind as Jisung browsed souvenir shops, each comment Jisung made receiving nothing but monosyllabic grunts in response.

"Hungry?" Minho asked around noon, and Jisung was almost startled to hear him speak unprompted.

"A little."

"There's a ramen place nearby."

The restaurant was small and authentically local, the kind of place you'd never find if you didn't know to look for it. Minho ordered for both of them in rapid Japanese, and Jisung was briefly impressed before remembering he was supposed to be upset.

"Thanks." he murmured when the steaming bowls arrived.

"Mm."

The ramen was probably delicious, it certainly looked amazing, but Jisung could barely taste it. The tension had become so thick, so oppressive, that it was affecting everything. Making the world feel muffled and distant.

"Minho." The name came out shakier than Jisung had intended.

"What?"

"Did I do something wrong?"

The question seemed to catch Minho off guard, his chopsticks freezing midway to his mouth.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Jisung set down his own chopsticks carefully, like they might break. "You always act like being around me is some kind of punishment. Like my presence is this burden you're forced to carry. And I don't understand why. If I did something to offend you, if there's something I said or did, I'd really like to know."

Minho stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then why do you treat me like you'd prefer if I just disappeared?"

"It's not that simple. It's complicated."

"Try explaining it to me." Jisung leaned forward, desperate now. "Please. I genuinely don't understand why your mom treats me like family but you act like I'm some annoying stranger you got stuck with."

Something flashed across Minho's face, something that looked almost like pain, raw and quick.

"My mother." he started, then stopped. Shook his head. "Never mind."

"No, it matters. At least it matters to me."

Minho looked at him again, and for just a second, his carefully constructed walls seemed to crack, showing something vulnerable underneath. "My mom likes you better than she likes me."

"What?"

"You've heard how she talks about you, right? Like you're the perfect son she always wanted. Meanwhile with me, it's constant comparisons. Constant suggestions that I should be more like you."

Jisung felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. "Minho, that's not—"

"Isn't it true?" Minho let out a bitter laugh that didn't sound like him at all. "'Jisung is so studious, Jisung is so polite, Jisung is so considerate. Why can't you be more like Jisung?' Maybe not in those exact words, but it's always there, under everything she says."

The silence that followed felt heavy enough to crush them both.

"I didn't know." Jisung said quietly, uselessly.

"No. I guess you wouldn't." Minho's voice had gone flat again, emotionless. "Anyway, it's not your fault."

"But it's not my fault you treat me like you hate me, either. If you have a problem with your mom, talk to her about it. Don't take it out on me."

Minho's eyes flashed with something hot and angry. "I'm not taking it out on you."

"No?" Jisung gestured between them, frustration finally boiling over. "What do you call this? Because from where I'm sitting, you've been nothing but cold and distant and hostile. And not just here, for months, Minho. Months of feeling like I'm doing something wrong just by existing in your space."

"It's better this way."

"Better for who?"

"For everyone." Minho stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Are you done? We should go."

Jisung looked up at him, at the rigid set of his shoulders, the careful blankness of his expression, and felt something in his chest crack.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm done."

The rest of the day passed under an even heavier cloud of tension. After the conversation at the restaurant, if you could even call it that, they were both walking on eggshells, every interaction painfully careful.

Minho continued being an efficient but emotionally absent tour guide, taking Jisung to beautiful temples and gardens that he could barely see through the fog of his own hurt and confusion.

"Want to see anything else?" Minho asked outside Hamarikyu Garden, and he sounded as tired as Jisung felt.

"I think I've seen enough for today."

"We can head back."

The subway ride back to Shibuya was silent in the worst way. Jisung watched his own reflection in the dark window, wondering how something that was supposed to be a dream trip had turned into this nightmare. How he'd managed to mess everything up so completely.

It was his own fault for having expectations. For thinking this trip might be different. For wanting something, connection, friendship, maybe more, that was clearly never going to happen.

Back in their room, Minho vanished into the bathroom immediately. Jisung stood alone by the window, watching snow fall over the city, feeling that cold seep through the glass and settle into his bones like it planned to stay forever.

His phone buzzed.

Mrs. Lee: How was your day? I hope you boys had fun!

Jisung stared at the message, not knowing how to respond without lying.

Jisung: We saw lots of beautiful places. Thank you.

Mrs. Lee: Perfect! Tomorrow is your special day. I have something wonderful planned.

