Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jisung had been unlikely friends with Lee Felix for as long as he could remember.

They didn’t live in the same neighbourhood, but they were close enough that his rusty bicycle could just about carry him there in one piece without issue. Luckily his mother never seemed to mind much when he dashed out the door with little more than a shouted, “see you later Eomma!”

Where Jisung’s street was all run-down houses with crumbling walls and wild un-tended shrubbery, Felix’s neighbourhood was the opposite. Stately homes, white picket fences and manicured lawns.

But the contrast of it all never bothered Jisung. He and Felix shared the things that actually mattered. They had the same sense of humour, the same big emotions that neither of them had quite got a handle on yet, and most importantly, the same school. Which was, of course, how they first met.

The disparity between the rich and poor parts of their city was plain, but all children attended the same school unless their parents chose to shell out for private tuition at a boarding school further out. The Lee family was particularly close-knit, so sending Felix away elsewhere had simply never been considered.

So it was that on Jisung’s first day of school, he had come to meet his sunshine twin. The boys were born a day apart, and often joked that the universe had decided that they were meant to be family, even if they didn’t share the same parents.

Felix had never looked down on Jisung for his older brother’s worn hand-me-downs. And Jisung had never treated Felix as someone he needed to impress, just as someone he was lucky to have, especially when his older brother moved away for work, leaving Jisung and his mother behind.

He was thirteen when Felix first invited him to the Lee family Christmas party.

Jisung’s mother had declined at first, her pride making it difficult for her to accept what she saw as charity.

But Jisung had begged, big puppy eyes, clasped hands and endless promises to do as many chores as she liked in return… And she had eventually relented.

He spent 3 whole days making Felix’s Christmas present.

He’d found an old photo frame in the attic whilst pulling out the dusty Christmas decorations, and he had decided to decorate it himself.

Armed with a bottle of glitter glue and a box of beads and sequins, he had set to work, tongue poking out in concentration as he tried to position everything just right.

On the second day, he had bumped the box with his elbow and watched in horror as a tidal wave of plastic shapes scattered across his bedroom carpet. It took over an hour to sort the avalanche of stars, hearts, and smiley faces back into their respective compartments.

When he was finally finished, he carefully laid the frame out on his desk to dry, praying that the final additions wouldn’t slide off overnight.

When morning came, Jisung double-checked that everything was dry. Satisfied, he retrieved the crumpled sheet of pink tissue paper that he’d secretly pilfered from the art classroom at school. He wrapped the frame as carefully as he could, trying not to let the thin paper catch or tear beneath his fingers.

It wasn’t the neatest wrapping job, one corner stuck out awkwardly, and the tape refused to stay flat at the ends, but Jisung was proud of it all the same.

Getting dressed didn’t take long. He only had one outfit that could be considered even vaguely formal.

A plain white button-up, with a tartan tie and matching pants that used to belong to his older brother, and his father before him. They were baggy on him, needing a belt he’d added extra holes to, fastened through the loops. Still, he tugged them on, smoothing the loose fabric and checking the collar twice in the mirror, before grabbing a thick cream-coloured cardigan for warmth.

It wasn’t much, but it would do.

By the time he and his mother arrived at the house, Jisung was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his already limited patience long gone.

His mother rang the doorbell, then stepped back to stand beside him, her hand settling warmly across the back of his shoulders in solidarity.

They didn’t have to wait long. The door swung open to reveal Felix, grinning from ear to ear, his entire face lighting up brighter than the massive tree behind him.

“Come in, come in!” he giggled, grabbing Jisung’s arm and yanking him inside before he could move on his own.

The warmth inside hit him all at once, woodsmoke, winter spices, chatter, the rich buttery scent of something delicious in the air. It was almost overwhelming after the crisp cold outside, and within moments, Jisung was tugging at his tie and loosening the top button of his shirt, cheeks already flushing with the heat.

After their coats had been taken and tucked away in a cupboard, Felix was dragging Jisung off to the kitchen, chattering something about marshmallows and cream, but the words barely registered thanks to the sensory overwhelm assaulting Jisung’s vision.

His own family’s version of Christmas was very simple.

Their tree was small and artificial, dragged out of the attic each year looking a little more dishevelled than the last. The decorations were mostly handmade, paper chains, salt dough ornaments painted with wobbly fingers, and an angel that Jisung had crafted one year.

It was a glued-together monstrosity of paper plates and doilies, with a somewhat wonky face drawn on with felt-tip pen, and a halo made from a sparkly golden pipe cleaner.

She had sat proud on top of their tree for nearly a decade now, her wings slightly wilted with age, but Jisung’s mother refused to throw her away.

Felix’s house… Well it wouldn’t have looked out of place on a list of Forbes’ most expensively decorated houses. If that was even a thing. Or as a feature spread in a specialist magazine for seasonal interior decorating.

Aside from the staggeringly oversized, real, tree in the entrance hall, there were more dotted around the property with various sparkling, elegant decorations.

The entire palette was red and gold, executed so flawlessly that not a single inch of space felt wasted, nor a single ornament out of place.

And yet, somehow, it didn’t feel garish or overdone.

There was no cheap tinsel in sight. Instead, strings of golden beads and glittering crystals looped gracefully across branches, and soft, warm fairy lights twinkled between them.

He only snapped out of his reverie when a warm mug was pressed into his hand, jolting him from his trance. His gaze had been fixed on the miniature Christmas village perched on the kitchen mantelpiece, complete with twinkling lights and a tiny train endlessly circling its snowy tracks.

“Here, hold this a sec,” Felix said, thrusting the mug into Jisung’s hands before leaning around the kitchen doorframe and shouting down the wide hallway, “Yah! Hyung! Where are the mini marshmallows‽”

Jisung didn’t catch the exact reply, but he heard the faint, disgruntled grumble that came in response, low and unmistakably annoyed.

Minho. Felix’s older brother.

For all the time Jisung had spent at Felix’s house over the years, he’d seen surprisingly little of his elusive two years older brother. Minho had a habit of staying tucked away in his room, rarely surfacing for more than a few minutes at a time. And truthfully, Jisung found him kind of intimidating.

The few interactions they’d had were usually brief, and rarely friendly. Minho would poke his head out to complain that they were being too loud when he was trying to study, or scold them for leaving behind empty wrappers and juice boxes after one of their afternoon snack binges.

So when Felix started yelling back “they’re not there Hyung, I’ve looked!”, and heavy, irritated footsteps sounded down the hallway, Jisung instantly shrank back against the counter.

The irritation on Minho’s face was unmistakable as he strode into the kitchen, stalking across the room until he came to a stop right in front of Jisung.

Jisung flinched under his glare, instinctively curling his hand tighter around the mug, pressing it to his chest like it might protect him.

“Move,” Minho said flatly.

When Jisung didn’t budge, frozen half in panic, half in confusion, Minho let out an exasperated sigh. Without warning, he grabbed Jisung by both shoulders and guided him firmly to the side, practically shoving him out of the way.

Then he opened the cupboard above where Jisung had been standing, gesturing with a flourish to what Jisung assumed must be the “missing” marshmallows.

Minho turned, brow raised. “Swear to God, you two don’t know how to look past the end of your noses.”

Minho left the kitchen without another word, footsteps fading down the hall, and Jisung was left standing there, cheeks burning with embarrassment, even though he hadn’t been the one to bother him in the first place.

Felix just tutted and rolled his eyes, entirely unfazed. He grabbed the bag of marshmallows and tipped a generous handful into each of their mugs.

“Always on a power trip, that one. Just because he’s the oldest-” Felix cut himself off, the rest of his grumbling muffled by the mountain of whipped cream and marshmallows as he lifted his mug to take a sip.

“It’s not bad… But I think it needs-” Felix glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice. Then he started digging through the back of another cupboard with urgent, hushed determination. “I’m sure it was here… Just- maybe behind the- aha!”

There was no mistaking the wicked grin that lit up his face as he pulled out a heavy-looking glass bottle and quickly beckoned Jisung over.

Jisung obeyed, wary but curious, and barely had time to react before Felix was tipping the bottle over his mug, pouring a generous splash of dark amber liquid that left his drink dangerously close to the rim.

“Felix, what-”

“Brandy,” he whispered gleefully. “Dad always keeps a bottle stashed back here. Thinks I don’t know about it.” He gave a smug shrug. “And, well… It’s Christmas, innit?”

Felix took another sip of his now-spiked hot chocolate, his face immediately contorting as the alcohol hit him.

“Yup,” he managed, voice slightly strained. “Better. Definitely-” He spluttered mid-sentence, coughing once into his sleeve. “-better.”

Jisung eyed his drink warily. His mother didn’t drink, not even on holidays, so there was never any alcohol in the house. He’d never tried any before, not even a drop.

Carefully, he lifted the mug to his lips and took the smallest sip he could manage.

The taste hit him instantly, sickly-sweet chocolate clashing with the sharp burn of something bitter and smoky. It wasn’t just hot from the temperature, the liquid scalded its way down his throat in a slow, fiery trail that made him suck in a sharp breath. His nostrils flared as the fumes stung the inside of his nose, and his eyes immediately began to water.

He coughed once, quietly, trying to cover it with a quick swipe at his eyes. It was vile. He didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t that. The warmth spreading through his chest didn’t feel pleasant or comforting, it felt like he’d accidentally swallowed nail polish remover.

He blinked back the tears, resisting the urge to gag. First chance he got, he was going to pour the whole thing down the sink.

Felix leaned over, eyes bright with anticipation. “Well? What do you think?”

Jisung forced a tight, awkward smile and gave him a thumbs up, nodding and hoping it was convincing enough.

Felix beamed and took another heroic sip of his own, not entirely unbothered by the alcohol, but clearly handling it better than Jisung.

When Felix’s eyes finally caught on the pink tissue paper wrapped gift in his hand, Jisung took the opportunity to abandon his mug on the kitchen counter.

“Is that-?”

“Your Christmas present,” Jisung said, holding it out with both hands. His teeth caught his bottom lip as he waited, nerves prickling under his skin.

Felix grinned and took it eagerly, already tearing through the tissue paper with zero hesitation.

Jisung winced. At home, opening presents was undertaken with an almost surgical level of care, tape removed slowly in order to preserve as much of the paper as possible for future re-use. Watching Felix rip through the paper without a second thought felt akin to blasphemy, but he kept his mouth shut.

Because Felix was smiling.

And that was what mattered.

As the last of the tissue paper fell away, Felix’s smile only widened. The photo frame, now covered in thoughtfully placed beads and sequins sparkled beautifully underneath the bright kitchen lights.

Inside the frame was a photo of the pair of them that Jisung had printed off in the computer lab at school, then painstakingly cut as neatly as he could to fit the frame.

It had been taken earlier that year, the two of them, over-exposed and blurry, both laughing so hard their eyes had all but disappeared.

Jisung twisted his fingers together awkwardly as Felix turned the frame over in his hands, examining every detail.

“You don’t have to keep the photo,” Jisung mumbled, eyes darting down. “It was just… I thought it might be nice, but-”

“It’s perfect,” Felix breathed, finally looking up.

His eyes were shining, and the smile he gave Jisung could’ve powered Seoul for a century.

“Really?” Jisung asked, shoulders relaxing as a quiet sigh of relief slipped out. “You like it?”

“I love it.”

A lot can change in a year.

Jisung had grown a little taller, his face had thinned out some, and his hands were no longer hidden by his too-long sleeves. His voice had settled into something deeper, and cracked less now when he spoke, though it still betrayed him when he got too excited, or too nervous.

Not that he had any reason to be nervous. It was just another Lee family Christmas party. Same house, same traditions, same people.

This year, he’d asked for his mother’s help with baking for Felix’s present, arriving with a neatly packed batch of chocolate peppermint cookies. Jisung had been landed with carrying the tub, grumbling all the way from the car to the front steps, especially when he nearly lost his footing on a patch of hidden ice along the path.

His mother rang the doorbell, and they waited for the bright smile and freckles that would answer.

But unlike last year, it wasn’t Felix who opened the door.

It was Minho.

Jisung froze for a half-second, caught off guard. He barely had time to register the warm blast of air from inside the house before his brain tripped over itself trying to process what was in front of him.

Minho had changed too.

His hair seemed darker now, and slightly longer, brushed back leaving his forehead on show. His jaw was more defined, his frame broader, and he stood with a quiet ease, leaning one arm against the open doorframe.

Jisung could still hear his mother’s voice in his head from the day before, casual and offhand as she arranged the cookies on a cooling rack. “That Minho’s grown up into quite the handsome young man, hasn’t he?”

And well… Objectively speaking, she wasn’t wrong.

“Hey,” Minho said, voice lower than Jisung remembered. “Let me take that.”

He reached for the cookie tub, and Jisung, startled from his thoughts, handed it over before he could say anything stupid. He wasn’t used to Minho offering help. Or talking to him. Or looking at him for longer than a glare.

“Thanks,” Jisung managed, a little awkwardly.

Minho gave a small nod in return and disappeared down the hall with the box, leaving Jisung standing in the doorway with his mother, still processing the encounter.

A moment later, Felix appeared, cheeks a little flushed from exertion. “Sorry! Sorry! I was helping eomma finish the table, she wanted everything just so this year,” he huffed, ushering them inside. “You’ve got no idea the stress levels happening over a bowl of cranberry sauce.”

He waved them in eagerly, completely oblivious to the way Jisung’s heart was still doing strange things in his chest.

Felix was thoroughly impressed with the chocolate peppermint cookies, demolishing nearly half the tub before his mother noticed and scolded him for ruining his appetite.

“M’sorry, eomma,” he mumbled, crumbs clinging to the corner of his mouth. “They’re just really good!”

Without warning, he turned to Minho. “Hyung, here, try one.”
He shoved a cookie toward Minho’s face before he had a chance to protest.

Minho blinked, clearly unimpressed with the ambush, but took the cookie anyway. He bit into it, chewing slowly, brows twitching slightly as he processed the taste.

Jisung held his breath. He hadn’t thought it would matter, but suddenly it did. After all the work he’d put into making them, Minho’s opinion felt unreasonably important.

Minho finally swallowed and gave a short nod.
“Not bad,” he said, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “Kind of moreish, actually.”

The little bubble of happiness Jisung felt at the praise was addictive. Praise from Minho wasn’t exactly common, most of their interactions were still limited to necessary exchanges, usually when Minho was grumbling about something. So this was something entirely new to him. And strangely, he found himself desperately wanting more of it.

He was saved from his spiralling thoughts when Felix’s mother swept in and whisked the cookie tub out of reach, muttering something about teenage boys and their appetites for sweet treats.

Still. It wasn’t weird to feel a little giddy over a compliment from somebody. It wasn’t like he was trying to impress Minho or anything. Not exactly. It was just… At fourteen, any scrap of validation felt like gold dust, precious no matter where, or who, it came from. Right?

By fifteen, Jisung had started to move beyond his hunger for external validation, or at least, most of the time. He was growing more comfortable in his own skin, more sure of who he was. His friendship with Felix remained the most important constant in his life, but he’d also begun to branch out, forming an easy camaraderie with a couple of slightly younger boys in their class, Seungmin and Jeongin. Still, nothing came close to the bond he shared with Felix.

And then there was Minho. They weren’t friends, exactly. But their interactions no longer consisted purely of Minho getting frustrated with him and Felix, instead leaning into polite conversation and even friendly banter on occasion.

He’d even had to add another column in his Mario Kart statistics sheet when Minho had started to join in their races at weekends, claiming he needed a break from ‘boiling his brain’ with algebra homework.

Minho lost more often than he won, but he never seemed to mind. He’d just sigh, lean back, and mutter, “Ah well. You deserved that win, well done Jisung-ah.”

And yes, Jisung had mostly outgrown the need for constant validation. He didn’t need praise to know his own worth anymore.

But still… That didn’t stop the flush that crept up his neck whenever Minho said something kind. Something approving.

It was fine, though. Totally fine. Perfectly normal to feel good when someone you respected noticed you. When someone you maybe, just a little, looked up to, gave you a second glance.

Totally normal.

Christmas that year passed without much fuss. By now, Jisung and his mother felt like a natural part of the Lee family’s holiday traditions, no longer the slightly awkward tag-alongs they’d once been.

Felix hadn’t tried to convince Jisung to sample his father’s brandy again, something Jisung was quietly grateful for. In hindsight, he suspected even Felix had been putting on a brave face that first time.

Felix’s present that year was what Jisung had come to lovingly call ‘The Frankencandle’.

He’d managed to convince his mother to let him melt down the last sad remnants of all her half-burned candles, every jar and pillar she’d tucked away in the back of a cupboard “just in case”, and re-mould them into something new. It had sounded simple enough in theory. In practice? Complete chaos.

Layers of uneven colours stacked haphazardly, lavender purple slumped into ocean blue, with a rogue streak of citrus orange running down one side like a lava spill. The scents didn’t blend so much as compete. One sniff might yield vanilla, the next sea breeze, and then suddenly cinnamon would punch through.

The state of the kitchen by the time he was done was nothing short of apocalyptic with drops of hardened wax clinging to the countertops and even spattered across the linoleum floor like a sad attempt at a Pollock painting. His mum had walked in, taken one look at the saucepan he’d used, and said with horrifying calm, ‘You have exactly one hour to make that pan usable again or I’m selling you and buying a new one.’

Jisung had spent the next hour furiously scraping wax off every surface with an old loyalty card, silently vowing that he would never, ever attempt candle-making again. Still, despite it all, he was secretly proud of the strange little creation. It might’ve looked like a Pinterest fail, but it was made with love, and it smelled, somehow, like every season at once.

As always, Felix was overjoyed when he opened it, promising to use it straight away. When Minho sniffed it, his nose wrinkling, he tried his best. “It doesn’t smell… Awful?”

Felix had been quick to state that it didn’t matter what it smelled like, as it was ‘actually far too pretty to burn anyway.’

The candle sat collecting dust for the next year, in pride of place on Felix’s windowsill.

When Jisung turned 16, he unfortunately found himself gaining a taste for fashion. Or at least, his cobbled-together version of it.

He clearly could never afford the labels that his favourite rappers wore- that would be a pipe dream of a pipe dream. But he spent as much time as he could manage scouring second-hand sites looking for bargains. He couldn’t help the giddy pride he felt every time he managed to jump in at the last second on an auction and beat out the previous highest bidder.

His current favoured attire tended to include baggy pants, oversized hoodies and ball caps with odd slogans on. He was particularly fond of one he’d found recently, a funny little ghost cartoon on the front and ‘I’M NOT STUPIb’ printed across the underside of the brim.

Dinner unfolded much the same as it had the previous years. Jisung was seated between Felix and Minho, while their parents occupied the opposite side of the table, wine glasses in hand and conversation flowing easily.

Between bites of roast vegetables and the occasional exchange of polite laughter, talk turned to school and plans for the future.

“So, Minho,” Jisung’s mother said, smiling warmly across the table. “Have you decided what you’ll be studying at university?”

Minho didn’t look up as he answered. “Business studies,” he said, his voice clipped but polite. He speared a piece of turkey with his fork and brought it to his mouth in one smooth motion.

Jisung caught the way the tines dragged briefly against Minho’s lower lip before disappearing between them, and immediately dropped his gaze to his plate.

It was ridiculous. Totally harmless. Just a normal, everyday movement. And yet his stomach twisted in an odd way that he couldn’t explain.

He took a long sip of water, willing his face not to give anything away. Though what exactly he’d be giving away, he wasn’t entirely sure.

The rest of dinner passed without much incident, and by the time they gathered around the tree to exchange gifts, Jisung had all but forgotten the moment at the table.

He was more than happy with the new headphones Felix had gotten him, sleek matte-black, high-quality, the exact pair he’d been eyeing online for weeks knowing he’d never be able to afford them. And by now, he’d long stopped feeling embarrassed about the handmade gifts he gave in return. Felix was always thrilled with whatever he got, and this year was no different.

Jisung had spent weeks putting together a scrapbook of their last year, filled with notes from days out, ticket stubs from their cinema trips, the running tally of their Mario Kart victories, and messy little sketches of the two of them doing everything from eating ramen to falling asleep mid-movie.

“This is amazing!” Felix shouted, grinning from ear to ear before throwing himself at Jisung and wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug that knocked the air from his lungs and nearly bowled him over entirely.

Jisung was seventeen now, newly in love, and had dressed to impress.

The white knit sweater had taken him three outfit changes to settle on. The baby-blue scarf was a last-minute addition, borrowed from his mother’s wardrobe, no less, but it complemented his silver earrings and gave him a small boost of confidence. Paired with his tartan pants and freshly styled hair, he felt… Good. Giddy, even.

It was the first time he wasn’t arriving at the Lee family Christmas party with just his mother.

His girlfriend, Jiyoung, had agreed to come with him. They’d only been together a couple of months, but he was already head over heels. She laughed at his jokes, listened to his demos, sent good morning texts with far too many heart emojis. Everything about her felt new and exciting, and when Felix suggested he bring her to the party, Jisung hadn’t even hesitated.

They picked her up on the way, and he was still a little stunned when she walked out of her house.

Jiyoung looked radiant. Her long, glossy brown hair tumbled in soft waves down her back, and she wore a burgundy dress with a sweetheart neckline and sheer, billowy sleeves that danced every time she moved. Her cheeks were already rosy from the cold, and when she smiled at him, it was all he could do not to grin like an idiot.

“You look amazing,” he’d whispered, holding the car door open for her.

She’d squeezed his hand. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

By the time they pulled up outside the Lee house, Jisung’s heart was doing little somersaults. Lights shimmered from every window, music was already drifting out from inside, and a familiar warmth rose in his chest. Christmas at the Lees was always extravagant, but this year, with Jiyoung on his arm, it felt… Different.

The front door opened before they even had a chance to knock.

“Hey,” Felix said, stepping aside to let them in.

It took Jisung a second to register the greeting, not because of the word choice, but because of how flat he sounded. Felix smiled, sure, but it was small, stretched a bit too tight, and his eyes didn’t have their usual spark. No bouncing on his heels, no playful digs, no overly dramatic greeting like usual.

Jiyoung offered a bright “Hi! Merry Christmas!” as she stepped past him into the warm glow of the Lee house, and Felix responded politely, but his tone stayed quiet, subdued.

Jisung lingered for a moment in the entryway, snowflakes still melting in his hair, brows knitting together as he studied his friend.

Felix had been like this a lot lately. Not all the time, but often enough that Jisung had noticed, texts taking longer to get replies, less interest in hanging out after school, half-hearted laughs during phone calls. He’d hoped tonight would shake something loose. Christmas had always been Felix’s favourite time of year.

Apparently not this time.

Jisung gave him a gentle nudge with his elbow. “You okay?”

Felix blinked, like he hadn’t expected the question. “Yeah,” he said, nodding too quickly. “Just tired. Been helping eomma all day, she’s gone full party-host mode as per usual.”

Jisung didn’t push, but he didn’t believe it either.

As they slipped off their coats and stepped into the living room, he made a quiet promise to himself. No matter what, I’m going to spend time with him tonight. Maybe Felix had been feeling off because Jisung had been so wrapped up in Jiyoung. Maybe he hadn’t noticed how distant things had gotten.

Not tonight. He’d fix it tonight.

After dinner and presents, everyone had gathered in the sprawling Lee family living room. The space was almost comically large, but it still managed to feel full, plush couches and armchairs occupied by relatives and family friends, laughter bouncing off the high ceilings. The scent of cinnamon and pine still lingered in the air, and someone had started a playlist of jazzy Christmas covers in the background.

Jisung was especially pleased that he and Jiyoung had managed to claim a large armchair for themselves, her curled contentedly into his side, the warmth of her body heat seeping through his jumper.

