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Minho hated him when they first met.
That was a year ago, his first year at Levanter University—the moment replays itself constantly in Jisung’s head, so he can’t help but recall every detail. A distinctly younger Jisung stepping into the gym to get to know the varsity men’s volleyball team. Three upperclassmen practicing serve receives and hits. The ball arching over the net and through the air, his feet clambering to get under it, the impact of rubber against firm arms, and the impact of his shoulder against Chan’s as he, oops, had accidentally stolen the receive from him. He saw nothing but what he wanted, so he stopped at nothing to get it. Isn’t that logical, to dive for desire?
And of course, the ball had neatly made its way to Levanter’s star setter: jersey number two, worn by oh so beautiful Lee Minho. The one who had seen nothing but Jisung crashing into Levanter’s up-and-coming captain and consequently thought, who the hell does this kid think he is?
It took Jisung bowing profusely at his upperclassmen and a proper introduction for Minho to even tolerate being around him. Jisung remembers it vividly, the doubt in Minho’s eyes fading a little after Jisung had spoken. “I’m Han Jisung, a new first-year. I want to be your libero.”
He watched Minho mouth the word in three parts, pretty lips shaping the syllables. Li. Be. Ro.
“You’re in luck,” Chan (with a hand noticeably rubbing his shoulder) laughed, “because our last one had just graduated.” He’d explained that he was a defense specialist, but certainly not the libero.
Seo Changbin — the team’s ace, in Jisung’s Haikyuu!! terms — sized him up with a smile. “Hah, you’re quick, too. Seems libero-y enough for us.”
It was those words that made Jisung’s heart swell with pride, adoration for those who’d become his seniors and biggest role models in the span of ten minutes. Then Minho stepped up, ball in one hand and propped against his hip as he cocked an eyebrow.
“Our libero can’t be egocentric. You know that, right?”
In a way, it was scary arguing for his existence against the prettiest man he’d ever seen in his eighteen years of living, but he’d sucked it up and turned to face Minho with a steely expression. “That was a perfect pass. You know that, right?”
“I don’t care if it is or isn’t. I can work with any pass given to me.”
“That’s your job!” Politeness forgone, Jisung wore a haughty smirk. “You’re the setter, so you don’t exactly have a choice in working or not."
Changbin had turned away to mask a laugh with a cough, while Chan pursed his lips so firmly Jisung thought he’d zippered them closed.
Jisung can narrow down that very moment and call it “the defining point” in their relationship. Everyone who was familiar with Levanter’s volleyball team, Levanter University as a whole, knew of Lee Minho, with his cruelly beautiful face and setting skills as accurate as the human mind could comprehend. From day one at Levanter, Jisung understood his reputation as the unobtainable bachelor, with his circle being closely knit; nobody knew anything of him past the shallows, unless you were fortunate enough to be even glanced at by him.
But in the few seconds Minho had registered Jisung’s words, it was so blatantly obvious he’d tilted Minho’s mask just a little. Bingo.
A perfectly curved eyebrow was raised sharply seconds afterward, and Minho scoffed before shoving the ball into Changbin’s unprepared arms. He gave Jisung a judgmental once-over, then turned his back on him to walk to his position near the net. “You think so highly of yourself for being so young,” he states — not particularly negatively or positively. “The real world isn’t kind.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t be kind to who I am,” breathed Jisung. Around them, the air was tense.
“Right, then.” Minho glanced back, if only to narrow his eyes in a way all too practiced. The foundation for Minho’s reputation at Levanter was beginning to make sense in Jisung’s head. “I’m certainly looking forward to your attempts, Han Jisung.”
“Han!”
He was already moving to get under the serve’s trajectory before Minho called out his name, but it’s a nice reminder of his abilities. The ball struck against his forearms, quickly falling towards Minho, who was already waiting near the net and ready to set it to one of their hitters. It was a textbook pass and it transformed beautifully into a point for their team — making it their victory for the practice match.
The first person Jisung made eye contact with when the whistle blew was Minho, one thing leaving his mouth: “Yeahhhhh!”
Almost immediately, the team enveloped each other in hugs, accompanied by slaps on the back and hair ruffles. Jisung in particular was delighted and fueled by the happy expressions on his teammates’ faces and the words of praise they gave him. When Chan patted him on the shoulder, he preened, and when Felix got up from the bench, they locked their hands together and jumped up and down. “Yay, yay, yay!”
