Work Text:
Jisung decided he would rather swallow a whole stapler than look at Lee Minho.
The cafeteria smelled like fries, cheap pizza, and the kind of perfume people sprayed with the optimism of a rom-com lead. Valentine’s Day had been two days ago, but the aftershocks were still everywhere: heart-shaped candy wrappers tucked into hoodie pockets, pink paper cut-outs taped to lockers like tiny cheerful wounds, couples leaning into each other as if gravity had been invented specifically to help them kiss in public.
Jisung sat at his usual lunch table like a king in exile, chin up, shoulders back, laugh loud enough to bounce off the tiled walls. He was doing what he always did when he felt too much.
He performed “fine.”
Hyunjin, who had sat down across from him with a tray of salad he would definitely abandon after three bites, peered over his fork. “You’re smiling like you want to bite someone.”
Jisung’s grin sharpened. “That’s just my face.”
“Your face is usually sparkly,” Hyunjin said, gesturing vaguely. “Like... like a disco ball. Today it’s more like a disco ball someone threw into a blender.”
Jisung shoved a fry into his mouth. “I’m great.”
“You’re great,” Hyunjin repeated, clearly unconvinced.
Across the cafeteria, Minho hovered near the entrance like he was deciding whether to walk into the lion enclosure with a raw steak strapped to his chest. His backpack hung on one shoulder. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d dragged a hand through it too many times. His eyes kept flicking toward Jisung’s table and then away, as if looking too long might summon lightning.
He took a careful step forward.
Jisung did not look at him.
Hyunjin noticed anyway because Hyunjin noticed everything. “Uh-oh,” he whispered, delighted. “Incoming apology.”
Jisung’s smile went bright and false. “No service today. We’re closed.”
Minho reached their table, stopping at the edge like a polite ghost. “Jisung.”
Jisung stared at his fries with deep devotion. He picked one up like it held the secrets of the universe.
Minho cleared his throat. He always did that when he was nervous, like his body was trying to file paperwork before speaking. “Can we talk?”
Jisung lifted his head slowly. Not all the way. Just enough to make eye contact for a second and then slide his gaze away again, like Minho’s eyes were a hot stove.
“What for?” Jisung asked, voice light. Too light.
Minho’s expression pinched. He looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. That special kind of tired seniors got in February: one part homework, one part panic about the future, one part pretending you weren’t terrified.
“I’m sorry,” Minho said quietly. “About Friday.”
Jisung’s laugh burst out like confetti from a broken cannon. “Friday? What was Friday? Oh! You mean Valentine’s Day.”
Hyunjin made a soft “oof” sound and took an enormous bite of salad like he needed something to do with his mouth.
Minho’s ears turned pink. “I messed up.”
“You did,” Jisung agreed cheerfully. “Gold star.”
Minho swallowed. “I forgot.”
Jisung blinked once, then twice, like he was testing whether the world had glitched. “You forgot.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Minho rushed, words tumbling out faster than usual. “It’s been... college stuff and assignments and my mom keeps asking if I’ve checked the deadlines and then there’s the scholarship forms and I...”
He stopped, shoulders slumping, like he’d run out of air and excuses at the same time. His hands curled at his sides, uncertain.
Jisung watched him for half a second longer than he meant to. Something in Minho’s face looked honest, and that was the problem. Honest made it harder.
Jisung turned back to his tray. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not,” Minho said. His voice had that soft stubbornness he saved for important things. “I hurt you.”
Jisung’s fingers tightened around his fry. He still didn’t look at Minho. “Oh. Did you. I hadn’t noticed.”
Hyunjin coughed violently into his napkin, either choking or pretending to.
Minho took a small step closer. “Please.”
Jisung finally glanced up, eyes bright. Too bright. “You want to make it up to me so bad?”
Minho nodded once. “Yes.”
Jisung’s smile flashed like a blade. “Cool.”
He lifted his hand slowly, held it out between them, palm facing inward. For a second, Minho’s expression softened, hopeful, like maybe Jisung was offering a truce.
Then Jisung raised his middle finger.
It was not dramatic. It was not theatrical. It was calm, like he was presenting a bouquet.
“By the way,” Jisung said sweetly, “I have your Valentine’s gift.”
Hyunjin wheezed. Someone at the next table snorted into their milk carton.
Minho froze, eyes wide, like he’d been slapped and kissed at the same time and didn’t know which one to respond to.
Jisung kept the finger up a moment longer, just to make sure the message had time to land, then dropped it and turned back to his lunch with the finality of a door closing.
“Enjoy,” he added, voice bright. “Now go away. I’m eating.”
Minho stood there like a person who’d wandered into the wrong room and discovered the floor was lava. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then, quietly, stepped back.
