Archive of Our Own ^beta

Minho woke up to the sound of a lighter clicking.

Once.

Twice.

A third time, followed by a quiet curse.

He rolled onto his side and blinked at the ceiling of his dorm room, sunlight slipping through the half-open blinds in pale gold stripes. The place smelled faintly like detergent, stale coffee, and cigarettes because of course it did.

“Mingi.” Minho muttered.

Across the room, Mingi stood by the open window, hoodie thrown over bare shoulders, exhaling smoke into the morning air like he wasn’t technically breaking three campus rules at once.

Mingi didn’t even turn around. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Minho dragged a pillow over his face. “It’s seven in the morning.”

“Exactly.” Mingi flicked ash into an empty soda can. “Prime smoking hour.”

“It is not.”

“You just don’t get it.”

Minho sighed and sat up, hair sticking up in every direction. His phone buzzed on the bedside table.

Summer: Are you awake yet?

He stared at the screen for a second before typing back.

Minho: Yeah

Minho: Just woke up

He swung his legs off the bed and stretched, joints cracking faintly. Yesterday’s rehearsal had left his calves sore and his shoulders tight in that familiar way that came with dancing too long and sleeping too little. It was comforting, in a strange way. Proof he’d worked hard.

“Your girlfriend text you?” Mingi said, finally glancing over his shoulder.

Minho grabbed his hoodie. “Yeah.”

Mingi smirked. “Of course she did.”

Minho shot him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Mingi shrugged. “Just funny how she always texts right when you wake up.”

“She knows my schedule.”

“She worships your schedule.”

Minho snorted, pulling on sweatpants. “She does not.”

Mingi raised an eyebrow. “Minho, she’s the most popular girl on campus and she’s chasing you.”

Minho didn’t answer right away.

Summer was… well. Summer. Beautiful in a way people noticed immediately. Long golden brown hair, bright eyes, soft laugh, the kind of girl who turned heads without trying. Every guy wanted her.

She wanted Minho.

At the time, he’d blinked at her in mild shock and thought, Well. She’s attractive.

And then he’d said yes.

He brushed his teeth in the shared sink while Mingi finished his cigarette and sprayed cheap cologne in the air like it could erase the evidence.

“You’re gonna stink up the room.” Minho said.

“Relax. I’m airing it out.”

“You are not.”

“I literally opened a window.”

“That doesn’t-”

Mingi grinned. “See you tonight, dancer boy.”

Minho grabbed his bag and headed for the door. “Try not to burn the dorm down.”

“No promises.”

The campus diner was already buzzing when Minho walked in. Summer was sitting in their usual booth by the window, sketchbook open beside her coffee. She looked up immediately when she saw him.

“There he is.” she said, smiling.

Minho slid in across from her. “Morning.”

She leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “You look tired.”

“Rehearsal ran late.”

“Chan again?”

Minho smiled faintly. “Chan again.”

Bang Chan had earned his reputation as the father of their group within weeks of meeting them. Oldest. Responsible. Always checking if they’d eaten or slept or remembered deadlines.

Changbin usually mocked him for it.

Hyunjin pretended not to listen while absolutely listening.

Mingi ignored him entirely.

Summer reached for Minho’s hand. “You still coming to the quad concert tonight?”

“Probably.” he said automatically.

She brightened. “I heard the music department’s performing.”

Minho nodded, not thinking much of it.

He ordered food, listened while Summer talked about her upcoming art show, about a canvas she wasn’t satisfied with, about a professor who kept changing deadlines. He responded when appropriate, smiled when she laughed, squeezed her hand when she complained.

It was easy.

It was… fine.

That was how his relationship usually felt. Comfortable. Familiar. Like a jacket that fit well enough.

When they finished eating, she packed up her sketchbook.

“I’ve got art history.” she said. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck.” Minho replied.

She leaned over the table and kissed his cheek again, softer this time. “Text me later.”

“I will.”

He watched her walk out, several heads turning as she passed.

Yeah. That tracked.

Rehearsal was loud, sweaty, and relentless.

Chan had them warming up before anyone could complain.

Hyunjin stretched like gravity didn’t apply to him. Changbin bounced on his toes, already humming. Mingi wasn’t there, because Mingi didn’t dance unless absolutely necessary.

Minho preferred it that way.

Music flooded the studio. Mirrors reflected their movements as they ran the routine over and over until Minho’s lungs burned and sweat dripped down his spine. This was the part of his day that made sense. The only thing he had to think about was timing, balance, breath.

Spin.

Slide.

Drop.

Recover.

“Again.” Chan called.

They did it again.

When they finally stopped, Changbin clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re in a scary good mood today.”

“Maybe.”

Chan grinned. “Girlfriend boost.”

Minho rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

The cafeteria smelled like grease and coffee and something sweet that reminded Minho of waffles even though he hadn’t seen any.

He walked in with Chan and Changbin at his sides, Hyunjin trailing behind them while scrolling on his phone.

“Tell me why every table is full.” Changbin muttered.

“Because it’s noon.” Chan replied. “And humans eat at noon.”

Hyunjin didn’t look up. “Revolutionary concept.”

Minho snorted before he could stop himself.

They claimed a table near the windows once someone stood up, Chan immediately setting his tray down like he was afraid it might escape.

“You eat like you’re preparing for hibernation.” Changbin told him.

Chan shrugged. “I dance with you idiots. I need fuel.”

Minho picked at his fries, stretching his calves under the table. His muscles still hummed from rehearsal.

Hyunjin kicked his foot lightly. “You coming to the quad tonight?”

Minho glanced up. “What’s happening again?”

“Open mic.” Changbin said. “Music department thing. Some bands, some solo performers.”

Chan nodded. “Pretty sure Summer mentioned it too.”

Minho blinked. “Yeah, she did actually.”

Changbin smirked. “Of course she did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She drags you to every campus event.” Changbin said.

“That is not true.”

Hyunjin counted on his fingers. “Gallery opening. Theater fundraiser. Poetry slam.”

Minho opened his mouth.

Closed it.

“…Okay maybe a little.”

Chan laughed. “It’s good for you.”

Minho hummed, not fully convinced.

“Who else is going?” Minho asked.

“Half the school.” Changbin replied. “Free entertainment and people pretending they’re mysterious.”

Hyunjin added “Felix said he might go.”

Chan nodded. “Pretty sure Jisung will be there too. He always is.”

Minho barely reacted.

“Who?” he asked.

Changbin stared at him. “Han Jisung. Producer kid. He’s a sophomore and writes songs for like three campus groups.”

“Oh.” Minho said, because that was the only response he had prepared.

Minho shrugged. “I don’t hang out with music majors.”

Changbin continued like the conversation never stopped. “I think he’s performing.”

Minho paused mid bite.

“…He sings too?”

Changbin nodded. “Plays guitar, writes songs, sings, produces, he does basically everything.”

Minho swallowed.

“Cool.” he said.

Hyunjin leaned back in his chair. “Summer will love that.”

Minho nodded slowly. “Yeah. Probably.”

The quad was louder than Minho expected.

Strings of warm lights had been hung between trees, glowing softly as dusk settled over campus. A small portable stage had been set up near the fountain, speakers stacked on either side while students milled around on blankets and folding chairs. Someone was selling overpriced lemonade from a booth. Another group had dragged in bean bags like they planned on staying all night.

Minho adjusted the strap of his backpack and glanced around.

“Why is it always more crowded when I agree to go?” he muttered.

Summer laughed, slipping her fingers through his. “Because you only agree to go when it’s something good.”

Chan checked his phone. “We got here early. That’s good. Less fighting for spots.”

Hyunjin scanned the crowd with visible interest. “I already see three people I recognize and one ex.”

Minho snorted.

Mingi flicked his lighter open and shut in his hand before Chan shot him a look.

“Don’t.” Chan warned.

Mingi sighed dramatically. “I wasn’t even going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“I’m always thinking about it.”

Minho shook his head, amused, and let Summer tug him forward through the cluster of people near the front.

They found a patch of grass not too far from the stage. Changbin dropped down immediately, stretching out like he planned to nap through the performances.

“I’m only here for vibes.” he announced.

Hyunjin flopped beside him. “You say that every time.”

“And every time it’s true.”

Chan sat cross legged, scanning the setup like he was mentally rating the sound system.

Minho stayed standing for a second, hands in his pockets, watching stage crew adjust microphones and cables.

It felt nice.

Different from rehearsals. Different from dance competitions. No pressure, no judges, no mirrors. Just students killing time on a warm evening.

Summer nudged his side. “Sit.”

He obeyed, lowering himself onto the grass next to her.

She leaned against his shoulder automatically, familiar and warm. Minho rested his forearms on his knees, eyes drifting over the crowd.

“So.” Changbin said. “What are we expecting tonight?”

Hyunjin tilted his head. “Indie angst.”

“Experimental noise.”

“One guy with a ukulele.” Changbin added.

Chan sighed. “Please let there not be a ukulele.”

Mingi smirked. “There will absolutely be a ukulele.”

Minho huffed a laugh.

Summer squeezed his hand. “I’m excited.”

“For what?”

“Live music.” she said simply. “It’s cute.”

Minho glanced at her, lips twitching despite himself. “You are impossible.”

She smiled sweetly.

A student climbed onto the stage with a clipboard, tapping the microphone.

Feedback squealed.

Everyone groaned.

Minho winced.

“Testing- okay hi.” the announcer said. “Welcome to the spring quad showcase. We’ve got a great lineup tonight, so stick around.”

Cheers scattered through the crowd.

Minho leaned back on his hands, squinting at the stage.

“First up in a few minutes.” the announcer continued. “Grab snacks, grab seats, and enjoy.”

Changbin groaned. “Few minutes is never few minutes.”

Hyunjin nudged Minho. “Still glad you came.”

Minho shrugged. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

“You didn’t say you would.”

Summer hummed in amusement.

Minho focused on the glow of the lights, the low chatter of students, the distant tuning of instruments behind the stage curtain.

Nothing about tonight felt significant.

It was just another campus event.

Just music.

Just time to kill before heading back to the dorm.

The first performer was a guy with a keyboard.

Changbin groaned the second the instrument was wheeled onto stage.

“I called it.” he muttered. “Experimental.”

Hyunjin squinted. “That’s not a keyboard. That’s a synthesizer.”

“That makes it worse.”

Minho watched politely as the student adjusted cables, cleared his throat, and launched into something atmospheric and echo heavy. It wasn’t bad. It just… wasn’t exactly gripping either. Long notes stretched into each other, layered over soft drum loops that felt like they were trying very hard to be emotional.

Minho leaned back on his elbows.

Summer tilted her head, listening intently.