“So loud…” Minho mumbled from where he’s been watching the chaos, to which Hyunjin only eyed him knowingly and rolled his eyes.
Truthfully, the team had come a long way since Minho and Jisung’s awful first meeting. Their newest generation of players brought in Jisung as libero, alongside Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix, and Kim Seungmin; practices were riveting since they were equally motivated freshmen who aspired to be on the starting lineup (as much as Seungmin denied the notion.) Obligation turned into entire evenings spent eating dinner together, and games turned into all-night outings. They weren’t the closest people in the world, but the distance was cut down.
Before they started to file out of the recreational center, it was Minho who bumped their shoulders together. “Help me carry the team’s bag to our bus, Han-ah.”
Their footsteps were synchronized as they trailed behind the rest of the group; meaningless bickering and banter was exchanged, centered around the practice match and Han’s academics as a freshman and the clubs Minho was a part of and everything and nothing. Whenever the conversation felt dull, Jisung made it his responsibility to bring up a new topic. It didn’t stop there — they tossed the bags into the bus storage and before either of them knew it, they were sitting next to each other.
“I hadn't heard of your high school before,” murmured Minho after Jisung was launched into an elaborate retelling of his years playing volleyball. “You didn’t attend a school known for its team?”
“Nah, not at all. But you’re shocked, so that’s a good sign. Right?”
Predictably, the upperclassman had only looked away. “Don’t let that get to your head.”
“I actually think,” Jisung’s mind was livid, spurred on by the idea of Minho finally admitting his potential as a top university libero, “that you refuse to give me more credit than I deserve just because I can be hot-headed sometimes. I impress you, right? The ball comes to you, right?”
“You’re loud for a freshman,” is what Minho had told him in curt response. A wave of deja vu had washed over Jisung so suddenly then and it sent a shiver down his spine. “But only in some circumstances and to a select few people, which makes me wonder about some things.”
“What is that supposed to mean, hyung?” When Jisung fails to be an annoyance, Minho makes up for it tenfold. In this case, Minho closed his eyes and cutely parted his lips as if sleeping. “Hyungie—mrff!”
His ability to speak was snatched away by the heavens above (and by Minho’s hand, which was covering his mouth.) “Naptime, look, everyone else is sleeping.” And, inevitably enough, Minho was right. It took Jisung two seconds to realize the rest of their team was dozing off or knocked out entirely.
Before he could consider an act of retaliation, Minho’s hand fell to his lap and over the back of both hands, enclosing them together.
“I’ll wake you up when we get there, Han-ah.”
“Hannie?”
Thankfully, Jisung’s noise-cancelling headphones had decided to give up on him at that very moment and allowed the rest of the audible environment to fade into his senses. Not helpful in the long term, since he was in the middle of finding a study spot; the library got especially busy during the daytime, and claiming a seat was of utmost priority. Regardless of whatever concerns he thought he had, the sound of an unmistakably familiar voice provoked him to turn sharply around.
As expected, he ended up face to face with Lee Minho and his group of equally-attractive friends, all of whom were currently scrutinizing Jisung. He didn’t care about how cool Minho’s friends were and he never has! It’s just a little bit different when Minho clearly seemed unbothered being on cute nickname terms with him.
“Hyung? What are you doing here?”
Shifting his weight onto his heels, Minho tilted his head in a catlike fashion. “This building is where the student government office is located. And for your information, Jisung-ah — anyone is free to walk in a hallway.”
“Ah.” Not the best look for you in front of Minho hyung’s cool clique. His mouth found his hand as he cleared his throat, sheepishly glancing towards his feet. “I was looking for a place to study.”
He watched Minho consider the request in his head and couldn’t help but eavesdrop on his friends, who’d started talking behind him. Minho's junior is cute, isn’t he? Ah, they’re totally different… The volleyball club must have been where they met. Is he the one Minho praises? His cheeks are like a chipmunk’s, so totally adorable.
Wait. Minho praises him? To his friends?
“I can bring you somewhere you can study,” said Minho. It effectively cut off the train of thought, leaving Jisung’s cheeks feeling somewhat warm and his limbs fidgety. What the hell was he thinking? Of course Minho didn’t praise him, because when he does, it’s quiet and it’s in the form of constructive criticism. “You trust hyung, yes?”
Jisung should be a little more careful about how he sounds in front of Minho, but the first thing he said afterwards is, “Of course I do.”