Jisung: Looking forward to it.

Lie. At this point, he just wanted the trip to end so he could go home and try to forget this whole disaster.

When Minho emerged from the bathroom, Jisung was already in bed, staring at the TV without really watching it.

"You okay?" Minho asked, and it almost sounded like genuine concern.

"Yeah."

Minho stood there for a moment, like he might say something else. Then he just went to his own bed.

"My mom said she has something planned for tomorrow."

"Yeah. Fireworks, right? There's a festival."

Fireworks. The word hit Jisung like ice water. His stomach dropped.

"You don't like fireworks?" Minho asked, something strange in his voice.

"Not really. The noise bothers me."

Massive understatement, but Jisung wasn't about to explain the full truth.

"Oh. Did you tell my mom?"

"I don't want to ruin her plans. I'll be fine."

Minho looked at him for a long moment. "Sure."

And there they were again, two strangers sharing a room, counting down the hours until they could pretend to be asleep and escape into their own separate worlds.

Jisung's birthday dawned with more snow falling, the sky heavy and gray with the promise of even more to come.

Mrs. Lee was practically vibrating with excitement, her elaborate plans laid out like battle strategies. Shopping in Ginza, special lunch, evening fireworks to celebrate.

"Happy birthday, darling!" She pulled him into a tight hug, then pressed a package wrapped in traditional paper into his hands.

Inside was a silver bracelet with a delicate cherry blossom charm.

"Mrs. Lee, this is beautiful, but you're already giving me too much—"

"Nonsense! I wanted you to have something to remember this trip by."

Minho had muttered "happy birthday" without making eye contact, and somehow that hurt more than if he'd said nothing at all.

The day passed in a haze of forced happiness and underlying tension. Mrs. Lee was determined to make everything perfect, and Jisung tried his best to match her enthusiasm, but Minho's silent presence made every moment feel hollow and fake.

In Ginza, they visited stores that Jisung couldn't afford even if he saved for a year. Mrs. Lee kept insisting on buying him things despite his increasingly desperate protests.

"This color makes your eyes look beautiful." she'd say, or "This will be perfect for when you're studying."

Minho trailed behind them, hands in pockets, watching with an expression Jisung couldn't decipher. Once, in a tea shop, Jisung caught him staring and when their eyes met, Minho looked away so fast it was almost violent.

Lunch was at an elegant restaurant with a view of the Imperial Palace. Mrs. Lee told stories about her youth in Tokyo, her eyes going distant and nostalgic.

"Those were some of the happiest years of my life." she sighed. "I was so young, so free. Everything felt possible."

"What made you leave?" Jisung asked, genuinely curious.

She smiled, glancing at Minho with such pure affection that Jisung's chest ached. "Your father. He wrote me the most beautiful letters, convinced me that love was worth more than adventure."

"Did you ever regret it?"

"Never. Not once." Her hand reached across the table to cover Minho's. "Though sometimes I wonder how life might have been different. But then I look at my son and know that every choice led me exactly where I needed to be."

Minho's cheeks colored slightly, and Jisung felt like he was intruding on something private and precious.

"What about you, Jisung?" Mrs. Lee turned her attention back to him. "Do you ever think about living abroad?"

"Sometimes. But I think I'm too scared, honestly. My family, my friends... it's hard to imagine starting completely over somewhere new."

"Fear is the most natural thing in the world. But it can also be the most limiting." She squeezed his hand. "Sometimes we have to step outside our comfort zones to discover who we're truly meant to be."

The words resonated in ways Jisung wasn't ready to examine.

After lunch, they walked through the East Gardens. Mrs. Lee insisted on taking dozens of photos, her with Jisung, all three of them together, Jisung posing alone in front of various landmarks.

But Jisung noticed, with a small pang, that she didn't take a single photo of just him and Minho together.

By afternoon, they were heading toward Asakusa where the fireworks festival would begin at dusk. The streets were already packed with people in yukatas, families spreading blankets, the air buzzing with anticipation.

"How exciting!" Mrs. Lee exclaimed, her enthusiasm infectious. "I haven't seen proper fireworks in years."

Jisung felt the knot in his stomach tighten until it was hard to breathe. "Sounds amazing."

They found a spot in a park near the river where hundreds of people had already gathered. Mrs. Lee spread out a blanket, and they settled in to wait, surrounded by the happy chatter of families and couples.