Ten minutes in, Changbin was lying flat on the grass.

Mingi was scrolling on his phone.

Chan stayed upright out of pure principle.

Hyunjin whispered “How long do these sets last.”

“Too long.” Changbin replied.

Minho smirked despite himself.

The second act was a three person band that introduced themselves with nervous laughter and matching denim jackets. Their singer forgot half the lyrics to the first song and recovered by shrugging dramatically at the audience.

“That was… brave.” Summer murmured.

Minho hummed in agreement.

The guitarist was out of tune for half the song.

Changbin winced. “Physically painful.”

Chan elbowed him. “Be nice.”

“I am being nice. I didn’t boo.”

Minho rubbed the back of his neck and shifted where he sat. The grass was starting to itch through his jeans. Someone nearby spilled lemonade. A bug landed on his shoe and refused to move.

He glanced at the stage clock set near the speakers.

They’d been here almost forty minutes.

He wasn’t miserable.

He just wasn’t invested.

Dance showcases always pulled him in. Even bad ones made his fingers twitch, his brain mapping steps, counting beats.

Music only events didn’t hit the same.

Summer, on the other hand, was visibly enjoying herself.

She leaned forward during the next act, some girl with a soft voice and a guitar, elbows resting on her knees.

“Oh, I like her.” Summer whispered.

Minho nodded politely. “She’s good.”

“She has that sad coffee shop vibe.”

“That is incredibly specific.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

He did, unfortunately.

The girl sang about a breakup that had probably happened last week. The crowd swayed gently. Someone behind Minho hummed along like they already knew the song.

Minho checked his phone.

No new messages.

He locked it again.

Summer caught him.

“You’re bored.” she accused softly.

“I am not.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“…Okay maybe a little.”

She laughed quietly, bumping her shoulder into his. “You’re such a dancer. If no one’s flipping or sliding across the floor you lose interest.”

“That is not true.”

“That is extremely true.”

He thought about denying it.

Didn’t.

“I just like movement.” he said.

Summer smiled at that, like she found it fond instead of mildly insulting.

Changbin rolled onto his side. “How many more until the good one?”

Chan blinked. “The good one?”

“The producer guy.” Changbin said. “What was his name again?”

Hyunjin answered “Jisung.”

Minho’s ears registered it.

His brain didn’t do much with it.

Summer hummed. “That’s who Felix keeps posting about, right?”

Chan nodded. “Yeah. Apparently he helped write something for that campus band that won last semester’s showcase.”

Changbin sighed dramatically. “Great. Expectations. My least favorite genre.”

Minho stared at the stage while a roadie swapped out microphones.

“So he’s… what.” Minho asked. “Just playing.”

“Singing too.” Hyunjin replied.

“With a guitar.” Chan added.

Minho nodded once.

Cool.

That was cool.

Didn’t mean anything.

Another performer went up. This one did slam poetry over low beats.

Changbin physically lay back down.

“I’m done.”

Mingi glanced over. “Wake me when it’s interesting.”

Minho crossed his arms over his knees and sighed quietly.

Summer noticed immediately.

“You’re really bored.”

“I am being supportive.”

“You sighed.”

“That was a thoughtful sigh.”

She laughed under her breath. “You’re impossible.”

She leaned closer, voice low. “Just wait. The good ones are usually later.”

He shrugged. “If you say so.”

She rested her chin on his shoulder for a second, eyes still on the stage.

“I like this stuff.” she admitted. “Everyone just sharing what they make. It’s sweet.”

Minho glanced at her face.

“I guess.” he said.

Another song ended. Polite applause followed.

Someone near the front shouted “Play the other one.”

The performer waved awkwardly.

Minho clapped with everyone else, slow and automatic.

His mind wandered to rehearsal tomorrow. To the routine Chan wanted to tweak. To the blister forming on his heel.

The announcer walked back onstage.

“Alright.” they said into the mic. “Next up—”

Minho straightened only because everyone else did.

“—Han Jisung.”

Changbin blinked. “Finally.”

Summer perked up.

Minho just adjusted where he was sitting.

Still bored.

Still neutral.

Still thinking this was just another student with a guitar.

He had no reason to think otherwise.

The crowd reacted faster than Minho did.

A ripple of excitement moved through the quad the second Han Jisung’s name echoed through the speakers. A few cheers broke out near the front. Someone clapped loudly before he even appeared.

Summer straightened immediately.

Changbin muttered, “Okay, why do people know him already.”

Hyunjin leaned forward. “Told you.”

Minho just squinted at the stage as someone jogged out carrying a guitar case.

Then Jisung walked on.

He wasn’t dramatic about it. No big wave. No exaggerated bow. Just a quick nod to the announcer and a shy little grin toward the crowd as he adjusted the strap of his acoustic guitar over his shoulder.

He was smaller than Minho expected. Slim build, oversized sweater hanging off him, curls messy from either humidity or nerves. He crouched to adjust the mic stand, fingers moving quickly, practiced.

Jisung tested the strings softly. A quiet ripple of sound floated out over the speakers.

The quad went quieter.

Not silent.

But attentive.

Jisung leaned toward the microphone.

“This one’s called ‘Raining Stars.’.”

Minho blinked.

That was… a good title.

The first chord rang out.

Soft.

Clean.

Then another.

A gentle progression that settled into something warm and aching at the same time.

Minho shifted without realizing it, attention sliding back to the stage.

Jisung started singing.

And.

Oh.

Okay.

That.

That was not what Minho had expected.

His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It was smooth and clear, floating easily over the guitar, carrying through the open space like it had been tuned specifically for outdoor nights and quiet crowds. There was emotion in it without being theatrical, control without stiffness.

The quad stilled.

Even Changbin stopped whispering.

Mingi looked up from his phone.

Minho sat straighter.

Not because his heart raced.

Because the song was good.

Professionally good.

The kind that made you forget about itchy grass and spilled lemonade and bugs on your shoes.

Jisung closed his eyes during the chorus.

The lyrics were soft and strange and pretty.

What a perfect night, a-yo

Do you see the same night as me? A-yo

The stars raining over my head were in fact

The heartfelt affection that I wanted to give you, yeah

Minho listened.

Really listened.

He caught himself counting the rhythm out of habit, mapping how the melody rose and dipped, how the guitar work wasn’t flashy but precise. Every slide of Jisung’s fingers felt intentional. Every breath was controlled.

“That’s…” Summer whispered.

Minho nodded. “Yeah.”

She glanced at him. “He’s really good.”

“He is.” Minho agreed.

No hesitation.

Changbin exhaled slowly. “Okay. I take back everything.”

Hyunjin murmured “His tone is insane.”

Chan nodded thoughtfully. “Breath control’s solid.”

Minho didn’t add anything else.

He didn’t need to.

He was thinking about the structure of the song.

About how hard it was to make something sound that effortless.

About how much rehearsal that must’ve taken.

About how the chorus hit just right.

When the final note faded, there was a half second of silence.

Then the quad erupted.

Applause rolled across the lawn. Cheers. Whistles. Someone near the stage yelled the song name again.

Jisung startled slightly, eyes flying open, blinking like he hadn’t expected that reaction. He laughed into the mic, embarrassed, ducking his head as he muttered something Minho couldn’t quite hear.

He bowed quickly.

Minho clapped.

So did everyone else.

Summer leaned toward him. “Okay. That one was worth waiting for.”

Minho nodded. “Yeah.”

Changbin smirked. “I’d download that.”

Mingi hummed in agreement. “Not bad.”

Not bad was Mingi’s version of a standing ovation.

Jisung adjusted the mic again.

“I—uh.” he said, voice softer now. “Thanks. I wrote that last semester.”

The crowd cheered again.

Minho stayed relaxed.

Impressed.

Interested in a technical sense.

Aware he’d just watched someone genuinely talented.

Nothing more.

If anything, he was thinking Summer would probably follow him on social media later.

Jisung grinned awkwardly, lifted one hand in a tiny wave, and hurried offstage like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that much attention.

The announcer came back up, hyping the next act.

Minho stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his hands.

“That was solid.” Chan said.

Changbin nodded. “Shockingly solid.”

Hyunjin added, “He’s good live.”

Mingi shrugged. “Yeah.”

Summer was smiling. “I told you the later ones are always better.”

Minho hummed. “You were right.”

She nudged him. “See. Worth it.”

“Mm.”

That was it.

Minho let the noise of the quad swallow the moment the way it always did after a good set. Another performer was already climbing onstage.

It was getting late.

Tomorrow was another long rehearsal day.

“Want to head back soon?” he asked Summer quietly.

She blinked. “Already?”

“Just tired.”

She studied him for half a second, then nodded. “Okay. We can go after this next one.”

Changbin groaned. “Thank you. My legs are numb.”

Hyunjin looked offended. “You’re weak.”

They stayed through half of the next set before packing up.

Minho stood, brushing grass off his jeans.

Chan stretched his arms over his head. “Dorm.”

Mingi perked up instantly. “Yes.”

Summer slipped her hand into Minho’s as they started walking.

The crowd thinned as they moved toward the pathways, lights glowing behind them while music faded into background noise.

“What’d you think overall?” Summer asked.

“Fun.” Minho said honestly.

She smiled. “Favorite part?”

He thought about it for a second.

“The first good singer.” he said vaguely.

She laughed. “That narrows it down so much.”

“It does.”

They cut across the lawn, Changbin arguing with Hyunjin about whether slam poetry counted as music while Chan tried and failed to mediate.

Minho listened with half an ear.

By the time they reached the dorm buildings, the quad concert was already a thing of the past in his head.

Just another campus event.

Just another night.

He hugged Summer goodbye at the entrance.

“Text me when you get upstairs.” she said.

“I will.”

She kissed his cheek and headed toward her building with her friends.

Minho walked inside with the guys, already thinking about his shower and whether Mingi had left the window open again.

By the time he climbed the stairs to his floor, the music from the quad was gone.

And so was the guy who’d sung about raining stars.

Completely.

The dorm hallway smelled like detergent and someone’s instant noodles.

Minho dragged himself inside their room, taking his sneakers off near the door. After leaving his stuff in his room he headed straight to the bathroom to take a much needed shower.

When he came back Mingi was lying on his couch.

Hands folded behind his head.

Window cracked open despite the night chill.

Minho squinted. “You smoked again.”

Mingi didn’t look guilty. “Yes.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“Still yes.”

Minho dropped his bag onto his chair and rolled his shoulders. His muscles ached in that dull, post performance way.

Silence settled in.

Not awkward.

Just roommate silence.

The kind that happened when you lived with someone long enough.

Mingi broke it by reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a crumpled pack.

Minho noticed immediately.

He just didn’t usually comment.