Hyunjin watched him retreat with the satisfaction of someone witnessing premium drama. “That,” he whispered, “was art.”
Jisung’s laugh came out too loud. “I’m fine.”
Hyunjin leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “You’re not fine.”
Jisung stabbed a fry like it had personally betrayed him. “I’m fine.”
Hyunjin’s voice softened a fraction. “Did he actually stand you up?”
Jisung kept chewing. His throat felt tight. He shrugged with the casualness of a person pretending their heart wasn’t doing cartwheels in a fire. “He forgot.”
Hyunjin blinked. “He forgot? On Valentine’s Day? When you asked him that same day?”
Jisung’s jaw ticked. “I asked him earlier than that.”
“Earlier?” Hyunjin frowned. “How early?”
Jisung didn’t answer. He stared down at his tray like the answers might be written in ketchup.
And before he could stop himself, his mind rewound.
Back to the beginning of February, when the world had still felt like it could turn out okay.
February started with cold air that made everyone’s noses red and their tempers short. The school hallways were decorated for Valentine’s Day already, because the student council had the energy of caffeine in human form.
Paper hearts. Streamers. A giant poster advertising the “Rose Gram” fundraiser.
Jisung hated it.
Not because love was gross. Jisung loved love. Jisung was the kind of person who pointed at couples holding hands and said things like, “That’s adorable,” even when he was alone.
He hated it because the school had decided to turn love into a loud public sport, and Jisung was already losing.
Minho walked beside him as they moved through the crowded hall. Minho’s steps were steady, calm, like he didn’t feel rushed even when the world was sprinting around them. His backpack looked heavy. He’d been carrying the weight of senior year like it was an actual object.
Jisung kept glancing at him.
Minho didn’t notice, because Minho was reading something on his phone and frowning at it.
“What are you looking at?” Jisung asked, too casual.
Minho sighed. “College portal stuff. Deadlines. Requirements.”
Jisung made a face. “Ew. Adulting.”
Minho’s lips twitched. “Yeah.”
Jisung bumped him with his shoulder, light enough to be playful. “You’ll be fine. You’re smart.”
Minho’s gaze flicked up, soft. “So are you.”
Jisung’s chest did a small dangerous flip. He waved a hand like it was nothing. “Yeah but I’m younger, so I can still be stupid for another year. That’s the rule.”
Minho huffed a quiet laugh, and Jisung felt like he’d just successfully performed a magic trick. Minho’s laughter was rare, and when he did laugh it was like warmth leaking out of him.
They stopped at Jisung’s locker. Jisung opened it, then just stood there, staring at the inside as if it contained a prophecy.
Minho waited. Patient, as always.
Jisung swallowed. His heart beat in a nervous rhythm that didn’t match the hallway noise.
He had been thinking about it for days. The thing he wanted to ask. The thing he didn’t know how to ask without sounding like it mattered too much.
Minho was leaving soon.
Not now, not tomorrow. But soon enough that Jisung could already feel the empty space it would carve out.
He cleared his throat. “Hey.”
Minho looked at him. “Yeah?”
Jisung’s mouth went dry. He forced his voice into a normal shape. “So. Valentine’s Day is coming up.”
Minho blinked, like he hadn’t noticed the hallways screaming it at them. “Oh. Right.”
Jisung shrugged. “Everyone’s going to be all... romantic and gross.”
Minho’s expression softened. “You don’t like it?”
Jisung made a dramatic gagging noise. “I mean, I like it. Just not when people are doing it at me.”
Minho’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “At you?”
“You know,” Jisung said, waving his hand. “Like, the universe. Couples everywhere. Like they’re trying to rub their happiness in my face.”
Minho hesitated. “Do you... want to do something?”
Jisung’s breath caught. He pretended it didn’t. “Maybe.”
Minho tilted his head. “With who?”
Jisung looked at him. He couldn’t help it. Minho’s eyes were calm, open, the color of soft coffee, and Jisung felt like he could fall into them and never find the bottom.
“With you,” Jisung said, quickly, before he could talk himself out of it. He immediately added, loud and joking, “As friends. Obviously.”
Minho’s expression froze for half a heartbeat. Then it smoothed out.
“As friends,” Minho echoed quietly.
Jisung laughed too much. “Yeah! Like, we can hang out at my place. Watch something. Eat snacks. Make fun of couples from a safe distance.”
Minho stared at him for a second longer than usual, like he was trying to read a sentence written in invisible ink.
Then he nodded. “Okay.”
Jisung exhaled. Relief whooshed through him so fast it almost made him dizzy.
“Really?” he asked, voice too eager.
Minho’s lips curved, small and shy. “Yeah. Of course.”
Jisung’s smile went wide. “Cool. Then it’s a date.”