"They should start in about twenty minutes."

While they waited, Jisung watched the people around them. Children running and laughing, couples pressed close for warmth, groups of friends sharing snacks and stories. Everyone looked so normal, so content.

And here he was, on his birthday, feeling absolutely miserable.

"Are you excited, honey?"

"A lot." Jisung lied with a smile that felt like it might crack his face.

But when the first firework exploded in the sky, a burst of brilliant color accompanied by a sound that felt like it rattled his bones, Jisung knew with absolute certainty that he'd made a terrible, terrible mistake.

The first explosion caught him completely unprepared.

Jisung had tried to prepare himself mentally, running through all the coping techniques he'd learned. Told himself it would be fine, it was just noise, nothing that could actually hurt him. But when that first firework detonated with a boom that he felt in his chest, his entire body went rigid with instinctive terror.

"Oh, how beautiful!" Mrs. Lee exclaimed beside him, her voice seeming to come from very far away.

Jisung forced himself to nod, but his hands were already shaking. He tried to control his breathing, but his lungs weren't cooperating. Each breath came too shallow, too fast.

The second fireworks were worse. Louder, closer, followed by a rapid series of pops that his brain registered as gunfire even though he knew, logically, rationally, that they weren't.

His eyes squeezed shut without his permission. His chest felt like someone had wrapped steel bands around it and was slowly tightening them.

Breathe. It's just noise. It can't hurt you. You're safe.

But his body wasn't listening to logic. Each new burst made him flinch violently, and he could feel cold sweat forming despite the December freeze.

"Jisung?" Mrs. Lee's voice penetrated the fog. "Are you okay?"

He forced his eyes open, tried to smile. "I'm fine."

But his voice came out shaking badly enough that the lie was obvious even to his own ears.

Another explosion, this one so close and loud that Jisung jerked hard enough to nearly fall off the blanket.

"No, you're not fine. You're pale as a ghost."

"I just need a minute." he managed to say, stumbling to his feet on legs that felt like they might give out. "Getting some water."

"Jisung, wait—"

But he was already moving, pushing through the crowd with clumsy, desperate movements. He needed to get away from the noise, the lights, all those happy people celebrating while his world was falling apart.

Each new firework made him move faster, more frantically. He had no idea where he was going, just knew he needed quiet, needed space, needed to breathe.

He ended up lost in a tangle of narrow streets behind the festival area. Colored lights still painted the sky, but the sound was slightly muffled by buildings rising on either side.

Not enough. Still not nearly enough. He could still hear every explosion, feeling each one like a physical blow to his chest.

He found a narrow alley between two traditional wooden buildings and practically crawled into it, searching desperately for anything that might block out the sound.

His backpack. He yanked it off with hands that wouldn't stop trembling and pressed it over his head, curling into himself against the wooden wall.

Please, please, please make it stop.

But it didn't stop. If anything, the fireworks seemed to be building toward some grand finale, getting louder and more frequent.

He curled tighter, pressing the backpack hard against his ears, and felt hot tears start sliding down his face. Not from sadness, from pure exhaustion and overwhelming terror that his rational mind couldn't override.

That's where Minho found him, huddled in a dark alley, shaking and crying like a child.

"Jisung?" The voice came from the alley entrance, uncertain and worried. "Are you there?"

Jisung tried to make himself smaller, embarrassment flooding through him even in the middle of panic.

"Jisung, I saw you come this way. My mom's really worried."

A particularly loud firework went off, and Jisung couldn't stop the broken, desperate sound that escaped his throat.

Silence. Then footsteps, and someone kneeling beside him.

"Shit." Minho whispered, and his voice was completely different from anything Jisung had heard before, soft, broken and scared. "Jisung, hey, can you look at me?"

"I can't. The noise—"

"Okay." Minho's voice went impossibly gentle. "Okay, you don't have to look. But... can I touch you? Can I help you feel better?"

Jisung nodded against the backpack because anything was better than being alone like this.

He felt warm arms wrap around him, pulling him carefully into a solid chest. The backpack slipped away, but it didn't matter anymore because Minho's arms were there instead, creating a barrier between Jisung and the rest of the world.

"Shh, it's okay." Minho murmured against his hair, voice so tender Jisung thought he must be hallucinating. "I've got you. Nothing's going to happen to you. I promise."