At the moment, the game of choice had everyone wearing sticky notes on their foreheads, each labelled with the name of a famous figure. The goal was simple. Ask yes or no questions until you could guess who you were.

Mr. Lee had been the first to guess his correctly, throwing a triumphant fist into the air as he declared, “Cho Yong-pil!”

Jisung was almost certain his mother had slipped that one into the pile, Cho Yong-pil was a permanent fixture on their ancient CD player.

Now, the group had thinned out. Most players had guessed their identities and moved on to helping the remaining few. It was down to just Jisung and Felix, and Jisung was rapidly running out of questions to ask.

“Am I an actor?” he asked, to a few shakes of heads.

“Not even close,” Minho chuckled from across the room, sipping from his mug.

Jisung groaned and slumped further into his seat, the sticky note on his forehead beginning to feel uncomfortable.

Felix’s turn came back around, but his voice lacked any of the usual enthusiasm.

“Am I a dancer?” he asked, monotone.

“Nope.”

“Singer?”

“Not quite,” someone replied.

“Am I alive?”

“Yeah.”

Felix sighed. “Fantastic.”

The questions continued, but each one came out flatter than the last. Even his posture had slouched, legs pulled up to his chest in the armchair, the sticky note starting to curl at the edges like it didn’t want to be there either.

Jisung could feel the frustration building behind Felix’s quiet tone, simmering just beneath the surface. He tried to shoot him encouraging glances, but Felix didn’t meet his eyes.

After a few more rounds, Jisung finally blurted out, “Wait-am I Kim Dae-jung?”

Cheers and mock groans echoed around the room.

“Finally!” someone laughed.

But next to him, Felix just exhaled sharply, ripping the note from his forehead without even glancing at it. He crumpled it in his fist and stood up abruptly, brushing past the coffee table and mumbling something about needing air.

He was out the door before anyone else could react.

Jisung watched him go, unease creeping in around the edges of his stomach. He turned to Jiyoung, guilt tugging at his chest.

“Hey… I’m really sorry. I need to go check on him.”

Jiyoung glanced up from her hot chocolate, blinking in surprise, but then offered a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay. Go.”

She gently unhooked her arm from his and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be right here.”

Jisung mouthed a quiet thanks, already rising to follow Felix out into the hallway.

Jisung found him upstairs, curled up on the edge of his bed with the lights off and only the soft orange glow of the hallway light spilling into the room.

Felix didn’t look up when the door opened, just kept staring down at the floor, hands clasped tightly between his knees.

“Hey,” Jisung said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

“I’m fine,” Felix muttered without looking up. “You should go back. You’ve got your girlfriend and everything.”

Felix didn’t move when Jisung stepped further into the room, just let out a quiet sigh and said, “I’ve got a headache. Just need to lie down for a bit.”

Jisung paused near the bed. “A headache?”

Felix huffed a breath through his nose, still not meeting his eyes. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It’s also not true.”

Silence stretched out between them. Jisung sat down slowly on the bed beside him, leaving space, but close enough for his presence to be felt.

“Felix…” he started, voice low. “You’ve been off for weeks. Barely answering texts. Pulling away. I didn’t want to push, but, tonight? You didn’t even try to enjoy the party. And now you’re up here alone.”

Still, no answer.

So Jisung turned toward him, voice cracking with urgency. “You’re my best friend. Please. Please tell me what’s wrong. I want to help you. But I can’t do anything if you keep shutting me out.”

For a moment, Felix didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe, it seemed. Then he mumbled something, barely audible.

“What?” Jisung asked gently.

Felix’s hands clenched tighter, his voice a whisper, sharp and brittle.

“I said I’m gay, Jisung.”

The words landed with a dull thud in the quiet room. Jisung’s breath caught, heart stilling.

Felix looked absolutely miserable.

His shoulders were hunched like he was bracing for impact, and he still wouldn’t look up, eyes fixed firmly on the carpet, jaw tight, entire body wound like a spring. He looked like someone expecting to be rejected. Or worse, pitied.

Jisung’s voice came out soft, almost incredulous.
“Is that all?”

Felix’s head twitched slightly, like he hadn’t expected that.

“Felix…” Jisung turned fully toward him, voice low but firm. “You think I would have a problem with that?”

Still, Felix didn’t answer. Didn’t look at him. His throat bobbed with a swallow.

“You’re my best friend,” Jisung continued, quieter now. “You could’ve told me this the second you realised. I wouldn’t have cared- not like that. Not in a bad way.”

Felix’s fingers dug into the blanket beneath him. His shoulders were trembling.

“I care that you’ve been hurting,” Jisung said. “Not because of what you are. Just that you’ve been going through it alone.”

Felix stayed quiet, but Jisung noticed the slight hitch in his breathing, barely there, like he was trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will alone. A sniffle broke through next, soft and sharp, followed by the quietest tremble in his shoulders.

When Jisung looked closer, he saw them, silent tears tracking down Felix’s cheeks, catching the light as they fell.

“Oh, you utter pabo,” Jisung breathed, his chest tightening.

He reached out, gently wrapping his fingers around Felix’s wrists, and tugged him up with quiet insistence. Felix didn’t resist. Jisung pulled him up and into his arms, wrapping him tightly into a hug.

“You silly, silly boy,” he murmured against his hair, one hand rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades. “I love you. There is absolutely nothing you could ever do or say that would change that.”

He leaned back just enough to meet Felix’s teary eyes, giving him a lopsided smile.
“Not even, ‘Hey Jisung, can you help me hide a dead body?’”

Felix choked on a startled laugh, a sound caught between a sob and a snort, and wiped clumsily at his eyes with the sleeve of his jumper.

“You’re an idiot,” he whispered, voice wet.

“Yeah,” Jisung said, squeezing him tighter. “But I’m your idiot.”

Felix let himself be held after that, shoulders softening, tension bleeding out of him in slow, uneven breaths. For the first time in weeks, maybe longer, he finally seemed to relax.

Eighteen looked different on Jisung.

Not just in the mirror, though the changes were there, along with a little more confidence in the way he carried himself, but on the inside, too. This year had been full of slow shifts and quiet revelations. And after everything with Felix last Christmas, Jisung had done a bit of soul-searching himself.

What he’d found hadn’t shocked him so much as settled something that had always been floating around in pieces.

He wasn’t straight. That much he was sure of now.

It had taken time, a few late-night journal entries, some half-nervous Google searches, and one very long conversation with Felix in a café booth with iced coffee and a shared muffin between them. But by the end of it, Jisung had landed on bisexual, a word that felt like both a question and an answer.

And as if the universe had been waiting for clarity, things with Jiyoung hadn’t lasted.

They hadn’t ended badly. No fights, no betrayal. Just one long, bittersweet conversation where they both admitted the spark had started to fade. Maybe they’d been more excited about the idea of each other than the actual match. It still hurt, breakups always do, but there was no bitterness between them. Just a quiet, shared sadness that young love wasn’t quite enough.

Felix had been his lifeline through it. Through all of it, really.

They were closer than ever now, bonded not just by years of friendship, but by the things they’d shared in the quiet moments no one else got to see. Jisung knew how hard that night had been for Felix, the confession, the fear, and he carried it with him like a thread woven into every day since. He never wanted Felix to feel alone like that again.

They were all gathered in the living room, the soft glow of the Christmas tree casting shifting shadows across the floor as a holiday film played quietly on the TV. Half the group was paying attention, the rest were dozing, chatting in hushed tones, or half-heartedly checking their phones between mouthfuls of leftover cookies.

Jisung sat cross-legged on the floor with a blanket draped over his legs, one arm slung lazily across the seat of the couch where Felix had curled up beside him, feet tucked beneath a throw pillow.

But his eyes kept flicking toward the opposite side of the room.

Minho sat in one of the armchairs, dressed in a soft grey knit sweater and dark jeans, the light from the TV glinting faintly off the rim of his glasses. He didn’t seem especially invested in the film, occasionally glancing down at his phone, occasionally sipping from his mug.

It felt almost strange to see him here this year.

Minho had started spending more time away since starting college, staying on campus during holiday breaks, claiming he was “too busy” or “catching up on work.” He’d taken on a part-time job at some small firm near campus, doing assistant admin work, gaining “real-world experience,” as he called it.

It definitely wasn’t about the money. The Lees were more than comfortable. No, this was just Minho being Minho, always reaching for the next rung on the ladder, always needing to feel like he was moving.

Jisung hadn’t realised until now how used to his absence he’d gotten.

But Mrs. Lee? She would never forgive her eldest son for missing Christmas. Jisung was pretty sure she’d show up at his dorm room herself and drag him back home if she had to.

So here he was.

And Jisung didn’t know if it was the way Minho sat now, more composed than before, somehow quieter, or the fact that Jisung himself was seeing things differently these days, but something about it felt… New.

Not necessarily better. Just different.

He tried to focus on the film again, but the sound of Minho’s low chuckle during a funny scene pulled his attention right back.

Something fluttered in Jisung’s chest, unexpected and unsettling.

He glanced away quickly.

By now, he recognised the feelings for what they were.

A few years ago, he might’ve brushed them off as nerves, fear or admiration, or blamed it on the way Minho carried himself, all cool detachment and dry wit. But that excuse didn’t really hold up anymore.

He had a crush.

A slow, creeping thing that had probably been growing under the surface for years. Maybe since that first Christmas party, when Minho had shoved him aside in the kitchen with that annoyed glare. Maybe since he’d first started noticing the way Minho’s voice dipped when he was tired, or the careful way he sliced food at dinner, or the way he actually listened when people talked, even if he pretended he didn’t care.

Obviously, Minho was attractive. He always had been. But Jisung had never really noticed. Or maybe he just hadn’t allowed himself to.

It could’ve been because Minho was Felix’s older brother, and therefore permanently off-limits. Or maybe it had just been a lingering side effect of spending so many years assuming he was straight, locking those kinds of thoughts in a box labelled ‘not for me.’

But the box was open now. And the feelings were there. Undeniable. Messy. And uninvited.

Still, Jisung had no plans to do anything about them.

It wasn’t just because he was afraid of rejection, though that was definitely part of it. It was more that he was almost certain of what Minho saw when he looked at him. Felix’s idiot friend. The loud one. The one who tripped over nothing and talked too fast and once set off the smoke alarm trying to toast marshmallows over the stove.

He wasn’t someone Minho would look at that way.

So he didn’t let himself linger too long when his gaze drifted across the room. Didn’t let his thoughts wander too far. He just sat in the warm living room, blanket over his legs, movie flickering in the background, and quietly let the feeling settle, unspoken and safe, where no one could see.

Jisung and Felix started college the following March.

Jisung had quickly enrolled in a Music Production major, throwing himself into the world of beats and mixing, while Felix was instantly drawn to the Dance program, where he thrived among choreography and expression.

They didn’t share many classes, but one they did have in common was ‘History and Culture of Music’. It was a required course they both groaned about regularly. Their professor, Mr. Park, was notoriously relentless, powering through dense material without pause and marking assignments with brutal precision. It was a miracle anyone passed, and a running joke between Jisung and Felix that they’d need therapy by the end of the semester.

Since they were in different majors, they didn’t room together, but they still spent as much time together as possible. Most nights found them curled up in Seungmin and Jeongin’s dorm, who were both studying vocal performance, binge-watching anime and arguing over whose turn it was to buy snacks.

The four of them had stuck together easily at first, a natural extension of their long-standing friendship, but it wasn’t long before the circle started to grow. Felix befriended Hyunjin, a fellow dance major with dramatic flair and an easy laugh, while Jisung’s roommate Changbin, loud and full of energy, joined them for lunch one day and never left.

They clicked effortlessly, like puzzle pieces that hadn’t known they were missing each other until they snapped into place. And just like that, four became six.

A seventh friend joined their group not long after, when Jisung and Felix quickly hit it off with Chan, something of a legend in the music production department. He was from Australia, two years older, in his final year of college, and somehow still had the energy to be Mr. Park’s teaching assistant.

Chan always joked that he only took the position for the potential perks- ‘Hey, maybe he’ll pass me out of pity’ -but Jisung knew better.

Chan was a machine. He took on extra assignments like he was allergic to free time, and if Jisung loved music, Chan practically breathed it. He had a way of talking about sound like it was alive, something to be treasured and meticulously cared for.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the group to warm to him. Even Seungmin, who was notoriously slow to trust new people, had eventually declared, ‘He’s tolerable,’ which was basically a declaration of love coming from him.

It turned out that both Chan and Changbin had been gym regulars since the start of the semester, and started disappearing together after classes.

At first, Jisung had laughed them off, insisting he’d rather use his limited free time to sleep, game, or do literally anything else. But after weeks of watching them return looking energised, and okay, more toned than before, curiosity got the better of him.

He decided to tag along one day, just to ‘see what all the fuss was about.’ One session turned into two, then three, and before long, he was part of their routine. It was tough at first, unfamiliar machines, sore muscles, and more than one instance of nearly dropping a kettlebell, but the payoff was worth it.

His arms were more defined, his chest and back stronger. It felt good. Not just physically, but mentally. He stood a little straighter now. Looked in the mirror and didn’t immediately cringe.

The others, however, flat-out refused to join them. Felix claimed dance classes were workout enough, Hyunjin said he’d die in a gym, and Seungmin and Jeongin just blinked at them like they’d grown a second head.

So, naturally, Chan took matters into his own hands.

“If you won’t come to the gym,” he’d said one evening, arms crossed and full of righteous authority, “then I’ll find something else.”

The next day, he proudly announced he’d signed all of them up for a local football team. The groans were immediate, but the registrations were non-refundable.

Jisung just laughed. He had a feeling this was going to be painful… But probably worth it.

The year passed with terrifying speed, leaving Jisung in a constant state of catch-up. The workload was a world away from what he was used to, demanding more focus and stamina than he’d ever needed before. And it felt strange, even unsettling at first, going ‘home’ to a roommate instead of his mother.

As December crept in, Jisung found himself eagerly anticipating the annual Lee family Christmas party. This would mark the fifth year of him attending, and more than anything, he craved the comforting sense of normalcy it always brought, the familiarity, the warmth, the feeling of belonging.

And maybe he was also looking forward to seeing a certain somebody… Well, nobody else had to know.

The plan was to catch the train home with Felix. Jisung’s mother would be waiting at the station, ready to drive Felix back to his house before taking Jisung home. The very thought of walking through his front door and being met with the smell of his mother’s kimchi jjigae made his mouth water.

He wasn’t entirely useless in the kitchen, but between him and Changbin, they’d probably eaten instant ramen over two hundred times in the last nine months. He was well overdue for a meal that didn’t come out of a packet.

A week later, Jisung and his mother arrived at the Lee house to find Felix greeting them at the door with his usual bright smile.

But one thing was different this year.

Now that Jisung and Felix were 19 and therefore both of legal drinking age, Felix’s parents had been strangely insistent that they properly join in the festivities, drinks included. And while Jisung would’ve been happy to stick to juice or cocoa, it felt rude to decline.

Jisung had been bracing himself for the hideous burning he’d experienced before from the brandy, but found himself pleasantly surprised at the satisfying, sweet warmth he found in his bottle of peach soju.

So much so, that he barely noticed when he’d knocked back three bottles of the stuff.

Felix was in fine form, tipsy enough that he didn’t even notice quite how far gone Jisung was.

The pair of them had been sat together on a couch in the living room for a while now, giving running commentary on the film playing on TV.

“Light the lamp not the rat, light the lamp not the rat!” They chorused together, before collapsing onto each other in a fit of giggles.

They watched the film every year, and were at the point now where, if pressed, they could probably recite the entire script between them, complete with impersonating the different voices.

“Seriously… Best version of a Christmas Carol,” Felix sighed happily, clinking his glass against Jisung’s before sinking another shot of soju.

“Agreed,” Jisung chuckled, “anybody who says otherwise clearly hasn’t watched it.”

By the time the credits rolled, Jisung’s fourth bottle of soju was completely empty.

“Hey, Jisung,” Felix croaked out, nudging him with his elbow.

“Hm?”

“Snacks. Be a dear. Get snacks.” Felix paired his request with the biggest puppy eyes he could manage.

“Ugh. Fine. But only because I love you,” Jisung huffed, hauling himself up to get off the couch.

“Thank you baby I love you too,” Felix yawned sleepily.

“Will you even be awake by the time I get back?”

“Mhm. Definitely. The snacks will be worth it.” Felix’s insistence was only marred somewhat by another yawn before he settled back on the couch with his eyes closed.

Jisung only sighed, finally pulling himself off the couch.

Oh.
That was a mistake.

The room tilted slightly as he stood, and his stomach lurched with it. He staggered sideways, catching himself on the arm of the couch with a clumsy hand.

“Oh shit-“

He clapped his hand to his mouth and made a run for it, barely registering somebody calling him name urgently from the hallway as he beelined straight for his porcelain saviour.

Dropping to his knees in front of the toilet, he gripped the edge of the seat just as the first wave of nausea hit. His stomach clenched violently, forcing up the soju and everything else he’d eaten that night.

It definitely was not as enjoyable coming back up.

The cold tile bit into his knees as he doubled over again with another shuddering heave, the sound of his own retching echoing loudly off the bathroom walls. He squeezed his eyes shut, humiliated and miserable.

A moment later, he felt a warm hand press gently against his back.

He flinched.

“Hey,” Minho’s voice said softly from behind him. “It’s okay. Just let it out.”

Jisung whimpered as another wave of nausea crashed over him, his whole body curling inward. Minho’s hand stayed steady on his back as Jisung heaved again, tears pricking at his eyes from the effort.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out between sobs. “I didn’t mean to-I didn’t-”

“Hey, hey,” Minho murmured, voice low and calm. “It’s alright. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Minho stayed with him, rubbing slow, steady circles between his shoulder blades until the worst of it passed.

When Jisung finally slumped back from the toilet, utterly spent and trembling, he all but collapsed against Minho’s side.

Minho didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift away.

Instead, his hand slipped around Jisung’s shoulders, pulling him in gently, holding his limp, shivering frame with quiet care.

“Feeling any better?”

Jisung could only nod weakly, scared that speaking might send him straight back to the toilet’s embrace.

“I think perhaps you had a bit too much. Probably should have cut you off after one bottle seeing as you don’t drink.”

Jisung let his head fall back so that he could look Minho in the face, even if the embarrassment threatened to end him right there and then.

“I’m so sorry hyung, I felt fine, and then-“

“-you didn’t,” Minho finished for him.

Jisung nodded.

“I’m sorry I ruined your night, hyung.”

“Jisung, you-“ Minho looked amused. “You didn’t ruin anything. It happens to everyone, believe me. You are not the first person to get sloppy drunk at a party, and you definitely won’t be the last. Did Felix never tell you what happened the first time I got drunk?”

Jisung shook his head slowly, eyes fixed on a loose strand of Minho’s hair that had slipped out of place, hanging just in front of his eyes. He had the sudden, ridiculous urge to tuck it behind his ear.

Minho didn’t seem to notice. “It was when I was fourteen, our uncle’s second wedding. They went all out. Huge ceremony, over-the-top reception, probably a hundred guests, three course meal, string quartet, the whole thing.”

He paused, mouth twitching slightly at the memory. “But they started with the toasts. Every guest had two glasses of wine set out. I hadn’t eaten a thing all day. By the time we got to the speeches, it was nearly two in the afternoon.”

Jisung’s eyebrows lifted. “You drank both?”

“Both,” Minho confirmed. “Then I finished off my aunt’s too. She didn’t like chardonnay.”

Jisung winced. “Oh no… What happened?”

“I stood up to go to the bathroom, and the entire room tilted sideways.” He let out a quiet laugh. “Had to bolt for the toilets. Sounding familiar yet?.”

Jisung bit his lip, holding back a smile.

“I threw up everything, and nothing, really, since my stomach was empty, and then came back to the table like nothing had happened. Felix clocked it immediately, of course.”

He shook his head, grinning now. “When they finally brought out the food, I nearly cried. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten that fast in my life.”

Jisung couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of fourteen-year-old Minho furiously shovelling roast potatoes into his mouth to settle his stomach.

“So yeah,” Minho said, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “Don’t be sorry. Just hope it doesn’t ruin soju for you forever. I still can’t go near Chardonnay, makes my skin crawl just thinking about it.”

He gave a theatrical shudder, and Jisung couldn’t help but giggle again, the sound light and breathless.

Silence settled between them again, but it was different this time. Minho’s smile was warm, easy… And far too close.

Jisung felt butterflies stir low in his stomach, fluttering wildly as he suddenly became aware of just how little space existed between them.

Then, almost as if Minho realised it too, something shifted in his expression. The softness faltered for a split second before he gently let go of Jisung’s shoulder and leaned back, putting a bit more distance between them.

“I’ll, uh… Go get you a glass of water, okay?”

His voice was calm, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes as he stood.

“Yeah… That’d be nice. Thanks, hyung,” Jisung murmured, his voice quieter than he intended.

Minho gave a small, wordless nod, brisk, almost too controlled, then turned and slipped out of the bathroom without another glance.

But it was Jisung’s mother who returned with the glass of water.

At twenty, Jisung had gotten used to the quiet ache.

After all these years, it wasn’t painful, not really. Just a low, familiar hum that lived somewhere behind his ribs. A crush, after all, wasn’t a disaster. It wasn’t something that had to be confessed or cured. It was just there. Constant. Contained.

He never did anything about it. Never planned to.

There was nothing wrong with having a quiet, unrequited crush on your best friend’s older brother, as long as you kept it quiet. And unrequited.

So that’s what Jisung did.

He cherished the little interactions when Minho came home from college at the same time during the summer, the brief conversations at family dinners, the time they’d ended up in the kitchen at the same time, both reaching for a mug from the cupboard. He didn’t even mind when he had to pretend not to care during the occasional video calls Felix would take while Jisung was at his dorm. He’d listen from the other end of the bed, pretending to scroll on his phone while secretly replaying the sound of Minho’s laugh in his head.

He told himself it’d pass. He’d get over it eventually.

Felix had certainly moved forward. He’d finally come out to his parents this year, and to everyone’s mild surprise, it had gone incredibly well. His mother had cried, for sentimental reasons, not tragic ones, his dad had nodded and said something about ‘already knowing,’ and the mood had lifted like a weight had finally been set down.

And now?

Felix was actually dating someone.

And not just anybody.

Although Chan had graduated and left college, he had kept in touch with them all, and unknown to Jisung, something more than a friendship had developed between him and Felix.

Chan joined them for Christmas this year, greeted the family like he’d been coming for decades, helped hang lights, brought handmade gingerbread and a bottle of wine for Mr. Lee like it was nothing.

It should’ve made Jisung feel lonely, watching them. But it didn’t.

He was happy for Felix. Truly.

He just wished it were that simple for him.

Jisung sat curled into one corner of the couch, nursing a warm mug of tea as he watched Felix and Chan on the couch opposite him.

They weren’t doing anything dramatic, Felix still wasn’t completely comfortable with PDA, especially around family, but it didn’t matter. The affection between them was unmistakable.

Chan’s hand rested lightly on Felix’s knee, his thumb moving in lazy, content circles. Felix had turned toward him slightly, their foreheads gently pressed together as they murmured something only the other could hear. Whatever it was, it made Felix smile, shy and soft, eyes half-lidded in the way Jisung had never seen before.

Jisung couldn’t help the small, fond ache in his chest. It was impossible not to be happy for them. Felix had always been a little starved for that kind of closeness, and Chan fit in with him perfectly.

Jisung was just about to glance away, give them the moment, when a familiar voice cut through the room.

“God, get a room, you two.”