He meant it as a joke. He said it like a joke. He even wiggled his eyebrows like a joke.
But Minho’s ears turned pink anyway.
Jisung pretended not to notice. He pretended lots of things around Minho.
“Okay,” Minho said again, softer.
Jisung leaned against his locker, grinning like a fool. “February 14th. My place. You, me, snacks, anti-romance commentary.”
Minho nodded. “I won’t forget.”
Jisung’s chest warmed. The words landed inside him and stayed there like a small candle.
“I know you won’t,” Jisung said easily.
Because Minho never forgot things about Jisung.
Minho remembered Jisung’s favorite candy. Minho remembered how Jisung liked his ramen. Minho remembered the exact day they met in middle school, when Jisung had tried to sit with the “quiet kid” because he refused to let anyone be alone if he could help it.
So Jisung didn’t remind him again. Not even once.
Because for Jisung, Minho forgetting wasn’t a possibility. It wasn’t a thing that existed in the universe.
And maybe, somewhere deep down, Jisung also liked the idea that Minho would be thinking about Valentine’s Day too.
Thinking about Jisung.
Valentine’s Day arrived like a glitter bomb.
The sky was bright but cold. The school was a pink-and-red fever dream. People carried roses like they were weapons. Someone in the hallway handed out heart stickers. Someone else had written “BE MINE” in giant letters on a poster board, which felt both brave and deeply terrifying.
Jisung walked into school that morning feeling strangely light.
Because tonight, he was going to spend Valentine’s Day with Minho.
As friends, he reminded himself. As best friends. Because that was safe.
But still.
Minho.
Jisung spotted him near the stairs, quiet as always, adjusting his backpack strap. He looked… good. He always looked good. It was unfair. Minho looked like the kind of person you accidentally wrote poetry about.
Jisung bounced up to him, loud enough to announce his existence to the entire building. “Minho!”
Minho turned, eyes softening immediately. That look was Jisung’s favorite thing in the world: the way Minho’s face changed when he saw him, like the day got a little warmer.
“Hey,” Minho said.
Jisung grinned. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”
Minho blinked, then gave a small smile. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Jisung’s heart did that stupid flip again. He pretended he didn’t feel it.
All day, Jisung floated.
He laughed with friends. He cracked jokes. He accepted a few silly candies from classmates who liked him because Jisung had the kind of charisma that made even teachers sigh fondly.
But underneath it all, like a secret melody, he kept thinking: Tonight.
He kept picturing Minho in his room, sitting cross-legged on the floor like he always did, quietly judging whatever movie Jisung chose. He pictured them eating snacks. He pictured them talking. He pictured Minho staying late.
He pictured, in the corner of his mind where he kept forbidden dreams, Minho looking at him like he looked at sunsets. Like he looked at something precious.
After school, Jisung went home and cleaned his room like he was preparing for a royal visit.
He changed his bedsheets. He shoved random junk into his closet. He arranged snacks on his desk like an offering. He even lit one of those little scented candles his mom kept in the bathroom, because the internet had taught him that ambiance was a thing.
At 6:30 p.m., he showered and changed into comfortable clothes.
At 6:50, he checked his phone.
No message.
At 7:00, he stood by the window like a dog waiting for its person.
At 7:10, he sent Minho a casual text.
U on ur way? 😌
At 7:15, he refreshed the screen so many times his thumb started to ache.
At 7:25, he told himself Minho was probably just late. Maybe he was stuck with family stuff. Maybe he was finishing something. Maybe his phone died.
At 7:40, he sent another text, less casual.
Is everything ok?
At 8:00, the candle burned low. The snacks sat untouched. Jisung sat on his bed with his knees pulled to his chest and tried not to feel stupid.
At 8:30, his mom knocked gently and peeked in. “Honey? You okay?”
Jisung smiled automatically. “Yeah. Just... chilling.”
She looked at the snacks, at the candle, at the way his room looked like a magazine page for “Teenagers Who Definitely Have Their Life Together.”
Her eyes softened. “Is someone coming over?”
Jisung’s smile wobbled. “Maybe.”
His mom didn’t push. She just came over and squeezed his shoulder. “Well. If plans change, I’m making hot chocolate.”
Jisung nodded, because if he tried to speak, something sharp might come out.
At 9:00, the screen still showed nothing from Minho.
At 9:05, Jisung’s phone buzzed.
His heart leaped so violently it almost hurt.
But it wasn’t Minho.
It was Hyunjin posting a selfie at a restaurant with a caption that said: VALENTINE’S DAY DINNER!! with a million heart emojis.
Jisung stared at the photo until his eyes burned.
Then he turned his phone off.
It wasn’t just that Minho didn’t come.
It was that Minho didn’t say anything.