Tonight, though.

“You’re gonna get fined one day.” Minho muttered.

Mingi shrugged. “Future me problem.”

He slid a cigarette between his fingers, lighter clicking softly.

Minho watched.

He didn’t know why.

He just did.

Mingi caught him.

“You curious?” he asked.

Minho blinked. “No.”

“That was too fast.”

Minho scowled. “I just—”

Mingi raised an eyebrow.

Minho exhaled slowly.

“…I’ve never tried it.”

There.

Out loud.

Mingi didn’t react the way Minho expected.

No teasing.

No dramatic gasp.

Just a small nod.

“Huh.”

He turned the cigarette between his fingers. “You want?”

Minho hesitated.

He didn’t want to.

He also… didn’t not want to.

It was stupid.

He knew that.

Chan would kill him.

Summer would lecture.

Changbin would take pictures.

Hyunjin would pretend not to judge while absolutely judging.

But Mingi wasn’t making a big deal out of it.

Which somehow made it easier.

“…Just once.” Minho said.

Mingi smirked faintly. “Sure.”

He stood, crossed the room, and cracked the window wider.

“Lean out.” Mingi said. “Don’t hotbox the place.”

Minho rolled his eyes but did as told, standing by the window while cold air brushed his face.

Mingi handed him the cigarette.

It felt lighter than Minho expected.

He stared at it for a second.

Mingi flicked the lighter and held the flame out.

“Don’t inhale like you’re underwater.” he said. “Slow.”

Minho frowned. “That is not helpful.”

Mingi sighed and demonstrated, quick and controlled.

Minho copied him.

He drew in carefully.

Coughed anyway.

“Okay maybe a little like underwater.” Mingi admitted.

Minho waved a hand in front of his face. “Jesus.”

Mingi laughed quietly. “You’re fine.”

Minho tried again.

Slower this time.

It burned.

But not in a horrible way.

More sharp.

Warm.

Weirdly grounding.

He exhaled through his mouth, watching smoke curl into the night air.

Huh.

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t hate it either.

It was just… something.

“That it?” Mingi asked.

Minho nodded. “Yeah.”

He handed it back after two drags.

Mingi didn’t push.

Just took it and finished it himself.

Minho leaned against the window frame, arms crossed.

He stared out at the dark campus lawn.

Lights glowed in distant buildings.

Someone laughed somewhere below.

Mingi crushed the cigarette out in an empty can.

“You gonna make it a thing?” he asked casually.

Minho shook his head. “No.”

“That sounded firm.”

“It is.”

Mingi nodded like he believed him.

Minho paused.

“…Don’t tell anyone.”

Mingi smirked. “Relax. I’m not your diary.”

“…Summer especially.”

Mingi glanced at him.

Minho pretended to stretch.

“Just… don’t.”

Mingi hummed. “Your business.”

Minho didn’t say anything else.

He just went to grab his hoodie.

It wasn’t guilt.

Not exactly.

More like… he didn’t want the lecture.

Didn’t want the look.

Didn’t want it turned into a whole thing.

It was one cigarette.

Barely even that.

He flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling.

Mingi lay back down too.

“You survived.” Mingi said.

Minho snorted. “Barely.”

“Dramatic.”

Minho rolled onto his side, pulling his blanket up.

His throat still felt warm.

Not unpleasant.

Just unfamiliar.

He made a mental note to brush his teeth again.

And not bring it up.

Tomorrow would be rehearsals.

Classes.

Summer texting him good morning.

Life continuing exactly the same.

This was nothing.

Just a moment.

Just curiosity.

He closed his eyes.

Mingi’s lighter clicked once more near the window.

Minho pretended not to hear it.

It didn’t happen the next night.

Or the one after.

Minho went to rehearsals, met Summer between classes, pretended to listen while Changbin complained about deadlines, watched Chan mother everyone through warm ups. Mingi smoked. Minho ignored it.

Mostly.

Then one evening, three days later, Minho walked into their dorm room to find the window open again.

Cold air.

Lighter clicking.

Mingi perched on the windowsill.

Minho paused in the doorway.

“You’re gonna freeze.” he said.

Mingi shrugged. “Worth it.”

Minho dropped his bag onto his chair.

He didn’t mean to walk closer.

It just… happened.

He stood near the window, leaning one shoulder against the wall.

Mingi glanced sideways. “You want?”

Minho hesitated.

Not long.

“…Yeah.”

Mingi handed it over without ceremony.

No teasing.

No commentary.

Minho leaned out and took two slow drags.

Didn’t cough this time.

Didn’t even think about it.

He exhaled and passed it back.

“That’s it.” he said.

Mingi blinked. “You’re improving.”

Minho scoffed. “Don’t flatter me.”

Mingi smirked.

That should have been the end of it.

It wasn’t.

It turned into a thing without Minho ever agreeing that it had.

Whenever Mingi smoked by the window, Minho somehow ended up there too.

Not every time.

Just often enough.

Two draws.

Sometimes three.

Never more.

Never lighting one himself.

Always from Mingi’s.

It became automatic.

Like stretching after rehearsal.

Like stealing Changbin’s fries.

One night, Minho didn’t even say anything.

He just walked up, held out his hand.

Mingi stared at him for a second.

Then snorted and passed it over.

“Wow.” Mingi muttered. “Not even pretending anymore.”

Minho inhaled, exhaled.

Handed it back.

“Don’t start.”

Mingi raised his brows. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

“Always.”

Minho ignored him.

He still didn’t tell Summer.

Not because he thought it was serious.

Because it wasn’t.

He didn’t buy cigarettes.

Didn’t crave them.

Didn’t go looking.

It only happened when Mingi did first.

Which meant it didn’t count.

That was his logic.

Flawless.

Probably.

Chan noticed the smell once.

“Is someone smoking in your room?” he asked when Minho showed up to rehearsal with damp hair and a hoodie pulled over his neck.

Minho blinked. “Mingi.”

Chan sighed like a tired parent. “Tell him I will personally throw his lighter into the river.”

“I will pass along the threat.”

Chan narrowed his eyes. “You smell like smoke.”

Minho froze.

For exactly half a second.

Then shrugged. “I was standing near the window.”

Chan hummed suspiciously.

Hyunjin squinted at him.

Changbin sniffed dramatically. “You smell like a wet cat.”

Minho stared at him. “Why are you so weird?”

“Talent.”

They moved on.

The worst part was that  it didn’t feel bad.

Didn’t make him dizzy anymore.

Didn’t burn much.

Just settled.

Which was dangerous.

Because things that felt neutral were easy to repeat.

He still brushed his teeth obsessively after.

Chewed gum.

Opened windows.

Sprayed cologne.

Did not tell Summer.

Did not tell Chan.

Did not tell anyone.

Mingi never pushed.

Never offered unless Minho hovered.

Never commented unless Minho made it obvious.

Which somehow made it worse.

Because it felt like Minho’s choice.

One night, a week later, Minho leaned by the window again.

Held out his hand.

Mingi passed it over without looking.

Minho took two drags.

Exhaled slowly.

Handed it back.

Silence.

Then-

“…You’re gonna start buying your own eventually?” Mingi said.

Minho frowned. “No.”

“That was fast.”

“I’m not.”

Mingi studied him.

Minho stared out at the campus lights.

“I just…” he shrugged. “It’s there.”

Mingi hummed.

Didn’t argue.

Which made Minho uncomfortable.

He stepped away from the window and grabbed his hoodie.

“That’s it for tonight.”

Mingi smirked faintly. “Sure.”

Minho lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling again.

He told himself the same thing he always did.

It wasn’t a habit.

It was convenience.

Big difference.

He closed his eyes.

Didn’t think about how his body had already learned the timing.

The smell.

The rhythm.

A few drags.

Done.

The announcement came on a Thursday.

Chan read it first.

Out loud.

Which was always a bad sign.

“They’re pairing dance majors with the music department for the spring showcase.” Chan said, phone in hand, brow furrowed. “Each group gets an original composition produced by a sophomore or junior producer.”

Changbin perked up. “Original.”

Minho paused mid stretch. “What?”

Chan kept reading.

“Dance seniors will be assigned in small groups. Music producers will compose, arrange, and oversee recording. Final performance in six weeks.”

Mingi looked up from tying his shoe. “Six weeks is criminal.”

Changbin frowned. “That’s not enough time to emotionally prepare.”

Minho stood. “Who decides the pairings?”

Chan scrolled. “They’ll email it to us.”

Minho sighed.

That was never good.

The email hit ten minutes later.

Subject line: Spring Collaborative Showcase Assignments.

Chan opened it immediately.

“Okay.” he muttered. “We’re… Group C.”

Changbin leaned over his shoulder. “Scroll.”

Chan did.

“Dance seniors: Bang Chan, Lee Minho, Seo Changbin, Hwang Hyunjin. (Junior who’s taking senior dance level classes.)”

Mingi blinked. “Rude.”

Chan sighed. “They stuck you with a different group.”

Minho barely heard him.

“Music producer: Han Jisung.”

Changbin froze.

Hyunjin slowly looked up.

The same kid from the quad concert.

The one who’d sung that song.

Talented.

That was all.

Chan nodded slowly. “Okay. That’s promising.”

Changbin squinted. “I know him. Not personally but yeah. He’s good.”

Hyunjin hummed. “He writes weird chords.”

Minho shrugged.

As long as the song was danceable.

They met two days later in a rehearsal studio that smelled like wood polish and coffee.

Minho arrived with Chan and Changbin, Hyunjin lagging behind because he’d gotten distracted by a poster in the hallway.

Jisung was already there.

Sitting cross legged on the floor with a laptop open in front of him, headphones around his neck, guitar case leang against the wall.

Professional.

Prepared.

Jisung looked up when they walked in.

“Oh.” he said, blinking. “Hi.”

He scrambled to his feet way too fast and almost knocked over the guitar case.

Chan stepped forward first because of course he did.

“Hey. I’m Chan.” he said, holding out a hand. “Dance seniors.”

Jisung shook it. “Han Jisung. Producer.”

His voice sounded exactly like it had onstage.

Calm.

Normal.

Not magical.

Minho told himself to relax.

Changbin introduced himself next.

Hyunjin waved.

Minho nodded. “Minho.”

Jisung smiled politely at him. “Nice to meet you.”

Jisung gestured to the floor. “We can sit if you want. I brought some demos.”

Chan’s eyes lit up. “Already?”

“Yeah.” Jisung said sheepishly. “I like being early.”

Minho dropped down near the mirror, stretching his hamstrings while listening.

Jisung opened his laptop and clicked play.

A soft beat filled the room.

Nothing dramatic.

Just rhythm.