Jisung went completely still, shock cutting through the panic. Was this really Minho? The same person who'd been treating him like garbage for days?

Another firework exploded, and Jisung flinched automatically. But Minho's arms tightened immediately, holding him secure and safe.

"Breathe with me, yeah?" Minho whispered, guiding him softly through his breathing. "In... and out... that's it. You're doing so good."

His voice became an anchor, something to hold onto in the chaos. Gradually Jisung's breathing began to sync with Minho's, and the violent shaking started to subside.

"Better?" Minho asked after what might have been minutes or hours, his hand gently stroking through Jisung's hair, making Jisung almost melt right there.

Jisung looked up and met Minho's eyes, and what he saw there made his breath catch for entirely different reasons. Genuine concern, deep worry, and something else he couldn't name.

"A little. Thank you."

"Why didn't you tell me they scared you this much?" There was something almost angry in Minho's voice now, but the anger wasn't directed at Jisung. "We could have planned something else. Anything else."

"I didn't want to ruin your mother's plans. And also..." Jisung swallowed hard. "You didn't seem very interested in what I wanted."

He watched Minho flinch like he'd been physically struck.

"Jisung, I—" Minho stopped, took a shaky breath. "God, I'm so sorry. I ruined your birthday."

"You didn't ruin—"

"Yes, I did. I've been horrible to you. This whole trip. For way longer than this trip." The words were spilling out now, like a dam breaking. "I've been such an asshole."

"Why?" Jisung asked softly, searching his face. "Why do you hate me so much?"

"I don't hate you." The words came out fiercely, almost desperate. "God, Jisung, it's the complete opposite."

Before Jisung could process what he said, Minho was pulling something from his pocket with shaking hands.

"I bought something. For you."

He took out a small bag, and from inside pulled out the teddy bear keychain, the one Jisung had been looking at in the store.

"Happy birthday, Jisung. I'm sorry for... everything. For being an idiot. For making you feel worthless when you're anything but that."

Jisung took the keychain with trembling fingers, staring at the two little bears hugging each other. "You bought this? For me?"

"Right after you left the store. I went back and got it. I've been carrying it around for days, trying to figure out how to give it to you without looking like the complete disaster that I am."

Jisung looked at the teddy bears, their smiling faces, their eternal embrace, and felt something in his chest break apart and rearrange itself into a completely new shape.

"Why?" His voice came out barely above a whisper. "If you don't hate me, then why have you been acting like—"

"Because I like you so much it terrifies me." The confession rushed out like Minho had been holding it in for too long, like it hurt to keep inside. "Because every time I see you smile, every time my mom talks about you, every time you're just you, so kind, genuine and perfect, I lose my mind a little. And I didn't know how to deal with it, so I was cruel instead. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for making you cry."

Everything seemed to pause after that confession.

"You... like me?"

"God, I've liked you for months. Since that time, when you have fell asleep on the couch in my living room with textbooks everywhere and your glasses crooked on your face, exhausted from studying. You looked so peaceful, so beautiful, like you felt completely at ease in my house, like you always have been living there. And I knew right then that I was completely screwed."

Jisung stared at him like he was seeing a completely different person. "I—"

"I know it's too late. I know I've been unforgivable, and I don't expect you to forgive me. But I needed you to know the truth. I've never hated you. Not for a single second."

"Minho." Jisung found his voice somehow. "Look at me."

Minho opened his eyes, and they were full of raw, vulnerable hope and fear.

"Me too. I like you too. I've liked you for so long."

Minho's eyes went wide. "Really?"

"Really. That's why I've been so confused and hurt. I thought maybe I'd done something wrong, or that you just genuinely couldn't stand me. I didn't understand."

"You're serious?"

Jisung nodded, and fresh tears started falling, but these ones felt different. Lighter somehow.

"I thought I was completely alone in this. I thought—"

Minho moved slowly, giving Jisung time to pull away. Soft fingers came up to cup his cheek, wiping away tears with infinite gentleness, looking at him with pure affection.

"I'm never going to hurt you again." Minho promised, voice breaking on the words. "Never. I swear on everything."

And then, carefully, like Jisung was something precious that might shatter, Minho leaned in and kissed him, holding him closer and gentler than ever.