That certainly left Minho’s peanut gallery turning to each other with hushed whispers and widened eyes.
Speaking of which, he’d turned back to them in the midst of Jisung’s overthinking. “We’ll get dinner together, okay? I want to make sure my clumsy junior here doesn’t get lost.”
“That’s not nice—” He doesn’t… no, can’t say much after that, because Minho had sauntered forwards with his finger looped in Jisung’s backpack loop and a small smirk on his lips. Uselessly, Jisung could do nothing but follow; the other was nothing but adamant, whether it came to setting volleyballs to their hitters or clearing the hallways with his presence.
Over time, they’d transitioned from being absolutely incompatible to some level of agreeableness. Winter was in full swing, and with that came less practice and more exams as the semester drew to a close. With every successful pass to Minho, Jisung felt as if he was a step closer to being acknowledged authentically by the older man. His ego was just as fiery as it was when they first met, but was under more control now, thanks to his upperclassmen — especially the one tugging him out of the building and into an unfamiliar, new one.
Jisung had no clue where they were going. “Uh, hyung…? I don’t think I’m allowed to be here.”
“Oh, but I am,” replied Minho as if it were normal. “This is my dorm building, Hannie.”
It hit him too late that they were in the elevator. “Your dorm building has ten floors?!”
Apparently his response was amusing enough to get a chuckle out of Minho. “My suite is on one of the lower floors. Chan and Changbin will have to show you another time,” he’d explained, then pulled on Jisung again to get him out of the elevator. God, he has to be more aware of his surroundings. What is it about Minho that stops him from behaving normally? “But this, I think you’ll find this to be helpful.”
The door in front of them is opened to reveal a study nook of sorts, with cozy bookshelves and various places to sit, as well as an assortment of tables and decorations in the corners. Minho had stepped in front of him to move the drapes away from the windows — light filtered in almost immediately and revealed that outside, it’d started to snow.
“Minho hyung, this is incredible!” Jisung found himself running his fingertips along the spines of books, dusty and pristine alike. It was so small and so secretive and so Minho that his lips curled into a smile. “How did you even find out about this place?” The question was asked in excitement at first, then repeated softly in case anyone else was around.
“I was looking for a vacuum the day we moved in… I thought this was a storage closet, but clearly…” His voice lowered and he took a seat at the windowsill with a fond smile directed towards the falling snowflakes. Minho’s silhouette was only emphasized further with a sheer white backdrop — he’s so beautiful, Jisung thought to himself while his eyes followed the perfect curves of his facial features, and he looked so at peace. “It belongs to the building. I think it was a project by whoever funded the building, so it’s for free usage. Quaint, no?”
Not only was it quaint, but it felt intimate. Sue him for thinking all of this meant something else. Sue him for thinking that maybe, he and Minho could be something more than people connected solely by volleyball; the bold part of Jisung lurched forwards, spurred on by the thought of Minho finding him worthy enough to share a part of his life with him.
“Have you shown anyone else this,” left his lips before he could control his boldness, “other than Changbin and Chan, I’m guessing?”
Pink lips parted in clear surprise, and Minho’s head turned sharply towards him. As soon as Jisung saw his widened eyes, he leaned forward, squeezing his eyes shut and was about to apologize with a proper bow, but a hand came up to push him upwards into a regular standing position.
When he opened his eyes, Minho was in front of him, gaze settling somewhere off to Jisung’s side. “No,” the older man mumbled quietly. “I haven’t shown anyone this. I guess a part of me wants to keep it a secret as much as possible, like preserving its state. If anyone finds it themselves, it’s different… but to share it so openly feels like a crime.”
But that didn’t make sense. Their relationship was a constant push and pull, where Minho gives him something and anything to work with, and then Jisung pokes holes in his logic and makes him think. It’s what made their dynamic as libero and setter so integral to their team: Jisung was a constantly moving ball of energy and Minho had to be prepared to take on anything that was passed on to him. Every time they played, Jisung was a constant reminder — I am not your last libero. I am more. I’m going to push you to your limits until you show me your true self.
It didn’t make sense for Minho to act so secretive, so withdrawn and cold to him on occasion, and then insinuate that Jisung is some kind of special. Special enough, at least, for Minho to bring him to a sanctuary like the one they’re standing in.
Jisung took a step forward.
"Hyung, why me?"
