Chapter Text
The poster taunts Jisung from the moment he sees it, awash in pinks, dark skyscrapers in the background backlit by a sunset. The logo of the college's dance company and a date for their annual showcase.
Its today.
Jisung's free.
He's tempted.
He can't explain what exactly's tempting about it. Is it the graphic design? Whoever's the Publicity Chair for the company did amazingly, true, but that can't be it. Jisung's not involved in the dance scene at college, no matter how many times he's seen the posters and members around. Why is it now, in the spring semester of his junior year, that his mind has chosen to fixate on the showcase?
It haunts him. He's never fully present in his classes anyway, but instead of not thinking at all, somehow he's thinking too much now. Would it be…odd if he went to the showcase? Would anybody recognize him? He's made it a point to lay low recently, so maybe not, but…he can't tell. He can't tell. What if the person in the seat next to him was part of the audience that saw him have a panic attack on stage and promptly run away? What then?
Wear a mask, the logical part of his brain suggests. Fuck off, he tells it, but his brain unfortunately has a point.
Is it the fact that dance is music adjacent? Lord knows that Jisung loves music, but he's been avoiding the live music scene like the plague recently…dance is live, but not live music. Is there much of a distinction? It's still performing. It's still flaying yourself bloody in front of an audience in the hopes that they'll find something in your entrails worth looking at. Worth keeping.
Jisung's stupidly tempted, even if he doesn't know why, and let it be known that he's never had the best impulse control.
He goes through the rest of the day in a sort of daze; he sits in class and writes maybe three sentences worth of notes, he eats a meager dinner, and before he knows it, he's standing in line in the auditorium, swaddled in his oversized black hoodie, track pants, and a mask. If it weren't for his college ID in his hand, he'd probably look suspicious as hell. Funny how once upon a time that would send him into a panic; now it's just his normal state of being.
The lady at the front swipes him in with a smile that Jisung can't mirror. He shuffles into the auditorium, which is already buzzing with excited chatter. As he sits, Jisung's hit by a sudden burst of coldness among the warmth of the audience. In this atmosphere, Jisung is a black hole where warmth goes to die. He huddles into himself so as to not infect the other students with his condition.
He'll watch the showcase because of his stupid whim, he'll leave, and he'll fall asleep.
The lights him and the audience noise dies down to a hush. The MC's take the stage with an artificial bubbliness that eats at Jisung's stomach. The two students look like they're having a blast, covered in their candy coatings and letting the ants in the audience eat away at them gladly. It turns Jisung's stomach. He looks away.
The curtains open, the lights flash on, and the music starts.
The music is something out of the late 2010's, when Jisung remembers EDM and trap being popular. The fusion with hiphop lends itself to the energy and intricate dance moves displayed. Fast footwork, quick formation changes, the expressions…god, the expressions…
Jisung doesn't know why he came into this expecting porcelain dolls. No, these dancers aren't that kind of dancer. They burn with something unknown, something almost tangible but unreachable. Even their sweat pouring down their face adds to their ferocity.
Is this…really dance?
Jisung's in a daze again, but…something is different.
The trembles under his skin aren't anxiety, but something bordering excitement. His fingers twitch without him willing them to, his eyes locked on the bright stage and colorful music. His chest hurts before he remembers that he has to breathe.
All the sensations amplify by ten when a new dancer takes the stage.
And holy fuck.
Objectively, Jisung knows that not all people are blessed equally when it comes to…well. Genes. And all. Some men are just stupidly attractive for no reason. Not that Jisung has noticed much recently, too absorbed in his slow zombification.
But now, well, it's being thrown in his fucking face.
Because this dancer's skin is clear, porcelain but warm, a few clear rivulets of sweat making their way down his face and neck in a tantalizing way almost foreign to Jisung. His hair is silver and fluffy, though it's quickly being flattened by the sweat and exertion. His thighs bulge against the tight leather pants, hips rolling slow and controlled with the music. His eyes…god, his eyes have been done with smoky liner and purple shadow, adding to the entire siren aura he's exuding on stage. He bites his lips and smirks.
Jisung has to physically close his mouth.
His throat is so dry.
What the hell.
The song ends with the dancers' chests heaving and a deafening applause. Jisung joins it despite himself, though the thudding of his heart is infinitely louder than whatever is happening on stage. The lights dim, curtains close, and the MC's take the stage again.
It feels like an anxiety attack, but…not. It's pure adrenaline in the best way. It's nothing and everything at the same time.
The last time Jisung felt like this, he was on stage.