The kiss was soft, warm, sweet and everything Jisung had never let himself imagine, Minho´s lips tasted like the caramelized apple that were serving in the festival, moving slowly, unhurried, making Jisung´s nerves and fear soothe almost completely, his chest feeling imposibbly full.

When they finally separated, Minho kept his forehead pressed against Jisung's, both of them breathing hard.

"Better?" Minho whispered.

"So much better." Jisung let out a shaky laugh. "The fireworks stopped."

Minho glanced up at the sky. "Yeah. They're done."

"Your mom must be freaking out."

"Probably. But first..." Minho pulled back just enough to look at him properly. "Do you forgive me? For being such a complete disaster?"

Instead of answering with words, Jisung stretched up and kissed him again, softer this time, slower, trying to pour everything he felt into it.

"Only if you promise me something." he whispered against Minho's lips. "Promise you'll never shut me out like that again."

"I promise. I completely, totally promise."

They stayed wrapped together in that alley for a while, surrounded by December cold that somehow didn't matter anymore. Jisung had his face pressed against Minho's chest, the teddy bear keychain clutched tight in one hand, feeling safer than he'd felt in days.

"Your mom really must be worried by now." he finally murmured.

"Mm. I texted her a while ago. Told her I found you and you're okay."

"When?"

"While your eyes were closed, you looked so peaceful in my arms, that I didn't want to leave you, but I also didn't want her panicking and calling the police or something."

The thoughtfulness of it, the care, made Jisung's heart do something complicated in his chest.

"What did you tell her exactly?"

"That you had an anxiety episode because of the fireworks but you're doing better now. And that we might need some time to talk." Minho's arms tightened slightly. "She understood what I meant, I think."

Jisung remembered all those knowing looks, all the times Mrs. Lee had insisted they spend time together. "I think she's known how you felt longer than you have."

"She always does. That's part of why I got so defensive when she talked about you. She was right about my feelings, and I hated that she could see it when I was trying so hard to hide it."

"Did you really think she loved you less?"

Minho was quiet for a moment. "Sometimes, yeah. When she started inviting you to family dinners, buying you clothes, treating you like another son. It felt like she was replacing me with a better version."

Jisung sat up enough to look at Minho directly. "Minho, your mom adores you. Everything she does for me, she does because she sees that I'm alone in Seoul. But you? You're her entire world."

"I know that now. But when you like someone so much and don't know what to do with those feelings, you start seeing problems everywhere, even where they don't exist."

"Well, next time you don't know how to handle your feelings, maybe try talking about them. Instead of, you know, treating me like I'm something gross you stepped in."

Minho winced. "I know. God, I can't believe what an absolute mess I've been. All this time we could have..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Hey." Jisung reached up to touch his face. "It's over now. We're here, aren't we?"

Minho leaned into the touch, eyes closing. "Yeah. We're here."

The silence that followed was comfortable in a way their silences had never been before. Warm instead of cold. Full instead of empty.

"You know?" Jisung said softly. "This ended up being the best birthday I've ever had."

"Really? But you had a panic attack, and I've been horrible to you—"

"But I also got this." Jisung held up the keychain, the little bears catching the dim light. "And this." He leaned in to kiss Minho gently. "And I found out that the boy I've been hopelessly crushing on actually likes me back. So yeah. Best birthday."

"More than like," Minho murmured against his lips. "So much more than just like."

"How much more?"

Instead of answering, Minho kissed him deeper, and Jisung felt like he might actually melt right there in that alley. It was almost unfair, how someone who'd been so cold could kiss with so much warmth.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were smiling like idiots.

"We really should get back." Jisung said reluctantly. "Your mom's probably imagining all kinds of disasters."

"One more minute. Just let me hold you for one more minute."

Jisung settled back against his chest, feeling a peace he hadn't known was possible. "Okay. One more minute."

"Minho?"

"Mm?"

"When we get back to Seoul... what happens then?"

He felt Minho smile against his hair. "I'm going to take you on actual dates. Proper ones. As many as it takes to convince you to be my boyfriend."

"What if you don't need to convince me?" Jisung's heart was racing. "What if I'm already convinced?"

Minho went completely still. "Are you saying..."

"I'm saying I want to be your boyfriend, Lee Minho. As long as you promise never to treat me like I'm invisible again."

"I promise you'll be impossible to ignore. I'll probably be annoying about it, and I won't be able to leave you alone."

"Good. I like that version so much better."