He watched as Minho took in a deep-breath. For a moment, his upperclassman's eyes even darted towards the doorway as if debating on leaving midway through, but they eventually settled on staring at the tie around Jisung's neck. Fidgeting, Minho's fingers toyed with the sleeves of the fluffy cardigan he wears over his button-down. Jisung's heart screamed in fear even with how soft and small Minho appeared in front of him; everything distantly related to Minho made him nervous regardless of the situation.
"You make things easy," Minho mumbled as first, just as gently as the snow floated down to the ground outside the window. A contradiction at first glance, but he continued with his words. "Having you on the team — hah, shit, it'd be a lie to say you're not annoying. But… I don't worry as much about if the ball will come to me, because I know it will. And that's a weird feeling, no? Having to constantly be on my feet, but for entirely different reasons I'm used to?
"Hannie-yah," left his lips suddenly. It wasn't the scolding or neutral tone he usually laces the usage of Jisung's name with, but something more. Something that did not fail to melt the urgency Jisung interrogated him with. "With you, all I'm allowed to do is go forwards. No matter how daunting the task of doing so appears to be. And… and I want to make things easy for you too, even if it's not volleyball related."
What was he supposed to say or do? Just as cold as the wintertime, Jisung's body felt frozen in place, the weight of Minho's words having cemented the kind of relationship they had. So he wasn't crazy — Minho shared the same sentiment in regards to their connection as setter and libero that Jisung himself held. It's what kept Jisung up at night, thinking about how he could better the transition from the ball against his forearms to the ball against Minho's fingertips.
That, and Minho wasn't aware that his presence on the team made Jisung a better libero. He knew Minho would always be able to deliver a set to their hitters, so it drove Jisung to contribute more to get a point. Minho was the only one on the team who had enough gall to call out Jisung's mistakes and humble him, if only by a little. Not to mention Minho's beauty (slightly unrelated but very much a real benefit) and the way Jisung would never dare to intentionally disappoint him.
But he couldn't tell Minho all of that. Not like this.
The first thing he did was reach out, wanting to take Minho's hands into his own, yet his upperclassman flinched a little; Jisung backed down, nodding firmly. He might be overzealous, but he'd spent too much time around Minho to understand where his boundaries lied. "There's a lot of things I want to say to you, hyung," he started. His voice was as steady as he could will it to be in that moment. "I think it matters the most to say thank you for sharing this with me. And, I guess… making my life easy. Easier than it originally was," Jisung added, and he flashed a coy smile as he did.
As expected, Minho returned to his natural state of being, eyes narrowed when he slapped Jisung lightly on the shoulder. "Annoying, aren't you?"
"You already said that! At least be more creative, hyung!"
"Fine. You're welcome, though you have to promise you'll actually use this place," Minho muttered. He took a seat on the sofa against one of the bookshelves. "If you fail, I'll really kill you, you know?"
"I'm not—look, I'm smart, okay?"
He hadn't expected Minho to linger in the room after their exchange, so Jisung sat down on the floor and opened his backpack, taking out his laptop and a few other things he needed in order to study. It was impossible not to feel Minho's heavy gaze on his body, watching his every move. Honestly, it made him a little antsy. "Minho hyung, do you want to hang out with me for a bit before you have to leave?"
Minho made no attempt whatsoever to move but still pretended to ponder the question with a light hum. Then, he smiled. "I've the time, so I guess I'll stay for a little, Jisung-ah."
"Jisung."
Winter break ended smoothly, and their last practice match of the spring happened all too quickly. The other team was good: the roster consisted mainly of third and fourth-year university students, so it was natural that they'd demolish the newbie first-years on Levanter's team. Being the sole libero on the team meant sticking in through it all, though, because there was no senior replacement for Jisung. Every receive he flubbed stuck to the back of his mind. Every weak pass was another knife to his throat.
After the post-game formalities, he'd went outside and kicked rocks around the pavement until he grew tired. Then, he took a seat on the curb and sulked. Apparently they thought Minho was the most suitable bachelor in pulling him out of his moodiness.
Jisung barely spared him a glance, grinding the bottom of his sneaker against the ground. He heard the sound of footsteps approaching him and knew for a fact that Minho was only a few paces behind him, staring at his back hunched over.
"Jisung, you did fine. You're being immature." For being the team's means of getting back to Jisung, Minho sure wasn't doing the best at easing his concerns. "There's nothing we could have done about that last point, can't you see that?"
What an ironic thing to ask, considering Jisung saw the game from its beginning to its end.