Something steady.

Minho’s foot tapped before he noticed.

Chan tilted his head. “Tempo’s nice.”

Changbin nodded. “I could work with that.”

Hyunjin was already moving his shoulders slightly.

Minho studied the structure.

Eight counts.

Clear phrasing.

Room for drops.

“Is this… final?” Minho asked.

Jisung shook his head quickly. “No. Just sketches. I wanna see how you move first.”

That earned him points.

Professional ones.

“What style do you usually lean toward?” Jisung added.

Minho answered automatically. “Contemporary. Hip hop fusion.”

Jisung’s eyes flicked to him.

“Cool.” he said. “That helps.”

Minho nodded.

Chan clapped once. “Okay. Let’s show him something.”

Minho stood.

They ran a short combo.

Nothing fancy.

Just enough to demonstrate control and musicality.

Jisung watched closely.

Not distracted.

Not on his phone.

Eyes tracking footwork.

Timing.

Levels.

When they finished, Jisung nodded slowly.

“I’ve got ideas.” he said.

Minho wiped sweat off his neck. “Good.”

Jisung blinked. “That sounded aggressive.”

“It wasn’t.” Minho replied.

Changbin snorted.

Jisung laughed awkwardly.

The second rehearsal was louder.

Jisung brought better speakers.

Minho noticed immediately.

The bass was clearer, the rhythm sharper, the kind that vibrated faintly in the floorboards.

Chan approved.

Changbin cracked his knuckles.

Hyunjin started pacing.

Minho stretched and listened.

Jisung crouched near his laptop, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair tied back with a clip that absolutely did not match his outfit.

“This is version three.” Jisung announced. “Tempo’s up by four BPM.”

Minho tilted his head.

“Good.” he said. “The drop’ll hit cleaner.”

Jisung blinked.

Then smiled.

“Okay, that was reassuring.”

They ran the opening section.

Minho counted in his head.

Five, six, seven—

The beat hit.

Sharper.

Better.

Changbin grunted in approval.

Chan nodded.

Hyunjin added a turn.

Minho adjusted spacing without thinking.

Jisung stopped the track.

“Wait.” he said. “Do that again. The slide.”

Minho did.

Jisung crouched lower, eyes locked on his feet.

“…Yeah. Okay. I can layer something under that.”

Minho shrugged. “Go for it.”

Jisung typed fast.

Minho went back to stretching.

No big deal.

By the fourth rehearsal, they didn’t really introduce themselves anymore.

They just showed up.

Minho brought a towel and two bottles of water.

Jisung brought cables.

Changbin complained.

Chan mediated.

Hyunjin wandered.

Minho kept choreographing.

Jisung kept editing.

They spoke mostly in fragments.

“Again from the top.”

“Too slow.”

Professional.

Normal.

Minho appreciated that.

He didn’t like over talking projects.

Jisung didn’t either.

During one rehearsal, Minho caught Jisung watching them instead of his screen.

Not zoning out.

Studying.

Minho paused.

“What?”

Jisung blinked. “Hm.”

“You stopped typing.”

“Oh.” Jisung glanced down. “Yeah. I was trying to see where I should breathe.”

Minho frowned. “Breathe?”

“In the track.” Jisung clarified. “Like… space. So the movement doesn’t feel crowded.”

Minho considered that.

“…That’s smart.”

Jisung brightened slightly.

“Yeah.”

Minho went back to counting.

Still not thinking about anything else.

Another day.

Later than usual.

The studio was quieter.

Chan had stepped out to take a call.

Changbin was tying his shoes.

Hyunjin was sprawled on the floor.

Minho leaned against the mirror, watching Jisung scroll through files.

“You got a final structure yet?” Minho asked.

Jisung nodded. “Mostly. I wanna test the bridge again.”

“Play it.”

Jisung did.

Minho listened.

Then shook his head.

“Needs something.”

Jisung frowned. “What?”

Minho gestured vaguely. “More lift.”

Jisung stared at him for a second.

Then slowly nodded.

“…Yeah.”

He added something, light synths creeping in under the beat.

Minho listened again.

Better.

“That.” Minho said.

Jisung grinned. “You’re good at that.”

“At what?”

“Explaining music without using music words.”

Minho snorted. “I literally didn’t explain anything.”

“It still helped.”

Minho shrugged.

By the sixth rehearsal, Jisung stopped flinching when Minho was blunt.

Minho stopped wondering if he sounded rude.

They’d figured each other out.

Minho was direct.

Jisung was patient.

Minho worked in counts.

Jisung worked in layers.

They met in the middle.

It wasn’t personal.

It was just effective.

“Same time tomorrow?” Chan asked.

Jisung nodded. “Yeah.”

Ended like every other rehearsal.

It didn’t hit all at once.

Minho didn’t wake up one morning desperate.

He didn’t suddenly start thinking about smoke while dancing.

It was smaller than that.

More irritating.

He noticed it the first time Mingi didn’t smoke.

Minho walked into their dorm room after rehearsal, sweat still clinging to his neck, hoodie slung over one shoulder.

The window was closed.

Mingi was sitting at his desk, headphones in, scrolling.

Minho paused.

Just paused.

Nothing.

No lighter.

No soda can ashtray.

He dropped his bag slowly.

“You not—” Minho stopped himself.

Mingi glanced over. “Not what?”

“…Nothing.”

He went to change.

Pulled on a clean shirt.

Sat on his bed.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

Minho stared at the door.

Annoyed at himself.

He grabbed his water bottle and drank half of it in one go.

Didn’t help.

Mingi finally stood.

Minho’s shoulders loosened before he realized they had tensed.

Mingi walked to the window.

Minho pretended to check his phone.

The lighter clicked.

Minho exhaled.

God.

That was not a good sign.

He stood and wandered over like it was coincidence.

Mingi didn’t comment.

Passed him the cigarette automatically.

Minho took two drags.

Exhaled.

Relief slid through him so quietly it scared him.

He handed it back and stepped away.

That was new.

Didn’t like that at all.

The next time, Mingi smoked outside.

On the stairs.

Minho smelled it through the open door.

He hadn’t even known he could smell it from that far.

He closed his laptop.

Walked out into the hallway.

Found Mingi leaning against the railing, phone in hand, smoke curling upward.

Minho leaned beside him without speaking.

Mingi side eyed him.

Held it out.

Minho didn’t hesitate.

That bothered him more than the craving itself.

He still didn’t buy his own.

Still told himself it didn’t count.

But he started noticing when Mingi reached for his jacket.

When the window cracked open.

When the lighter appeared.

His body clocked it before his brain did.

That was also not great.

One night, Mingi wasn’t there.

Study group.

Late.

Minho sat on his bed and bounced his knee.

Stopped.

Started again.

Chewed gum.

Opened the window even though it made no sense.

Stared at the empty desk.

Finally he muttered “This is stupid.”

He lay back and closed his eyes.

Didn’t go looking for anyone.

Didn’t text.

When Mingi came back an hour later and immediately lit up, Minho was already standing.

Didn’t even pretend.

Mingi blinked. “Wow.”

Minho frowned. “What?”

“You beat me to the window.”

Minho took two drags.

Exhaled.

“…Shut up.”

Mingi smirked.

He told himself it was stress.

The showcase.

Rehearsals.

Classes.

That was logical.

Way more logical than admitting he was starting to want it.

He brushed his teeth harder.

Used more gum.

Opened windows wider.

Didn’t tell Summer.

Didn’t tell Chan.

Didn’t tell anyone.

But his body had started expecting it.

Which was the problem.

It happened on a Tuesday.

Which annoyed Minho more than if it had been some chaotic weekend night.

He came back from rehearsal sore and sweaty, joints buzzing from repeating the same eight counts for two hours straight.

Mingi was already in the room.

Window open.

Jacket tossed over his chair.

The smell hit before Minho even shut the door.

He didn’t pretend this time.

Dropped his bag.

Went straight to the window.

Mingi watched him.

Didn’t pass the cigarette.

Minho waited.

Then glanced over.

Mingi raised an eyebrow.

“…What?”

“You’re hovering.”

Minho frowned. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

Minho sighed.

Mingi held the cigarette between two fingers, smoke drifting upward.

“If you’re gonna keep stealing half my drags” he said, voice lazy “just light the full one.”

Minho froze.

That was different.

He shook his head. “I don’t need a whole one.”

“You take three hits every time.”

“Two.”

Minho hesitated.

Which was the problem.

Mingi reached into the pack on the desk and slid one across.

Didn’t push.

Didn’t insist.

Just offered.

Minho stared at it.

White paper.

Filter.

Normal.

Stupidly normal.

He told himself it was the same thing he’d already been doing.

Basically.

He picked it up.

“…Just once.”

Mingi flicked the lighter toward him.

Minho caught it on instinct.

Held the cigarette between his lips.

Paused.

This was different.

Lighting it himself.

Owning it.

He frowned.

Then sparked the flame.

Inhaled.

Coughed a little.

Not bad.

Not good.

Just stronger.

He exhaled toward the open window.

Mingi nodded. “There you go.”

Minho shot him a look. “Don’t make it weird.”

“You made it weird by pretending you don’t want it.”

Minho took another drag.

Slower this time.

Felt the nicotine settle in his chest.

Relax his shoulders.

That part pissed him off.

He stared at the glowing tip.

“…I’m not doing this all the time.”

Mingi shrugged. “Sure.”

Minho narrowed his eyes. “I mean it.”

“Okay.”

Minho took another pull.

Definitely didn’t like how easy that was.

He finished it faster than he meant to.

Stubbed it out.

Stared at the filter.

Then tossed it in the can.

Mingi watched him for a second.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

He wasn’t sure why his heart was beating a little quicker.

Or why part of him wanted another.

He didn’t say that.

He went to grab a shower instead.

Didn’t tell Summer.

Didn’t text Chan.

Didn’t even acknowledge to himself that something had shifted.

But it had.

Because that was the first one that was fully his.

It almost went wrong three days later.

Minho hadn’t planned on seeing Summer that night.

She texted while he was still in the room with Mingi, window cracked open, smoke thinning into the cold air.

Summer: coming over ;)

Minho stared at the screen.

“…Shit.”

Mingi glanced up from his phone. “What?”

“She’s coming.”

Mingi looked toward the window. The half burned cigarette between his fingers.

“…Oh.”

Minho was already moving.

He grabbed the can.

Dumped the ash.

Closed the window.

Sprayed deodorant once.

Twice.

Then stopped.

Too much.

He shoved it under his bed and opened the door instead, letting hallway air push through the room.

Mingi raised an eyebrow. “You panic like someone who knows he’s doing something dumb.”

Minho shot him a look. “Be quiet.”