When they finally made their way back to where they'd left Mrs. Lee, they found her sitting on the blanket, wrapped in her coat against the cold, scrolling through photos on her phone. The moment she saw them approaching, hand in hand, both smiling, her whole face lit up with relief and something that looked suspiciously like satisfaction.

"There you are! Jisung, are you feeling better?"

"Much better. I'm so sorry I worried you."

She studied them both carefully, taking in Jisung's flushed cheeks, his shy smile, the way Minho was holding his hand like he might disappear if he let go. Her eyes went to their intertwined fingers and stayed there.

"Oh." Her smile grew impossibly wider. "Oh, how wonderful."

"Mom—" Minho started, but she was already pulling them both into a hug.

"I'm so happy! I knew you two were perfect for each other."

"You really knew?" Jisung asked, half-laughing.

"Please, honey. I'm his mother—I always know. Especially when he's been sighing dramatically every time someone mentions your name for the past six months."

Both Minho and Jisung turned bright red.

"Was it that obvious?"

"To me? Absolutely. To you two, apparently not so much." She linked her arm through Jisung's as they started walking back toward the hotel. "Though I have to say, the fireworks worked out better than I'd hoped."

They walked back through Shibuya's neon-lit streets, and the whole atmosphere felt transformed. Like someone had adjusted the color settings on the world and everything was suddenly brighter, more vivid. Jisung kept touching the keychain in his pocket, making sure it was real. Minho hadn't let go of his other hand once.

Mrs. Lee walked ahead of them, clearly giving them space, but Jisung could see her smiling.

"You know what I think is funny?" she called back while they waited for the elevator.

"What?"

"That little 'mix-up' with the hotel reservations turned out to be exactly what you two needed."

Minho and Jisung looked at each other, then at Mrs. Lee with growing suspicion.

"Mom. There was no mix-up, was there?"

She smiled innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mom!"

"What? You needed alone time to work things out! And clearly it worked, didn't it?"

Jisung couldn't help but laugh. "Mrs. Lee, you're kind of amazing."

"I'm just a mother who wants to see her children happy. Both of them."

Jisung woke the next morning to sunlight streaming through the windows and for a moment thought he'd dreamed everything. Then he saw the teddy bear keychain on the nightstand and felt his heart swell with the knowledge that it was all real.

He turned his head and found Minho already awake, propped up on one elbow, watching him with a soft expression.

"Morning," Minho said quietly.

"Morning. How long have you been awake?"

"A while. I like watching you sleep, you look peaceful."

"That's a little creepy."

Minho laughed, really laughed, warm and genuine and beautiful. "Does it bother you?"

"No. I actually really like it. It's just... new."

"Everything about this is new. But I like it. I really, really like it."

They lay there in their separate beds, just looking at each other and smiling like complete fools.

"What do you want to do today?" Minho asked. "It's our last full day."

"Are you actually asking what I want to do?"

Minho grimaced. "Please don't remind me what an asshole I've been."

"Hey." Jisung reached his hand across the space between beds. "I'm just teasing. I'm not upset anymore."

Minho intertwined their fingers. "How can you not be upset? I was terrible."

"Because now I understand why. And because yesterday you gave me the best gift anyone's ever given me."

"The keychain?"

"No, you idiot. The truth. You being honest about your feelings."

Minho was quiet for a moment. Then, so softly Jisung almost didn't hear: "I love you, you know. So much it scares me."

Jisung's heart stopped. "What did you just say?"

Minho's eyes went wide. "I—shit. Too soon, right? I didn't mean to just blurt it out like that. I know we only got together yesterday and it's probably way too early but—"

"Minho."

"—I just couldn't hold it in anymore and—"

"Minho."

"What?"

"I love you too."

The silence that followed was charged with emotion so thick you could probably grab it.

"Really?"

"Really. I've been in love with you for months. Even when you were being cold to me, even when I thought you hated me…I couldn't stop."

"I see you," Minho said intensely, sitting up now. "God, Jisung, I've been seeing you this whole time. That was the problem."

Unable to resist anymore, Jisung got up and crossed to Minho's bed, climbing in beside him.

"Can I...?"

"You don't even have to ask."

Jisung curled into Minho's side, immediately surrounded by warmth. "This is so much better."

"Definitely better."

They stayed like that, just existing together without any pretense. Jisung traced lazy patterns on Minho's chest while Minho ran his fingers through Jisung's hair.