No “sorry.” No “I can’t.” No “I’m running late.” No “I’m alive.”
Just silence.
And silence, to Jisung, felt like abandonment with better manners.
He stayed in his room until the candle died completely, the air slowly losing its sweetness.
When his mom brought him hot chocolate anyway, he thanked her and drank it too quickly and burned his tongue.
He welcomed the pain. It gave him something to focus on that wasn’t the hollow feeling in his chest.
By midnight, Jisung was staring at the ceiling, wide awake, thinking of all the ways someone could forget him.
Thinking of Minho leaving for college soon.
Thinking of distance.
Thinking of how easy it would be for Minho to make new friends, better friends, friends who didn’t talk too much and feel too much and ask to spend Valentine’s Day together like a pathetic hopeful idiot.
He fell asleep with his phone face down, as if hiding it could hide the truth.
The weekend passed in a blur of Jisung pretending he wasn’t hurt.
By Monday, he was furious enough to shine.
That’s why the middle finger felt satisfying. It was petty. It was childish. It was also the only thing he could do that didn’t involve crying in front of Minho.
In the cafeteria, after Minho walked away, Jisung stared at his lunch and tried to swallow food that suddenly tasted like cardboard.
Hyunjin leaned in. “Okay,” he said quietly now, the teasing gone. “I’m going to say something, and you can either throw a fry at me or listen.”
Jisung didn’t look up. “I can do both.”
Hyunjin sighed. “Minho looked wrecked.”
“So?” Jisung said, voice sharp.
Hyunjin’s eyes narrowed. “So… he’s trying. That’s new.”
Jisung’s hand trembled slightly as he picked up his drink. He hated this part, the part where people pointed out Minho’s goodness like it was supposed to erase the hurt.
Minho was good.
That was why it hurt so much.
Because if Minho was careless, if Minho was mean, if Minho didn’t care, Jisung could’ve shrugged it off like a bad song.
But Minho cared.
Minho cared in a thousand quiet ways.
So why hadn’t he cared enough to show up?
Jisung took a sip. “He forgot.”
Hyunjin’s voice softened further. “Jisung… seniors are drowning right now.”
Jisung’s laugh was brittle. “I know. Everyone keeps reminding me how much Minho is drowning, like that means I’m not allowed to feel anything.”
Hyunjin opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed. “Okay. Fair. You’re allowed to feel. You’re allowed to be mad. I’m just saying… don’t burn down the whole friendship.”
Jisung stared at his tray, suddenly exhausted. “I’m not.”
Hyunjin raised an eyebrow.
Jisung exhaled. “I’m just… protecting myself.”
Hyunjin nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Across the cafeteria, Minho sat alone at a table near the wall, poking at his food like he didn’t deserve to eat it.
He kept glancing at Jisung.
Jisung refused to look back.
The next day, Jisung arrived at his locker and found a small bag hanging from it.
He froze.
The bag was plain brown paper, folded neatly at the top. Attached was a sticky note with Minho’s handwriting, careful and slightly slanted.
sorry.
Inside the bag: Jisung’s favorite convenience store chocolate, the one with the weird crunchy bits he always claimed tasted like “happiness with teeth.”
Jisung stared at it like it might bite him.
He grabbed it, shoved it in his backpack, and walked away without looking around.
He told himself it didn’t matter.
He told himself it wasn’t enough.
But the whole morning, he could feel the weight of the chocolate in his bag like a tiny warm secret.
At lunch, Minho approached again, cautious as a cat near a bathtub.
Jisung didn’t look up.
Minho set something on the table.
Jisung’s eyes flicked down despite himself.
A juice box. The exact brand Jisung always bought. Straw still taped to the side.
Minho’s voice was quiet. “I saw it in the vending machine.”
Jisung stared at it, then looked away again. “Cool.”
Minho’s fingers curled around his backpack strap. “Can we talk after school?”
Jisung’s laugh was quick. “No.”
Minho flinched, barely visible, but Jisung saw it anyway. He hated that he saw it. He hated that his chest tightened.
Minho nodded once. “Okay.”
He walked away.
Jisung stared at the juice box like it had personally betrayed him by being exactly what he liked.
Hyunjin, of course, appeared like a gremlin summoned by emotional distress. “He’s bribing you,” he whispered.
Jisung hissed, “Shut up.”
Hyunjin grinned. “You’re going to drink it.”
Jisung glared. “No, I’m not.”
Ten minutes later, Jisung drank it out of spite.
Minho didn’t stop.
On Wednesday, Jisung found a folded note in his locker.
I’m sorry. I know I hurt you. I’m not asking you to forgive me right away. I just want you to know I didn’t forget you on purpose.
Jisung stared at the handwriting until his eyes watered, then he blinked hard and shoved the note into his pocket like it was contraband.