Minho strolled in from the hallway, arms crossed, eyebrow raised in mock disgust as he made fake gagging noises.

Felix immediately sat up straighter, cheeks flushing scarlet. Chan just laughed.

“Yah, hyung!” Jisung snapped, whirling around in his seat. “Leave them alone!”

Minho raised both hands in surrender, eyes sparkling with amusement. Then, with a flourish, he bowed low, ridiculously low, to the couple on the couch.

“My sincerest apologies to the lovebirds,” he intoned, straightening with a smirk. “I’ll be more respectful of your sacred communion in the future.”

Felix groaned and buried his face in his hands while Chan laughed again, clearly unfazed.

Minho turned back toward Jisung, flashing him a sugar-sweet smile. “Happy, Jisung-ah?”

Jisung’s stomach flipped in that irritating, familiar way it always did when Minho used that tone with him. He managed to keep his expression neutral, save for the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Very,” he replied dryly, before sticking his tongue out at him.

Minho grinned and dropped lazily onto the couch next to him, entirely too pleased with himself.

Jisung shifted slightly in his seat, trying to act casual as he adjusted the throw blanket over his legs. But now that Minho was settled beside him, it was impossible not to notice just how close they were on the small couch that was really more of an oversized armchair.

Their arms weren’t quite touching, but only barely. Jisung could feel the heat of him, the clean scent of something orange-y and expensive, permeating the space between them. He focused hard on the fireplace, pretending not to notice, pretending not to feel like every nerve ending in his body had been wired too tight.

Felix and Chan, still curled up together on the opposite couch, stood when Mrs. Lee’s voice called out faintly from the kitchen.

“I think your eomma wants help with the canapés,” Chan said, pressing a quick kiss to Felix’s temple before tugging him along by the hand.

Felix groaned but didn’t protest, casting Jisung a brief, apologetic glance before disappearing down the hallway with him.

And just like that, the room was quiet.

The fire crackled gently, but beyond that, there was only the soft clink of cutlery from the kitchen and the distant hum of Christmas music playing somewhere in the house.

Minho didn’t seem bothered by the silence. He stretched his legs out in front of him, arms crossed casually over his chest.

Jisung, on the other hand, was spiralling.

He wracked his brain for something, anything, casual to say. Something that wouldn’t sound forced or awkward or like it was designed to distract from the fact that his entire body had suddenly decided to panic.

“So, uh…” he cleared his throat. “How’s college going, hyung? You’re in your final year now, right?”

Minho glanced over at him, one brow raising. “Yeah. It’s going fine. Busy, but manageable. My GPA’s solid, so I’m trying to keep it steady for the home stretch.”

Jisung nodded along, not fully taking it in. All he really knew was that Minho was now approaching graduation.

“I’m already thinking about post-grad plans,” Minho added, voice calm.

“Oh yeah?” Jisung asked. “And what does that look like?”

Minho was quiet for a beat, as if weighing the answer.

“I’m thinking about enlisting right after graduation,” he said finally. “Get my service out of the way. I don’t want it hanging over my head when I’m trying to start a career.”

Jisung blinked, startled. He hadn’t expected that.

“You’re… Already thinking about enlistment?” he said. “Isn’t that a bit early? Couldn’t you wait another year or two?”

Minho chuckled softly, turning his head just slightly toward him. “Awww…” he teased, eyes glinting. “Is my sweet Jisungie worried about me?”

Jisung’s face went hot in an instant, but he forced himself not to flinch. He shot Minho a glare that lacked any real heat.

“You’re making it sound like I think you’re shipping off to war, hyung,” he muttered, half under his breath.

Minho smirked and bumped his knee lightly against Jisung’s. “It’s just the army, not exile.”

“Still,” Jisung said, more seriously now. “You’d be gone for nearly two years, right?”

“Eighteen months, give or take,” Minho said with a shrug. “Depending on where I got placed.”

Jisung didn’t say anything to that. The idea of Minho disappearing for a year and a half, no casual moments like this, no teasing smiles or passing glances, settled like lead in his chest.

Minho must’ve sensed the shift, because he leaned back a little, his voice softer now. “It’s not forever, Jisung-ah. I’ll come back.”

Jisung nodded slowly, trying to swallow the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat.

“I know,” he said.

“And it’s not like I’ll drop off the face of the Earth,” Minho added, shifting slightly in his seat. “I can still, like… Call. Message people. You know.”

Jisung turned his head, raising a sceptical eyebrow. “Hyung, you and I don’t really talk on the phone,” he pointed out. “Only when you call Felix and I just happen to be there.”

Minho didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to the throw cushion in his lap, fingers idly picking at a loose thread near the corner.

“Well, yeah. I know that,” he said, voice a little quieter now. “But, I mean… We could start talking.”

He didn’t look at Jisung as he said it.

“Y’know. If that would… Make you feel better or something.”

Jisung blinked, thrown off for a second by the softness in Minho’s tone. It wasn’t teasing, not like before. It was hesitant. Careful. Like he wasn’t entirely sure what he was offering or why.

Finally, Jisung tilted his head, biting back a smile.

“Oh? Is Minho-hyung asking for my number?”
He leaned in slightly, mock-serious. “Should I be flattered? Is this your weird way of flirting?”

Minho let out a breathy laugh, finally glancing up at him, just for a second.

“Pfft. You wish,” he muttered, but he didn’t sound annoyed. He sounded almost… Relieved.

Jisung chuckled and settled back in his seat, pretending his heart wasn’t hammering in his chest.

“Well,” he said with a grin, “don’t expect me to reply to anything before noon. I’m not really functional until I’ve had at least one coffee.”

Minho huffed a quiet laugh, relaxing further into the couch.

“Don’t worry,” he said, fingers finally stilling on the cushion. “I wasn’t exactly planning on discussing the finer points of philosophy and ethics with you at six in the morning or something.”

Jisung grinned. “Good,” he said, stretching his legs out a little. “Keep it light. Funny videos, memes, and screenshots of scandalous gossip will suit me just fine.”

Minho’s lips quirked into something crooked and fond. “So… Your usual conversation choices with Felix then?”

Jisung gasped dramatically. “Excuse you. I am a treasured source of high-quality internet content.”

Minho hummed in amusement. “Sure, Jisung-ah. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

And Jisung didn’t say anything to that, just sipped his cooling tea and hoped Minho couldn’t hear the way his heart was pounding.

“Can you do me a favour?”

The sudden shift in Minho’s tone had Jisung lowering his mug, eyes snapping back to him. The easy calm from moments before vanished, replaced by something more tentative.

“I haven’t… Told anyone yet,” Minho said, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. “It’s never felt like the right time. And I’m just… Not ready to tell my family.”

He didn’t quite meet Jisung’s eyes.

Jisung blinked. “But you told me?”

Minho gave a small shrug. “Yeah, but you don’t count.”

The words stung more than they should have.

They stuck in Jisung’s chest like barbed wire, tightening around his heart and lungs until it hurt to breathe. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but the ache pushed harder than expected, and when it did, he let himself get a little petty.

“Right,” he said, the bitterness in his voice barely masked. “So you want me to lie to Felix?”

“What‽” Minho finally met his eyes, wide with shock. “No, it’s not like that. It’s not lying, I just-“

“Hyung,” Jisung cut in, sharper than he intended. “He’s my best friend. And you expect me to keep something this big from him?”

Minho bit his lip, then reached out, his hand closing around Jisung’s before he could react. The sudden warmth of it rivalled the mug still cooling on his lap, and he gasped softly, startled by the contact.

“Jisung, please,” Minho said, voice low and urgent. “I told you because I needed to tell someone. And there’s no one else I trust with this. No one else it could’ve been.”

His fingers tightened around Jisung’s, steady and trembling all at once.

“I’m asking you, begging you… Just for now, please just keep this between us. I’ll tell them when I’m ready. I promise.”

It was the worst thing he could’ve done.

Because with Minho’s hand wrapped around his, warm and steady, and that pleading look in his eyes, vulnerable in a way Jisung had never seen before, there wasn’t a damned thing in the world he could’ve denied him.

Not like this. Not when he was looking at him like that.

True to Minho’s word, he and Jisung started… Talking.

And staying true to his word, conversation was generally light between them. In fact, 80% of the time it was cute cat videos that Minho had found on Instagram.

It was hardly declarations of love or proposals of marriage.

Yet Jisung’s heart still fluttered every time his phone lit up with Minho’s name.

More than once Felix had asked who he was talking to, and Jisung had mumbled out some excuse, usually throwing Seungmin under the bus in the process.

With every month that passed, Jisung waited for Minho to come clean to his family about his plans for enlistment. And with every month that passed, Minho kept promising he would, he just needed a little more time.

Time that was starting to run out. And when Minho admitted he had decided to enlist in January, Jisung wanted to scream.

It was getting harder and harder for Jisung to bite his tongue, especially when Felix brought up the topic out of nowhere one afternoon.

“What do you think, Jisungie?”

“Huh?” Jisung blinked, dragging his eyes away from the tenth cat video Minho had sent him that week. And it was only Tuesday.

“Enlistment,” Jeongin said, like it was obvious. “We’re talking about maybe all going in together.”

Jisung sat up straighter, suddenly tense.

“And I was thinking,” Felix added, “we should ask Minho if he wants to join us.”

Jisung nearly choked.

“I know he hasn’t even thought about it yet,” Felix went on, waving a hand, “and he’s probably planning to push it as late as he can anyway, but it could be cool if the seven of us all enlisted together.”

Jisung could barely hear the rest of the conversation over the pounding in his ears.

As Christmas crept closer and Minho still hadn’t told anyone else about his plans, the weight of the secret began to settle heavier on Jisung’s shoulders. Every passing day chipped away at his patience, especially as the conversations around enlistment grew more frequent, and Minho stayed silent.

By the time the holiday finally arrived, Jisung had made up his mind.

He waited until the laughter from dinner had quieted and the family was scattered throughout the house, then cornered Minho near the stairs.

“We need to talk,” he said tightly, grabbing his sleeve before Minho could slip away.

“What, now?”

“Yes. Now.”

Before Minho could protest again, Jisung tugged him down the hallway and into his bedroom.

As soon as they were both inside, Minho turned with a crooked grin.
“Well, if you just wanted to get me alone in my room, all you had to do was ask, Jisungie.”

But the joke fell flat.

Jisung didn’t smile. Didn’t even blink.

Instead, he hissed, voice low and sharp, “You have to tell them, Minho. You said you were enlisting in January. That’s barely a week away.”

Minho’s smile faltered. He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he was cornered.
“I will-”

“No. You keep saying that, and then you don’t.” Jisung took a step forward, barely keeping his voice from rising. “You’re running out of time. What, are you going to pack a bag and slip out in the middle of the night?”

“Of course not! I just-” Minho bit his lip, fingers tugging nervously at the hem of his sleeve. “You know what my family’s like. How close we all are. How am I supposed to tell them?”

“Tell us what?”

The sudden voice from the doorway made Jisung flinch.

Both of them spun around to see Felix standing there, arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes narrowed, not angry, exactly, but unmistakably hurt.

And very much not amused.

“N–nothing, Felix,” Minho said quickly, too quickly. His voice had that brittle edge Jisung had come to recognise, when he was scrambling, deflecting. “It’s fine, I-”

“Hyung.”

The word left Jisung’s mouth before he could stop it, sharp and cold and cutting through the space between them.

Minho faltered mid-sentence, eyes flicking to him in alarm.

Jisung didn’t look away.

He could feel his pulse pounding, hot and fast, as Felix’s gaze shifted to him with a frown, confusion and the faintest trace of betrayal flickering across his face.

“What’s going on?” Felix asked, his voice quieter now, but with an edge that made Jisung’s stomach twist.

Then, with a disbelieving laugh, he added, “Wait, you’re not like, fucking or something, are you?”

Jisung recoiled like he’d been slapped.
“No! God, no!” he blurted, too loud, too fast.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the blood rushing in his ears.

And for just a second, Jisung caught it, a flicker of something on Minho’s face. Something that looked oddly like hurt. Brief and raw. Before it vanished, smoothed over a carefully neutral mask.

Jisung’s throat tightened. He turned on Minho.

“For God’s sake, hyung, you clearly can’t drag this out any longer,” he snapped. “Just tell him.”

Minho sighed, long and heavy, like he’d been holding the breath for months.

“I’ve decided to enlist,” he said finally, voice low. “Now that I’ve finished university.”

There was a beat of silence.

“When?” Felix asked. Just the one word, sharp and flat.

Minho winced, his gaze flicking to the floor. “January.”

Jisung watched as Felix’s expression twisted, surprise, confusion, then something dangerously close to betrayal, before it all hardened into anger.

Felix turned, eyes landing on Jisung.
“Wait… So you knew‽”

Jisung opened his mouth, already scrambling for an explanation, but Minho stepped forward.

“It’s my fault,” he said quickly, cutting him off. “I made Jisung promise not to say anything.”

If Minho thought that would help, he was wrong.

Felix’s anger only deepened, eyes burning now with disbelief.
“Are you serious? He’s my best friend, Minho. We’re supposed to tell each other everything.”

Jisung flinched at the words, guilt pooling in his stomach.

Felix’s glare didn’t waver. “Tell me,” he snapped, voice tight. “How long have you known?”

“Felix, I-” Minho stepped forward, his voice almost pleading.

“No!” Felix shouted, and the volume made Jisung flinch. He’d never heard him raise his voice like that before. Not to either of them. Not like this.
“I want to know. How long have you both been keeping this from me?”

Jisung swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. His mouth opened, and the words tumbled out in a breathless rush.
“Last Christmas. He told me last Christmas.”

“A year?” Felix’s voice cracked, the betrayal in it hitting harder than the volume. “A whole fucking year you’ve known and you didn’t tell me?”

Jisung couldn’t look at him. His guilt was a physical thing now, heavy and burning in his chest.

By then, the shouting had clearly carried.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs, and moments later both Mrs Lee and Jisung’s mother appeared in the doorway, wide-eyed, Chan not far behind them.

“What on earth is going on?” Felix’s mother asked, her voice sharp with concern.

Felix didn’t even look at her. He just pointed, his finger shaking with rage as he growled,
“Ask them.”

And then he was gone, storming out past them all, past even Chan, leaving nothing but silence and the echo of a slammed door down the hall.

Jisung didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare speak.
His heart was hammering, and all he could think was: I broke us.

The fallout had been just about the worst Jisung could have imagined.

There’d been more shouting. Tears from Felix. Mrs Lee crying as she tried to make sense of it all. And not long after, Jisung and his own mother had quietly gathered their things and left.

The car ride home was blessedly, and painfully, silent.
His mother kept her eyes on the road, her face impassive. She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t offer comfort. Didn’t scold.
And somehow, that silence hurt more than if she’d just gone ahead and yelled at him.

Jisung sat curled against the door, forehead pressed to the cold window, the ache in his chest growing heavier by the minute.

When his phone buzzed with a new message, he glanced at the screen.
Just two words from Minho: I’m sorry.

Jisung stared at it for a moment, his thumb hovering. Then he rolled his eyes, locked the phone, and stuffed it back in his pocket.
He didn’t have the energy to respond.

If he’d thought keeping a secret from Felix was hard, being unable to speak to him at all was unbearable.

No matter how many times he called or texted, Felix never replied.
Not once.

And when Jisung finally worked up the nerve to show up at the Lee house in person, desperate to force even a two‑minute conversation, it was Mrs Lee who answered the door. She gave him a sad, sympathetic smile and told him gently that Felix didn’t want to see him right now.

At least she didn’t blame him.
She didn’t treat him differently, didn’t speak to him like he’d done something unforgivable. Her kindness only made the ache worse.

He still had the others, of course, and they tried their best, dragging him out for ramen, spamming him with stupid memes, filling silences he didn’t have the energy to break. But it wasn’t the same.

Nothing was the same without Felix.

He missed his sunshine twin. His partner in crime. His other half.

And every night, Jisung found himself curled on his side, clutching his pillow as quietly as he could, crying himself to sleep and wishing, praying, that he could go back.
Back to where he should’ve just told Felix the truth.

Or hell, back to before Minho had told him anything. He wished more than anything that he just hadn’t told him.

Chan did his best. He fought tirelessly on Jisung’s behalf, gently defending him every time Felix’s anger flared, trying to bridge the gap between them even as it began to take a visible toll on his own relationship.
In the end, it was Jisung who told him to stop.

But the silence didn’t just come from Felix.

Minho’s absence settled in too, quiet and cold in a way Jisung hadn’t expected.
The first six weeks of training, Minho wasn’t allowed a phone at all. Not a single message. Not even a quick ‘I’m alive.’

Jisung didn’t realise how much he’d relied on their late-night memes and stupid cat videos until his notifications stayed stubbornly empty. Every day. Every night.

And when Minho finally got his phone back, things didn’t get much easier. Messages came sporadically, short and clipped, always at set times that had to be shared with his family members as well.
They tried to keep the flow alive, jokes, updates, tiny glimpses into their days, but the rhythm was uneven, stuttering.

Sometimes Minho seemed so exhausted Jisung could hear it through the text alone.
Sometimes he didn’t reply at all for days.

And as the silence stretched longer, Jisung felt the ache sharpen.
Losing Felix already hurt. Losing Minho too, bit by bit, message by message, felt like standing on the last piece of ice as it cracked beneath him.

He never realised how much space Minho took up in his life until that space went empty.

Ultimately, it was Jisung’s complete lack of sporting prowess that changed things.

He’d always been the kind of person who could trip over thin air, but throw a football into the mix and disaster was practically guaranteed.

During a particularly overambitious attempt at a tackle, his foot went one way, his leg went the other-

-and then came a sharp, unmistakable pop.

Jisung howled, clutching his ankle as pain shot up his leg like fire. His jaw clenched tight, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as he tried to wrestle it under control.

Jeongin was the first to reach him, dropping to his knees beside him and looping an arm around Jisung’s waist. “Don’t move,” he muttered, already helping to lift him off the ground before Seungmin had even made it halfway across the field.

Between the two of them, they managed to half-carry, half-drag him to the edge of the pitch, easing him down onto the cold wooden bench reserved for subs and injuries.

It didn’t take long for the team nurse to arrive, a silver-haired woman with sharp eyes and a bag hanging from one arm.

Her fingers were gentle as she probed and pressed around the swelling joint. Jisung winced with every touch, sweat beading at his temples.

Finally, she sat back with a sigh and a small tut. “Sprained ankle,” she declared, as if diagnosing a mildly bruised ego. “You’ll live.”

Jisung watched through a haze of pain as the nurse rifled through her bag, finally pulling out a gel ice pack.

“You’ll want to keep a cold compress on it for now,” she said, handing it over. “Reduce the swelling. Will you boys be able to get him back home?”

Seungmin nodded, jaw tight. “Yeah, it’s not far.”

“Good. I’ll sort out the accident form.” She stood with a grunt.

Jisung pressed the ice pack gently against his ankle, biting back a hiss at the cold. His ears were ringing, and the throbbing in his ankle made it hard to focus… But not so much that he missed the familiar figure across the pitch.

Just beyond the goalposts, half-hidden behind a cluster of students, stood Felix. His face was pale, expression unreadable.

But he was watching.

Jisung spent the next three days sprawled in bed, his ankle propped up on a couple of pillows, thoroughly and unapologetically wallowing.

Since Changbin had graduated in March, he hadn’t had a new room mate yet, so he was depressingly alone.

Sure, he suddenly had all the time in the world to catch up on his endless backlog of anime, but even that lost its appeal after a while. The episodes blurred together, his snacks ran out, and the four walls of his room felt like they were closing in on him.

He was still in pain, still bitter, and, more than anything, still so very, very bored.

So when he heard a knock at his door, Jisung was so relieved to hear anyone was here that he didn’t even think to ask who it was before saying they could come in.

But the moment that familiar mop of blonde hair appeared in the doorway, he nearly toppled off the bed in surprise.

“Felix, you-”

“I brought your notes from class,” Felix cut in, pulling a thick stack of papers from his bag and placing them neatly at the foot of Jisung’s bed.

Jisung sat up straighter, startled but grateful. “Thank you- seriously, Felix, that’s-”

“Mr. Park told me to bring them,” Felix interrupted, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Oh.”
The word slipped out quieter than Jisung meant it to.

Silence settled heavily between them, thick and uncertain. Felix lingered awkwardly near the foot of the bed, his eyes glued to the stack of notes like he was trying to decide if he’d done enough, if he should just leave.

But then his gaze finally drifted, snagging on the bandage wrapped tight around Jisung’s ankle.

“… Is it bad?” Felix asked, voice soft but flat, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to care.

Jisung gave a small shrug. “It’s not broken, just a sprain. Hurts like hell if I move it the wrong way, but I’ll survive.”

He glanced down at his ankle with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, the pain’s not even the worst part. It’s the boredom that’s killing me.”

Felix’s mouth twitched, just a little. “At least you’ve finally got time to catch up on The Apothecary Diaries.”

Jisung huffed a laugh, and for the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel forced. “I know. I’ve been trying. But I keep zoning out and having to rewind like, three episodes.”

“Did you get to the outer court yet?” Felix asked, his voice a little quieter now, but tinged with curiosity.

Jisung perked up slightly. “Yeah, I just watched the part where Maomao does the experiment with the flour in the box.”

Felix’s brows lifted. “Did you know flour did that?”

“No clue,” Jisung admitted. “But I guess it makes sense… The look on Lihaku’s face when it exploded though!”

Felix laughed, short and bright, and for a brief moment, it was like nothing had changed.

But then he caught himself. The smile faded. He looked away.

Jisung glanced at him, then down at his ankle, fidgeting with the edge of his blanket. “I miss this,” he said quietly, not daring to look up. “Talking like this. Laughing with you.”

“Look, Jisung, I-”

“I’m sorry,” Jisung cut in, his voice cracking. “I really am, Felix. I never meant to hurt you. Not ever. I wanted to tell you, every single day. But he made me promise, and I kept thinking he’d do it himself. I kept pushing him to, he just… Didn’t.”

He swallowed hard. “I hated lying to you.”

Felix was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, barely more than a breath-

“I miss this too.”

Jisung held his breath, willing Felix to keep going.

“It’s been hard for me too, you know,” Felix said, voice tight. “I’ve been so angry with you. But I missed you. God, I missed you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration written in every line of him. “There were so many times I turned around ready to say something, to show you something stupid or tell you a dumb joke, and you just… Weren’t there.”

Jisung opened his mouth, but Felix held up a hand before he could speak.

“I know, okay? I know that was my choice. I wasn’t ready to forgive you yet.”

Jisung’s voice was barely above a whisper. “And… Now?”

“I’m still angry with you,” Felix said, firm but not cold.

Jisung nodded without hesitation.

“And you can’t ever do something like that again.”

Another nod, more vigorous this time, followed by the beginnings of a sheepish grin.

Felix narrowed his eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “And I swear to God, if you ever do, you’ll be the dead body I ask you to help me bury.”

Jisung snorted, then burst into full laughter, the tension melting from his shoulders. Without thinking, he reached out and pulled Felix down onto the bed with him, hugging him tightly.

Felix let out an exaggerated ‘oof,’ but didn’t pull away. Instead, he let himself be wrapped up, tucking his chin into Jisung’s shoulder.

“Missed you, sunshine twin.”

Later that same evening, Jisung received an unexpected call.

It was barely a minute past 6pm when his phone rang, the display lighting up with Minho’s name.

That was unusual.

Minho only ever messaged him, he never called. Jisung’s stomach immediately flipped as he rushed to answer. What if something was wrong?

He barely managed a “hello” before Minho’s voice tumbled through the speaker, fast and anxious.