"You know what I want to do today?" Jisung asked.

"What?"

"I want to go back to that crepe shop. And I want to pay."

"Why?"

"Because I want to take you on a proper date. Even if it's just crepes."

Minho laughed. "Are you asking me out, Han Jisung?"

"I'm asking you on lots of dates, Lee Minho. Starting today."

"Yes. Yes to all of them."

A knock at the door interrupted them, followed by Mrs. Lee's cheerful voice. "Boys? Are you awake? I have coffee and pastries!"

Minho and Jisung looked at each other and started laughing.

"Mom's entrance in three... two..."

The door opened and Mrs. Lee walked in, then stopped short when she saw them cuddled together in Minho's bed.

"Oh. Good morning, lovebirds."

"Mom—"

"What? I'm happy! This is wonderful!" She set down the coffee tray. "Did you sleep well?"

"In our own beds," Jisung clarified quickly, face burning. "Just... morning cuddles."

"I'm sure. Well, eat up. We have one last beautiful day in Tokyo to enjoy together."

Their final day in Tokyo was everything Jisung had dreamed it would be. Without the tension hanging over them, he could finally see everything clearly, appreciate every moment.

Minho had completely transformed. Where he'd been cold and distant before, now he was attentive and warm. He held Jisung's hand as they walked through snowy streets, pointed out things he thought Jisung would like, leaned in close to whisper comments that made him smile.

"See that store?" Minho murmured as they walked through Shibuya. "The owner's eighty years old and makes the best taiyaki in the city."

"How do you know?"

"Came here with friends last year. Thought you'd love it."

The taiyaki was indeed incredible, and watching Minho chat with the elderly owner in fluent Japanese, making her laugh and blush like she was a teenager, was almost unbearably endearing.

"What were you talking about?"

"I told her it was your birthday yesterday and that you're my very special boyfriend. She gave us extras."

Jisung stopped walking in the middle of the street. "You told her I'm your boyfriend?"

"Is that okay? I know we haven't really talked about labels, but—"

Instead of answering, Jisung stood on his toes and kissed him right there on the busy Shibuya street, not caring who saw.

"More than okay."

Mrs. Lee, watching from a few steps behind, clapped her hands together delightedly. "My boys are so precious!"

The rest of the day was spent in pure happiness. They visited temples, bought souvenirs (Minho insisted on buying everything Jisung so much as glanced at), took enough photos to fill three albums.

But Jisung's favorite moments were the small, quiet ones. Minho's fingers intertwined with his. The way he leaned down to listen when Jisung talked. How he'd brush snow from Jisung's hair so gently. The soft kisses when he thought no one was watching.

For dinner, they returned to the same teppanyaki restaurant from that first awkward night, but the experience was completely different. Minho and Jisung sat pressed close together, conversation flowing naturally, laughing at everything.

"I can't believe it's our last night," Mrs. Lee sighed wistfully.

"It was perfect," Jisung said, meaning it with his whole heart. "Thank you for bringing me. For everything."

"Thank you for coming. And for finally knocking some sense into my stubborn son."

"Hey! I knocked sense into myself."

"After I trapped you in a room together for three days."

"Wait." Jisung looked at her with dawning realization. "Did you plan the fireworks too?"

"No, that truly was coincidence. But it worked out beautifully, didn't it?"

Jisung looked at Minho, who squeezed his hand under the table. "Yeah. It really did."

The morning of their departure came far too quickly. Jisung woke with a melancholy he couldn't quite shake.

"I don't want to leave," he mumbled into Minho's shoulder.

"Me neither. But I'm also excited about taking you home. Introduce you to my friends properly. Show you my favorite spot in the library. Make you part of my real life."

"You know what's weird?"

"What?"

"If you'd been nice to me from the start, we probably never would have ended up here. We would've been friends, but we never would've had that conversation in the alley."

Minho thought about that. "So, you're saying you're glad I was an asshole to you?"

"I'm saying maybe everything happened exactly how it needed to. All that tension building up—when it finally broke, it was intense. Real."

"I still hate that I made you suffer."

"I'm not suffering anymore." Jisung kissed him softly. "Not even a little bit."

The airport was chaos, Mrs. Lee taking what felt like a thousand more photos, insisting on documenting "the end of the most successful trip ever."

"Successful in what way, Mom?"