Later, during math, Jisung realized he’d forgotten a pencil.
Before he could even complain, one rolled onto his desk.
He looked up.
Minho, sitting behind him, didn’t meet his gaze. He just stared at his own notebook like his life depended on it.
Jisung’s fingers closed around the pencil.
Something in his throat tightened.
He hated this too: the small kindnesses. The reminders. The proof that Minho was here, still orbiting him, still trying to close the distance.
Because Jisung didn’t want small kindnesses.
He wanted to be loved.
And he didn’t think Minho could love him the way he wanted.
Not the way Jisung loved Minho, loud and obvious in the spaces between jokes.
Not the way Jisung’s heart had been pulling toward Minho for years, like a tide that didn’t care about logic.
That night, Jisung lay in bed and stared at the ceiling again.
College loomed in his mind like a giant shadow.
Minho leaving.
Minho meeting new people.
Minho forgetting.
Jisung pressed his fist against his chest like he could hold his heart in place.
He tried to imagine life without Minho and immediately felt like he couldn’t breathe.
Thursday after school, Jisung walked out of the building with Hyunjin, who was complaining about the cafeteria’s “emotional support pizza.”
They reached the bike racks, and Jisung stopped short.
Minho stood there.
He looked like he hadn’t slept properly in a week. His hair was messy. His eyes were shadowed.
But he also looked determined in a quiet, terrifying way.
Hyunjin, sensing drama like a shark sensing blood, immediately said, “I just remembered I have… a thing. Somewhere else. Far away,” and vanished.
Coward.
Jisung crossed his arms. “What.”
Minho took a breath. “Please don’t walk away.”
Jisung’s jaw tightened. “Why not?”
“Because I miss you,” Minho said, voice raw in a way that made Jisung’s anger falter for half a second. “And I hate that you won’t even look at me.”
Jisung’s throat burned. “You should’ve thought about that on Valentine’s Day.”
Minho flinched. “I know.”
Jisung’s voice wobbled, and he hated himself for it. “Do you know what it felt like? Sitting there like an idiot with snacks and a stupid candle, waiting for you?”
Minho’s eyes widened, then softened into something that looked like pain. “You… lit a candle?”
Jisung’s cheeks burned. “Shut up.”
Minho took a step closer, careful. “Jisung, I didn’t forget because you don’t matter. I forgot because everything’s been… loud. My head’s been loud. And that’s not an excuse. It’s just… the truth.”
Jisung swallowed hard. “You could’ve texted.”
Minho nodded. “I should have. I didn’t realize until it was too late.”
Jisung laughed bitterly. “How does it not occur to you that you’re supposed to be at my house?”
Minho’s hands clenched. “Because I’m stupid.”
Jisung stared at him. “No, you’re not.”
Minho’s eyes flicked up. “Then what am I?”
Jisung opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because the real answer was: You’re everything.
But he couldn’t say that.
Not when Minho didn’t love him back.
Not when Minho would leave.
Not when the truth felt like standing on the edge of a cliff and calling it confidence.
So Jisung did what he always did when things got too real.
He made a joke.
“You’re a criminal,” Jisung said, voice shaking. “You committed Valentine’s Day murder.”
Minho’s lips twitched, barely. “I did.”
Jisung turned his face away, blinking hard. “Whatever. I’m over it.”
Minho’s voice softened. “You’re not.”
Jisung’s chest hurt. “Yeah, well. I don’t get to be.”
Minho took another small step. “Let me make it up to you.”
Jisung scoffed. “With what? More juice boxes?”
Minho’s eyes held his. “With time.”
Jisung’s breath caught.
Minho continued, voice steady now, like he’d decided to stop being afraid. “I’ve been acting like my whole life is college applications and deadlines. But you’re my life too, Jisung. You’ve been in it longer than any of this.”
Jisung stared at him.
The words warmed him and terrified him at the same time.
Because they sounded too close to what Jisung wanted.
But not close enough.
Jisung swallowed. “Time doesn’t stop you from leaving.”
Minho’s expression tightened. “I know.”
Jisung’s voice cracked. “So what’s the point?”
Minho stared at him like the answer was obvious.
“Because I don’t want to lose you,” Minho said quietly. “Not now. Not ever.”
Jisung’s heart stumbled.
He looked away again. “I have to go.”
Minho didn’t grab him. Didn’t stop him. Just stood there, watching him walk away like he deserved the distance.
And maybe he did.
But Jisung’s anger was starting to crack under the weight of something else.
Something softer.
Something more dangerous.
Hope.
By Friday, Jisung was exhausted.
Not the normal tired, the kind you fix with sleep and instant noodles. This was the tired that lived under his skin and made everything feel heavier than it should. The tired that came from pretending you didn’t care while caring so much it hurt to swallow.