He brushed his teeth.

Scrubbed his hands with soap.

Ran water over his face.

Still smelled it.

Or maybe he was imagining it.

Summer came ten minutes later.

Minho opened the door like he hadn’t been sprinting around five seconds earlier.

“Hey.”

She smiled and leaned up to kiss him.

He turned his head just enough for it to land on his cheek instead of his mouth.

Subtle.

Probably.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

She stepped inside, eyes flicking around automatically.

Mingi was sitting on his bed like nothing had happened.

Phone.

Blank face.

Summer wrinkled her nose slightly.

Minho felt his stomach drop.

“…Do you smell that?”

Mingi opened his mouth.

Minho spoke first.

“Someone was smoking in the stairwell.”

Summer frowned. “Again?”

“Yeah.” Minho said easily. “Campus security’s useless.”

Mingi stared at him.

Summer hummed, unconvinced, but let it go.

She dropped onto Minho’s bed, scrolling through her phone.

Minho sat beside her.

Did not touch the pillow.

Kept his hands folded in his lap.

Didn’t breathe too deep.

She leaned into him anyway.

“You’ve been busy lately.”

“Showcase stuff.”

“Always dance.” she teased.

He smiled.

Automatically.

She rested her head against his shoulder.

“…Your hoodie smells weird.”

Minho stiffened.

Just a little.

“Laundry room detergent.” he said. “They changed brands.”

She made a face. “It’s bad.”

“I’ll rewash it.”

She forgot about it immediately.

Started talking about a party in another dorm.

Minho nodded at the right places.

Laughed when she laughed.

Did not relax until she left an hour later.

When the door finally shut behind her, Minho leaned back against it.

Mingi stared at him.

“…You good?”

Minho exhaled slowly.

“…Yeah.”

“That was stressful.”

“She didn’t notice.”

“She almost did.”

Minho rubbed his face.

“…Don’t smoke when she’s here.”

Mingi smirked. “You’re the one who finished the last one.”

Minho glared.

Mingi raised his hands. “I’ll open the window wider.”

Minho groaned.

He hated how close that had been.

Hated how fast he’d lied.

Hated how relieved he felt.

Which was also a problem.

It was late again.

Minho had rehearsals in the afternoon, then a few hours of stretching and solo practice in the studio. He trudged into the dorm, hoodie soaked in sweat, backpack half slung over one shoulder.

Mingi was sprawled on his bed, phone in hand, lighter already out.

Minho stopped in the doorway.

“…Hey.”

Mingi looked up. “Hey.”

The lighter was between his fingers, the glow faint.

“Uh…” Minho hesitated. “…Mind if I—”

Mingi raised an eyebrow. “…Take one?”

Minho shook his head quickly. “…I mean, can I… before you light it?”

Mingi blinked. Then smirked. “Before I light it? You’re claiming early dibs now?”

Minho rubbed the back of his neck. “…Yeah. Just… just this once.”

Mingi laughed softly. “Sure.” He leaned back and passed it over, not lighting it yet.

Minho held the cigarette like it weighed more than it should, then brought it to his lips.

A quick drag.

Exhale.

Ah. Relief. Warmth. Familiar.

“…Thanks.” Minho muttered.

Mingi just grinned. “You’re out of control.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “I’m not.”

“You are.” Mingi said, flicking the lighter to life and ting a slow inhale. “And now you’re officially addicted.”

Minho snorted, but it wasn’t denial. It wasn’t anywhere near that. He just inhaled again when Mingi held it out. A little deeper this time.

“…Not addicted” he muttered again, more to himself than Mingi.

“Sure.” Mingi said, smirking, and went back to scrolling on his phone.

Minho finished his drag and leaned against the windowsill, watching the smoke curl toward the night sky. Quiet. Calm. Familiar.

He didn’t tell Summer. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not yet.

And he didn’t even feel guilty. Not really. Just aware.

The little voice in the back of his head said, maybe this is becoming a thing.

He ignored it.

For now.

Summer didn’t say anything at first. She didn’t accuse. She just noticed.

The first time, it was his hoodie.

She hugged him goodbye after a long day of classes. He leaned down to kiss her cheek, and she wrinkled her nose slightly.

“…Your hoodie smells weird” she said casually.

Minho froze for half a second. “…Laundry” he said quickly. “New detergent.”

She hummed. “Mmh… okay.”

Next time, she noticed it on his hands.

They were sitting in the cafeteria with the rest of the seniors, laughing about something Chan had said. Summer reached over to grab a fry from his plate. Her fingers brushed his, and she sniffed light.

“…Hmm” she murmured.

“What?” Minho asked.

“Nothing.” She shrugged. “Just… your hands smell different.”

He swallowed. “…Gym soap.”

She didn’t push it. Just went back to eating, fingers still faintly smelling of him.

A few days later, she tried leaning against him while they studied in the lounge.

The faint smell was stronger this time. Just enough to make her pause.

“Do you… smell smoke sometimes?” she asked softly.

Minho’s pen froze mid note. “…What?”

Summer leaned back, calm, not accusing, just curious. “…I don’t know. Like… sometimes it’s… smoky.”

Minho’s heart did a weird flip. “…Uh. Maybe someone walked past. The campus has smokers.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “…Hmm.” She didn’t press. Not yet. But she made a mental note.

After that, she started noticing other things.

The faint smell in his hair.

The way he lingered by open windows.

The way he sometimes left the room in a hurry and came back calmer.

Nothing concrete. Nothing she could call out without looking paranoid.

But it was there.

Summer’s instincts were sharp. She filed it away quietly.

And Minho…

He kept pretending she wouldn’t notice. Kept brushing it off.

Kept telling himself it was nothing.

Until it started to feel like maybe… she would.

Midway through rehearsal, Minho’s chest tightened like a fist had wrapped around it. Counting the eight counts, keeping pace with the music, stretching and turning, it all felt unbearable. Every inhale made the craving throb, insistent, impossible to ignore.

“Uh… guys” he muttered, voice tighter than intended. “I need some fresh air.”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “Fresh air? Midway?”

Minho nodded. “Yeah. Just a minute.”

Hyunjin smirked. “Sure, drama king.”

Changbin grumbled something under his breath.

Minho grabbed his water bottle and jacket and slipped out before anyone could argue.

Outside, air hit him immediately. Cool, still, quiet except for the distant hum of campus life.

And then he saw him.

Jisung, leaning casually against the building wall, cigarette in hand, the glow bright in the darkness. Smoke spiraled upward lazily as he tilted his head back, eyes half closed. He looked unbothered. Effortless. Calm.

Minho froze.

“…Wow” he breathed.

Jisung opened his eyes and grinned faintly. “You look like you’re about to pass out from craving fresh air.”

Minho flushed. “…I… uh. Needed to step out.”

Jisung smirked, flicking ash away. “…I get it. Here.” He held the cigarette out toward him.

Minho blinked. “…What?”

“Take one.” Jisung said casually. “No pressure.”

Minho hesitated. His chest tightened even more, craving sharpening like fire. He glanced at the glowing tip and then back at Jisung’s relaxed expression. The temptation was undeniable.

Minho flushed again, but there was relief too, warm and immediate. He took a drag when Jisung held it out.

Jisung leaned back against the wall, watching him with faint amusement. “The day I take a smoke on the balcony of a home I own” he said quietly “I might shed a tear because I’ll know I finally made it.”

Minho coughed lightly, shaking his head. “…That’s… optimistic.”

“Maybe” Jisung said, smiling faintly. “But I like the thought.”

They smoked together in silence for a few more minutes. No words, no awkwardness, just two people sharing the calm night air and the glow of a cigarette.

Minho’s hands were shaking just a little, not from fear, not from guilt, just from wanting it, from the craving that had been building for days.

And he didn’t tell anyone. Not Summer. Not Chan. Not even himself, really.

For now, it was just this. Quiet. Cigarette smoke curling into the night. And Jisung, easy and unbothered, making it all feel  natural.

It started small.

Minho didn’t notice it at first.

A pause here, a laugh there, the way Jisung’s music fit his movement perfectly. The way Jisung stayed late tweaking beats while Minho repeated combos, counting silently in eight counts.

Minho realized one night, leaving the studio after a particularly long rehearsal: he didn’t want to go back to Summer’s dorm, didn’t want to text her. He wanted to linger near Jisung, wanted to ask questions about the track, wanted to watch him adjust levels and nod along like it made sense.

The next week, they had another rehearsal.

Minho had finished his own warm up when Jisung called him over.

“Try this” Jisung said, headphones around his neck, finger tapping the laptop.

Minho leaned in, counting the rhythm of the track against the moves he’d been practicing.

“You see how the bridge drops here?” Jisung asked. “You can hit the turn here, then slow for the synth layer.”

Minho nodded. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

Jisung smiled faintly. “Cool. You get it fast.”

Minho shrugged, but inside, he felt satisfied. That small acknowledgment, the way Jisung noticed him.

They stayed later than anyone else, testing combinations, adjusting beats, exchanging quiet ideas. It felt effortless. Comfortable.

A few days later, Summer texted.

Summer: Hey! Movie tonight? Dorm 8pm?

Minho stared at his phone.

“…I don’t know.” he muttered to himself.

Mingi wasn’t around to tease him. Chan was busy in the studio.

Minho: Can I skip tonight?”

Minho: Feeling tired.

He hesitated. Then thought of Jisung, sitting crosslegged in front of his laptop, scrolling through tracks, smiling faintly when Minho moved correctly in the demo video. He imagined being there instead of at the crowded dorm lounge, trying to laugh at jokes he didn’t really hear.

“…Yeah.” he whispered.

By the time Summer replied, Minho had already shoved his phone inthis pocket and walked toward the rehearsal room.

It became a pattern.

After rehearsal.

Before rehearsal.

Even during breaks.

Minho found himself looking forward to seeing Jisung.

Not for a spark, not yet. Just because it felt easier. Lighter.

Summer still existed. She still texted, still laughed, still made him feel like he was “supposed” to be interested. But lately he noticed he wanted Jisung’s presence more.

Even when it was just small things.

The way Jisung adjusted headphones.

The way he hummed softly while scrolling through a track.

The cigarette breaks that were always quiet.

Minho told himself it was just habit. Collaboration. Professional respect.

But part of him, quiet, subtle, unspoken, started to feel that being with Jisung was something he looked forward to more than anything else.

Even Summer.

It started with small things.

A coffee run after a long rehearsal. Jisung insisted on carrying the laptop bag, Minho argued, and they laughed. Nothing heavy. Nothing romantic. Just easy.

It became a pattern.

A table in the cafeteria away from the crowds. They shared snacks, music notes, quiet jokes.