“Jisung! Are you okay? Felix messaged me about your ankle, shit, is it bad?”

Jisung blinked, startled by the intensity. “Well, hello to you too, hyung. Lovely evening we’re having.”

“Don’t be an arse,” Minho snapped, but the edge in his voice was all worry. “Your ankle, Felix said it was just a sprain, but-”

“It is just a sprain,” Jisung reassured him gently. “Couple days of rest, then I’ll be moving again. I should be back to normal in a few weeks.”

There was a beat of silence on the line.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jisung blinked. Of all the things he thought Minho might have said, that hadn’t even made the list.
“… What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Minho repeated, this time with a quiet sigh, the faintest edge of frustration bleeding into his voice.

Jisung faltered. “I mean… It wasn’t important, hyung. It’s not like you could do anything from where you are. And you’ve got enough going on, training, adjusting to a whole new life, new job or whatever. I didn’t want to… Bother you.”

It sounded weaker the more he said it.

But the truth?
He hadn’t even thought to tell Minho.
Because why would he?
Why would Minho care that his younger brother’s dumb friend had rolled his ankle at football practice?

“Jisung, it… It’s important. You’re important, I don’t want to miss out on anything just because I’m not there. No matter how big or small you think it is.” The words came out in a rush, as if Minho didn’t take the time to think them through before he spoke them.

They made his pulse stutter, warmth rising in his face like a tide, and he hated how much they affected him.

So he did what he always did when things got too uncomfortable. He deflected.

“Hm,” he teased weakly, “important enough for you to play nurse if you were here, then?”

Minho barked out a rough laugh. “Something like that.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, more gently,
“Still. At least you’ve got Felix there. He’s been looking after you, right? Visiting? Bringing you stuff?”

Jisung’s instinct was to lie. To say yes. That Felix had been hovering like a mother hen, spoiling him rotten with snacks and sympathy.

But then he remembered what Minho had said.

‘No matter how big or small you think it is.’

And suddenly, the truth weighed heavy on his tongue.

He’d been so careful. Every time Felix came up, he’d side-stepped the subject, redirected the conversation. Minho hadn’t pried, and their messages were usually short enough that it hadn’t mattered. He could only assume Felix had done the same, at least until now.

Jisung took a slow, steadying breath.

“Well… Actually, hyung… Felix and I haven’t exactly been on great terms since you left.”

The confusion in Minho’s voice was immediate. “What do you mean?”

Jisung swallowed. “He was… Taking everything pretty hard. After Christmas. So we just… Haven’t really talked. At all.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then Minho said, quietly, “But Jisung… That was four months ago.”

“I know.”

“I mean-” Minho hesitated, frustration edging into his tone. “He’s been distant with me too, but I thought that was just… Me. I didn’t realise he was freezing you out as well.”

Jisung let out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “Yeah, well. Guess we both made some bad choices, huh?”

“No,” Minho said firmly, his tone sharper than before. “This was my fault. You didn’t do anything wrong-”

“Hyung, I kept a secret from my best friend for a year.”

“Jisung, listen to me,” Minho interrupted, more forcefully this time. “It wasn’t your secret to keep. I made that decision. I asked you to carry it for me, and that was selfish. Unfair. I never should’ve put you in that position.”

He paused, voice timid now. “And I’m sorry. Truly.”

“Hyung… It’s okay,” Jisung said quietly. “I could’ve just told him. I didn’t. That was still my decision.”

Minho let out a soft, weary breath.
“Maybe. But you kept telling me to do the right thing, to just be honest. And I didn’t listen. You were right. I should’ve trusted you.”

Jisung held his breath as he tangled the fingers of his free hand in his bed sheets. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond.

Because what was there to say to that?

Fortunately, he was saved from having to find the right words when Minho spoke again, his voice tinged with regret.

“Ah, Jisung… I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to go. I promised I’d call my parents, was supposed to when I got my phone at 6, but then I read Felix’s message and… Yeah.” He trailed off, the unspoken chaos of earlier heavy in the pause. “Just- make sure you get plenty of rest, okay? Don’t push yourself.”

“Sure, hyung. Honestly, I’m already thinking about quitting the football team. Clearly, me and balls just… Don’t get along.”

There was a sharp snort of laughter on the other end, followed by a low chuckle.

“That’s… Definitely one way to put it.”

The line fell quiet again, and Jisung stayed still, phone pressed to his ear, not wanting to be the one to end it, ridiculous as that was. But something about hanging up first felt too much like letting go.

So he waited.

“Jisung, I- ah, shit. I really have to go, my mum’s calling now and if I don’t pick up, she’ll have a fit. I’ll message you soon, yeah? Promise.”

“Call.”

The word slipped out before Jisung could stop it, his heart lurching wildly the moment he heard it leave his mouth.

There was a brief beat of silence on the other end. “What?”

Jisung swallowed hard, fingers tightening around his phone. “Can you… Can you call me instead?”

Another pause. Jisung winced at himself, already regretting the request. “I mean, you don’t have to. Obviously. I just- I know you only called this time because of my ankle and everything, and it’s not like I expect you to, I just… It was nice. Hearing your voice, I guess. That’s all.”

He cringed inwardly, mentally kicking himself for rambling.

Jisung’s stomach twisted as the silence dragged. Stupid. Why had he said that? Why would Minho want to call him just to chat? It wasn’t like they were close like that. He was just Felix’s dumb, needy friend, the one who couldn’t even keep a simple secret without blowing up half a family.

God, he probably sounded so clingy. So desperate. He opened his mouth to backtrack, to tell Minho to forget it-

“Okay, Jisungie. I’ll call.”

The words were certain. No hesitation.

Jisung froze, his breath catching in his throat.

Then Minho added, voice softer now, like he was smiling just a little.

“It’s nice to hear your voice too.”

In late November, Minho dropped the bombshell that he wouldn’t be able to attend the annual Lee family Christmas party.

Like everyone else, he’d submitted his leave request well in advance, but with the strict ratios required on base, he’d ended up being one of the unlucky ones who didn’t get approved.

To say Jisung was disappointed would’ve been putting it lightly. He’d spent weeks, months, practically counting down the days until he’d get to see Minho again. As much as he tried to play it cool, the anticipation had been building quietly in his chest like steam in a pressure cooker.

Now? It just felt like the wind had been taken out of him.

Since Minho’s promise, their messages had given way to more frequent phone calls. At first, they were short, a quick ‘how are you?,’ or ‘have you eaten yet?’. But gradually, the calls had lengthened. They started talking properly, about their days, the dumb things their friends had said, what books they were reading or shows they were watching. Minho would sometimes call just to complain about early drills or his sore legs, and Jisung had become addicted to the warmth of his voice through the phone.

It was subtle, the way their conversations changed. Minho asked more questions now. He remembered things Jisung didn’t even realise he’d mentioned, like what song he was working on, or when he had a test coming up. Sometimes he’d talk Jisung through his stress until he fell asleep.

They got to know each other in ways they never had before.

Which was why the thought of not seeing him in person, not even for a couple of days, stung more than Jisung could admit. Even to himself.

And then, as if the universe was playing some sort of cruel joke, the following week brought a second blow.

Chan had invited Felix to spend Christmas with him in Australia, to finally meet his family. It was an offer that had clearly meant a lot to Chan, and one he hadn’t made lightly.

At first, Felix had been reluctant. He couldn’t quite stomach the thought of his parents having neither of their sons home for Christmas. But Minho, shockingly, had encouraged him to go. Told him it was about time he had a Christmas of his own. Their parents had been supportive too, perhaps even a little too excited at the idea of seeing their youngest off at the airport like a proper grown-up.

So Felix agreed.

And just like that, Jisung was left adrift.

After all, with neither Minho nor Felix home for the holidays, what right did he really have to be at the Lee house for Christmas? It felt like intruding, like being the one person who missed the memo that the party was off.

But as it turned out, Mrs. Lee had very different ideas.

“Well, don’t be ridiculous,” she’d said, aghast, when he’d gently tried to back out. “Of course you’re still invited, you daft boy! Why on Earth wouldn’t you be coming, just because Minho and Felix aren’t here? You’re still family.”

She’d said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like it had never even occurred to her that Jisung wouldn’t be there.

When Jisung and his mother arrived that year, it was to a different smiling face at the door.

Jisung recognised Felix’s cousin immediately. Minsoo had been to a few of the other parties over the years, polite, well-dressed, and always friendly.

Felix had once told him, with absolute venom, about the year Minsoo had stolen the final chocolate from his advent calendar when they were kids.

Apparently, he still hadn’t forgiven him.

“Jisunnnnng!” Minsoo dragged out the final syllable of his name with such exaggerated enthusiasm that Jisung barely suppressed a grimace.

“I heard you were joining us again this year!” he continued brightly. “Shame Felix isn’t here, but hey, at least he gets to enjoy some nice weather, right?” He gave a theatrical sigh. “Some people get all the luck.”

Before Jisung could reply, Minsoo’s eyes swept over him with a grin. “And wow, you’ve really changed since I saw you last! You’re in college now too, right?”

Jisung nodded, a polite smile fixed to his face.

As his mother drifted off to greet one of the other partygoers, Minsoo didn’t miss a beat, his gaze briefly dipping to Jisung’s chest before flicking back up again, the grin on his face edging toward something bolder.

“Well,” he said, voice dropping slightly, “college seems to be treating you really well.”

Jisung felt a flicker of something warm, not unwelcome, exactly, but… Weird. The compliment itself wasn’t unpleasant. It was nice to be noticed, especially after all the effort he’d been putting in at the gym. But the fact that it was Minsoo doing the noticing made him shift slightly, a vague unease settling behind his ribs.

Still, a tiny part of him preened. Just a little.

“Uh… Thanks,” he mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Dinner was more subdued than usual without Felix’s commentary or Minho’s sarcastic barbs from his left. Jisung found himself filling the quiet by engaging in conversation with Minsoo, who had been seated beside him this year.

Minsoo wasn’t exactly subtle. His knee brushed against Jisung’s a little too often to be accidental, and he seemed to find reasons to keep the conversation focused on Jisung, asking about college, about his major, and whether he made music “as good as he looked.”

Jisung flushed at that one, unsure whether to laugh or deflect, ultimately landing somewhere in the middle with a sheepish chuckle and a shake of his head.

“Oh, c’mon,” Minsoo said, tapping his fork lightly against Jisung’s plate. “You’ve got the whole tortured artist thing down. Girls and guys must be falling over themselves.”

“Uh… I wouldn’t go that far.”

It was true at least, that there were people who had shown interest. But Jisung never allowed it to go anywhere.

When dessert came, individual ramekins of lemon cheesecake, Minsoo took two bites of his before pushing the rest toward Jisung with a wink. “I’m full. Would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Jisung blinked. “You sure?”

“Absolutely. You’re doing me a favour.”

He accepted it, mumbling a thanks as he dipped his spoon into it. The food was good, the lemon light and comforting, but the attention was the sweeter thing, even if it came from someone who wasn’t quite the person Jisung wanted it to come from.

Later, as the dishes were cleared and people began migrating toward the living room, Jisung’s mother pulled him aside in the hallway with a knowing smile.

“That Minsoo boy seems nice,” she said, nudging him gently. “You two were getting along well over dinner.”

Jisung forced a small smile. “Yeah… He’s friendly.”

His mother arched an eyebrow at his non-answer, but let it go with a soft hum and a final, “Just saying. He seems interested.”

But the idea, even the suggestion, made Jisung’s stomach twist. Not in revulsion exactly, but in a quiet, dull ache that pulsed somewhere just beneath his ribs. Considering anyone else, especially someone so bold and obvious, felt strangely wrong. Like he was betraying Minho somehow.

Minho wasn’t his. He’d never been his. And yet…

No one else had even come close.

Still, Jisung couldn’t deny the pleasant thrum of validation that came with being noticed, properly noticed, by someone. And maybe he was starved enough for that kind of attention to let it happen, even if it didn’t mean anything.

When it came time to settle in for the traditional post-dinner movie marathon, the seating options had rapidly dwindled. The only available space left was on the couch where Minsoo already sat, beckoning Jisung over with a lazy grin.

Jisung sat down with a polite smile, careful to leave a bit of space between them.

Not that it lasted.

Halfway through the movie, Minsoo stretched his arms overhead in an exaggerated yawn, before casually resting one along the back of the couch. His fingertips barely grazed Jisung’s shoulder.

Jisung felt the touch, featherlight but intentional. He didn’t move.

He kept his eyes on the screen, ignoring the way his heart seemed to beat just a little louder in the silence. Not from attraction, but from… Uncertainty. From wondering what, if anything, he was trying to prove.

To himself. To Minsoo.

To the person he really wished was sitting beside him.

As the movie played on, Jisung found his attention drifting from the screen. It wasn’t that the film was boring, it was a familiar Christmas classic, one he’d watched at least a dozen times, but his thoughts kept circling, restless and tangled.

Minsoo’s fingers remained where they were, barely brushing his shoulder. The contact was light enough to ignore if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to ignore it. Not really.

He glanced sideways at Minsoo, whose attention was fixed on the movie. He really wasn’t bad-looking, tall, well-groomed, a kind of casual, easy charm that made him likable, even if a little smug. And he was obviously interested. Anyone with eyes could see that.

And maybe… Maybe that was enough?

Jisung swallowed thickly, turning back toward the TV but not seeing any of it.

He knew nothing would ever happen with Minho. He knew it. He had told himself that over and over again for years, stitched the truth of it into the lining of every day spent pining like a fool. Minho was his best friend’s older brother. He was older, off-limits, far away right now, and very likely straight anyway.

Jisung had made his peace with that. Or at least, he’d told himself he had.

So why not Minsoo?

He was clearly interested. He was good-looking. Charming. They’d gotten along well at dinner. Even his mum had noticed and seemed happy enough about the prospect.

Maybe… Maybe it was time to stop waiting around for something that was never going to happen. Maybe Minsoo could be something.

If Jisung squinted, and he hated himself for even noticing it, he could just about see the resemblance to Minho. The same sharp jawline, the high cheekbones, the perfect slope of his nose, even the lazy smile that occasionally curled Minsoo’s mouth. Different eyes, different energy… But still. The echo was there.

And that was the problem.

Jisung sighed quietly, shifting in his seat. He had to stop doing that. Comparing. Projecting.

If he was going to even entertain the idea of something with Minsoo, and that was still a big if, it had to be for Minsoo. Not because of some vague, distorted similarity to someone else. That wasn’t fair. To either of them.

He bit the inside of his cheek and leaned forward slightly, letting Minsoo’s arm fall away without comment as he reached for the mug of hot chocolate he’d left on the coffee table. The warmth of it grounded him.

He still didn’t know what he wanted.

But he knew that trying to use someone else as a stand-in for feelings he couldn’t get rid of wasn’t the answer.

Not even close.

When Jisung sat back again, he felt it almost immediately, the loose weight of Minsoo’s arm, now resting low across his back. It wasn’t obtrusive or heavy, just there.

He glanced sideways, and Minsoo met his gaze with a wink.

It was smooth. Confident.

Too confident.

A flicker of something twisted in Jisung’s chest, not discomfort, not exactly. Just… Something dissonant.

Minho couldn’t wink. He always tried, then ended up scrunching both eyes like he was wincing at the sun.

The memory hit too fast, too vivid. Jisung swallowed and forced himself to push it down, to fold it away into the drawer marked irrelevant. It wasn’t fair to Minsoo. He wasn’t Minho. He never asked to be.

Still, he tried to offer a smile, small, apologetic, maybe even a little warm. He wasn’t sure how much of it reached his eyes.

Minsoo seemed satisfied anyway, shifting a little closer as the film played on. His palm settled against Jisung’s hip.

Jisung didn’t pull away.

He didn’t move into it either.

By the time the film ended, Minsoo’s shoulder was nudging his, his thigh pressed lightly against Jisung’s leg. Not quite cuddling, but not quite not cuddling, either.

The credits rolled, and a low murmur of voices filled the room again as people stretched and began to rise. Still, Minsoo didn’t move.

And neither did Jisung.

The sudden ring of the doorbell made Jisung jump, a sharp twitch that sent Minsoo’s arm jostling slightly against his back. He heard a low chuckle beside him.

“Cute,” Minsoo murmured into his ear, the warmth of his breath sending a small, involuntary shiver down Jisung’s spine.

He didn’t respond. Just sat frozen for a second as his mum stood and made her way out of the room to answer the door.

As she passed him, their eyes met. She glanced briefly at the position of Minsoo’s hand, still resting lightly against Jisung’s hip, and gave him a knowing, pleased smile, the kind that said ‘see, I told you’. Then she disappeared into the hallway.

Jisung didn’t have time to panic, or even properly process what he was supposed to do next, before the door to the living room creaked open again.

“Turns out we have an unexpected visitor!” his mother called, her voice far too casual for how brightly she was grinning.

She stepped aside.

And then Minho walked in behind her.

Everything in the room exploded.

Mrs. Lee let out an honest-to-God screech, nearly bowling Minho over as she launched herself into a hug. People jumped to their feet, voices overlapping in excitement and disbelief. Someone clapped. Someone else whistled.

And Jisung just stared, mouth slightly open, breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat.

Minho looked… Different. Bigger. His thighs were definitely thicker, clearly the military didn’t skip leg day, and his shoulders strained slightly beneath the familiar soft grey sweater he was wearing. His grin was wide and bright, cheeks dusted pink from the cold outside.

He hugged his mum back easily, but his eyes scanned the room, and then landed on Jisung.

He froze.

Just for a second.

His gaze flickered across Jisung’s frame, across his broader chest, his thicker arms, the bulk he’d put on over the past year, before a warm smile tugged at his lips.

Then Minho’s eyes slid sideways.

To Minsoo.

To the narrow space between them.

To the arm still wrapped around Jisung’s waist, and the way Minsoo had subtly leaned in.

Minho’s smile faltered.

Only slightly, but enough for Jisung to catch it.

His eyes narrowed a fraction. Just a flicker of something undefined passing across his face before Mrs. Lee grabbed his hand and tugged him into the room properly.

Minho let himself be pulled toward his father, smiling and nodding along as more greetings were thrown his way.

But his eyes didn’t leave Jisung.

Or, more specifically, Minsoo’s hand.

Jisung shifted in his seat, suddenly far too aware of every point of contact between himself and the other man. The weight of Minsoo’s hand on his side, the heat radiating off his body. What had felt maybe like potential a moment ago now sat awkward and uncertain, and Jisung’s skin prickled under the pressure.

He pulled in a breath, trying not to look shaken.

Mrs. Lee hadn’t even waited for the greetings to fully finish before she smacked Minho lightly across the shoulder.

“Yah!” she scolded, eyes narrowed. “You told us you couldn’t come home! You said there was no chance!”

Minho finally tore his gaze away from Jisung and Minsoo. His expression softened, the corners of his mouth lifting sheepishly as he rubbed at his shoulder.

“I couldn’t get the full leave I applied for,” he said. “They denied the five-day request, said they’d already approved too many.”

“Then how-?”

“I managed to get two days approved last minute,” Minho interrupted gently. “Not even full days, really. I left as soon as I could today, and I’ll have to leave again first thing tomorrow.”

Mrs. Lee’s face crumpled with a mixture of relief and exasperation, pulling him into another hug. “You should have told us, we would’ve picked you up from the station!”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Minho said, voice warm.

He cast a brief glance over his shoulder as she released him.

Jisung could feel that look hit him like a spotlight, the weight of it unmistakable, even across the room. He shifted slightly, trying to look casual despite the heat crawling up his neck.

Minsoo, oblivious, or pretending to be, leaned in again, murmuring something low enough that Jisung didn’t quite catch it. Whatever it was, he gave a low chuckle after, and Jisung could feel the arm around his waist tighten ever so slightly.

Minho looked away.

But not before Jisung saw the slight clench in his jaw.

The room slowly drifted back into soft chatter, people tossing out movie suggestions between bites of snacks. Someone lobbied for Love Actually, someone else groaned in protest, and Mrs. Lee firmly insisted something be chosen in the next five minutes or she wasn’t watching anything.

Beside him, Minsoo leaned in. “Want another drink?”

Jisung nodded without thinking. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Minsoo offered another wink before getting up and slipping into the kitchen.

Jisung released a quiet breath. His spine relaxed by a fraction, shoulders no longer pinned under the weight of expectation. But the relief didn’t last long.

“I’m so tired,” came Minho’s familiar voice, low and theatrical. “That train was hell. I need to sit down before I pass out.”

And before Jisung could register what was happening, Minho dropped into the now-vacant seat beside him.

Minsoo’s seat.

“Hi, Jisungie.”

The sound of his name, softened by that fond lilt Minho always used now, slammed straight into Jisung’s chest.

He turned his head slowly. “Hi, hyung.”

It was instant.

The difference.

Minsoo’s closeness had felt like a question. Like a what-if.

But this?

Minho sitting beside him wasn’t a question. It was an answer.

His pulse was already tripping over itself, hammering a beat against his ribs like it was trying to get out, and his stomach filled with a rabid swarm of butterflies. His arm brushed Minho’s, and even through layers of fabric, he felt the heat. Solid. Warm. Comfortably familiar.

He tried to focus on the TV, where someone had finally hit play on something, but the images blurred. The sounds dulled. All he could really process was the weight of Minho’s presence next to him. So much bigger than memory. Broad shoulders. Thicker thighs. The faint scent of the familiar orange scent he loved so much that lingered between them.

Minho smirked at Jisung, his gaze flicking briefly, almost imperceptibly, toward the door Minsoo had just disappeared through.

Jisung caught the look, his brow furrowing for half a second before he pushed the thought aside.
He’s just tired. That’s all.

“You really came all this way just to be home for a few hours?” Jisung asked, his voice low. “It’s already past eleven.”

Minho gave a half-hearted shrug. “Yeah, well… Even if it’s short, it’s worth it.”

The way he said it made something inside Jisung stutter. His mouth opened, halfway to asking what he meant, but he never got the chance.

A polite but pointed throat-clear interrupted them.

Both of them glanced up.

Minsoo stood by the edge of the couch, drinks in hand, brow raised, expression tight. He passed one glass to Jisung, but his eyes were very much on Minho.

“Ah, Minsoo!” Minho beamed up at him. “Thank you so much for getting your hyung a drink!”

He held out his hand expectantly, palm up, a picture of smug confidence.

There was a beat of hesitation before Minsoo handed over what was clearly supposed to be his drink.

Minho accepted it without batting an eye, took a long sip, half the glass gone in one go, and set it casually on the coffee table in front of them.

“Ahh,” he sighed dramatically. “That’s better. It’s so good to be home. Even if I’m exhausted.”

With a dramatic yawn, he slumped further back into the couch and, without a moment’s pause, let his head rest gently on Jisung’s shoulder.

Jisung froze.

He didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe too hard.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Minsoo’s expression tighten even further before he turned sharply and walked away.

Minho didn’t react. If anything, he relaxed further, like he belonged exactly where he was.

Jisung, meanwhile, sat stiffly, heart hammering in his chest like it was trying to make a break for it.

He didn’t know what the hell was going on.
But he knew he didn’t want to move.

Minho let out a soft hum, still resting comfortably against Jisung’s shoulder, then tilted his head just enough to speak near his ear.

“Sorry,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “Was I interrupting something? Cousin Minsoo doesn’t seem too pleased I stole his place.”

Jisung blinked, the words catching on something in his brain and refusing to let go.

His place.

Not his seat. Not the spot.
His place.
Right next to Jisung.

He could feel Minho watching him now, even without looking. Like he was waiting. For a reaction. A response. Something.