Minho kept trying.
Not in grand gestures, not in dramatic speeches. In Minho-language, which was quiet, stubborn, and made of small, careful things.
A warm drink appearing on Jisung’s desk before first period, the lid already loosened because Minho remembered Jisung always struggled with it. A note slipped into his locker that just said I’m here like an anchor. Minho “accidentally” walking the long way to class so he could be near Jisung without forcing him to talk.
Hovering at the edges of Jisung’s world like he was afraid Jisung might disappear if he blinked.
And Jisung did respond. In small ways he hated noticing.
He stopped turning his whole body away when Minho came near. He stopped pretending he couldn’t hear Minho’s soft “Morning.” He grunted out a “thanks” when Minho passed him a worksheet he’d missed, and the word tasted strange on his tongue, like it belonged to someone kinder than he felt.
Hyunjin declared it “progress” and demanded a medal, then asked if the medal could be shaped like a heart so it would “match the ongoing romance tragedy.” Jisung threw a balled-up napkin at him. Hyunjin cackled and dodged like this was a sport.
But at night, when the school noise faded and Jisung was alone with his own thoughts, fear grew teeth again.
College was coming.
Minho was leaving.
And Jisung couldn’t stop imagining the future like a hallway that ended in a locked door. Minho on the other side, laughing with new people, living a new life, becoming a version of himself that didn’t need Jisung in it.
Jisung tried to tell himself he was being dramatic.
Then he remembered the candle. The snacks. The silence.
His stomach twisted.
That night, the pressure in his chest reached a point where it didn’t feel like sadness anymore. It felt like drowning. Like if he didn’t say something now, he would swallow it and it would sit in him forever, heavy and unspoken.
So he texted Minho before he could overthink it.
Meet me at the park. now.
Two minutes later, the reply came like Minho had been waiting with his phone in his hand.
Okay
Jisung pulled on a hoodie and snuck out through the back door, the cold biting at his cheeks like a warning. The streetlights made the sidewalks look like pale ribbons. His breath came out in ghosts.
The park was quiet, empty except for the streetlights and the swing set that creaked in the wind like it had secrets. The metal chains made a sound that reminded Jisung of time passing.
He stood near the path, hands shoved deep in his pockets, heart pounding too fast for his ribs. He kept swallowing like his throat was trying to hide his feelings from escaping.
Minho arrived ten minutes later, slightly out of breath, hair messy, cheeks pink from the cold. He looked like he’d run the whole way, like the word now had turned into something urgent in his bones.
He stopped a few feet away. “What’s wrong?”
Jisung laughed once, sharp, the sound snapping in the air. “What’s wrong? You’re leaving.”
Minho blinked. “Jisung…”
“And you’re going to forget me,” Jisung blurted, the words ripping free like he’d been holding them back with his teeth. “You’re going to go to college and meet a hundred new people and I’m going to be… what? A memory? A person you used to know?”
Minho stared at him like Jisung had slapped him with something sacred. “No.”
Jisung’s eyes burned. “Yes.”
Minho stepped forward, one careful step, like the ground might break. “No.”
Jisung’s voice rose, cracking at the edges. “You forgot Valentine’s Day!”
Minho flinched like the words physically hit him, but he didn’t retreat. His shoulders tightened under his jacket. His breath fogged between them, fast and shaky.
“That’s not the same thing,” Minho said, voice fierce in a way Jisung rarely heard. “That was me failing. That was me being overwhelmed and stupid. That wasn’t me not caring.”
Jisung shook his head hard, like he could shake the memory loose. “It felt like you didn’t.”
Minho’s eyes shone under the streetlight, bright in the cold. “I cared.”
Jisung swallowed, throat tight. “Then why doesn’t it feel like… like you love me?”
The words hung in the air, steaming in the cold.
Jisung froze.
He hadn’t meant to say it like that. He hadn’t meant to say it at all. It slipped out because the truth had been living behind his teeth for years and tonight it finally found the smallest crack.
Minho stopped breathing for a second.
Jisung’s chest heaved. Panic hit him like a wave. “I didn’t mean… I mean, I did, but I shouldn’t have said…”
Minho stepped closer, slow, like he was approaching a skittish animal. Like if he moved too fast, Jisung would bolt and disappear into the dark.
Jisung’s eyes went wide. “Minho, don’t.”
Minho’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Do you love me?”
Jisung’s throat closed. His hands shook inside his pockets. He tried to laugh. It came out broken, glassy. “No. Obviously not. I just… say weird things. I’m weird.”
Minho looked at him like he could see straight through the lie, like he’d been reading Jisung for years and Jisung had forgotten he was an open book.