His breath catches. He's suddenly hyperaware of the clamminess of his hands, how his hoodie sticks to his back, of the shifting of the guy next to him, of the grating voices of the MC. It's too much. It's somehow not enough. Jisung needs to leave. He can't even get up.
His window to leave ends with the MC's announcing the next song, and the curtains open again. Instead of the entire dance company, now there's a collection of maybe…6? 7? The song is just as energetic, but the moves are smoother, more…jazzy. Jisung thinks the MC said something about experimenting with different styles? Is that what's going on?
Even if it's not his preferred style, the Dancer seems completely in his element.
Jisung's mind wanders to wondering how long he must have practiced to achieve that kind of fluidity. Sure, you may be born with more flexibility or body control, but dance at that level was cultivated with blood sweat and tears. How many times had he sat alone in the dance room wondering if he was enough? How many times had he nearly given up?
Well, he's clearly doing better than Jisung, seeing as Jisung had already given up.
But a part of Jisung is shook in admiration rather than envy. He…doesn't feel any envy, surprisingly. The sensation is more of a mortal looking at the divine for the first time: a sense of awe, otherworldliness, and uncanniness. It's odd.
The Dancer dances four more times in the showcase, but Jisung can't bring himself to focus on the other acts, no matter how well-choreographed or synchronized they may be. He does think he recognizes a few people from his classes — he's definitely seen Hwang Hyunjin and his boyfriend Lee Felix around, and the two actually have a duet — but nothing sticks but the face of the Dancer.
The showcase ends, the lights turn on, and everybody stands, turning to each other to share in their excitement. People start flooding out while Jisung's still wondering whether his legs will support him. The way his heart is pounding, you might think he's the one that just danced for two hours.
He pulls his hoodie over his head. Tightens the strings. Takes a breath that does nothing for the adrenaline-turning-into-anxiety in his veins.
Standing, he takes the longest possible route to the door, avoiding all kinds of congregations of people, only to be met with a veritable flood of happy voices in the auditorium lobby.
Apparently people had gotten flowers for the dancers, who were accepting them with gummy smiles and quick selfies. There are squeals of excitement, multiple exclamations of you did so well!, and people rushing past and around Jisung. The man can only take it in with wide eyes. Somehow, despite all this warmth, the space in Jisung's heart feels hollow. Cold.
What is he doing? He doesn't deserve to feel this…ugly feeling when he didn't even have the dedication to pull through one gig. He doesn't belong here. He needs to get out before the black hole of his soul taints the moment for these wonderful, golden people.
He takes a step, then another, already bracing for the chill of February air, when a man rushes past him, screaming. It startles Jisung badly enough for him to take a step back, then second-guess the step, and in his haste to right himself, trip over his own ankles. He hears a yell before he slams into something warm and solid, taking them both to the floor with a thud.
The buzz around them hushes for a moment before picking up hesitantly. In those few seconds, Jisung has worked out that he has 1) fallen on top of a dancer, and 2) needs to go jump off a bridge immediately. He's humiliated himself enough for this lifetime.
"Well." Oh god. Jisung's ear is against this guy's chest, and his voice, light and melodic, resounds through Jisung's body like the world's worst (best?) windchime. "Did I just have somebody fall for me? On the day before Valentine's?"
Jisung emits a sound not unlike a boiling kettle. "Oh god, I'm so fucking sorry." He realizes that he's still on this guy's chest and pushes himself up quickly, wrenching his eyes open to see — to see —
"Oh," The Dancer of Jisung's Dreams gazes at him with wide, surprised eyes. "Oh you're cute."
Jisunug opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again, but no words come out, so he closes it again.
This is — this is unfair. This gorgeous specimen of a man is sprawled under Jisung, flushed and panting from exertion, hair mussed up and clothes rumpled from the fall. Jisung's mind wanders to whether he looks like that in other circumstances before he has to mentally slap himself. Three times. He counts.
"…I'm really not," he manages to say quietly, averting his eyes from the borderline pornographic sight below him. "Listen, I — can we like, forget I just humiliated myself in front of you? I'll get out of your hair, you can get back to your friends, win win?"
The man blinks. Hums, like he's considering it. Then,
"…no."
"…what?"
The Dancer shifts, pushing himself up slowly. Jisung startles back and falls on his ass. The man snorts, lifting himself to standing and holding out a hand. "Come with me?"
It's a nice hand.
Jisung thinks about what would happen if he took it, ignored the voices in his head telling him to run. It's objectively a bad idea; Jisung doesn't know anything about this man past an infatuation with his dance style, but. Well. Jisung's never been known for his impulse control.