He chose that moment to stand up, fists clenched and fingernails digging into his palm, refusing to face his senior. "I clearly fucked it up. You saw how things were perfect, the serve was coming right at me! So nothing I say matters, hyung!" Everything was a blur: he was biting down into his bottom lip, prepared to send the ball to Minho and turn the game around, when the serve was launched in his direction. Instead of getting under it, Jisung had jumped and moved to the side. His reaction didn't make sense, he knew that. At that point, it wasn't a mistake — it was a failure to even fulfill the libero duties.
"That doesn't mean you have to beat yourself up over it," Minho tried to say, but his voice wavered. That in itself nearly made Jisung's resolve crumble, but he pushed.
"I think it's a well-enough reason when I let down the team." When Jisung turned, he clenched his teeth and fought back tears at the sight of Minho's face. His hyung, dressed in the same uniform Jisung was wearing with an oversized zip-up, looked the most worried Jisung has ever seen him. "I'm supposed to be reliable. I'm supposed to be the one everyone can count on."
"You were doing fine," the other repeated. There was an unmistakable sound of crinkling, and Jisung's eyes dropped down to Minho's hands — he had two water bottles, one in each hand. One of them was already halfway empty. "We all make mistakes, Jisung-ah. So, get over it. You won't do the same thing the next time we play together, and you know that."
His heartbeats sped up suddenly at such an assumption; how dare Minho tell him he'd "get over it" when it so clearly meant a lot to him? The last practice match of the semester was supposed to be something special for the team and a display of their bond, yet Jisung had completely messed it up.
Frustrated, Jisung shook his head at him. Their conversation clearly wasn't going anywhere. "You don't know anything about me, Minho hyung. In fact, you think I'm an annoying piece of shit, seeing as you're always on my ass for the smallest things!"
The crinkling returns. "I know for a fact that you always sulk over these tiny mistakes you make, Jisung-ah, don't talk to me like that," Minho hisses in a harsh whisper. He gripped the water bottles with so much force that they threatened to explode.
"I can talk to you however I want." Truthfully, Jisung wasn't sure what he was fighting for. He just knew that he and Minho were fighting, point blank period, and that he wouldn't lose. For some reason, he still cared about Minho's opinion of him. For some reason, he didn't want to look like a disappointment.
"Immature, are you?"
"You're the one who came out here and scolded me because it's your fucked-up version of comforting!"
"I'm telling you the truth," Minho says with no lack of coldness in his tone. He took a step forward, then another; his footsteps were heavy against the pavement, despite only wearing sports sneakers. Jisung could only stand there and take it as Minho approached him until they were a few inches apart. "The truth is that you're always hung up on these things, Jisung, and next game you're going to show yourself up in ways none of us will expect at all, so why even bother getting upset?"
If it were possible, Jisung would feel the anger slowly leaving his body in waves. The first wave dissipated after Minho spoke about him so kindly and bluntly, with the next wave dissolving after he realized how close Minho is to him. They shared the same air they were breathing — he could feel Minho's pan against his cheek.
Jisung swallowed, dry and tight. "Why—why do you even care so much about me? You keep… you keep doing these. These things, Minho hyung, out of nowhere. And it throws me off because you act like you despise me one day, then you show me the smallest parts of yourself another day, and I—I just don't know what to do about it."
"You don't know what to do about what," replied Minho, slow and gentle.
"About you." The air in Jisung's lungs exhaled the two simple words like smoke, wafting and floating in the air with no way to be removed. "I've never known what to do with myself when it comes to you. And… and that's why I nag you for attention, because. Because then, it feels like you're not driving me entirely crazy."
A thump was heard when the water bottles hit the ground. Minho — beautiful, cruel, intelligent, skilled Lee Minho — parted his lips to the words, the tension between his eyebrows softening, leaving behind the most vulnerable version of him to date. His chest rose and fall with heavy breathing, something Jisung took note of; his eyes darted from Jisung's eyes to his nose to his lips without any sign of stopping. He looked thrown off, and beautiful, and dazed with something not quite the passion of friendship.
His tongue swiped once, twice over his bottom lip, and Jisung watched both times without a blink in between.
"I…" His voice sounded hesitant. Minho raised his hands to tug on the sleeves of his zip-up, folding it over to make small sweater paws. His teeth were digging into his soft bottom lip, unsure.