“Jisung,” Minho said softly, and his name sounded like an apology all on its own. “You’ve been telling me without telling me for years.”
Jisung’s eyes burned. “You didn’t notice.”
Minho’s lips pressed together, pained. “I noticed. I just didn’t think it could be real.”
Jisung stared at him. “What?”
Minho swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. His hands curled and uncurled at his sides like he was fighting the urge to reach out. “I thought you were just… Jisung. Friendly. Warm. Like that with everyone.”
Jisung scoffed, voice trembling, the laugh almost a sob. “I’m not like that with you.”
Minho’s eyes flicked to his mouth for half a second, then back to his eyes, like he’d done it accidentally. Like he hated himself for it. Like he couldn’t help it.
Jisung’s stomach flipped so hard he almost stumbled.
Minho exhaled, shaky. “I didn’t show up on Valentine’s Day, and I hate myself for it. But I also… I was scared.”
Jisung blinked. “Scared of what?”
Minho’s laugh was bitter and quiet. “Of messing it up. Of being too much. Of you finding out I… feel things.”
Jisung’s heart stopped.
He stared at Minho like the world had tilted, like gravity had changed its mind.
“What things,” Jisung whispered.
Minho stepped even closer, close enough that their breath mingled in the cold, warm against warm, two small fires refusing to go out. His eyes held Jisung’s like he’d made a decision and would rather break than back away from it.
Minho’s voice came out soft, wrecked, honest in a way that made Jisung feel exposed down to his bones.
“The kind of things that make you look unforgettable.”
Jisung’s eyes filled. “Minho…”
Minho’s gaze didn’t waver. “I can’t forget you. I don’t know how. You’re everywhere in my life. You have been for six years.”
Jisung’s lips parted. His voice was tiny, like a child admitting they were afraid of the dark. “But you’re leaving.”
Minho nodded, and his eyes looked like they hurt. “I am. And I hate that too.”
Jisung’s shoulders shook. “So what happens to us?”
Minho stared at him, and in his eyes was something Jisung had wanted for so long he’d convinced himself it didn’t exist. Something warm and terrified and stubborn.
“Us?” Minho echoed, like the word tasted new. Like it was a wish he didn’t know he was allowed to say out loud.
Jisung tried to laugh again, failed. “I’m being stupid. Forget it.”
Minho reached out, hesitated, then gently took Jisung’s wrist like he was asking permission with his fingertips. Like he was afraid touching him would be a sin.
Jisung didn’t pull away.
Minho’s thumb brushed over Jisung’s skin, warm against the cold, and Jisung’s whole body went quiet, listening.
Then Minho leaned in.
Jisung’s breath hitched so hard it hurt.
Minho paused, hovering, giving Jisung a chance to run.
Jisung didn’t.
Minho kissed him.
It was soft. Careful. Like Minho had been carrying the idea of it for a long time and was afraid it might shatter if he did it wrong. Like he’d been holding back years of wanting in the tight space between his ribs.
Jisung’s body went still for one stunned heartbeat.
Then he melted into it, hands flying up to grip Minho’s hoodie like it was the only thing keeping him standing. His fingers curled tight, desperate, like if he let go Minho would vanish into the future.
The kiss tasted like winter air and relief and something sweet Jisung couldn’t name, something that felt like being chosen.
When Minho pulled back, their foreheads almost touched.
Jisung’s eyes were wide, shining. “Why… why did you do that?”
Minho’s lips curved, small and trembling, like he couldn’t believe he’d been brave enough. “Because you’re looking at me like I just proved your worst fear right.”
Jisung laughed shakily, tears slipping down his cheeks. “You did break it.”
Minho’s expression twisted with guilt. “I know.”
Jisung swallowed, voice raw. “You’re still going to leave.”
Minho nodded. “Yes.”
Jisung’s face crumpled, and the sound that came out of him wasn’t even a sob at first. It was just… pain, shaped into breath. “Then why…”
Minho cupped Jisung’s cheek with a gloved hand, thumb brushing away a tear with a gentleness that felt unfair. “Because leaving doesn’t mean forgetting,” he said softly. “And it doesn’t mean I stop loving you.”
Jisung’s breath trembled. “You… you love me?”
Minho stared at him like the answer was obvious and terrifying and sacred. “Yeah.”
Jisung’s chest ached. “Since when?”
Minho’s laugh was quiet, helpless, like he’d been losing this battle for years. “Since middle school. Since you sat next to me like it was the most normal thing in the world to choose the quiet kid. Since you kept choosing me.”
Jisung’s mouth opened. Closed.
He looked like he was trying to reboot his entire existence.
Minho’s eyes softened. “I thought you didn’t feel the same. I thought you were just being you.”
Jisung let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob. “I’ve been in love with you forever, you idiot.”