“Not exactly, hyung,” Jisung said lightly, though the heat in his cheeks betrayed the effort it took to keep his voice even. “But… I think he was genuinely considering dumping that drink on your head.”

Minho let out a low, tired chuckle. “Worth it,” he murmured, so quietly Jisung almost missed it, before snuggling even closer, head settling more fully against his shoulder.

Jisung’s heart did a gentle, traitorous somersault in his chest.

He dared a glance across the room and spotted Minsoo glaring daggers from where he’d retreated. The look he shot Minho was venomous, all clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

Jisung had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to suppress a giggle.

Jisung waited to gather his confidence a bit, before speaking softly.

“I’m glad you’re here, hyung.”
He hesitated for a second, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “It’s been… Weird. Without you. Or Felix. On my own.”

Minho scoffed under his breath, nudging Jisung lightly with his knee. “Well, you clearly weren’t on your own for long.”

Jisung huffed, elbowing him in the side. “Yah, you know what I mean, hyung!”

Minho yelped, more in surprise than pain, then chuckled. “Alright, alright,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I know.”

Before he knew it, the quiet hum of the room, now reduced to a low murmur as most guests filtered out, and the steady warmth of Minho curled up beside him had Jisung’s eyelids drooping. The weight of Minho’s head on his shoulder, the rise and fall of his breathing, the soft pressure where their legs touched, it was comforting. So comforting, in fact, that sleep started tugging at him heavier and heavier with every passing second.

He startled slightly when a voice, low and gentle, called his name.

“Jisung-ah.”

He blinked up to find Mrs. Lee standing a couple feet away, a soft smile on her face.

“Why don’t you stay the night? Felix’s room is free, and it’s late. No point dragging yourself home at this hour.”

Jisung opened his mouth to answer, but turned instinctively to check on Minho, only to realise, with a jolt, that Minho was completely asleep.

And not just eyes-closed-dozing, properly asleep. His head was tucked into the crook of Jisung’s neck, mouth slightly parted, his brow smooth in a way Jisung had never seen before. His whole body was relaxed, heavy with exhaustion, one arm loosely draped across his lap, the fingertips just barely brushing Jisung’s side

It was… Disarming.

Minho never slept like this around people. Minho never let himself relax like this. Something about it felt strangely intimate, like Jisung was seeing a side of him that no one else got to.

He must have been really tired to knock out like this. After all, he’d travelled all the way down just for a single evening, barely a few hours, only to head back to base the very next morning.

Why? Jisung still didn’t quite understand.

He shifted gently, trying not to disturb the sleeping figure against him, but Minho stirred anyway, brow twitching, a soft noise of protest escaping his throat as his fingers gripped Jisung’s sweater instinctively.

Guilt bloomed low in Jisung’s chest. “Sorry,” he whispered, placing a hand lightly on Minho’s shoulder. “It’s just- you’ll be more comfortable in a real bed, hyung.”

Minho mumbled something incoherent but didn’t wake fully, just sighed and let his head drop again, this time against Jisung’s chest.

Jisung blinked. Okay. Right.

He glanced helplessly at Mrs. Lee, who gave him a amused smile.

“I’ll get you both some blankets.”

Jisung sank back into the couch with a quiet breath of relief, careful not to disturb the weight resting against him again. The last thing he wanted was to wake Minho properly, not when he looked so peaceful, so soft in sleep.

Mrs. Lee returned a moment later, quietly draping a thick, oversized blanket over them both. “So you don’t freeze out here,” she whispered with a fond smile before tiptoeing out of the room.

His own mother hovered for a second in the doorway, catching his eye. “See you in the morning, sweetheart,” she said softly, her voice warm and sleepy, before closing the door behind her with a quiet click.

And then… Silence.

Just the faint hum of the heating, the occasional creak of floorboards settling, and the soft sound of Minho’s breathing beside him.

Jisung’s heart was beating so hard it felt like it echoed in his ears. He didn’t dare move, barely even breathed. The twinkling fairy lights from the Christmas tree cast a soft lilting glow across the room, throwing shadows along Minho’s face, his high cheekbones, long lashes, the faintest parting of his lips.

It was almost too much. Too close.

He tore his gaze away, forcing himself to stare straight ahead, focusing instead on the low glitter of lights across the carpet. His voice came out quiet, assuming Minho was probably already asleep.

“Good night, hyung.”

There was a beat. Then Minho shifted slightly, his voice just as soft.

“Good night, Jisungie.”

And then his arm slid around Jisung’s waist under the blanket, not pulling him in, not quite, but resting there, steady and warm.

Jisung squeezed his eyes shut, his breath catching in his throat.

He wasn’t sure he’d sleep. Not with his thoughts racing. Not with Minho’s arm holding him like that, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But as the quiet wrapped around them and the room grew darker still, he stayed still. Heart fluttering, thoughts spiralling.

Jisung must have fallen asleep at some point, though he didn’t remember when. The last thing he could recall was the rise and fall of Minho’s chest beside him, the comforting weight of his arm still wrapped loosely around his waist.

His name drifted to him through the haze of sleep, so soft, it barely registered.

“Jisungie…”

It might’ve been a dream. Might’ve still been a dream.

But his eyes fluttered open sluggishly, the room still cloaked in pre-dawn darkness. Blinking against the low light, he found Minho hovering above him, propped up on one elbow, the other arm slung casually across Jisung’s chest, the pair of them now lying sideways on the couch.

Jisung squinted, voice low and gravelled from sleep. “Wh’time is it…?”

“Early,” Minho murmured, eyes warm and a little apologetic. “But time for me to go.”

That sentence pushed through the fog of sleep like a gust of cold air.

Jisung’s fingers shot out, curling into the sleeve of Minho’s jumper before he could think better of it. His voice came out half-pleading, unfiltered in the way only the barely-awake could be.
“Stay, hyung.”

Minho froze, just for a second, before exhaling softly.

“Believe me,” he said, voice almost a whisper, “I’d love nothing more.”

His hand lifted gently, fingertips brushing Jisung’s cheek before resting there, palm warm and comforting.

Jisung leaned into the touch instinctively, eyes fluttering shut again as he soaked in the warmth.

“But I can’t.”

It sounded like he hated the words even as he said them.

Jisung’s chest tightened.

He wanted to say something, anything, to make him stay. But it wouldn’t change the rules, the schedule, the distance.

So instead, he nodded just barely against Minho’s palm, the disappointment settling quietly in his bones.

Minho’s thumb swept across his cheekbone once, then he slowly pulled back.

“Go back to sleep, Jisungie,” he murmured. “I’ll message when I can.”

The couch felt colder as soon as Minho lifted away.

And Jisung didn’t sleep again, not really.

He just lay there, eyes closed, listening to the front door creak open, then click shut, and wondering if maybe… Maybe next Christmas would be different.

Felix returned from Australia a full three weeks later, a little tanner, a lot chattier, and practically vibrating with energy.

Jisung barely had time to close the door behind him before Felix was launching into a breathless recount of his trip.

“Okay, first of all- Berry. You have to see Berry. You’re not ready, Jisungie.”

He fumbled with his phone, already pulling up the gallery as he dropped his bag on the floor. “She’s literally the cutest dog I’ve ever seen. I’m not joking. I tried to convince Chan’s parents to make her an Instagram account. I swear she’d get like, a hundred thousand followers overnight.”

The phone was shoved into Jisung’s hands and he dutifully started scrolling.

“Oh wow, that’s… Okay, yeah. She’s painfully cute.”

“I know,” Felix practically squealed, eyes wide with pride like he was the one who raised her. “Look at this one, look! She’s sleeping with her tongue out!”

He pointed at the screen with both hands. “She’s a star, Jisungie. She just needs the chance to shine. She’d steal everybody’s heart, I just know it. I’m pretty sure Hannah was open to the idea-”

Jisung smiled, caught somewhere between amusement and fondness as he let Felix chatter on. It was comforting, the way Felix filled every bit of silence with energy and warmth. He’d missed it.

And as Felix launched into a long-winded story about a beach barbecue and a spider prank that Hannah had pulled on him, Jisung let himself lean into the familiarity of it all.

Felix flopped backwards onto Jisung’s bed, one arm thrown dramatically over his face. “God, I miss the sun already.”

Jisung glanced up from his laptop, raising a brow. “Back in the country for five minutes and already complaining?”

“No, but I loved it,” Felix said with a grin, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “It was just… Weird, you know? Being on a beach on Christmas Day. Roasting in thirty-degree heat while Chan’s cousin tried to teach me how to surf. Meanwhile, you guys were probably freezing your asses off over here.”

Jisung laughed. “Pretty much. I think my fingertips are still thawing out.”

“Yeah, it was strange,” Felix continued, gaze drifting to the ceiling. “Like my body knew it was December but everything else was screaming August.” He huffed a soft laugh. “I can’t believe I missed Christmas here though. Especially since Minho came home for it.”

There was a quiet pause.

“Yeah,” Jisung said, tone gentler now. “Just for the night.”

Felix sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shame I wasn’t around. But I can’t imagine he was in the best mood. He’s always kind of a grump after travelling, especially when he’s tired.”

Jisung stilled, blinking at the wall across from him.

Grump?
Minho had been anything but.

He thought back to the way Minho had lit up when he walked through the door, how soft his voice had sounded when he’d said “Jisungie.”
The way he’d melted into his side under the blanket on the couch.
The quiet ‘worth it’ he’d barely whispered after stealing Minsoo’s seat.
The gentle hand cupping his cheek as he whispered goodbye at dawn.

Tired? Sure.
Grumpy? Not even close.

“Yeah,” Jisung murmured, voice distant. “Maybe.”

On a near daily basis, Jisung unlocked his phone under the table in class, thumb already moving before his brain caught up. It was muscle memory by now, swipe right, folder three, top row, the tiny app with the discreet icon and definitely not the word ‘countdown’ anywhere on it. Just a simple number.

He always turned the screen away from Felix instinctively. Not that Felix would go snooping, but… Still. It wasn’t something he wanted to explain. Wasn’t something he could explain.

As if he could ever actually forget the date anyway.
June 26th.

He’d carved it into his brain in the increasingly large region that belonged specifically to Minho.

In a way, he was grateful for the chaos of final year. Everything was ramping up. Essays, projects, presentations, all of it piling up so high that it was almost enough to drown in. Almost.

He barely slept anymore, stuck in the production lab till midnight, then spending another three hours hunched over his laptop in the dorm with his headphones on and his fingers aching.

Some nights, if he was particularly stuck, he’d call Chan. Usually around 2am.
Miraculously, Chan always answered.

“Try taking the bass out for the first two bars,” Chan might mumble, voice hoarse from sleep, or maybe from too many hours working himself. “Give it space to breathe before it kicks in.”

Sometimes Jisung wondered if Chan could tell. If he knew that half the time, Jisung’s questions weren’t really about the music.
He just needed someone to talk to.

Because no matter how busy he kept himself, no matter how many things he added to his to-do list…
The countdown was still too far long.

If Jisung had thought things might shift after that night on the couch with Minho…
Well. He wasn’t disappointed, exactly.

They spoke almost every day now.
Sometimes for five minutes, sometimes until Minho had no choice but to end the call because his allotted phone time was up.
Sometimes Minho would call just to hear how Jisung’s final projects were going. Other times, Jisung would be the one to ring, knowing Minho might not answer, but leaving a message anyway, a half-asleep ramble about some weird vending machine snack he’d tried or a dumb thing Jeongin had said that made him laugh so hard he cried.

There was no denying they were closer now than they’d ever been.

But there was also no denying that Minho had given him nothing to suggest that night had meant anything beyond exhaustion and convenience.

And Jisung knew, he knew, that he shouldn’t read into it.
Minho had been tired. Wrecked, even. He’d travelled hours just to show up for one night. Minho had taken the first available seat and fallen asleep, and Jisung just happened to be there.
That’s all it was.

But sometimes, when the night was quiet and his phone screen was dark and his dorm room felt a little too cold, Jisung found himself back there again.
Back on that couch in the pre-dawn dark.
Minho hovering over him, one arm across his chest, voice soft and reluctant.

‘I’d love nothing more.’

It played in his mind like a film reel he couldn’t stop rewinding.

And in the quiet corners of his imagination, the scene changed.

In that version, Minho didn’t pull away.
Didn’t say ‘but I can’t’.
Instead, he leaned down, just a little closer, just enough for his breath to brush across Jisung’s lips.
And Jisung, half-asleep and entirely awake in his heart, would tug at his sleeve again.
The other hand would find its way into Minho’s hair, still soft and messy from sleep, and he’d pull him down, closer, finally, completely… Until they kissed.

It was the kind of fantasy that left a hollow ache behind when he blinked himself back to reality.

And reality, always, was the same.

Minho called.
They talked.
They laughed.

And the space between them, though full of words, of shared memories, of promises to see each other soon, never quite closed.

Jisung jumped when his phone buzzed against the nightstand, the unexpected sound breaking through the lo-fi mix he had playing while he worked.

When he glanced at the screen and saw Minho hyung flashing across the top, along with the small blue icon showing it was a video call, a smile broke across his face before he could even think about it.

Then he blinked.
A video call?

Frowning slightly, he swiped to answer, already brushing his hand through his hair and sitting up a little straighter, just in case…

But when the call connected, the screen stayed dark.

“… Hyung?” he asked cautiously.

“Jisungie!” Minho’s voice rang out, bright and warm. A little too bright, honestly.

“The screen’s black,” Jisung said, glancing down at his phone again just in case it was a glitch.

“Yeah, sorry,” Minho replied casually, “the app blocks my camera. Stupid military settings. But it doesn’t block me from seeing you though!”

Jisung’s stomach flipped- violently.

“What-? Wait, you can see me?”

“Mhm. Clear as day. Nice hoodie, by the way.”

Jisung instinctively glanced down at himself, tugging at the collar of the oversized hoodie he’d been wearing for two days straight.
He resisted the urge to immediately throw his hood up.

“I didn’t know you could still see me,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “You should’ve warned me.”

Minho chuckled. “Why? You look cute.”

Jisung begged his face not to flush.
It ignored him entirely, heat already crawling up the back of his neck and into his ears like a slow-burning fuse.

“It’s weird, hyung,” he said eventually, voice a little whiny. “You can see me, but I can’t see you... What’s the point?”

“The point, my sweet Jisungie,” Minho said, smug and unapologetic, “is I miss your face.”

Jisung nearly dropped his phone. His ears went hot, and he was suddenly very aware of the way his hair was flopping awkwardly over one eye, how his oversized hoodie made him look about twelve, and how he was definitely slouching like a gremlin on his bed.

He instinctively raised his hand to shield part of his face. “Hyung, don’t say stuff like that,” he groaned, cheeks burning. “It’s embarrassing.”

Minho laughed, warm, rich, and utterly unfair. “Why? It’s true. I miss looking at you. Is that so bad?”

Yes. No. Kind of.

Jisung swallowed around the lump in his throat and muttered, “Feels weird when I can’t see you back. Feels unbalanced.”

There was a pause. Then Minho’s voice dropped, softer now. “I know. Sorry. If I could show you, I would.”

Jisung looked at the blank screen, imagining Minho’s face on the other side of it. “Are you smiling right now?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

“Yeah,” Minho said, quietly. “I usually am when I talk to you.”

Jisung gave a helpless little laugh, heart twisting. “Hyung…”

“You asked,” Minho replied, the amusement back in his voice. “Don’t blame me for being honest.”

Minho let the silence stretch just long enough for Jisung to start floundering again before cutting in with a mischievous lilt to his voice.

“So… What, are you gonna ask what I’m wearing next?”

Jisung’s jaw dropped. “Hyung!”

Minho cracked up laughing, the sound spilling through the speaker so bright and genuine that Jisung forgot to be annoyed. His stomach fluttered despite himself, god, he loved that laugh. It was so rare to hear Minho like this. Unguarded, happy and light.

“Sorry, sorry,” Minho wheezed, still giggling as he tried to catch his breath. “I couldn’t resist. I’ve heard some of the guys having similar conversations with their girlfriends and it makes me cringe every time.”

Jisung felt his entire face burn.

Girlfriends.

Minho had said it so offhandedly, like it meant nothing that he was comparing their call like that, but it echoed in Jisung’s ears over and over. He could practically feel his expression twist, could feel the heat climbing up from his collarbone to the tips of his ears. He prayed that the soft amber glow of the lamp on his desk was dim enough to hide the flush flooding his face.

He let out a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck in what he hoped looked like amusement. “Guess I’ll try not to sound like anyone’s girlfriend then.”

Minho didn’t respond right away. Just a beat of silence, long enough to make Jisung regret opening his mouth, before his voice returned, a little softer this time.

“You don’t,” he said. “You sound like my Jisungie.”

Jisung blinked, startled by the warmth in Minho’s tone. By how fond it sounded.

“Oh,” was all he managed to say.

Minho chuckled again, quieter this time, still teasing.
“Besides, if you were my girlfriend, I’d expect the full military spouse treatment.”

Jisung blinked. “What does that even mean?”

Minho launched in, as if he were counting off on his fingers.
“You’d be writing me sappy letters sprayed with your perfume, crying every time I call, posting blurry selfies with captions like ‘missing my soldier’, and… I dunno, maybe having a countdown app on your phone that you check every single day.”

Jisung froze. Completely. Utterly. Froze.
His mouth opened, then closed again. His phone, resting loose in his hand, suddenly weighed ten tonnes.

There was a beat of silence, then Minho spoke again, lightly, like he was trying to brush past it.

“God. Maybe I should have a countdown app. I don’t even know how long I’ve got left myself.”

“117 days.”

The words were out of Jisung’s mouth before his brain could stop them.
His eyes went wide, and his free hand flew up to slap over his mouth.

Silence.

“… What?” Minho asked, his voice quiet. Less teasing now. Just soft. Curious.

Jisung considered pretending he hadn’t said anything at all. He thought about lying. But instead, he slowly pulled his hand away and forced himself to speak.

“117 days, hyung,” he repeated, quieter now. “It’s… 117 days.”

There was no laughter on the other end of the line this time.
Just a long pause, and then:

“… You’ve really been counting?”

Jisung squeezed his eyes shut. “I- yeah. I mean. I wasn’t gonna tell you. Obviously. It’s just- ” he trailed off, then sighed. “I know it’s dumb. I just… I miss you.”

Another pause. Then a quiet breath, Jisung could practically hear the smile on the other end.

“Hey,” Minho said gently. “It’s not dumb.”

Jisung opened his eyes again, blinking hard.

“It’s not dumb,” Minho repeated, firmer this time. “I miss you too, you know. Every day.”

And just like that, Jisung felt something ease inside him. Not completely. But enough to breathe.

Jisung swallowed, suddenly all too aware of the warmth blooming in his chest from Minho’s words. He couldn’t take it, not tonight. Not when Minho’s voice was so soft, not when he said things like that with such gentle sincerity, like he meant it in all the ways Jisung didn’t dare to hope for.

So he changed the subject.

“I’ve been working on this new piece by the way,” he said, clearing his throat and forcing his tone back to something casual. “It’s for my final project. Bit more electronic than my usual stuff, but still vocal-heavy. Chan’s been helping me out with the mix.”

“Ah, the infamous Chan,” Minho replied, voice perking up. “He really seems like a nice guy. I know I’ve made fun of him and Felix before, but… I’m glad he’s good to him. I mean it.”

Jisung smiled faintly, even though something in his chest twisted. Of course Minho was thoughtful like that.

There was a short pause, a soft stretch of static between them.

“What about you, Jisungie?” Minho asked, quieter now. “Got your eye on anybody yet?”

Jisung hesitated, then shrugged. “Not really.”

“Why not?” Minho pressed. “You deserve happiness too, y’know.”

Jisung let out a slow breath. “Just… Waiting for the right person, I guess.”

There was a hum from Minho, low and thoughtful. “And who would that be? Who’s your type, Jisungie?”

You.

The word screamed in his head. Only you.

But Jisung just smiled faintly at the camera, the screen still black, Minho’s face invisible. Safer that way.

“Dunno,” he said quietly. “Guess I’ll know when I find them.”

Minho was quiet for a moment before answering, his voice soft again, like he was thinking carefully about what to say.

“Yeah… That… That makes sense. You’ll know when they’re the right person.”

Jisung’s heart gave a painful little twist. He almost wished Minho would stop talking so gently, so kindly. It was too much and not enough all at once.

“But just-” Minho paused, then let out a breath. “Promise me something, yeah?”

Jisung swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Don’t settle. Whoever it is… Make sure they’re good enough for you. That they get how special you are. That they’re patient, and kind, and treat you like you deserve.”

Jisung blinked quickly, throat tightening.

“They should be the kind of person who takes care of you, without even being asked,” Minho continued. “Who knows how to make you laugh when you’re struggling, who sends you stupid cat videos when you’re tired, who never makes you feel like you’re too much.”

Jisung couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

“You deserve to be loved properly, Jisungie,” Minho said, voice quieter now. “And I hope when it happens… It’s everything you’ve ever wanted. Everything you’ve been waiting for.”

Jisung pressed his palm to his chest, like he could physically hold his heart in place. Because it was threatening to fall to pieces.

Little did Minho know, he’d just described himself.

He was the one who’d sat on the bathroom floor with Jisung that Christmas when he’d drunk too much, rubbing soothing circles on his back without being asked.

The one who sent him memes and videos of cats midweek when deadlines were looming and Jisung hadn’t slept properly in days.

The one who always knew what to say when Jisung was spiralling, who never treated his feelings like they were too loud or too much or too needy.

Who made him feel like just being Jisung was enough.

And hearing Minho say it, laying out everything Jisung had ever wanted, everything he’d spent years quietly craving, and suggesting he should find someone like that, someone like him…

It hurt.

Not in a cruel way. Not even in an intentional one.

But in the way it aches to hear someone describe your perfect love story while still thinking it’s meant for someone else.

That’s what it felt like, sitting in the glow of Minho’s voice, basking in words so tender they almost sounded like love, and knowing they weren’t really meant that way.

Jisung felt his chest tighten around the ache, the same ache that had been there for months now. Years, even. Familiar and constant.

He swallowed it down and asked, voice barely steady, “You really think somebody like me will find somebody like that?”

Minho didn’t even hesitate. “Jisungie… Anybody would be lucky to have you. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

Jisung’s throat closed. His hands curled into the fabric of his blanket, breath catching.

Tell him now. Just say it. Say it.

But his courage faltered, like it always did when the moment came. Instead, all that escaped was a small, breathy, “Thanks, hyung.”

Eventually, Minho sighed, long and soft. “I should probably let you sleep, huh?”

Jisung nodded, his head feeling impossibly heavy with the motion. “Yeah,” he whispered.

“Goodnight, Jisungie.”

He bit his lip, heart screaming. “Night, hyung.”

He waited for the line to go dead. It didn’t.

“Minho hyung?”

A pause, then a hum. “Mm?”

“… Thanks for calling.”

There was another pause, and Jisung could almost hear the smile in Minho’s voice when he spoke again.

“Always.”

The word wrapped around him like a blanket, and Jisung let it.

Even if Minho didn’t mean it the way he wanted.
Even if Minho never would.

He let himself hold onto it, just a little longer.

A few nights after the video call, Jisung was sat cross-legged at the foot of his bed, laptop balanced precariously in front of him and the glow of his lamp casting everything in tired shadow. His phone was propped against a pillow on speaker, Chan’s voice crackling faintly as he ran through one last mixing tip.

“… And if you pull the distortion back a little at the second chorus, it gives it a bit more breathing room. You still with me?”

There was a beat of silence before Jisung responded.

“Uh. Yeah. Totally.”