Empty practice rooms. Just the two of them, testing moves and beats, figuring out how the music and the choreography could breathe together.

Even outside, near the campus fountain at night, Minho stretched while Jisung adjusted a portable speaker.

“You know” Jisung said one evening, flicking a loose strand of hair from his forehead, “I actually prefer working like this. Not crowded. Just focus.”

Minho nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

They shared a cigarette quietly after, leaning against the fountain railing. Smoke curling upward, no words necessary. Minho noticed how effortless it felt like everything else in his life slowed down for these minutes.

Sometimes, it wasn’t even about work.

A random walk across campus. A quick stop at a café. Sitting on the grass, Jisung showing him chords on his guitar. Minho counting, tracing patterns in the dirt, listening.

Slowly, Minho realized that these moments, quiet, normal, unremarkable, were starting to matter more than he wanted to admit.

He wasn’t thinking about feelings. Not yet.

He was thinking about ease. Comfort. The way Jisung’s presence seemed to… fit.

Summer texted. He didn’t reply right away.

Not because he was ignoring her. Just distracted.

Because Minho now found himself glancing toward Jisung every time the music caught his attention. Waiting for his smile, his quiet nod, the way he hummed along without thinking.

And each time, he felt something unfamiliar stir, a little tug in his chest he didn’t understand.

It was late.

Way too late. The dorm was quiet except for the hum of the radiator and the occasional creak of the building settling. Minho padded down the hallway to Mingi’s room. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to talk to him. Maybe guilt. Maybe restlessness.

Mingi was slouched on his bed, legs crossed, a faint haze of smoke drifting around him. He glanced up lazily.

“…You” Mingi drawled, waving a hand at Minho “come to judge me or join me?”

“Neither” Minho muttered. He sank onto the edge of the bed anyway.

Mingi grinned. “Sure. Whatever you say, pal. Don’t mind me, I’m just cultivating my chemical romance.”

Minho blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Mingi held up the half smoked joint. “You call it substance abuse, I call it my chemical romance.”

Minho shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “…Right.”

Mingi tilted his head. “Look, I know you’ve got your… uh, heart circus going on.”

Minho froze. “…What?”

“The Summer-Jisung thing,” Mingi said, lazily waving a hand toward him. “You keep checking if you’re supposed to be loyal to her, but somehow your brain already spent more energy thinking about the other dude.”

Minho’s stomach knotted. “…I… it’s complicated.”

Mingi snorted. “Everything’s complicated when you’re in denial.” He leaned back, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. “Here’s the thing: you don’t have to choose right now. You just have to be honest with yourself. Don’t string anyone along. Don’t pretend you care more than you do. And for god’s sake, stop pretending it’s about normal loyalty when you’re already mentally somewhere else.”

Minho’s throat went dry. “Wow.”

Mingi smirked. “Yeah, I’m full of wisdom when I’m high. That’s why they pay me in snacks and bad advice. But seriously, think. Who do you actually want to spend time with? And don’t lie to yourself just because someone’s popular or expects you to.”

Minho leaned back, staring at the ceiling. The smoke curled lazily around the light, and for the first time in days, he felt a little clarity.

“…Jisung” he whispered before he realized he had.

Mingi raised a brow. “Mm. Thought so. Don’t overthink it, man. Just don’t be an idiot. That’s it. That’s all I’m saying.”

Minho nodded slowly. “Thanks.”

Mingi grinned, lying back. “You’re welcome. Now go figure out how to deal with your ‘chemical romance’ without combusting.”

Minho let out a quiet laugh. For once, the complicated mess in his chest felt a little lighter.

It wasn’t sudden.

Minho had thought about it for days. Weeks, maybe. Every time he rehearsed, every late night with Jisung, every quiet cigarette moment, the thought kept nudging him. He couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Summer was waiting in the café they always met at. She smiled when she saw him, all bright and perfect and exactly what everyone wanted.

“…Hey” she said, sliding the chair out for him.

“Hey” he muttered, taking the seat opposite her.

They ordered coffee. Chatter around them. Steam curling from mugs. Minho stared at the foam swirling in his cup, trying to gather his thoughts.

“…You’ve been… distant” Summer said softly. “…Is everything okay?”

Minho swallowed. “…Summer, I… I need to be honest with you.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Okay…”

He took a breath. “…I can’t do this anymore. Us.”

Her eyes widened. “…What do you mean?”

Minho met her gaze. “…I mean… I’m not… I’m not fully here. And I think you deserve someone who is. Someone who wants to be with you, completely. I’m realizing I’m not that person.”

Summer blinked. “…So… you’re breaking up with me?”

He nodded slowly. “…Yeah.”

She stayed quiet for a moment, processing. Then her lips curved into a small, sad smile. “…I guess I… I appreciate your honesty.”

“It’s not about you” Minho said quickly. “…You’re amazing. You always have been. But… I can’t lie to myself. Or to you.”

Summer nodded, eyes misty but composed. “…I get it.”

Minho felt a weight lift, even as guilt lingered. “ I hope we can still… I don’t know… be okay. Respectful?”

“Of course” she said quietly.

They sat for a few more minutes, finishing their coffee in silence. The air between them wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t bitter. It was final, but gentle.

Minho left the cafe feeling lighter. Heart still tight, but freer than it had been in weeks.

And when he stepped outside, the night air hitting his face, he realized he already wanted to see Jisung. Not because he was replacing Summer, but because Jisung had become a part of his life he didn’t want to ignore.

The day after the breakup, Minho found himself walking toward the quad, rehearsals over, headphones in, trying to focus on footwork. But his mind kept wandering, not to Summer, not really, but to Jisung.

He stopped near the fountain where they sometimes tested beats against his choreography. Jisung was already there, laptop open, headphones around his neck, casually strumming his guitar.

“Hey” Jisung said without looking up.

“Hey” Minho said, forcing a smile.

They worked in silence for a few minutes. Minho counted quietly, tracing steps on the stone tiles, watching Jisung adjust the track. Every now and then, Jisung hummed softly along with a riff, cigarette tucked behind his ear. Minho’s chest tightened. A little.

He hated himself for the relief he felt. For wanting to linger longer. For noticing every little detail about Jisung and enjoying it without guilt toward Summer.

“…You okay?” Jisung finally asked, eyes lifting.

Minho froze. “…Yeah. Just tired.”

Jisung raised an eyebrow, smirk faint but knowing. “…Sure.”

They moved on, practiced a turn in sync, ran a small section again. Minho noticed how easy it felt, being around him. How calm he could be while Jisung adjusted layers of music. How normal everything seemed, despite the storm of guilt in his chest.

At one point, Jisung leaned back on the fountain edge and held out the cigarette pack. “Want one?”

Minho hesitated. His chest throbbed, not just for nicotine this time. But yes, that too. “…Yeah.”

They smoked quietly, shoulders nearly touching, the smoke curling into the night. Minho closed his eyes briefly. Relief. Comfort. Enjoyment. And guilt.

“…You’re enjoying this too much” Jisung said softly, eyes on him.

Minho opened his eyes, caught off guard. “What?”

“This” Jisung said, motioning between them, the quiet night, the smoke. “Being here. Laughing at the little things. Working together. You look at ease.”

Minho frowned, trying to argue, but couldn’t. “I am.”

“Mm-hm” Jisung said, smirking faintly. “Good. Don’t apologize for it.”

Minho let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “…It’s complicated.”

Jisung shrugged. “Life’s complicated.”

They sat like that for a while, quiet, smoke between them, the faint hum of campus lights and distant voices. Minho couldn’t help thinking that he was slowly, quietly, enjoying every second, even the guilt.

Because being with Jisung felt right. Even if he didn’t fully understand it yet.

The dorm lounge was quiet except for the hum of the heater. Minho stretched on the couch, arms behind his head, while Hyunjin flopped onto the armrest beside him, headphones around his neck, smirking.

“You’ve been hanging out with Jisung a lot” Hyunjin said, casually, nudging him.

Minho tensed. “We’re working on the project. That’s all. I’m not… like those kind of people.”

Hyunjin froze, eyebrows shooting up. “…Wait. What kind of people?”

Minho blinked. “…You know… like… uh… I don’t know. People—people who like… you know. Gay stuff.”

Hyunjin’s jaw dropped. “…Excuse me? What kind of people am I, Minho?”

“I—no! I didn’t mean it like that!” Minho said quickly, hands waving. “…You know I supported you when you came out. I cheered for you, defended you”

Hyunjin crossed his arms, leaning back. “Right now, it doesn’t seem like supporting. It seems like you just, brushed me off and lumped me into some vague ‘other people’ category.”

Minho groaned, running a hand down his face. “…I… I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I mean, I don’t… I don’t think about that stuff. About… you know… me, liking guys. It’s not me. Not that it’s wrong—just… I’m not like that.”

Hyunjin leaned forward, smirk still there but his eyes sharper. “Yeah, that’s what I thought at first. But saying ‘I’m not like those kind of people’ when it’s about someone I actually like? That’s… yeah, not supporting. That’s minimizing me. Kind of rude, actually.”

Minho swallowed. “…I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean it that way. I—”

Hyunjin shook his head, but the smirk returned faintly. “Save it. Just… think before you say stuff like that next time. And maybe figure out why Jisung has you all twisted up, huh?”

Minho groaned again, closing his eyes. “…I hate this conversation.”

Hyunjin laughed softly. “…Good. That’s the proper response.”

It was late evening. The quad was quiet, streetlights reflecting off the damp pavement. Minho walked slowly toward the low wall by the music building, still tense from rehearsal.

Jisung was already there, laptop bag beside him, cigarette in hand, smoke curling into the night. He exhaled slowly as Minho approached.

“…Hey” Minho said softly, sliding onto the wall beside him.

“Hey” Jisung replied, smirking faintly. “Needed some company after all the chaos?”

Minho shrugged. “Yeah. Needed to talk, I guess.”

Jisung nodded, leaning bac. “ Talk? Or sit in silence. Your call.”

“Talk” Minho said. “…I guess.”

Jisung took a slow drag from his cigarette. “You know, last year I had this… really toxic ex. Thought I could make it work, but it was one of those relationships where every little thing felt heavy, every conversation a test. And yeah… it messed me up for a while.”

Minho nodded slowly, listening. “Sounds rough.

“Yeah” Jisung said, a faint humor in his tone. “The guy was like toxic as hell. Really taught me about boundaries and what I actually want.”

Minho froze for a fraction of a second. “…Wait… a guy?”

Jisung shrugged casually, taking another drag. “Yep. That’s why I changed my New Year’s resolution from ‘Be Less Negative’ to ‘Get a Gun.’” He smirked faintly. “Figured if he ever came back, I’d be ready.”