Minho’s face did something strange, like relief punched through him so hard it almost hurt. His eyes shone, and he blinked fast like he was trying not to fall apart too.
He laughed softly, breath fogging between them. “So… what now?”
Jisung wiped his face with his sleeve like a disaster, cheeks burning from cold and emotion. “Now?”
Minho’s voice was gentle. “Yeah. What are we?”
Jisung stared at him, the streetlight making Minho look like something painted with warm colors, like a person the universe had made too kind on purpose.
Jisung’s heart thudded. He whispered, “I don’t know.”
Minho leaned in again, nose brushing Jisung’s, close enough that Jisung could feel the smile in his breath. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”
Jisung blinked, tears still clinging to his lashes. “You’re asking me that here? In a park? Like some kind of cheesy movie?”
Minho’s lips quirked. “Yes.”
Jisung’s laugh burst out, wet and bright. “You’re so stupid.”
Minho’s eyes softened, unwavering. “Is that a yes?”
Jisung inhaled, the cold burning his lungs. “How could you forget someone unforgettable,” he whispered, voice trembling, “and then… come back like this?”
Minho smiled, small and honest. “Because you’re unforgettable,” he said, and this time it sounded like a promise he planned to keep with his whole life. “So that’s a yes?”
Jisung nodded, breath catching. “Yes.”
Minho kissed him again, this time less careful, like he finally believed he was allowed. Like the fear had finally lost.
Jisung clung to him, laughing through tears.
The future was still scary.
College was still coming.
Distance was still real.
But Minho’s arms around him were real too, warm and stubborn and present.
And for the first time in days, Jisung felt like he could breathe.
The next Monday, Jisung walked into the cafeteria with Minho’s hand in his.
Not hidden under a table. Not slipped into a sleeve. Just there, plain as daylight. The kind of obvious that made your heart pound and your spine straighten at the same time.
A few heads turned. Whispers sparked like static.
Jisung lifted his chin like he’d been born for attention. Which, honestly, he kind of had. If the universe was going to watch him, it could at least watch him be happy.
Minho stayed close, thumb brushing over Jisung’s knuckles like an unconscious reassurance. He looked calmer than he had in weeks, like something in him had finally unclenched.
Hyunjin spotted them and made a noise that sounded like a squeal trying to escape a dignified body.
He shoved himself up from his seat so fast his chair screeched. “WAIT,” he hissed, eyes huge. “Did you two finally… oh my God. OH my God.”
Jisung, glowing with smug joy, dropped into the seat across from him and tossed his backpack down. “Shut up.”
Minho sat beside Jisung, quiet, cheeks pink, but he didn’t let go of Jisung’s hand even when someone a few tables over blatantly stared.
Hyunjin leaned in, vibrating with gossip. “You’re smiling like a disco ball again.”
Jisung popped a fry into his mouth. “I’m fine.”
Hyunjin narrowed his eyes. “You’re not fine.”
Jisung’s smile turned soft.
He glanced at Minho.
Minho glanced back.
This time it wasn’t quick or hidden. It was open. A look that said mine without anyone having to say a word.
Hyunjin pressed a hand to his chest dramatically. “I can’t believe you two had a tragic Valentine’s arc and then came back with a public handhold. I feel like I should throw rice.”
Jisung rolled his eyes. “Throw anything and I’ll bite you.”
Minho, very quietly, squeezed Jisung’s hand like he was laughing without making noise.
Hyunjin stared at their linked fingers and then at their faces, looking personally victorious. “So,” he whispered, scandalized, “boyfriends.”
Jisung’s grin widened. “Yeah.”
Minho nodded, still shy but steady. “Yeah.”
The whispers around them faded into background noise, the way storms did when you were inside somewhere warm.
Jisung looked down at their hands again, like he still couldn’t fully believe it.
Then he looked at Minho and said softly, “You better not forget our next date.”
Minho’s eyes went wide for half a second, then softened into something so tender it made Jisung’s chest ache in a good way.
“I won’t,” Minho promised. “Not because I’m scared of your middle finger.”
Jisung laughed. “You should be.”
Minho’s lips curved, and he leaned in just a little, close enough that only Jisung could hear.
“I won’t forget,” he murmured. “Because you’re not something I can lose.”
Jisung’s throat tightened. He blinked fast, then lifted his chin like he wasn’t about to cry in the cafeteria.
“Good,” he said, voice a little too bright. “Because you’re stuck with me.”
Minho’s thumb traced Jisung’s knuckle again, warm and certain.
“Good,” Minho said back. “That’s the plan.”
And Jisung, right there in the loud, messy cafeteria with everyone watching, decided he didn’t care.
Let them stare.
Let them whisper.
He was holding Minho’s hand like it belonged there.
Like it always had.