Chan snorted. “Right. That’s the third time I’ve had to check if you’re still conscious. You’re even more scatterbrained than usual tonight.”

Jisung flopped backward onto the bed, arm draped over his eyes. “Sorry. I just… Haven’t been able to focus properly lately.”

A beat passed, then Chan hummed thoughtfully. “Stress, or heartbreak?”

Jisung peeked out from under his arm. “What?”

“I don’t know, man. You’ve got the energy of someone hung up on a crush,” Chan said lightly, teasing. “Should I be worried?”

Jisung swallowed. The instinct to laugh it off was there. Deflect, distract, dodge.

But the words from Minho’s last call echoed again in his head.

‘Anybody would be lucky to have you.’

Maybe it was time.

Jisung sat up slowly, cradling the phone in his hand now.

“Chan hyung… Can I tell you something?”

Chan’s tone shifted immediately, gentler now. “Of course. What’s up?”

Jisung hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

“It’s Minho.”

A pause.

“What about him?”

“I think…” Jisung exhaled hard through his nose. “No, I know. I’m in love with him.”

Chan didn’t say anything for a moment. And when he did, it was soft, careful. “Yeah. I kinda figured.”

Jisung blinked. “Wait, what?”

Chan laughed lightly. “I mean, maybe not in love, but the way you talk about him? How your whole face lights up? Yeah, it’s not exactly subtle, Jisungie.”

Jisung groaned, pressing his face into his hand. “Oh my God. I’m so obvious.”

“No,” Chan said firmly. “You’re not. But I know you. And I pay attention.”

Jisung suddenly froze, heart skipping a beat. “Wait, does Felix know as well?”

Chan let out a short laugh. “No, he doesn’t.”

“But what if-”

“Jisung,” Chan interrupted gently. “Breathe.”

Jisung sucked in a shaky breath through his nose, trying to calm the flare of panic bubbling up in his chest.

“I mean it,” Chan said, voice calm but certain. “Felix has known you both forever. You grew up together. Things have shifted so gradually for you that I don’t think it would even occur to him to question it.“

There was a silence.

“Does Minho know?” Chan asked gently.

“No. I mean… God, no. He doesn’t see me that way.”

“Are you sure?”

Jisung opened his mouth, then closed it again. His heart thudded unevenly.

“… He told me anybody would be lucky to have me,” he mumbled. “Then told me to find someone who’ll take care of me. Who’ll love me like I deserve. Then we just… Ended the call.”

Chan whistled under his breath. “Wow. He really dropped an emotional nuke on you and dipped, huh?”

“Exactly!”

“So… Do you think you’re going to tell him?”

“I don’t know,” Jisung said, voice barely audible. “I don’t want to ruin anything. And I… I don’t think I could handle hearing he doesn’t feel the same.”

Chan was quiet for a moment, before speaking gently.

“Whatever you decide, you’re not alone, okay? I’ve got your back. And you’re not crazy for feeling the way you do.”

Jisung blinked back the sudden sting in his eyes.

“Thanks, hyung.”

“Anytime. Now get back to that mix so we can get to bed before the sun rises.”

Jisung huffed a laugh, the tight knot in his chest loosening just slightly.

“Okay. Okay, yeah.”

Jisung checked the countdown app again.

1 day.

Just one.

By some miracle of scheduling and train times, he and Felix would be heading home for the summer tomorrow too, on the very same day Minho was being discharged. The thought made his stomach twist in knots.

He drifted through his final class of the day in a complete daze, barely absorbing a word of Mr. Park’s lecture. When the professor finally snapped his fingers and muttered something about “daydreaming being for amateurs,” Jisung jumped, cheeks burning. Felix laughed beside him, nudging him in the ribs.

That night, Jisung couldn’t sit still.

He paced his dorm room restlessly, fingers twitching for his phone every few seconds. He knew Minho might not call. He reminded himself, over and over again, that Minho’s social time wasn’t his alone to have. He had a family. Friends. People who’d missed him just as much, maybe more.

And anyway, Jisung reasoned, he probably has things to sort. Final prep. Travel plans. His parents need to know what time to pick him up tomorrow, where from, all of that…

Still.

He huffed in frustration and flopped back onto his bed before dragging himself up to switch on the Xbox. Maybe shooting zombies would help. It required enough focus that it might distract him.

He was halfway through the third wave when his phone lit up with a video call.

Jisung’s heart stuttered. The controller slipped from his hands and hit the mattress with a soft thump. He scrambled for his phone, accepting the call with fingers that felt suddenly too clumsy.

The screen was black, as always, but the second Minho’s voice came through, something unknotted in Jisung’s chest.

“Jisungie! God, I’m sorry, I didn’t think my eomma was gonna keep me talking for half an hour about her friend’s dog getting married or whatever it was.”

Jisung blinked. “… Dog… What?”

“I stopped listening after she said the dog wore a tux.”

Jisung let out a soft laugh, the tension in his body ebbing like a receding wave.

“Wait,” Minho said, his voice suddenly sharp with confusion. “What is that racket in the background?”

Jisung blinked, then glanced up at the screen, just in time to watch his character get absolutely mauled by a horde of zombies.

“Oh. Uh.” Jisung scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “Right. That’s… Me dying. Again.”

He tilted his phone toward the TV screen, giving Minho a clear view of the carnage, his character slumped in a heap while the words Game Over flashed in angry red letters. Zombie growls echoed faintly in the background.

A pause.

“… Jisungie. Why are you being murdered by zombies?”

“I was playing to distract myself.”

“From?”

Jisung hesitated, chewing his lip.

“So I didn’t…” He trailed off, eyes fixed on the flickering game over screen. “So I didn’t just sit here staring at my phone like a pathetic idiot.”

There was a pause on the line. Not awkward, just quiet.

Then Minho’s voice came through again, softer now. Gentler. “You’re not an idiot.”

Jisung shrugged, not really answering.

“Jisung-”
Minho’s voice softened, something just beneath the surface of it, something heavy, maybe even tender.

But Jisung cut in quickly, heart thudding in his chest. “How are the plans for tomorrow? Are you all packed?”

There was a pause. Not long, but just long enough to make Jisung wonder if Minho had noticed the derailment for exactly what it was.

Then, thankfully, Minho let it slide. “Yeah,” he said, voice lighter now. “Mostly packed. My duffel’s practically bursting at the seams though. You’d think I was moving to another country.”

“Well, to be fair,” Jisung mumbled with a small smile, “you kind of are. Back into civilian life.”

Minho chuckled. “Guess so. Eomma and appa are picking me up from the station. Eomma’s been texting me hourly just to check I haven’t lost my train ticket or fallen off the face of the Earth.”

“That sounds about right,” Jisung laughed. “She’s probably made a whole spread already.”

“She literally has,” Minho groaned. “I think she’s cooking enough to feed the entire neighbourhood.”

“Guess you won’t be hungry, at least.”

“Yeah, but… It won’t feel real until I’m home, you know?”

Jisung nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

“What about you?” Minho asked after a moment. “How have your finals gone?”

Jisung leaned back against his headboard, exhaling slowly. “I think… Okay? Like, I don’t want to jinx anything, but I’m cautiously optimistic.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Yeah. I mean-” He huffed a soft laugh. “My final project actually turned out pretty great, I think. I ended up staying up for three days straight finishing it. Nearly drove Chan hyung insane with how many times I made him listen to the mix.”

Minho laughed. “You mean you didn’t drive him insane before that?”

“Oh, definitely. This was just the final push.”

“So what now? You’ve officially applied for graduation?”

“Yeah. Me, Felix, Seungmin and Jeongin, August ceremony.” Jisung smiled to himself. “Feels weird, you know? Like it’s finally happening.”

“It is,” Minho said warmly. “And I’m proud of you, Jisungie. I hope you know that.”

Jisung’s breath caught in his throat for a moment, but he managed to respond with a quiet, “Thanks, hyung.”

“What about tomorrow? Your mum getting you from the station?”

“Yeah,” Jisung nodded, absentmindedly fiddling with a loose thread on his blanket. “She’s picking me and Felix up, we’re getting in just over an hour after you. Your parents didn’t want to make a second trip out, so she’s dropping Felix home too.”

Minho hummed thoughtfully on the other end of the line. “Makes sense,” he said, then shifted gears. “Any big plans for the summer?”

Jisung huffed out a tired laugh. “Honestly? After the chaos of this last semester? I want to do as little as humanly possible.”

Minho chuckled, low and warm. “That sounds like a solid plan. I was thinking the same. Just… Rest. Sleep in. Breathe a little.”

Then, with a teasing lilt: “Though, perhaps I should spend my first few days back sharpening my Mario Kart skills again. Maybe I could finally beat you.”

Jisung perked up, grinning. “Is that a challenge?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Minho replied. “Loser buys dinner. What do you say, Jisungie?”

Jisung snorted, flopping back against his pillows. “That’s the easiest decision I’ve made all year. We both know you’re going to lose, which means free dinner for me.”

Minho made a scandalised sound. “Such confidence. Dangerous thing, that ego of yours.”

“Not ego when it’s backed up by skill, hyung.”

Minho snorted. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Jisungie… You’re good, but bragging about Mario Kart like it’s your greatest achievement? Not exactly a head-turner.”

Jisung huffed, sitting up straighter. “Excuse me? I have plenty of skills I could show you, actually.”

There was a sudden choking noise from Minho’s end of the line, followed by a rough bout of coughing.

Jisung blinked. “Hyung? You okay?”

More coughing. Then Minho’s voice, slightly hoarse, but amused. “Yeah, yeah. Just… Air went down the wrong pipe.”

“Air?” Jisung echoed, confused.

“Mhm.” A pause. “Anyway. I, uh… Should probably head off. Make sure I’ve got everything ready for tomorrow.”

Jisung glanced toward his own suitcase, half-packed and surrounded by piles of laundry he hadn’t folded. “Yeah… I should probably do the same.”

There was a beat of silence before Minho’s voice dropped a little softer, like the moment itself deserved it. “And hey… At least next time we speak, it won’t be through a phone.”

Jisung’s breath caught slightly in his throat, heart tripping over itself.

“No more one-way video calls,” he murmured, smiling despite himself.

“Nope,” Minho said warmly. “Next time… It’ll be face to face.”

Jisung clutched his phone a little tighter. “Can’t wait, hyung.”

“Me neither.”

Another pause. Just long enough to feel meaningful.

“Night, Jisungie.”

“Night, Minho hyung.”

This time, when the call ended, Jisung just sat there staring at his dark screen, nerves humming quietly under his skin.

Tomorrow.

The morning came far too quickly.

Jisung and Felix were late.

Not just late, sprinting-through-the-dorm, cursing-as-their-coffee-spilled, throwing-shoes-on-in-the-hallway late. Their Uber arrived already honking, and Jisung barely remembered to grab his charger before they were tumbling into the backseat, bags piled on their laps.

“We’re not gonna make it,” Felix groaned as the car hit yet another wall of traffic. “We’re gonna miss the train and eomma’s gonna kill me.”

“Shut up,” Jisung muttered, bouncing his leg anxiously. “We’ll make it.”

They did make it. But by the skin of their teeth.

The train station was packed, bodies pressed together, noise bouncing off every surface. Kids crying, announcements blaring, someone yelling that they’d dropped their wallet. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the thick summer air clung to Jisung’s skin.

He hated this.

He’d always hated travelling, the noise, the crowds, the way his senses overloaded with every new sound or bump or unexpected change in plans. He could feel his chest tightening already, his hands gripping the strap of his bag just a little too tight.

“Hey.” Felix nudged him gently. “We’re okay. We made it.”

Jisung nodded, jaw tight, eyes scanning the platform as they fought their way to their train.

By the time they landed in their seats, which Felix had, thank God, been smart enough to insist they reserve ahead of time, Jisung was already exhausted.

His shirt clung damply to his back, and the collar of it scratched against his neck with every shift of his shoulders. The train was packed to the brim, and the narrow aisle beside them overflowed with tired, sweaty travellers standing elbow to elbow. One man’s backpack kept swinging into Jisung’s shoulder every time the train jerked on the rails, and no matter how many times he tried to subtly shift away, there was nowhere to go.

He was wedged in tight against Felix, knees cramped, arms pulled in close, trying not to flinch every time someone bumped their way past.

And the worst part? They’d barely even left the city limits.

“Just a few hours,” Felix murmured beside him, reading the tension in his jaw as easily as ever. “Then it’s real food, a cold drink, and your own bed.”

Jisung nodded mutely, head tipped back against the headrest. He tried to focus on the rhythm of the train, the low rumble beneath them, the steady rattle of wheels on the tracks, but all it did was remind him how far they still had to go.

At least they would be arriving later than Minho.

With Minho getting in earlier, it meant he’d already be home by the time Jisung and Felix reached the station. Once they dropped Felix off, Jisung would have at least a day, to go home, unpack, take a long shower. Breathe.

It wasn’t much, but it was something. A buffer. A chance to settle the restless energy rattling around inside him. To stand in front of his mirror and rehearse the look of casual indifference he knew he’d never actually pull off.

Because this wasn’t just any reunion. This would be the first time he saw Minho in person since Christmas. Since the night they’d fallen asleep tangled up on the couch. Since he’d woken to Minho hovering over him, soft-eyed and impossibly close, whispering that he didn’t want to leave.

He needed time. Time to reset, to pretend that this was just going to be normal. That he wouldn’t fall apart the second Minho smiled at him again.

As it was, the universe, or more accurately, Minho himself, had other ideas.

Jisung could only stare, slack-jawed and stunned, bags hanging from his shoulders, hands, and back. Meanwhile, Felix all but launched himself off the train, sprinting across the platform with a grin as wide as the sky.

Minho was right there. Waiting.

He looked about as exhausted as Jisung felt, dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slightly hunched from the weight of the summer heat, but somehow, impossibly, it only made him more beautiful.

“What the hell are you doing here‽ Was your train delayed or something?” Felix shouted as he barrelled toward Minho, eyes wide with surprise and delight.

Minho caught him easily in a hug, one arm slung around his shoulders. Over Felix’s back, his eyes found Jisung’s.

“Nah,” Minho said, eyes still locked on Jisung. “I just decided I couldn’t wait to see you, so I hung back and waited.” He gave Felix’s shoulder a squeeze before pulling back and glancing toward the station exit. “Appa should be here any minute to pick us up. I already messaged Jisung’s mum to let her know not to bother. We’ll take you home, Jisungie.”

Felix immediately lit up. “Well in that case… Shotgun!” he yelled, tearing off toward the car park like it was a race, his laughter trailing behind him.

Minho stayed behind.

He took a few slow steps forward, stopping just in front of Jisung. “Hey, Jisungie.”

“H-hi, hyung.” Jisung’s voice cracked slightly. “Nice to see you.”

God, he hated how breathless he sounded.

He shifted under Minho’s gaze, suddenly hyper-aware of how dishevelled he must look, sweat-stuck shirt, flushed skin, travel-worn and rumpled after nearly four hours on a packed, overheated train. Meanwhile, Minho… Minho looked tired, sure, but still unnecessarily good. Ridiculously handsome in the way that made Jisung’s thoughts scatter if he wasn’t careful.

He forced himself to stand a little straighter, clutching the strap of his backpack as it threatened to slip off his shoulder. “Thanks for waiting. Can’t have been fun hanging around the station for an hour.”

Minho’s lips tugged into a subtle smile, eyes lingering just a second too long. “Yeah… An hour,” he echoed, voice low and warm. “It’s nothing compared to six months.”

Jisung blinked. “What?” he asked, not entirely sure he’d heard Minho right over the noise of the station, the lingering heat, and the pounding of his own heart.

Minho just shook his head, that same faint smile playing on his lips. “Nothing,” he said lightly. “Here, let me take some of those bags off you.”

Before Jisung could protest, Minho was already lifting the heaviest one from his shoulder, slinging it over his own as if it weighed nothing.

“You’ll melt before we even get to the car if you keep lugging all this around.”

Jisung opened his mouth to argue, he wasn’t that pathetic, but the words caught in his throat when Minho looked at him again, smiling.

So instead, he swallowed and mumbled, “Thanks, hyung,” falling into step beside him as they made their way toward the exit.

The car ride home passed in a blur.

Felix had barely shut the door before launching into a full recap of their journey, animatedly telling his dad about their panicked rush to the station, the crowd, the sweaty guy who sneezed without covering his mouth.

In the back, Jisung sat pressed against the window, Minho beside him. Every so often, he’d steal a glance at Minho out of the corner of his eye. The sunlight outside cut soft golden shapes across Minho’s face, and Jisung felt the same ache he always did, that mix of comfort and wanting, of familiarity and distance.

And even though they weren’t speaking, Jisung felt the minutes slipping away too fast.

When the car finally pulled up outside his house, Jisung found himself reluctant to move.

Jisung stayed frozen, fingers clenched around the handle of his bag.

“Home sweet home,” Minho murmured beside him, quiet enough that only Jisung could hear.

Jisung swallowed hard and turned to face him. “Yeah,” he said, barely managing a smile. “Thanks for the ride, Mr Lee.”

Minho watched Jisung get out of the car, his gaze lingering for a second longer than it needed to. “Get some rest, Jisungie. You looked half-dead when you got off that train.”

Jisung huffed a laugh. “Thanks for the compliment.”

Minho’s voice came soft, low, and entirely steady.
“Any time.”

Jisung stepped out into the warm afternoon air, the car door clicking shut behind him feeling far too final. He didn’t look back, but God, he wanted to.

Nearly a week passed before Jisung found himself with a single free afternoon. His mother, thrilled to have him home again, had wasted no time roping him into errands, housework, and lunch visits with relatives he barely remembered the names of. He hadn’t minded, exactly, it kept his mind busy. Gave his thoughts less time to drift.

But now, finally, he was heading to the Lee house. Felix had been whining at him near-daily to come over, bombarding him with photos of the new limited edition anime figurine he’d ordered, as though that would somehow tempt Jisung faster than the knowledge of who else might be there.

And that was the real problem.

As he walked, shoulders hunched slightly against the summer heat, Jisung found himself caught in a familiar loop. Half hoping Minho would be home, half hoping he wouldn’t.

The thought of seeing him again made Jisung’s stomach twist into uncomfortable knots. Not because he didn’t want to, God, he wanted to, but because every time he looked at Minho now, it felt like stepping too close to something with a gravity strong enough to pull him in completely.

He still didn’t think Minho saw him like that.

And if that was true… Spending time around him now would feel like peeling a healing wound open again, over and over, each laugh or glance or brush of an arm a reminder of how close and how far they were all at once.

Still, he pressed on, turning up the familiar street that had led to the Lee house for years now, his feet knowing the way without needing to think.

His heart, unfortunately, hadn’t learned the same trick.

The door swung open before Jisung could even reach for the bell, and he barely had time to register it before he was pulled into a warm, familiar hug.

“Jisung-ah!” Mrs. Lee beamed, wrapping her arms around him tightly, like she hadn’t seen him just last Christmas. “Oh, it’s so good to have you back, sweetheart.”

Jisung melted into the embrace before he could help himself. There was something about being on the receiving end of a proper mum hug, no questions, no expectations. Just warmth and comfort.

“Good to see you too, Mrs Lee,” he mumbled against her shoulder, smiling despite himself.

She pulled back to pat his cheek fondly, like he was still fifteen. “Go on, now. The boys are in the living room waiting for you. Felix has been bouncing off the walls all day.”

Jisung nodded, his heart giving an anxious little stutter at the word boys. Plural.

He stepped inside, slipping off his shoes, trying not to read too far ahead into who was waiting in that living room.

What he wasn’t expecting was the sound of bickering the second he stepped into the living room.

“-your taste is atrocious,” Minho was saying flatly, arms folded, one leg thrown lazily over the arm of the couch.

Felix scoffed. “Says the guy who wants to watch something that’ll give me nightmares for a week.”

“You had nightmares from Coraline, Felix.”

“That movie was traumatising!”

Jisung blinked, standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Uh… Hi?”

Both heads snapped toward him, and Felix jumped to his feet dramatically.

“Finally! Jisungie can make the final choice for us.”

“Final choice?” Jisung asked, eyebrows raised as he stepped further into the room.

Minho, still lounging like a cat, looked up at him with a small smirk. “Which movie we’re watching.”

“What are the options?”

“Phobia,” Minho replied smoothly. “It’s that new psychological horror about the serial killer who uses people’s phobias against them. Seo Changbin’s in it, he plays the lead detective.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Or Surfin’, the classic comedy with two idiot bros who accidentally enter a pro surfing competition.”

Jisung snorted. “That’s not a classic, Felix. That’s absolute brain rot.”

“Rude.”

He glanced between them, pretending to weigh the options, even though he already knew what he wanted to pick. Not because it was Minho’s choice, he told himself firmly. Just… Well. Maybe partly because of that. But also because he’d been meaning to watch Phobia anyway.

“Alright,” he said, “Let’s go with Phobia.”

“Yes!” Minho leaned forward to grab the remote, looking far too smug for someone who’d just won a minor living room debate. “Finally, someone around here with taste.”

“Traitor,” Felix muttered beside Jisung, before slumping back into the armchair.

“Sorry,” Jisung replied, grinning. “Blame Seo Changbin. I love his movies.”

And okay, maybe blame Minho’s stupid smug smile too.

Jisung hesitated, glancing between the two armchairs across the room, trying not to overthink it. He could sit in either. Should sit in either.

But before he could decide, Minho shifted on the couch, lifting his legs and twisting his body upright. He sat up properly, brushing imaginary lint from the cushion beside him, then patted the spot.

“Here you go, Jisungie,”

Jisung’s heart stuttered. Just a little.

He nodded, doing his best to keep his expression neutral as he crossed the room and dropped down next to Minho.

Only once he was seated did it hit him. This was the same couch. The same one they’d fallen asleep on together, limbs tangled beneath a shared blanket, Minho’s arm heavy around his waist, his breath warm against Jisung’s neck.

The cushion was still warm, undeniably so, from where Minho’s legs had been stretched out just moments before

He kept his gaze fixed forward, trying not to notice how close Minho was now, how their knees brushed every so often when either of them moved. He also tried not to notice the lingering orange scent of Minho’s cologne either, fresh and dizzying.

He failed at both.

Felix grabbed the remote with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. But when I have nightmares tonight, I’m making both of you sleep on video call with me.”

Minho snorted. “That sounds like your own phobia.”

Felix just muttered something and pressed play. The screen darkened, and ominous music began to rise.

Jisung quickly lost himself in the film, eyes wide and body tense as the suspense built with each scene. Phobia was just the right mix of disturbing and clever, and Seo Changbin played the tortured detective role with the kind of gritty intensity that kept Jisung glued to the screen.

Beside him, Minho was equally still, jaw clenched, focused.

Felix, on the other hand, was clearly less impressed.

About halfway through, after a particularly grim flashback scene, he groaned and slumped dramatically in his seat.
“See, this is why I don’t do horror,” he whined. “It’s so boringly predictable.”

“Shush,” Jisung and Minho said in unison, eyes still locked on the screen.

They turned to look at each other at the same time, and Jisung caught the flash of amusement in Minho’s eyes, followed by a wide grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Jisung blinked, heart skipping once before he quickly turned back to the screen, pretending he hadn’t just gone soft over something so stupidly small.

From that point on, Felix gave up entirely on pretending to care about the movie, his attention glued to his phone as he slouched further and further down into the armchair. Jisung caught glimpses of the screen from the corner of his eye, Chan’s name flashing repeatedly at the top.

Eventually, the screen lit up again with an incoming call, and Felix groaned theatrically as he stood up, answering it with a muttered, “ah, my saviour...”