Minho blinked, trying to process. “…Right… uh… metaphorical gun?”

“Exactly” Jisung said, exhaling smoke. “But seriously. I needed a hard reset.”

Minho let out a small, quiet laugh. “Makes sense. Not the gun part, obviously.”

Jisung grinned. “Good. Then you get it.”

They sat in silence for a while, smoke drifting into the night. Minho realized, quietly, that he liked being here. Liked listening. Liked the calmness of Jisung’s presence. And now he knew exactly why.

Jisung had a ex boyfriend.

Jisung was gay.

Or bi. Or whatever it didn’t matter. He was into guys.

They were sitting on the low wall by the music building, the night air cool and quiet. Smoke from Jisung’s cigarette drifted lazily between them.

“I broke up with Summer” Minho said, fidgeting with his hands.

Jisung looked at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It didn’t really work out. That’s all.” Minho added quickly, keeping his tone neutral.

Jisung raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Not dramatic. Got it.”

Minho nodded, staring at the faint smoke curling in the air. “Yeah. Not dramatic.”

Jisung smirked faintly, leaning back. “Good. Then we can just enjoy the quiet.”

Minho nodded, keeping his chest steady, even though something inside him twisted at the unfamiliar focus he felt. He wasn’t thinking about Summer. He was thinking about Jisung. That was unsettling.

It was late, and Minho found himself sitting on the edge of the dorm roof, legs dangling over, staring at the campus lights. Mingi joined him, lighting a cigarette and offering one to Minho.

“You’re quiet tonight” Mingi said, exhaling smoke. “Something on your mind?”

Minho shrugged, taking the cigarette but not lighting it. “Just thinking.”

Mingi leaned back, blowing smoke toward the sky. “About him?”

Minho froze for a second. “Him?”

“Jisung. Don’t play dumb” Mingi said, smirking. “I’ve seen you around him. You’re distracted.”

Minho huffed, looking away. “…I don’t know what you mean.”

Mingi raised an eyebrow. “Sure. You don’t have to lie to me. Tell me what do you like about him?”

Minho blinked, trying to put words to the feeling. “I don’t know. He’s smart… but also so stupid sometimes. And I don’t know. It’s easy being around him. Comfortable. Feels right, I guess.”

Mingi exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “Wow. You’re bad at this.”

“I said I don’t know” Minho muttered, glaring half-heartedly. “I’m not trying to figure it out. I just like… hanging out with him.”

“Yeah, yeah” Mingi said, grinning. “But ‘comfortable and right’ is a weird way to describe a friend.”

Minho looked at him, eyes narrowing. “I said it’s not like that. I’m not… I don’t… I don’t even know what I am.”

Mingi chuckled softly, tapping ash off the cigarette. “Then figure it out, man. But don’t lie to yourself. You’re way too obvious.”

“Here” Mingi said, holding out the pack. “You want one or not?”

Minho hesitated for a second, then grabbed it. “Yeah. I do” he admitted softly.

Mingi smirked, flicking his lighter. “About time.”

Minho took a deep drag, coughing lightly, then immediately inhaled again. The smoke burned a little, but it was addictive. His chest felt tighter in a good way, his mind buzzing just slightly.

“You’ve been off” Mingi said finally, voice low, casual , but with a weight behind it. “Ever since you broke up with Summer. I’ve seen you, around him. Jisung. Something’s different. You’re distracted.”

Minho tensed. “I’m not. I’m fine.”

Mingi snorted softly. “Yeah, sure. Fine. That’s what they all say.” He paused, then leaned closer, elbows on his knees. “Look, I’m not here to yell at you or anything. But I’ve been your roommate long enough to know when you’re lying to yourself. So tell me, what is it? Don’t give me some bullshit about being tired or stressed.”

Minho swallowed, jaw tight. “I don’t know what I’m… I just…” He trailed off, feeling heat rise in his chest.

Mingi smirked faintly, eyes narrowing. “Just? Come on, man.”

Minho looked down, hands twisting in his lap. “I don’t know. I think I like him.”

Mingi laughed softly, not mocking, but with that quiet, knowing shake of the head. “Finally. Took you long enough. And don’t hide behind ‘think’ you know exactly what you’re feeling. Don’t make it more complicated than it is.”

Minho swallowed again. “It’s not like I’m… I’m not gay. I justenjoy being with him. It’s comfortable. And I don’t know why I… I just like being around him.”

Mingi leaned back, exhaling slowly. “There it is. You like him. And that’s not the same as some label. That’s just you being honest about how you feel. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Minho nodded slowly, still tense. “It feels weird, admitting it.”

Mingi smirked faintly, tapping ash off his cigarette. “Yeah. That’s the point. Don’t overthink it. You’re allowed to feel it. Now, don’t screw it up by pretending it doesn’t exist.”

Minho let out a shaky laugh, leaning back slightly, feeling lighter and heavier all at once. “I’ll try.”

It was early evening in the dorm lounge. The room smelled faintly of takeout and lingering coffee. Minho sat stiffly on the couch, hands clenching and unclenching on his knees, like he was trying to figure out which body part to confess through first. Chan was sitting across from him, looking over his glasses like a bored father grading homework. Hyunjin lounged on the armrest of the couch, smirking, and Changbin leaned forward, elbows on his knees, pretending to be invested but clearly waiting for the drama. Mingi stood near the window, cigarette in hand, watching the whole thing unfold with an amused glint in his eye.

Minho exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Okay, I have something to say.”

Chan tilted his head. “…Oh no. This isn’t going to be another ‘I accidentally joined a cult’ confession, is it?”

Minho groaned. “No!”

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Good. Because honestly, I can’t deal with another candle and crystals phase. That last one burned down my laundry.”

Mingi muttered, taking a drag. “Can we focus?”

“Right. Focus” Minho said, glaring at Mingi for exactly one second before turning back to the group. “…It’s about Jisung.”

Hyunjin’s smirk grew. “About him? What about him? Don’t tell me you finally admitted you’re, like obsessed. Because we all noticed.”

Minho’s face heated. “Not obsessed! I… I like him. I enjoy being around him. More than anyone else. And I guess I’ve liked him for a while.”

Mingi let out a low whistle. “Took you long enough to admit that to everyone else. You’ve been acting like a lovesick cat for weeks.”

“I am not a lovesick cat,” Minho shot back, flustered. “…I just I like being around him. Okay?”

Changbin blinked, then grinned. “…So not a label? Just ‘you like Jisung’?”

“Yes” Minho said quickly, relief and tension mingling in his chest. “Just that. No labels. Nothing else. That’s it. No romance novels, no dramatic stares across the quad.”

Hyunjin laughed loudly, slapping his knee. “Dramatic stares across the quad? Bro, I saw you literally almost trip over a trash can trying to get his attention the other day. That’s not subtle liking. That’s slapstick romantic tragedy.”

Minho groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Shut up! That was… situational. I was avoiding a puddle!”

Chan, adjusting his glasses, chimed in. “Situational romantic clumsiness. Noted.”

Mingi smirked, exhaling smoke. “Look, Minho. You liking him isn’t a crime. You’re allowed to feel it. Just don’t overcomplicate it. You’re clearly hooked, so own it already.”

Minho peeked out from between his fingers, voice quiet. “I don’t even know what I am. I just like him. And that’s… enough for now.”

Hyunjin leaned back, smirking but with a soft undertone. “Finally. Took you long enough. And I swear, if you had waited until graduation to admit it, I would have started a support group called ‘Minho finally admitting his sexuality.’”

Changbin laughed. “I’d join that. Snacks provided.”

Chan shook his head slowly, voice calm. “It’s honest. That’s what matters. You don’t need a label. You just said what you feel. The rest you’ll figure out.”

Minho let out a small, shaky laugh, feeling lighter but still tangled up inside. “Yeah… yeah, I guess.”

Mingi clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Minho groaned again, leaning back. “You guys are terrible.”

Hyunjin winked. “Terrible, yes. But supportive. That’s the best combo. Now go. Go annoy Jisung with your presence.”

Minho looked at Mingi and then back at the others. “ ihate that you’re all right.”

“Of course we’re right” Mingi said, smirking, “but don’t  worry, we’ll still roast you mercilessly. That’s support in our language.”

Minho laughed quietly, letting the warmth of honesty settle in. He didn’t know what came next, or how to label it, but for the first time, he’d said it out loud: he liked Jisung. And somehow, that was enough.

The dorm was quiet, almost too quiet. Minho sat on the edge of his bed, legs tucked up, staring at the darkened ceiling. Outside, the faint hum of the campus lights seeped through the window, casting long shadows across his room.

He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to push away the chaos of the day, the rehearsals, the laughter, the teasing from the group. And most of all, Jisung.

Why did he feel like this? Like he couldn’t stop thinking about him? It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He had a life. He had Summer. And he’d broken up with her for what? Because he liked hanging out with Jisung? That didn’t make sense.

Minho sat up straighter, pressing his palms to his eyes. The memory of the conversation with Mingi replayed in his mind. The way Mingi had looked at him, blunt but not cruel, making him admit things he’d been running from. The words he’d said aloud “I like him”they’d sounded small, harmless even. But the truth felt heavy.

He clenched his fists, heart hammering. He didn’t know what he was. He didn’t know how to put it into words, and he hated that part of him was buzzing with, something he wasn’t supposed to feel. Something he couldn’t quite name.

A thought flitted through his mind, sharp and sudden: cigarettes. The way Mingi’s smoke had curled lazily into the night, the way Jisung had held his own, offering one like it was nothing. That glow, that small act, had felt comforting. Addictive. And he wanted it. He wanted that too. Maybe not just the cigarette itself, but the ritual, the closeness. The shared silence.

He pressed a hand over his chest, feeling it tighten, and whispered softly, almost to himself “What am I supposed to do?”

The room remained quiet, but the question hung in the air, pressing against him. He had no answers, only the knowledge that something had shifted. Something had pulled him in a direction he wasn’t ready to admit, even to himself.

And somehow, he knew he didn’t want to let go of it.

It was a quiet afternoon, the music building bathed in soft sunlight. Minho found himself leaning against the wall just outside the practice room, waiting for Jisung to finish tidying up his laptop and guitar. His chest felt tight, a restless ache he couldn’t name.

Jisung glanced up, smiling as he slung the guitar strap over his shoulder. “Hey, you made it.”

“Yeah” Minho muttered, trying to sound casual, even though every fiber of him was alert. He could see the way the sunlight hit Jisung’s side, the curve of his waist under the loose shirt, and a strange pull went through him. He wanted to reach out, to brush his fingers lightly along that line, just to feel something real.