"In the way that I got my two favorite people to finally pull their heads out of their asses and admit their feelings. Mission accomplished."

The return flight was completely different from the flight there. Where there'd been tension and awkward silence, now there was soft conversation and comfortable quiet. Jisung fell asleep with his head on Minho's shoulder, feeling completely safe and content.

"What happens now?" he asked as the plane began its descent into Seoul.

"Now the real adventure begins."

At Seoul airport, waiting for their luggage, Jisung felt fundamentally changed. More confident, happier, more complete.

"Thank you." he said to Mrs. Lee, pulling her into a tight hug.

"For what, honey?"

"For everything. For inviting me, for scheming, for being family to me."

"You've always been family, Jisung. You just needed to realize it."

Minho and Jisung took the subway together, and when it was time to separate at Jisung's stop, neither wanted to let go.

"See you tomorrow?"

"You think I'm letting you get away now? Absolutely."

"Good."

Minho kissed him softly, right there in the subway station, not caring about the people rushing past.

That night, lying in his own bed, Jisung looked at the teddy bear keychain on his nightstand and smiled until his face hurt.

His phone buzzed.

Minho: Home safe?

Jisung: Yes. I miss you already and we just said goodbye.

Minho: Me too. Is that pathetic?

Jisung: Completely. I love it.

Minho: Goodnight, boyfriend.

Jisung: Goodnight, formerly-grumpy boyfriend.

Minho: I'm not grumpy with you anymore.

Jisung: No, now you're clingy instead. Much better.

Minho: Sleep before I come over there just to hold you.

Jisung: Is that a threat or a promise?

Minho: A promise for tomorrow. Now SLEEP.

Jisung: I love you.

Minho: I love you too. Dream of me.

Jisung: Always.

He fell asleep smiling, keychain clutched in his hand, heart full of plans for tomorrow and all the tomorrows after that.

Six months later…

The apartment Jisung and Minho had found near campus was tiny, barely big enough for a kitchen, living room, and bedroom that could just squeeze in a double bed. But Jisung loved every cramped inch of it.

Especially mornings like this, when he woke to find Minho already up and moving around the kitchen, humming while he made coffee.

"Morning, handsome boyfriend."

"Morning, dramatic boyfriend." Minho smiled at him over his shoulder. "Coffee?"

"Please."

While Minho poured, Jisung noticed something familiar hanging on the hook by their door.

"You still carry that everywhere?"

"Every single day. It reminds me of the moment I stopped being an idiot."

"How romantic."

"Shut up." Minho kissed him, still smiling. "What's your plan today?"

"Study. Finals next week." Jisung made a face. "You?"

"Same. But your mom's coming for dinner."

Jisung's smile grew. At some point over the past six months, he'd started calling Mrs. Lee "mom" too. She'd cried happy tears the first time.

"What are you making?"

"Bulgogi. That stew you love. Probably enough food to feed half of Seoul."

"Perfect. I love her."

"She loves you too. Almost as much as I do."

"Only almost?"

"Okay, fine, exactly as much. It's a tie."

"I can live with that."

They kissed soft and slow, a morning ritual that never got old no matter how many times they repeated it.

"You know what?" Jisung said.

"What?"

"I want to go back to Japan. Just us."

"Really?"

"Really. We could go back to that crepe shop. Visit all those places properly, without any drama."

"And avoid the fireworks?"

"Definitely avoid the fireworks. Unless you want to see them, then you're buying the best earplugs money can buy."

"Deal. I love you so much."

"I love you too. So much it still scares me sometimes."

"But not so much that you shut me out, right?"

"Never again. Just enough to want to spoil you absolutely rotten."

"I think I can live with that." Jisung murmured, hugging Minho from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder, leaving a small kiss on his cheek, feeling completely content.

Standing in their tiny kitchen wrapped in golden morning light, Jisung thought about how strange and wonderful life could be. How something that started so badly, all misunderstandings and hurt feelings and words left unsaid, could transform into something so perfectly, beautifully right.

On the hook by the door, the two teddy bears on the keychain hugged each other eternally, little guardians of a love story that began in coldness and bloomed in the warmth of finally being honest.

And Jisung wouldn't change a single moment of it. Not even the painful parts. Because all of it, every awkward silence, every moment of tension, every tear shed in confusion, had led them exactly here.

Home.

The End