Jisung was clever enough to know when he'd said too much. He started to backtrack, faking some sort of lightheartedness: "Forget it, hyung, we can just go inside."
"If you don't know what to do with yourself, I know something I can do to help." Minho blurted it so suddenly, it felt like he'd been planning to the entirety of their awkward silence. His eyes were wide and desperate, his voice underlined with an emotion Jisung couldn't name, and before he knew it, his sleeve-covered hands were settled at the back of Jisung's shoulder blades. The proximity between them began to decrease by the second.
Really, the only thing that existed in the moment was Minho's lips, so naturally, Jisung looks at them. "Minho—"
"Please tell me I'm not reading this wrong," Minho whispered, then pushes their mouths together in a single breath.
It only lasted five seconds at most, their lips moving in tandem with each other, before Minho broke off. He looked scared — as fearful as one could imagine, his wide eyes seeking any sign of discomfort that could be found in Jisung's face. And maybe it was wrong of him to throw Minho off in such a way, but Jisung desired the feeling of their lips slotted together so bad that he pulled Minho in by the parted front of his zip-up and kissed him again.
Minho kissed the same way he set the ball: precise, straightforward, skillfully. Jisung didn't have any doubt in his mind that he was inexperienced. Minho seemed perfectly comfortable with sucking and taking Jisung's bottom lip between his own, his hands firmly linked around the back of Jisung's neck.
That was Minho, though. Jisung wasn't as undemanding with his kissing as Minho was.
The older man whined something high when Jisung broke off their kiss only to press his mouth against Minho's cheeks, nose, and the corners of his lips. A subtle movement, yet enough to tease Minho as proven by the cute sounds he was making. He'd learned a few things today, the most important one being that Minho is obviously a little attracted to him, but he also learned that Minho was a good kisser — and apparently a person who was so into kissing, he'd forgotten they were still very much in public.
"Hyung," Jisung said once, just to bring Minho's attention back to him (as a person, and not his lips.)
An half-lidded look fixed itself upon him, and Jisung flustered under the attention a well-kissed Minho was giving. God, he was hot. Still is, but… honestly, his appearance was overwhelming, especially when his arms were casually thrown around Jisung's shoulders like they belonged there. "What, Han?"
Oh, so they're back to last-name terms. Lovely. That won't do at all. "I just kissed you and you're calling me by my last name?"
"You didn't even answer my question," Minho mumbled, then added, "brat."
"That wasn't a question! That was you prefacing us kissing!" Seeing as they were getting off-topic (Minho had a weird knack for doing that to him), Jisung cleared his throat. "We, um. We shouldn't do this here. I don't think we should."
"Ashamed to be kissing your hyung out in the open? Shame," Minho drawled. Regardless of that, he still separated himself from Jisung and bent down to pick up the dropped water bottles. He looked Jisung up and down, and then pushed the unopened one against his chest bashfully. Jisung's lips broke into a smile — Minho could pretend to be as unbothered and cold as he wanted, but let it be known that now Jisung knew how his lips felt, and that experience in itself overrided anything else.
"Not really. But if you want, we can redo it—in private."
When Minho saw how delighted Jisung looked after their… embrace and the following remark, he huffed, and then turned on his heel and began to walk away. "Not a chance."
Startled, Jisung briskly jogged up to him, in step with his movements; he threw his free arm around Minho's shoulder, bringing him closer with a laugh. His water bottle was half open and got water all over his uniform but he couldn't find it in himself to care. At least, not when Minho was whining about how close he was and about how he's gonna get both of their sneakers soaked.
"I'm a good kisser though, aren't I, hyung?"
Minho snorted. Moved his arm down so that their arms dangled side by side, knuckles brushing every so often. "Not even a little bit, Jisung."
"S—Su… Sungie—"
Well, all of that was a year ago. If Minho hated him when they first met, he certainly didn't hate him now.
Desperate hands claw at Jisung's back, fingernails scratching through the thin material of his shirt as Minho fidgeted against the dirty wall of the gym's storage closet. He was releasing all of these small sounds straight into Jisung's ear — flattering, yeah, but certainly not good for his fair conscience. Minho squirms, writhes, so much that he accidentally hits a broom with his foot and it falls to the ground.
"Hyung," Jisung murmurs into Minho's collarbone, pausing the kisses he'd been leaving up and down the length of his throat. Water break during practice has surely ended by now. The others know better than to look for them, though — it will not have been the first time they'd been found in a compromising position. Besides, Chan and Changbin are good enough receivers, and newbie Yang Jeongin was being trained as a setter. The team has replacements for Jisung and Minho for now.