He shot them both a distracted wave on his way out. “You two enjoy your little murder party. I’ll be with someone who appreciates comedy.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and just like that, Jisung and Minho were alone.

The shift in the room was immediate, quieter, more intimate, the flickering light from the screen painting soft shadows on Minho’s face. Jisung’s eyes lingered for a moment too long before dragging them back to the film, pretending he hadn’t just noticed the exact slope of Minho’s nose or how his lashes cast small, dark crescents under his eyes.

Minho stretched his arms and legs out briefly, before slumping back against the couch. And maybe it was just Jisung’s imagination, but he seemed… Closer than before.

He refocused his attention on the screen, just in time for a jump scare to send him yelping, clinging onto Minho’s arm without even thinking.

Minho let out a soft ‘oof’ as Jisung’s hand latched onto his bicep, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, Jisung could feel the subtle twitch of laughter through Minho’s arm under his grip.

“You okay there, Jisungie?” Minho murmured, amusement curling at the edges of his voice.

Jisung’s heart was racing, half from the jump scare, and half from the sudden, undeniable closeness between them. He could feel the warmth of Minho’s skin even through the fabric of his sleeve, and he realised, with no small amount of embarrassment, that he was still holding on.

He quickly let go, clearing his throat. “Sorry. That one got me.”

“I noticed,” Minho said, but there was no teasing in his tone. Just a small smile, soft and unassuming, as he turned his eyes back to the screen. “It’s okay though. I don’t mind.”

Jisung bit down on his thumbnail, his knee bouncing in quick, unconscious rhythm.

It wasn’t until a warm hand settled on his thigh, firm but gentle, just above his knee, that he stilled.

His breath caught as he turned, only to find Minho already looking at him, eyes soft with something like concern. Or something more. Jisung couldn’t tell.

“You okay?” Minho asked, voice worried. “Want me to turn it off?”

“N-no, hyung. I’m fine,” Jisung stammered. “It just… Caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Minho’s thumb brushed lightly back and forth, a slow drag that sent shivers up Jisung’s spine while somehow calming the jumpy muscle beneath.

“As long as you’re sure,” Minho murmured.

Jisung nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His mouth was dry, his thoughts tangled.

The film rolled on in front of them, but Jisung barely registered it anymore.

How could he, when Minho’s hand was still on his thigh, solid and warm, a point of gravity pulling every part of him in?

The film wound down slowly, tension giving way to relief on screen as Seo Changbin’s character, bruised and bloodied, finally cornered the killer. The screen dimmed into soft, ominous silence, credits beginning to roll over the last lingering shot of Changbin’s face, haunted, but victorious.

But just as Jisung exhaled, the living room door creaked open.

Minho’s hand disappeared from his thigh so fast it might as well have burst into flames.

He jerked his gaze to the door, heart still thudding, to see Felix wander in with his eyes glued to his phone, thumb scrolling idly.

“Oh good,” Felix announced when he looked up, voice flat. “The blood fest is finally over.”

Jisung let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, pulse still erratic.
Minho didn’t say anything, simply leaned forward to grab the remote and lowered the volume, gaze fixed firmly on the screen.

By the time Jisung left to go home, he wasn’t any less confused.

If anything, he was more confused.

Minho had acted completely normal after Felix returned, chatting easily, joking like nothing had happened. No mention of the hand on Jisung’s thigh. No explanation. Not even a flicker of awkwardness.

Before long, it was graduation day.

The auditorium was packed. The buzz of voices, the shuffling of robes, the distant clicks of cameras… It all felt like too much.

Jisung barely registered the familiar voices around him anymore. His collar was suddenly too tight, his heartbeat too loud in his ears. He mumbled something about ‘just needing air’ and slipped out the side door before anyone could stop him.

The air outside was almost cool in contrast to the stifling warmth of the hall, but it didn’t help much. He leaned against the brick wall just beside the exit, tugging at the neck of his gown in a feeble attempt to loosen the twisting inside his chest.

He was supposed to be proud. Excited.

Instead, he felt like he might throw up.

“Jisungie.”

He turned, already knowing who it was.

Minho stood a few steps away, hands tucked into the pockets of his black slacks, looking unfairly composed for someone who had just sat through the same chaotic prep as everyone else. His gaze swept over Jisung, calm but concerned.

“You okay?”

Jisung nodded, or tried to. It came out more like a vague shake of the head.

Minho stepped closer. “Nervous?”

Jisung exhaled shakily. “Yeah. I don’t know why. It’s not like I have to do anything. Just… Walk on stage. Take the diploma. Smile. But my chest feels… Tight.”

Minho didn’t hesitate. He reached for Jisung’s hands, threading their fingers together and holding them gently but firmly between their bodies.

“Breathe with me,” he said quietly. “In… And out.”

Jisung followed his lead. In. Out. Again. Slower.

The warmth of Minho’s hands against his grounded him more than the air ever could. His grip was steady. Solid. The way he always had been.

“You’ve already done all the hard parts,” Minho said, his voice low and sure. “This? This is just the celebration.”

Jisung blinked up at him. “How are you always so calm?”

“I’m not,” Minho replied with a small smile. “But I know you. You’ve worked your ass off for this. You deserve to walk across that stage and be proud of yourself.”

Jisung’s fingers curled instinctively around Minho’s. “You’ll be there, right?”

Minho’s smile softened further. “Front row.”

There was something in his eyes then, something that made Jisung’s stomach flutter, not with nerves this time, but with something warmer. He didn’t let go.

Neither did Minho.

Not for a long moment.

Eventually, Minho gave his hands one last reassuring squeeze before releasing them. “Come on, Han Jisung. Time to go be impressive.”

Jisung managed a laugh, the tightness in his chest finally starting to ease.

“Thanks, hyung.”

“Always.”

Jisung let himself be led back inside, before taking his seat along with his fellow classmates.

Jisung could barely hear the announcer over the dull roar of blood rushing through his ears. His palms were clammy where they gripped the edge of his robe, and his legs felt both frozen and unsteady at the same time, as if they might refuse to move, or worse, betray him entirely the moment he took a step.

They were going to call his name. And then he’d have to walk across the stage. In front of everyone. Professors, classmates, strangers, family, Minho-

“Han Jisung.”

The sound of his name sliced clean through the hall, and for a second, everything stood still.

Then his feet moved.

Each step echoed just a little too loudly in his ears. He was certain, absolutely certain, that this was it, the moment he’d trip over nothing and eat the stage in front of an auditorium full of people.

But then his gaze drifted to the front row.

Almost like magnets, his eyes found Minho.

Minho, seated between Jisung’s mother and his own, leaning slightly forward in his chair. He didn’t smile, not in the way most people did, but his eyes caught Jisung’s with unwavering steadiness, and he gave a tiny jerk of his head.

Go on.

That single, subtle gesture steadied Jisung’s nerves.

He lifted his chin. Straightened his spine. Walked forward.

His shoes didn’t catch. His foot didn’t miss the step.

He approached the centre of the stage and bowed, accepting the diploma with both hands before shaking the presenter’s hand firmly. His grip didn’t slip. The scroll didn’t fall. He didn’t fumble.

And when he turned to walk off the stage, he didn’t look down, he didn’t need to. Because when he looked back to the front row, Minho was already watching, a faint, proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

For the first time all day, Jisung felt… Proud too.

The jjajangmyeon place wasn’t fancy, not by a long shot. Cracked linoleum floors, handwritten signs in the windows, the faint clatter of bowls and chopsticks from the open kitchen, but it didn’t matter. Not when the food was hot, the tables were full, and the atmosphere buzzed with easy joy.

Jisung found himself seated between Felix and Minho at the long, slightly wobbly table that the staff had pushed together for them. Chan had missed the graduation ceremony due to work, but he met them there, already seated with Seungmin, Jeongin, and their parents. He looked sleep-deprived as always, but as soon as he saw Jisung & Felix walk in, he grinned wide and lifted a hand in a wave. Jisung beamed back.

Dinner was… Perfect.

Jisung sat back, letting the voices wash over him like warmth from the sun. Minho nudged his elbow gently when Jisung’s noodles slipped from his chopsticks, offering his own bowl in mock offering. Jisung swatted at him, grinning.

It felt good.

The weight of the day, the nerves, the anticipation, the pressure, had dissolved somewhere between the first bite and the first shared laugh. He was surrounded by the people he loved most. All the ones who mattered.

And somehow, even as the conversations tangled around him, his focus kept drifting back to Minho. The warmth of his knee brushing against Jisung’s under the table. The quiet way he leaned in to refill Jisung’s water glass without a word. The small things he loved him for.

Later, full to the brim with food and affection and a kind of tiredness that no amount of sleep could cure, they made their way to the hotel just a short walk away.

Felix was already yawning into his shoulder as they checked in. Jisung barely heard the receptionist’s words over the shuffle of feet and suitcases being wheeled across the lobby floor.

Their room, twin beds, simple and clean, was just a few doors down from Minho and Chan’s. Jisung’s mother and Mr and Mrs Lee were tucked away on the floor below, having already promised they could sleep in tomorrow.

Felix dropped his bag with a sigh of relief, flopping face-first onto the nearest bed without bothering to take his shoes off.

After a moment of quiet, he tilted his head just enough to peek at Jisung. “Hey… Did you… Wanna do anything?”

Jisung looked up from rifling through his backpack, blinking. “Like… What? A movie or something?”

Felix gave a weird little hum, not quite a yes, not quite a no.

Something about it was off. Hesitant. Jisung paused. “Why?”

Felix sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, his eyes avoiding Jisung’s. “Well… I hadn’t had a chance to get you alone to ask, but…” He trailed off, then let out a sigh. “Would you mind swapping rooms?”

Jisung blinked. “Swapping…?”

His brain didn’t catch up right away. It was too tired, fogged with the remains of adrenaline and jjajangmyeong.

Felix looked sheepish. “It’s just… When we were in Australia, Chan’s parents let us stay in the same room. So I’d… Kinda hoped-” He gestured vaguely at the walls. “You know. With us not being home and all…”

“Oh,” Jisung said.

Then, louder: “OH.”

Felix winced. “I know, I know, it’s last minute, I should’ve said earlier-”

“No, it’s fine! Really, I just-” Jisung scratched the back of his neck, his face suddenly hot. “You want me to go… Stay with Minho hyung?”

Felix grimaced apologetically. “I mean. If it’s okay. You don’t have to-”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Jisung said quickly, too quickly. “Totally fine. I’ll, uh- I’ll just grab my stuff.”

Because what else was he supposed to say?

He turned away before Felix could see the way his hands were shaking just slightly as he started gathering his things.

Felix visibly relaxed, though he still looked guilty as he stood to help. “You’re the best, seriously. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Jisung gave him a small, awkward smile as he shoved a pair of socks back into his bag. “It’s really fine, Felix.”

“I should’ve asked earlier,” Felix muttered, rubbing the back of his neck again.

“It’s okay,” Jisung said, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt.

Felix hesitated a beat, then added with a wince, “Sorry it means you have to room with Minho hyung, though. I’m sure he won’t mind too much?”

Jisung’s stomach did a strange, fluttery twist.

“Yeah,” he said, zipping his bag shut. “I’m sure.”

He wasn’t sure of anything.

By the time Jisung was standing outside knocking on the door to Minho and Chan’s shared room, his heart was racing a little too fast for comfort. His palms were clammy around the handle of his overnight bag, and every possible worst-case scenario was running through his head.

What if Minho didn’t want him there?
What if he’d been looking forward to a quiet night alone?
What if he was already in pyjamas and brushing his teeth, and Jisung just turned up and ruined everything?

But all that worry evaporated the second the door swung open.

Minho stood there with a wide, easy smile and a breathless, “Jisungie.”

Relief hit Jisung like a wave. He blinked up at Minho, momentarily stunned by how good he looked, still in his slacks, but with his shirt unbuttoned at the top, necktie now absent, hair tousled like he’d just run a hand through it.

Behind him, Chan hovered with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a sheepish smile on his face. “Thanks for being cool with the switch,” he said, glancing between them. “Both of you.”

Minho waved him off without hesitation. “Oh, I’m sure Jisungie and I will have a great time,” he said smoothly, before raising a playful eyebrow. “Just do me a favour, hyung, and keep the noise down, yeah?”

Chan flushed crimson, eyes widening. “Yah-!”

But Minho was already breaking into bright, delighted laughter, the sound spilling into the hallway as Chan quickly ducked out and speed walked to Felix’s door. Jisung couldn’t help it, he laughed too, something warm and familiar blooming in his chest as he stepped into the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

Jisung dumped his bag by the bed that was still neatly made, assuming the one with the rumpled covers was Minho’s.

“Oh, planning on sleeping in my bed, are you?” Minho said casually, his voice laced with amusement.

Jisung’s head snapped up. “What? No- I didn’t- I thought that was yours!”

Minho laughed, the sound low and warm. “Relax, I’m joking. Honestly, you can sleep wherever you like.”

Face burning, Jisung ducked his head and unzipped his bag, pulling out his sleeping clothes, soft grey sweats and a plain white t-shirt. He turned to head for the bathroom to change-

And stopped short.

Minho stood with his back to him, halfway through changing, a fresh t-shirt in one hand, the other running through his hair. His bare back was a collection of long lines and subtle muscle, tapering down to the waistband of his sweatpants.

Jisung spun around so fast he nearly tripped over his own bag. “I, uh, I’m just gonna change. And brush my teeth.”

He didn’t wait for a response, practically diving into the bathroom and clicking the door shut behind him. His reflection in the mirror was crimson-faced, wide-eyed, and a perfect representation of the fire that was consuming his brain.

He splashed cold water on his face before brushing his teeth with unnecessary intensity.

Get it together, he told himself.
It’s just Minho. Just Minho. Just the person you’ve been in love with for years and are now sleeping in a hotel room alone with, no big deal.

Jisung changed quickly, carefully folding his formal clothes ready to put them in his bag, and tucked his toothbrush and toothpaste neatly on the sink for the morning.

When he stepped back into the room, Minho was crouched beside his own bag, rifling through it with a growing frown.

“Aish… Forgot my damned toothbrush,” Minho muttered, glancing over his shoulder. “Mind if I use yours, Jisungie?”

Jisung nodded.

Then froze.

Wait, nod means yes. Yes, he minds. But he doesn’t mind.

“I mean, no! I mean, yes! You can- ugh, yes, you can use it, hyung. It’s- it’s on the sink.”

Minho paused for a beat, blinking at him with amusement before his whole face lit up with a grin so bright Jisung might as well have been hit by a truck covered in Christmas lights.

“Thanks, Jisungie. What would I do without you?” he said breezily, already heading toward the bathroom.

As soon as the door swung shut, Jisung groaned and flopped backwards onto the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes.

The mattress dipped slightly beneath him from the force, the comforter rustling with his movement, but he barely noticed. All he could focus on was the sound of Minho humming faintly to himself in the bathroom.

Jisung slowly shifted himself under the covers, cocooning himself in his hiding spot.

Minho padded quietly across the room and flicked off the main light, plunging the space into a soft, amber glow from the small lamp between the beds, before tossing himself into the opposite bed with a contented sigh.

Jisung stared at the ceiling, blanket pulled tight to his chin, trapping his arms. The twin beds somehow felt too close and too far all at once. If he shifted just a little, reached out, he might be able to brush the back of Minho’s hand where it rested near the edge of the mattress. But only if Minho reached back.

“Comfy?” Minho’s voice broke through the quiet, a low murmur, lazy with exhaustion.

“Mmhm,” Jisung managed, his voice sounding squeaky.

Minho let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a yawn and a hum. “Today was good,” he said, soft enough it was probably meant just for Jisung. “You looked really proud up there. You should be.”

Jisung smiled faintly, grateful the low light would hide the heat blooming in his cheeks. “Thanks, hyung. I was afraid I’d trip and ruin the whole thing.”

“You didn’t. You nailed it.”

Jisung rolled onto his side, facing the edge of Minho’s bed. His fingers curled around the blanket, itching with the ache to reach out. He wondered if Minho could feel it too, the way the silence between them seemed to buzz like angry bees.

“I’m glad you were there,” he said quietly, almost afraid to admit it.

Minho didn’t answer right away.

“Me too, Jisungie,” he replied at last. “Wouldn’t have missed it.”

Minho didn’t respond after his quiet reply, and the room settled into stillness again. Jisung stayed on his side, gaze drifting toward the other bed, toward Minho.

The blanket had slipped down Minho’s shoulder slightly, the soft light casting faint shadows over the exposed curve of his neck. His face was relaxed in sleep, or what Jisung assumed was sleep, the kind of peaceful, unguarded look that made his chest ache a little. He looked like he had that night on the couch all over again. Warm and soft.

Jisung’s eyes traced the rise and fall of Minho’s chest, slow and steady. His own breath felt shallow in comparison, tight in his throat. He was right there. But still so far away in all the ways that mattered most.

The longing crept up in his chest again, sharp and familiar.

And then, in the quiet-

“Jisungie…” Minho’s voice was low, not groggy, awake. “I can feel you watching me.”

Jisung flinched, heat crawling up his neck as he fumbled for a response. “Sorry- sorry, hyung. I just… I can’t sleep.”

There was a rustle of fabric, a shift of weight, and when Jisung dared to look again, Minho had turned onto his side too, facing him across the narrow gap.

“… Wanna talk about it?” Minho asked, voice gentler now. “Or… Just lie here?”

Jisung swallowed hard. “I don’t know. It’s just… Today was a lot, y’know? Everything’s been so overwhelming, and my brain just won’t shut up.”

“Ah,” Minho hummed, like he understood. Maybe he did.

A beat passed.

“Do you want to get in with me?” Minho asked softly, voice barely cutting through the quiet.

Jisung blinked in the dim light. “What?”

There was a small rustle of movement, Minho shifting under his blanket. “Or, I can come to you? If you think it’d help.”

Jisung swallowed, his mouth suddenly bone dry.
“No, it’s- it’s okay hyung, you don’t have to-”

But Minho was already moving, hauling himself out of bed. Jisung barely had time to process it before Minho was climbing across the mattress, his body briefly hovering over Jisung’s as he shifted to the far side of the bed.

It lasted a fraction of a second, maybe less, but Jisung’s heart slammed against his ribs painfully.

Minho settled behind him, one arm wrapping easily around Jisung’s waist, tugging him in until their bodies were flush. So much contact Jisung could barely think.

He tensed on instinct, unsure what to do with his hands, his breath, anything.

Minho’s voice came low and close, right next to his ear. “No wonder you can’t sleep. You’re all tense.”
A beat. “Try to relax yourself, Jisungie.”

Easier said than done. Especially when Minho’s breath was ghosting across the shell of his ear, sending a shiver cascading down his spine.

Minho shifted slightly behind him. “Are you cold?” he asked, and Jisung heard the frown in his voice, the subtle tinge of concern.

“No,” Jisung croaked, voice embarrassingly high. He cleared his throat and tried again. “No, I’m okay.”

But he wasn’t. He was burning and freezing all at once, heart racing so fast it was a miracle Minho couldn’t feel it through his back.

Minho’s hand settled gently on Jisung’s stomach, thumb brushing back and forth through the thin fabric of his shirt. The cotton had ridden up slightly in the movement, baring just enough skin for Jisung to feel the warmth of Minho’s touch directly. It wasn’t deliberate, but it sent sparks up his spine all the same.

He held his breath, willing himself not to react. Not to twitch or shiver or lean back into it the way every nerve in his body wanted him to.

Bit by bit, the tension drained from his muscles. His shoulders dropped. His breathing slowed. Slowly, cautiously, he let himself settle into the heat and solidity of Minho’s chest at his back, the comforting weight of his arm around his waist.

“Better?” Minho asked softly, voice close to his ear, breath warm against his neck.

Jisung nodded, the word barely more than a breath. “Yeah… Thanks, hyung.”

Minho didn’t respond after that. His breathing deepened, slowed, until it was clear he’d drifted off. His face had nestled naturally into the space between Jisung’s shoulder and neck, close enough that Jisung could feel each soft exhale against his skin.

It took longer for Jisung to follow. He stayed there, eyes half open, staring into the darkened room, his heart beating far too fast for someone meant to be resting.

This was everything he’d wanted. And somehow, it still ached. Because no matter how perfect this felt now, morning would come. Minho would wake up.
And Jisung would have to pretend it hadn’t meant everything to him.

Eventually, exhaustion won. His eyes slipped shut, his breathing synced with Minho’s. Wrapped in the warmth of a man who held his heart and didn’t even know it, Jisung finally drifted into sleep.

Knowing full well just how much it was going to hurt to wake up.

It was warmth that woke him first.

Not the gentle morning sunlight filtering in through the thin hotel curtains, but something closer. Hot breath against his skin. The slow, rhythmic exhale of someone still half-asleep.

Then, pressure. A soft brush against the dip where his neck met his shoulder. Barely there. Feather-light. Like a kiss, though Jisung didn’t register it as such.

His brows twitched as he stirred, not quite ready to face the day, but already slipping from sleep’s hold. His body felt too warm, cocooned in blankets and Minho’s weight behind him. He blinked groggily, his lashes sticking together, and shifted slightly, just enough to feel the solid arm still looped around his waist.

The hold hadn’t loosened in the night.

Minho was still pressed against his back, their legs tangled loosely together, breaths syncing in slow, steady intervals. Jisung’s shirt had ridden up further at some point, the looseness at his collar exposing the same patch of skin that now tingled with a strange warmth he couldn’t quite explain. He assumed it was from Minho’s breath, soft and close, and thought nothing more of it.

For a long moment, he stayed still, not wanting to move, not wanting to risk ruining whatever fragile thing this was.

But already, the ache had returned. That bittersweet heaviness in his chest. He was here, in Minho’s arms, exactly where he’d dreamed of being… And still, it wasn’t his to keep.

Minho shifted behind him, a sleepy groan leaving his throat. Jisung squeezed his eyes shut instinctively, unsure why he suddenly felt like he shouldn’t be awake just yet.

“Morning,” Minho mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Jisung made a soft sound in response, still pretending.

Minho shifted again, and Jisung thought, hoped, maybe he was going to roll away, stretch, sit up, do something to lessen the way his heart was currently thundering behind his ribs.

But instead, the arm around his waist tightened.

Minho pulled him closer, like he wasn’t already plastered against him, like there was still space between them that needed to be closed. Jisung’s breath caught in his throat.

Then Minho nuzzled in, burying his face into the crook between Jisung’s neck and shoulder. His breath came hot and soft against Jisung’s skin, and this time, Jisung could feel the distinct press of his nose, just below his ear, and lower than that-

Lips.

Right over the same patch of skin that had woken him earlier. The one that still tingled, warm and strangely sensitive.

He stilled completely, unsure if he was imagining it.
But then Minho exhaled slowly, his breath curling across Jisung’s neck, and the soft shape of his mouth remained where it was.

Not a kiss. Not quite.

But too much to ignore.

Jisung didn’t move. He didn’t dare.

His mind buzzed with a thousand questions, each louder than the last, but none of them made it past his lips. Because whatever this was, whatever it meant, it was the closest he’d ever been to having Minho like this. Holding him like he didn’t want to let go. Touching him like it was second nature. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Minho’s phone rang, slicing through the hazy quiet of the room.

Minho groaned, low and annoyed, but made no move to shift. His arm remained slung around Jisung’s waist, his breath still warm against his neck.

“Hyung,” Jisung murmured, voice still rough with sleep. “Your phone.”

“It can wait,” came the muffled reply, Minho’s lips brushing faintly against Jisung’s skin as he spoke. Jisung shivered slightly at the sensation.

The phone fell silent. But only for a few seconds.

Then it started ringing again, insistently.