He takes the hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet. The dancer's hands are sweaty, but not clammy; they pulse with a warmth Jisung had thought he'd forgotten. His eyes latch onto two people behind Jisung, narrowing slightly at how the two giggle. Upon closer inspection, that is Hyunjin and Felix. Huh. Jisung didn't know they were friends with the embodiment of perfection.
The man pulls him out the door and Jisung is helpless to follow.
He pushes the glass doors open with a hand letting the cool air wash over them both. Rather than making Jisung's muscles seize, he feels himself relaxing. It calms the rushing blood in his ears as the ambience of the auditorium fades away, leaving the whistle of the wind, a few stray birds, and a hand in his.
Jisung takes his firth deep breath of the night.
The man pulls him further to the side of the brick building, away from the other stray people making their ways to their dorms. He stops after a few paces, turning back to Jisung with an unreadable expression. Now that they've stepped out of the heated bubble, Jisung's finding his thoughts flowing much quicker, less like wading through hot clay. The initial excitement is starting to give into wary confusion as he's stared at like…a hunk of meat, honestly.
He shifts on his feet, thumbing at a hangnail. Feline eyes track the movement.
"…you looked like you needed air."
The sentence is offered as a bridge, or maybe a silver branch from the man embodying everything about the metal. Jisung, the one most like a stray pebble, grasps it without thinking. "I really did. Wow. It's so…refreshing here."
The man hums, turning his gaze skyward. "That's why I took you outside. Sometimes, after a night like this, I like to step out and look at the stars."
Jisung blinks, looking up as well. There aren't many stars in the sky, but he can make out a single constellation. Orion. Ironic, considering Jisung is probably the least hunter person to exist. "You can't see many from here though, can you? Light pollution and all that."
"Mmm, yeah, but it's the thought that counts."
A nervous giggle breaks through Jisung's lips before he can stop it, and he's briefly horrified at the sound. "The thought? Like you're doing the sky a favor by looking at it?"
"Exactly so, you're catching on fast," the man says in a lilting tone, lips curled in a smirk that Does Things to Jisung. "The stars are trying to hard to shine past all this pollution. The least we can do is appreciate them, no?"
Jisung blinks, briefly thrown.
The man notices infuriatingly fast. "What, too poetic for you?"
You could rhyme Shrek with swag and I think I'd still like you.
"You should write songs," Jisung says instead of whatever that thought was. It's entirely too honest, but Jisung's filter has been thrown away sometime between seeing that poster for the first time and his disastrous fall, and it's late enough that he can't care anymore. "You'd be a great lyricist."
When the man's mouth falls open, Jisung can't help but notice his bunny teeth. His mouth is a little triangle of surprise, and the intensity of Jisung's desire to kiss it surprises even himself. "Is that what you are then? A lyricist?"
"I — well." Jisung looks away. "You could…you could say that."
Not a full denial, but not a full confirmation.
Jisung feels like his bleeding heart is on full display. He sinks into it, wondering if when he next looks at his hands they will be bloody.
There's a silence for a few seconds, during which Jisung prays to every god he can think of that this man won't push. When there's a sharp exhale in front of him, Jisung closes his eyes, fearing the worst.
"My name is Lee Minho."
…what?"
The non-sequitor practically grabs Jisung's attention and forces it on the man — no, Minho. He has a hand on his hip now, leaning against the wall. "I've been dancing since I was eight, mainly hip-hop. I'm a senior studying computer science and mathematics. I live in the Quad, which is convenient because it's right by the dance studios and campus center."
When Jisung fails to do anything beyond process the information, Minho waves a hand at Jisung. "What about you?"
"Oh!" The heat rushing to Jisung's cheeks make his skin prickle with goosebumps. "I'm Jisung — Han Jisung. I'm majoring in Economics. No double major. Um — I live across campus, and I'm not really in many extracurriculars. I'm a sophomore, so I guess you're my hyung?"
Minho closes his eyes, almost like he's in pain? Or holding back?
"…Hyung?"
"Fuck. Okay, Han-ah." The words are breathed out shakily, which also Does Something to Jisung that he will most definitely be investigating later because What The Fuck. "Listen. This is not the most conventional, but neither am I, so. I think you're cute as hell and I would very much like to take you on a date. If you'd let me. We can be friends too! I think you'd get along with Lix and Jinnie, but it can just be the two of us. I mean. Fuck." Minho looks away, rubbing his neck and laughing with none of the confidence from before. "I'm rambling, but well. Valentines is tomorrow right? Do you…already have plans?"