In the meantime…
Minho lets out another whimper when Jisung presses him further up against the wall and kisses him, finally. Over the course of their relationship, they'd learned more and more about each other, and one of the things Jisung liked the most was seeing Minho so clingy. So comfortable and expressive under him. Sure, their relationship on the court hadn't changed a bit since establishing their relationship at the beginning of Jisung's second year — as the official captain, Chan now has to step in and break up their many arguments — but off the court, Minho becomes softer. Emotional. Pliant, as Jisung likes to have him.
"You're so loud." Jisung says this in the form of a casual remark against his lips.
"Who's fucking faul—hmm." Minho stops short at the feeling of Jisung making work of his jawline, now. Jisung smiles against his soft skin. Again, Minho could attempt to be as collected as he wanted to be, but he knows Jisung possesses just the right abilities to un-collect him (if that was a word, and if it wasn't, Jisung was making it one.) "You're doing all of this to me, Ji… Jisung."
Oh, if that wasn't music to Jisung's incredibly undeserving ears. He pecks Minho's jawline a few more times, trailing kisses up to his soft lips; Minho glares at him but seeks his mouth out anyway, and they slot their lips together deeply.
Reluctantly, Jisung eventually breaks the kiss, nuzzling his nose into Minho's cheek. "I give you good kisses and good passes. How's that for a boyfriend?"
He feels Minho huff against his cheek. His hands are idly scratching Jisung's back, because they're domestic like that. Fuck, yes. Who knew that being annoying the entirety of his first year could lead up to something like this? "It's alright," he says at first, then, "I rate mine a four out of ten."
"A four out of ten?"
Jisung has half a mind to try and grab Minho before he wiggles out of his hold, but Minho gets by too quickly and scampers away in giggles. They're so occupied with their little chase that when Minho thrusts open the door, they're met with the entire team on the other side.
"Um," Felix says weakly.
Chan eyes them up and down. Jisung realizes that in that moment, the back of Minho's hair is extremely ruffled and Jisung's shirt is wrinkled in a strange way. "So," Chan starts, "when I said 'take some time to get yourselves going' earlier, this is not what I meant in the slightest."
A volleyball rolls out of the closet from behind Jisung. All eight pairs of eyes slowly follow it until it stops at Jeongin's feet; he picks it up and tosses it to Seungmin, who tosses it back, and they start a little back-and-forth.
"I can explain."
"Contrary to the widely accepted opinion right now I actually don't want to hear Jisung's perspective on this whole thing," Hyunjin declares, and there's a low hum in the room as their teammates agree, "like, at all."
Felix scratches the back of his neck. "So, would Minho hyung's opinion be better?"
"Can we just go back to drills please," Changbin pleads. Begs, even. The others nod and begin to walk away.
Jisung lets out a small breath of relief, until Chan nudges him with his elbow. "You know, I can't say I expected you guys to get together in your first year. Minho was so resistant against your attempts to flirt with him, but I'm happy you're like this now." His captain winks, ruffles his hair playfully, then sets off to follow in Changbin's footsteps.
"Yeah, resistant for a reason." Minho lets out a deep sigh next to him. He's stretching his limbs all cat-like above his head.
It really did only feel like yesterday: stumbling into the gym, getting maybe a bit bold with his attempts at impressing his underclassmen, and running into Lee Minho. The love of his life, the grounding force checking his ego relentlessly. "Do you remember what you said at first, Minho hyung?" Coyly, he tilts his head and watches for Minho's reaction. "You were going to look forward to my attempts."
"At proving yourself, not flirting with me."
"But you looked forward to and got something out of both of those things. Right?"
Minho stops walking then, so Jisung stops too. There are volleyballs flying around the room and their teammates are shouting in glee with the rhythmic thumps of the balls against forearms. Despite all of this, Minho looks at him with something he can't quite name. His eyes are soft, his mouth unmoving — he smiles, all of a sudden, and it does very dangerous things to Jisung's heart. Perhaps he's just as bad at feigning indifference as Minho is. They're pretty good together, after all.
Taped fingers find themselves threading through Jisung's. He squeezes Minho's hand when their palms press together, and MInho tugs him towards the rest of the court.
"I got everything I admit I wanted, Han Jisung."