Minho let out a long-suffering huff, finally stirring. He untangled himself just enough to stretch over Jisung, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. His body hovered over Jisung’s, half-blanketing him as he fumbled for the device with bleary, uncoordinated movements.

“Yah. Felix. What?” he grumbled as he answered, voice still heavy with sleep.

Jisung, pinned beneath him, couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. Minho’s hair was a disaster, flat on one side from the pillow, sticking up in tufts on the other. His eyes were barely open, squinting at the brightness of the screen, and his voice was the textbook definition of groggy.

Jisung couldn’t hear Felix’s response on the other end, only the occasional squawk of an overly alert voice. Minho made a face.

“Yeah. Yeah, he’s awake.” A pause. “What? Yeah. I guess. Give us five… No, ten minutes.”

He hung up, tossing the phone carelessly back onto the nightstand. Instead of getting up, he slumped back down, directly on top of Jisung again, pinning him down.

“Hyung?”

Minho exhaled against his shoulder. “Breakfast. Felix and Chan want us to go grab breakfast with them downstairs.”

Jisung made a vague sound of acknowledgement, but he didn’t move either.

And Minho… Didn’t seem in a rush.

A few quiet minutes passed. Jisung couldn’t tell if it had been two or ten, time had gone strange.

Eventually, Jisung spoke, voice soft, hesitant. “Hyung… We should probably…”

“Yeah. We should,” Minho echoed, not moving for a second longer. Then, with a sigh that felt reluctant, he shifted, pushing himself up just enough to hold his weight on his elbows, his face still close.

Their eyes locked.

And in that suspended breath of a moment, Jisung could’ve sworn, sworn, Minho’s gaze flickered down to his lips. Just for a second. A heartbeat.

His heart thundered in his chest, so loud he was sure Minho must hear it. Every inch of him buzzed with the wish, the ache, that Minho would just lean down, close the last few inches between them, and kiss him.

But he didn’t.

The warmth of Minho’s body disappeared as he shifted fully off the bed, standing with a stretch and a quiet yawn. Jisung watched, throat dry, as Minho padded toward the bathroom, rubbing the back of his neck.

The door snapped shut behind him.

Jisung exhaled, slow and shaky, and let himself fall back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling.

He was so close. So close he could feel the shape of what he wanted pressing against the edges of possibility.

But “close” wasn’t the same as “there.”

When they returned home, Minho vanished.

Not entirely, not in the literal sense, he was still around, technically. But now, when Jisung dropped by the Lee house, it was only Felix he saw. Minho was always conveniently absent.

First, it was three weeks away, visiting old university friends. Reasonable. Understandable. Nothing suspicious about that.

But when he returned… Things didn’t go back to normal.

Sometimes he was holed up in his room working on something vague and undefined. Other times he’d just missed Jisung, out running errands, helping his dad, grabbing coffee with someone, anything, everything.

At first, Jisung tried not to read too much into it. Minho had his own life, his own schedule. Just because they’d been orbiting each other constantly lately, didn’t mean he was entitled to Minho’s every waking moment.

But still… He felt it. The space between them. The absence.

It was hard not to wonder if he’d done something wrong.

Had he crossed a line, that night in the hotel room?

Had curling up into Minho’s arms, letting himself melt into that closeness, been a mistake?

Had Minho woken up and decided it was all too much, too close, too messy, and was now slowly, subtly re-establishing the boundary Jisung had dared to blur?

The worst part was, he had no idea. No answers. Just a growing silence and the hollow ache of missing someone who technically hadn’t even gone anywhere.

Jisung never said anything about it aloud, of course. Instead, he smiled at Felix’s jokes, nodded along when Mrs. Lee asked him how his job applications were going, and forced himself not to glance at the hallway that led to Minho’s room.

Not that it mattered.

The door stayed closed.

A month later, Jisung finally found a job. Thankfully, it allowed him to work from home and paid quite well, production for a small, up-and-coming record label that mostly handled indie artists and digital distribution.

It kept him busy.

Busy enough that he found himself visiting the Lee house less and less. Busy enough that he could convince himself it wasn’t about Minho. That it wasn’t about the way Minho had vanished, as though nothing had ever happened.

That he wasn’t avoiding the ache in his chest every time he stepped into that house and didn’t see Minho there.

Work helped. Long hours editing vocal layers, mixing background instrumentals until he heard the tracks in his sleep. Meetings, deadlines, last-minute revisions. All of it blurred together, filling up space that used to be spent hoping for a message. A call. A knock at the door.

He didn’t let himself think about that night anymore, the way Minho had held him, soft and warm, tucked against his chest. The press of his breath on the back of Jisung’s neck. The hand curled around his waist. The closeness. The unbearable almost of it all.

By the time Christmas arrived, Jisung had made a decision.

It was time.

Time to finally let go of the ridiculous, slow-burning hope he’d been carrying for years. Time to stop replaying moments that clearly hadn’t meant as much to Minho as they had to him. Time to stop waiting for something that, by all accounts, was never going to happen.

He told himself it was the mature thing to do. The sane thing. Whatever he’d thought might come out of that night, Minho’s arm wrapped around him, the hush between them in the dark, the strange tingling he’d felt on his skin that morning, it had been nothing. Just a friend comforting a friend. Nothing more.

Because nothing had happened since. No confession. No shift. Not even a ‘can we talk?’ text. Just… Silence.

So Jisung threw himself into work. And for the most part, it helped. The ache became more manageable. Not gone, but dulled.

He even downloaded a few dating apps. Swiped a few times. Had some very stilted conversations that fizzled out.

Still, maybe he’d try again. Or take up Changbin on his offer to go speed dating in the city. Changbin swore it was wildly entertaining, if nothing else, and insisted that Jisung was overdue to put himself out there.

He’s probably right, Jisung thought as he stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his sweater before heading out for Christmas dinner at the Lee house.

Time to stop looking backward.

Even if the thought of sitting next to Minho again made his stomach twist painfully, he promised himself he’d be okay.

He had to be.

The Lee house was warm, filled with the comforting smells of dinner cooking and the low hum of conversation. Jisung sat rigidly on the couch next to Felix and Chan, legs crossed, phone balanced on his lap.

He hadn’t looked at Minho once since arriving. Not when he greeted Mr. and Mrs. Lee. Not when he slipped off his shoes and padded into the living room. Not when Minho, already sprawled in the armchair across from them, offered him a quiet, “Hey.”

Minho may as well have been part of the furniture.

Jisung’s eyes stayed fixed on the TV, where some cheesy holiday movie played with the volume barely audible under the idle chatter. He could feel Minho’s presence in the room like a bruise under his skin, but he refused to acknowledge it. He was fine. This was fine. Totally fine.

The musical ping from his phone was, in hindsight, his first mistake.

“Ooooh, Jisungie…” Felix sing-songed, already twisting toward him with a grin that Jisung knew spelled trouble. “New match?”

Jisung opened his mouth to protest, to deny it or maybe laugh it off, but Felix was already glancing toward Chan with a playful smirk. Expecting backup.

Chan, however, just looked confused. “What?”

“Don’t act innocent, hyung.” Felix huffed dramatically. “Come on, everyone knows that notification sound. Jisungie’s on Tinder now.”

Minho’s head snapped up from where he’d been staring at his phone for the past twenty minutes. The motion was so abrupt it caught Jisung off guard, and before he could stop himself, his eyes flicked up.

Their gazes locked.

Minho’s expression wasn’t shocked, or playful, or amused like Felix’s. It was something quieter. Still. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

Jisung looked away instantly, face burning, thumbing his phone screen until it locked again. “It’s not… I mean, it’s nothing,” he muttered.

But no one responded.

And when he dared another glance at Minho, his head was down again. But he wasn’t on his phone. He was just… Staring at the floor, jaw tight, expression blank.

Jisung swallowed.

So much for pretending he didn’t exist.

The clink of cutlery and the soft murmur of conversation filled the Lee family dining room, the table crowded with dishes and half-filled glasses of wine. Jisung sat sandwiched between Felix and Minho, where he always did, though tonight the seat felt unusually small.

Felix and Chan were in their own little world, animatedly debating the merits of eggnog versus mulled wine. It would have been comforting, their voices filling the space, if it weren’t for the ever-growing silence on Jisung’s other side. A silence he could feel.

Just before Mrs. Lee came back in with dessert, Minho cleared his throat.

“So…” he said, voice casual but carefully so. “Tinder?”

Jisung nearly jumped, heart knocking against his ribs. He turned toward Minho slowly, blinking. “Uh. Yeah. Thought maybe it was worth a try?”

Minho gave a small nod, like he wasn’t quite sure where he was going with this. “Any luck?”

“Well… Not exactly?” Jisung shifted in his seat, nudging the remains of his dinner around his plate. “I mean, I’ve matched with some people, but the conversations have been…”

“No good?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Jisung said with a soft laugh. “One guy spent the whole time telling me about his personal bests in the gym. Like, all of them. In detail. And another…” he huffed, leaning slightly closer as if telling a secret, “eight out of his nine photos were just his car. Felt like I was trying to have a conversation with a Toyota. Actually, I’d probably have a more interesting conversation with a Toyota.”

Minho snorted, catching the rim of his glass with his knuckles as he tried not to laugh too loudly. “You’re such an ass.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Honestly? Probably not,” Minho said, still smiling, genuinely now, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way Jisung hadn’t seen in weeks.

And just like that, for a moment, the distance between them seemed a little less insurmountable.

Felix glanced between them mid-sentence, eyebrows raised slightly, but didn’t comment.

Instead, he reached for the dessert plate, tugging it toward him with an enthusiastic “Finally. I’ve been waiting all day for these.”

After dinner, they were all crowded into the living room again. The familiar warmth of the space, the soft flicker of fairy lights, the clink of mugs being passed around, the low hum of conversation, should’ve been comforting. And maybe it would’ve been, if Jisung hadn’t felt like every nerve in his body was set on edge.

He was once again wedged on the couch with Chan and Felix, but this time, Minho was seated directly in front of him on the floor, leaning back slightly so that his shoulder brushed Jisung’s shin. The heat of his body radiated up through the thin material of Jisung’s pants, anchoring him to the moment in a way that was far too tangible.

They were all laughing, teasing, easy and familiar. At least until the conversation turned, again, to Jisung’s dating app misadventures.

“Oh come on,” Felix grinned, nudging him with an elbow. “You can’t tell me you’ve had this many matches since uni and still haven’t dated anyone. That’s gotta be self-sabotage at this point.”

Jisung forced a chuckle, but it didn’t quite land. His chest felt tight. Chan made a quiet sound, like he was about to say something, maybe steer the conversation elsewhere, but Felix kept going, clearly oblivious to Jisung’s discomfort.

“Seriously though, since Jiyoung? It’s been years. You must’ve had options.”

And that was it. The words punched right through Jisung’s carefully constructed self-denial. Because Felix was right, of course he was. There had been options. Kind, sweet, funny people he’d turned down time and time again. Because none of them had ever been Minho.

He mumbled something vague, an excuse about needing air, and clambered awkwardly off the couch, practically climbing over Minho in the process. He didn’t stop to explain. He didn’t look back.

The cold outside hit him instantly. He made his way to the corner of the porch, arms crossed and hands clamped underneath them, and let the door swing shut behind him with a quiet thud.

He drew in a shaky breath, watching it fog in the winter air as delicate flurries of snow drifted down around him, soft and silent.

I promised myself, he reminded. Promised I’d move on.

Maybe tonight was just another reminder that he needed to mean it.

He wrapped his arms tighter around himself, staring up at the sky. The stars looked cold and far away, almost hidden by the snow that was falling heavier with every second. Kind of like the way Minho had felt lately, beautiful, but untouchable all the same.

It was better this way, wasn’t it? He had a good job now, things were moving forward. There was no sense clinging to a fantasy.

You chose to let go, he told himself again, like repetition might make it easier.

Jisung was just starting to regret not stopping to grab his jacket when the door swung open behind him.

He turned instinctively, startled, only to find Minho there in the doorway, silhouetted by the warm light spilling from inside.

“You okay, Jisungie?” Minho’s voice was concerned.

Jisung gave a weak nod, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. “Yeah, hyung. Just… Just needed a minute, that’s all.”

Minho stepped closer, letting the door swing shut behind him with a soft click. “You know Felix didn’t mean anything by it, right?”

“I know,” Jisung said, though his voice came out thin, barely more than a puff of steam in the cold. His teeth chattered slightly, betraying him.

Without another word, Minho shrugged out of his jacket and stepped forward, draping it over Jisung’s shoulders. He reached around, gently pulling the front closed, his fingers lingering longer than necessary as he adjusted the fit. The warmth of the jacket was immediate, and so was the awareness of just how close they were now.

Minho’s hands rested lightly on either side of the lapels, the gap between them barely a breath.

Jisung’s chest was tight, too tight, his emotions caught somewhere between shame and longing and a creeping dread he couldn’t shake. He kept his eyes trained anywhere but on Minho’s face, afraid of what he might see there.

But as he shifted slightly, gaze flicking up, his stomach lurched.

Mistletoe.

Dangling above them from the edge of the porch roof, delicate and damning.

He froze.

Minho followed his line of sight and stilled, his expression unreadable for a long beat before he let out a small sound. “Ah.”

One word. Heavy with something Jisung couldn’t quite identify. Resignation? Frustration?

Jisung panicked, instantly assuming the worst. He moved to take a step back, but Minho’s hands, still clutching the front of the coat, held firm, keeping him rooted in place.

“Hyung, I- sorry, I didn’t mean to- I’ll just-”

“Jisung.” Minho’s voice cut gently through the tangle of Jisung’s thoughts. “I think… I need to tell you something.”

Jisung’s breath caught in his throat.

Minho didn’t let go. He didn’t move back. And that, more than anything, made Jisung still.

He nodded, barely.

He took a breath, eyes locked on Jisung’s. “I’ve been holding something back. And maybe this” he tipped his chin up slightly, toward the mistletoe “is the universe telling me to stop running from it.”

Jisung could barely breathe. “Holding what back?”

Minho’s hands tightened slightly around the coat. “How I feel about you.”

Jisung blinked at him, genuinely stunned.
“What?”

Minho let out a slow breath through his nose, like he was bracing himself for impact. “Jisung, you- God, how do I even word this…”

He shifted his weight slightly, boots scraping softly against the porch boards, but his hands never left the front of the jacket. If anything, his grip tightened. Jisung noticed then that Minho’s fingers were trembling.

He wasn’t sure if it was from the cold.

Or from something else entirely.

“I thought I could ignore it,” Minho said quietly, voice low and strained. “Thought maybe it was just something that would pass. Something I could get over.”

He let out a breath that clouded the air between them. “Last year with Minsoo… I acted like a total ass. Like I had any right to act like that. Like I had any right to feel the way I did.” His lips curled, self-loathing bleeding into his words. “And then especially after what I did at the hotel. Then what I almost did… I knew I had to pull back. I was in the wrong. But it hurt more than I thought it would.”

Jisung’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Wait… You didn’t do anything wrong at the hotel, hyung. You just helped calm me down that night and-”

“I kissed you, Jisung.”

Jisung blinked. “I think I’d remember that.”

“But you don’t,” Minho said softly, a bitter smile ghosting across his lips. “You were still asleep. And I kissed you.”

Jisung’s heart stuttered, his breath catching as he recalled the strange tingle he’d felt that morning, Minho’s breath against his skin, the warmth of his lips pressed to the crook of his neck. At the time, he hadn’t understood it.

Now he knew.

His eyes widened.

“And then after that,” Minho continued, words rushing out like a dam breaking. “After Felix called, and we had to get up… I just- I wanted to kiss you properly. So badly. I nearly did. And that scared the shit out of me.”

“Hyung-”

“So I knew I had to stop,” Minho said, louder this time, like he needed to say it all before he lost his nerve. “I had to stop finding excuses to be around you all the time. Had to stop messaging you and calling you and looking for your name every time my phone buzzed.”

“Why?”

Minho looked at him like it should be obvious. “Because… I’m in love with you, Jisung.”

The air rushed from Jisung’s lungs.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you in a better way than this,” Minho added, voice breaking around the edges. “But a thousand lifetimes still wouldn’t be enough for me to find the right words. The way that you deserve. To be the person you deserve. Because you do. You deserve so much.”

He finally dropped his head, shoulders curling inward like he was bracing for rejection. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry to drop all this on you like this. It wasn’t… It wasn’t what I planned.”

Jisung stared at him, barely breathing. The warmth of the jacket around his shoulders. The sting of cold on his cheeks. The thrum of his pulse so loud he could hear it in his ears.

Minho didn’t move. Didn’t look up.

“Hyung…” Jisung said softly.

Still no response.

Jisung’s hand lifted before he even made the decision, trembling as it reached up, fingers brushing gently against Minho’s cheek. He guided his face up, their eyes locking.

Minho looked scared.

So was Jisung.

But even more than that, he felt sure. Felt it in his chest, in his bones, in the way his hand settled so perfectly against Minho’s skin.

For a second, neither of them moved, just stood in the quiet winter air, close enough to feel each other’s warmth, the porch light painting soft shadows across their faces.

“Hyung,” Jisung whispered, thumb brushing gently along Minho’s cheek. “I’m glad the mistletoe is there.”

Minho’s eyes flicked up to meet his at last, and Jisung saw it, the flicker of hope mingled with something so vulnerable it made his chest ache.

“I just wish we’d found some sooner,” Jisung added, his voice barely more than breath.

Minho leaned in slowly, cautiously, as though afraid the moment might shatter if he moved too fast. His eyes searched Jisung’s face one last time, silently asking, still unsure, even now. He stopped just short, lips barely brushing Jisung’s, breath warm and unsteady between them.

“Jisung,” he whispered, soft as a confession.

Jisung’s hand slid from Minho’s cheek to the nape of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, and then he closed the last few millimetres between them, pulling Minho into the kiss.

It was gentle at first, warm, soft and trembling. Minho sighed into it as his hands slipped from where they’d still been clutching at the front of Jisung’s jacket, wrapping firmly around his waist instead, pulling him tight against his body.

Jisung curled into him, arms looped around the back of Minho’s neck, fingers still tangled in his hair. His knees went weak, and he almost sagged against Minho entirely, like his body had been waiting for this, for him.

The kiss shifted, deepened, something long-dormant finally snapping awake as snow swirled softly around them.

Minho pressed in harder, fingers digging into Jisung’s waist. Jisung gasped into the kiss, breath stolen completely, but he didn’t care. Didn’t need air. Not when Minho was finally kissing him like this. Not when every brush of lips and tongue made him feel like he’d finally come home after years of waiting outside in the cold.

He clutched at Minho’s shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat, mouth parting wider as Minho tilted his head and kissed him again, hungrier and desperate.

By the time Jisung finally pulled back, his chest was heaving, lips kiss-swollen and slick, eyes dazed. Minho let out a soft, helpless sound, a whine of protest, chasing after his mouth without thinking.

“I’m in love with you too,” Jisung whispered, forehead resting against Minho’s. “I’ve been in love with you for years. I never thought-”

But Minho caught him in another kiss before he could finish the sentence, short and fierce and messy. He only pulled back far enough to murmur, breath ghosting over Jisung’s lips, “You mean it?”

Jisung nodded, and then he was kissing him again, hands in Minho’s hair, dragging him impossibly close.

“You’re sure?” Minho asked, barely a breath, and Jisung didn’t answer with words, just kissed him again, harder this time, pouring years of longing and ache into every motion, until there was nothing left between them but certainty.

When they finally broke apart again, both of them breathless, Jisung’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

“Ten years, hyung,” he whispered, voice shaky but sure. “I think… I think it’s been ten years.”

Minho groaned low in his throat, like something in him was breaking open, and pulled Jisung flush against him, their bodies pressed tight together as they lost themselves in each other again.

By the time they finally slipped back inside, both of them were dusted with snow, delicate flakes clinging to their hair and shoulders. Minho was shivering from the cold, his teeth nearly chattering, but at least one part of him was warm. His hand was still wrapped tightly around Jisung’s, fingers laced like he planned to never let go.

They padded back into the living room quietly, the low hum of conversation and the flicker of the TV masking their entrance for a moment. But as they stepped fully into view, hand in hand, the room fell still.

Jisung could feel the weight of the attention, his cheeks already heating as they moved to the couch, or more specifically, to the floor in front of it. Minho didn’t hesitate, pulling Jisung down with him, tucking him into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

They ended up tangled together, Minho’s arm draped around Jisung’s shoulders, his chin resting lightly atop his head.

Perhaps a little more than the others had expected.

Felix blinked at them. Chan tilted his head slowly, a grin starting to tug at the corners of his mouth. No one said anything.

Jisung felt a burst of nervous energy rise in his chest, but before he could start squirming away, Minho gave him a gentle squeeze. When Jisung glanced up, Minho was smiling, absolutely, unapologetically beaming, like holding Jisung like this was something he’d waited a lifetime to do.

And just like that, the nerves faded.

Minho didn’t care who saw.

So maybe Jisung didn’t have to either.

Minho and Jisung spent the rest of the evening attached at the hip, and arm, and shoulder, and hand, tangled up in each other on the floor in front of the couch as though they’d been trying to make up for the years they’d wasted apart.

The living room slowly emptied out, voices fading, the occasional burst of laughter from a departing guest giving way to soft murmurs and the flickering quiet of the Christmas tree lights. By the time the last of the adults headed off to bed, it was just the four of them left. Jisung, Minho, Felix, and Chan.

Felix, still curled up at one end of the couch next to Chan, watched them for a beat too long, eyes narrowing.
“So…” he said at last, slowly, “you guys wanna tell me what’s going on here?”

Jisung flushed a deep crimson, immediately looking down, lips parting to fumble through some kind of answer-
But Minho beat him to it, turning around with the most dazzling, unrepentant smile Jisung had ever seen.
“Jisungie and I are disgustingly in love,” Minho announced, “and now it’s your turn to deal with public displays of affection.”

Chan choked on his drink.

Felix looked taken aback for a moment, eyebrows shooting up, but then a wave of something unreadable passed over his face. Surprise, dawning realisation… Maybe even amusement.

“Actually…” he said slowly, blinking. “I suppose it makes sense.”

“What‽” Jisung squawked, voice cracking an octave too high as he sat bolt upright.

Felix just gave him a flat look. “Well, you remember Christmas two years ago. What was it I said to you when I realised you two were keeping something from me?”

Jisung thought back.

‘Wait, you’re not like, fucking or something, are you?’

It had been a joke. But perhaps Felix had known more than he realised.

Before either of them could get far with their bickering, Minho cut in, lazily draping his arm across Jisung’s shoulder. “Yah. Stop harassing my boyfriend.”

Jisung blinked, turning to stare at him. “Boyfriend?”

Minho’s expression changed completely, his teasing smile softening into something earnest, something that made Jisung’s heart stutter in his chest. “Oh. Right. I guess I didn’t actually… Ask yet.”

He shifted to face him properly, his hand gently brushing Jisung’s. “Jisungie,” he said, voice low and warm, “would you do me the very great honour of being my boyfriend? Officially?”

Jisung didn’t hesitate. A wide, radiant smile spread across his face as he nodded, once, twice.

Minho’s face lit up as he grabbed Jisung’s cheeks with both hands, kissing him again, firm, delighted, smiling against his mouth. Jisung kissed him back just as eagerly, forgetting the rest of the room existed.

Chan whooped from the couch. “Finally!”

Felix, predictably, made a loud gagging sound, revenge for all the times Minho did it to him and Chan.

Minho grinned against Jisung’s lips. “Hush, Felix,” he murmured.

“I’ve got years of catching up to do.”