It takes a moment for Jisung to identify the emotion curling around him as happiness, and another moment to identify the hope in his chest.
When's the last time he felt hope?
"…I don't. I'd really like that, hyung," he says softly, smiling as honestly as he can, and taking off his hood. Having it on feels too…informal for this conversation. Something akin to awe bursts in his chest at how Minho's eyes widen and he visibly gulps. "I'll put my number in your phone then?"
He's doing this to Minho. Jisung is flustering Minho.
This is…this is a new kind of power. Jisung thinks he could get drunk on it, if not careful enough.
Putting his number in Minho's phone as "Han-ah ~" is too easy. So is sending the first text. They smile at each other for a moment, neither willing to break the moment.
"You look more relaxed now."
"Ah, yeah," Jisung laughs. "I think I was on the verge of an anxiety attack actually? Coming outside helped with that a lot, so. Thanks. I don't even know how you noticed, honestly."
Minho shrugs. "Something about your eyes. I don't know. I have a friend with anxiety, so…"
"One of the friends you mentioned would like me?"
Minho hums in assent. "I still think you should meet them at some point. They'd go crazy over you."
"…I'll keep that in mind." Jisung doesn't fully believe it, but well. He's loathed to deny anything that comes out of that mouth before he has the chance to kiss it.
"I'll invite you out with them one day," Minho promises. "They'll love you, I promise."
Jisung chuckles. "Thanks, hyung."
"Don't mention it."
The silence stretches. Jisung's tempted to ask for a cigarette, which is ridiculous because he doesn't even smoke.
"…I think I should start heading back…it's late," Jisung says regretfully. "You'll text me about tomorrow?"
A complicated expression flits across Minho's face before he takes a step forward. "Let me walk you back."
"I — hyung?"
"It's late and if I let you go alone I'll only worry. Besides, it's the gentlemanly thing to do, isn't it?"
Jisung laughs a touch too loud for the silent night as they start their walk. "Are you calling me a bottom?"
"Are you confessing to something, Han Jisung?"
"Do you think that lowly of me?"
"Me? Think? Never. I'm just restating what you told me."
Jisung doesn't even know where the sudden surge of courage comes from, since he hasn't taken any alcohol or anything today and he's been a rightful mess recently, but before he knows it, he's turning on Minho, taking him by the shoulders and pressing him against the wall of the building they haven't quite managed to pass yet. He lets his impulses take the lead, since following them led him to this situation in the first place. Jisung has a front row seat to how the man's breath hitches, how his blush travels to his ears which is the single cutest thing Jisung's ever seen. His mouth falls open incrementally. His hands come to grasp Jisung's forearms unconsciously.
In his last relationship Jisung was always the one taking the lead.
He thanks that experience for this now, fucked up as it might be.
"Does this change your mind?" Jisung's voice drops to somewhere low and coarse, only meant for the space between the two men. Minho makes eye contact with a surprised sort of assertiveness, though he doesn't make any move to shove Jisung off. In fact, he's…leaning in. Slightly. Jisung's stomach flips at his eagerness. It's getting harder and harder to reconcile the confident man on stage with this man, pressed against the wall by Jisung who has maybe a quarter of his strength.
Jisung lets himself close the distance enough to rest his forehead against Minho. "Not gonna answer?"
Minho huffs a bewildered laugh. "I think you already know the answer, jagi-yah."
Jagi-yah.
Jisung's so, so, so fucked.
He leans in further, pressing a soft kiss to Minho's cheek, not feeling emotionally ready for the real thing but also not being able to do nothing. The skin is soft to the touch, running warm against the winter air. He can feel the way Minho holds his breath in wonder and Jisung has to exercise inhuman levels of self-control to not smile.
When he pulls away, he's delighted to find the blush has spread to Minho's cheeks, body still with anticipation before Jisung.
The reality of everything hits Jisung at once, and he takes several steps back. "Oh. Oh god. Um. I don't know where that came from."
Minho blinks once, twice, and then cackles.
Jisung can't help but join after a moment; Minho's laugh is infectious. He can't help but wonder what everyone passing them must think, those that witnessed their little moment and those that are just seeing two college kids laughing like they're high on crack. He feels high. He thinks he could get high off Minho's presence alone.
"You and I," Minho wheezes between laughs, "are going to get along splendidly."
And for once in Jisung's life, he finds himself agreeing, hope lighting a match in the darkness that was his heart.