He immediately recoiled internally. No. Don’t. Can’t.

Jisung noticed him staring and smirked, tilting his head. “What? Thinking about stealing my guitar?”

Minho shook his head quickly, forcing a laugh. “No. Just uh… watching.”

Jisung raised an eyebrow, smirk growing. “Watching? You look like you’re plotting a heist, not watching.”

Minho’s heart thudded painfully. “I’m not plotting anything,” he said, but even to his own ears, it sounded weak.

He wanted so badly to just reach out, even lightly, and touch him, feel the warmth, the curve but something stopped him. He didn’t know what it was. Fear? Guilt? Denial? Maybe all three.

Instead, he settled for standing a little closer than necessary, letting his shoulder brush Jisung’s lightly as he passed. It was nothing, just contact, but it sent a shock through him that left him frozen for a second.

Jisung chuckled softly, glancing at him. “You’re twitchy today. Everything okay?”

Minho cleared his throat. “Yeah. Fine. Just tired, I guess.”

Jisung smirked knowingly. “Right. Tired.”

Minho let out a quiet, shaky breath, pretending the tightness in his chest wasn’t there. His eyes lingered for just a moment longer on Jisung’s waist, what it would feel like to just reach out.

But he didn’t. Not yet.

And somehow, that restraint, that ache of wanting without acting, was both agonizing and intoxicating.

Jisung had dragged him to the empty amphitheater near the quad, claiming the acoustics were better for testing new melodies. The place was quiet, rows of concrete benches glowing pale under the late afternoon sun.

Minho sat two steps behind him while Jisung tuned his guitar, fingers quick and practiced.

“You look tense” Jisung said without looking back.

“I’m not” Minho replied automatically.

Jisung hummed in disbelief. “Sure.”

Their knees were almost touching. Almost.

Jisung smile faintly and played, watching Minho’s face instead of the strings.

Minho tried not to notice. Failed immediately.

The song was unfinished, just fragments stitched together, but it was good. Gentle and aching in a way Minho could not explain. When it ended, he blinked.

“That was… yeah. That was really good” he said.

Jisung tilted his head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He waited for Jisung to turn back to the guitar. He did not.

Instead, Jisung kept looking at him, eyes soft, curious. Studying.

“You always look like that when you’re thinking too hard” Jisung said.

Minho frowned. “Like what?”

“Like you want to say something and then decide it is illegal.”

Minho snorted despite himself. “That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

Jisung shifted closer, shoulder brushing Minho’s arm this time. Not accidental. Slow. Deliberate.

Minho froze.

Not outwardly. He hoped.

Inside, every thought evaporated.

Jisung leaned in just enough that Minho could smell smoke on his hoodie, faint laundry detergent underneath. “Relax” he said quietly. “I am not going to bite.”

Minho swallowed. “I was relaxed.”

“Sure” Jisung said, smiling.

Then, casually, he reached out and tugged lightly at the hem of Minho’s sleeve. Just once. A small, grounding touch.

“You always get stiff when people get close” Jisung added. “You should work on that.”

Minho stared at where Jisung’s fingers had been like they had branded him.

“I do not” he said.

Jisung’s grin widened. “You absolutely do.”

He went back to his guitar like nothing had happened. Like he had not just detonated something inside Minho’s chest.

Minho stayed very still.

His brain screamed several contradictory things at once.

That was normal.

That was not normal.

Stop thinking about it.

Jisung played a few more chords, then glanced sideways again.

“You coming to rehearsal tomorrow?”

“Yeah” Minho answered too fast.

Jisung’s eyes flicked to him, amused. “Good.”

When Minho walked back to the dorm later, he told himself it meant nothing.

People touched people all the time.

Jisung was friendly.

That was it.

Still, he replayed the moment over and over.

The brush of fingers.

The way Jisung had looked at him instead of the guitar.

The smile.

It was not obvious.

Which somehow made it worse.

Minho lay flat on his back on his dorm bed, one arm thrown over his eyes.

The room smelled faintly of detergent, cologne, and cigarette smoke that did not belong to him but somehow always followed Mingi back inside.

He had not lit one tonight.

He kept thinking about it anyway.

Jisung’s fingers on his sleeve.

The brush of his shoulder.

The way he had said good like it carried weight.

Minho exhaled sharply and turned onto his side, facing the wall.

It meant nothing.

It had to mean nothing.

Jisung touched everyone. Probably.

He was friendly. Annoyingly friendly.

Minho closed his eyes.

Why did he look at me like that.

He was reading into it. He always read into things. That was a problem he had with Summer too, thinking too much when things were simple.

Simple.

Right.

He rolled onto his back again, staring at the ceiling.

Minho groaned quietly and shoved his face into his pillow.

He pressed his palms flat against the mattress like he could physically ground himself back into reality.

Normal people do not think like that.

He immediately regretted the thought.

What was normal?

That was not the point.

He did not think about Summer when Jisung touched him.

That realization made his stomach twist.

He flipped onto his side again, dragging the blanket up to his chin.

He tried to remember the last time Summer’s hand on his arm had made his brain short circuit.

Nothing came.

That was not great.

Minho stared at the wall.

He could still see Jisung’s face in his head, stupid grin and wide eyes, the way he tilted his head when he was curious.

Stop.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Maybe Jisung just liked messing with him. Maybe he flirted with everyone. That made sense. That fit better.

Yes.

That was safe.

He nodded to himself once, decisive, then immediately doubted it.

Jisung had not felt like he was messing with him.

He had felt careful.

That was worse.

Minho let out a long breath and dragged a hand down his face.

“This is so stupid” he muttered into the empty room.

The empty room did not argue back.

He reached over to his nightstand where Mingi had left a half crushed cigarette pack and stopped himself halfway.

He stared at it.

His jaw tightened.

He did not light one.

He just held the pack for a second, fingers curling around it, before dropping it back onto the table like it had burned him.

He turned onto his side again.

He is a guy.

That was the big flashing neon sign his brain kept circling back to.

He was not supposed to care like this.

He supported people. He was not stupid. Hyunjin was bi, Chan has friends who are gay, that was not the issue.

The issue was him.

“Get it together” he whispered.

He did not get it together.

He lay there for another twenty minutes, thoughts looping until they blurred into each other, until everything felt too loud inside his head and too quiet everywhere else.

In the end, what scared him the most was not that Jisung might have meant something by it.

It was that part of him hoped he did.

Minho was still awake when Mingi came back.

The door creaked open quietly for someone who absolutely did not know how to be subtle, and the smell of smoke followed him in like a second shadow.

“You look like a corpse” Mingi said, kicking his shoes off by the door.

Minho did not move. “Go away.”

Mingi ignored that and dropped onto his own bed, bouncing it slightly. “Nah. You are doing the dramatic ceiling stare. That is never a good sign.”

Minho sighed and rolled onto his side so his back was to him.

Mingi squinted at him through the dim light from the hallway. “Oh. It is bad bad.”

“Stop talking.”

“Absolutely not.”

Minho closed his eyes.

Mingi leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Is this about guitar boy?”

Minho froze.

“Do not call him that.”

“Why not? He has a guitar and a waist that that made Lee Minho experience gay panic.”

Minho sat up so fast he nearly pulled something. “You have seen him once.”

“That is all it takes.”

Minho rubbed his face. “You are being annoying.”

“That is my love language.”

Silence stretched for a moment.

Mingi’s voice softened, just a little. “You like him?”

Minho scoffed. “I do not.”

Mingi hummed. “You say that the same way people say they are not addicted to nicotine.”

Minho opened his mouth, then shut it again.

Mingi nodded slowly. “Yeah. Thought so.”

Minho stared at the floor.

Mingi tipped his head back against the wall. “Look. I am not saying go confess your feelings in the rain or whatever. I am saying if you keep hovering like a haunted Victorian child, someone else is going to get there first.”

Minho frowned. “What do you mean?”

Mingi looked at him flatly. “I mean Jisung is pretty. Like, offensively pretty. And he is funny. And talented. And he smokes in a hot, emotionally unavailable way.”

“That is not—”

“There are already people circling him,” Mingi continued. “Guys. Girls. Anyone with taste.”

Minho’s stomach dropped.

Mingi saw it happen and softened his tone, just a fraction. “I cannot guarantee he is going to keep waiting for you.”

“I am not—”

“Minho.”

That shut him up.

Mingi met his eyes, unusually serious. “You are taking him on walks. Sharing cigarettes. Hanging out more than you did with your actual girlfriend before you broke up. You stare at his hands like they owe you money.”

Minho groaned and fell back onto his bed. “I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

Minho covered his face with both hands.

Mingi sighed. “I am not saying label yourself. I am not saying come out tomorrow with a PowerPoint presentation.”

“Thank God.”

“I am saying if you like him, even a little, and you keep pretending you don’t, someone else will not pretend. Someone else will ask him out.”

The words sat heavy in the air.

Minho lowered his hands. “He is not waiting for me.”

Mingi shrugged. “Exactly.”

Minho swallowed.

The image of Jisung. laughing with someone else, leaning close, fingers tugging on someone else’s sleeve made something tight coil in his chest.

He hated that reaction.

He hated how immediate it was.

Mingi watched his face change and clicked his tongue. “Yeah. That one.”

Minho glared at him weakly. “Stop psychoanalyzing me.”

“I am not. I am narrating.”

Minho turned onto his side, facing the wall again.

Mingi spoke quieter now. “You do not have to know what you are. You just have to know what you want.”

Minho did not answer.

Because that was the problem.

He was starting to suspect he did.

Minho picked the worst possible time to do it.

Which was how he knew it was real.

They were outside the arts building again, late afternoon sun low enough to stretch shadows across the pavement. Jisung sat on the low steps with his guitar case beside him, tapping something into his phone while humming under his breath.

Minho had been pacing behind him for a full minute.

Jisung finally glanced up. “Are you trying to wear a hole in the concrete or is that just how dancers walk when they are stressed?”

Minho stopped moving.

“Do I look stressed?”

“Yes.”

Minho opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

He shut it again.

Jisung blinked. “Okay that was ominous.”

Minho scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I was going to say something and now I forgot it.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“It is not.”

Jisung waited, patient in a way that made Minho’s chest feel tight.

Minho looked at the ground. Then at Jisung. Then immediately away again.

“Do you want to… hang out? Sometimes”

Jisung tilted his head. “We already do that? Like right now.”

“I mean.” Minho inhaled. “Like. Just us, you know.”

Jisung did not answer right away.

Not in a scary way. In a curious way.

“Just us doing what?”

Minho’s jaw tightened. “I do not know yet. Food. Or walking. Or whatever people do when they are not rehearsing.”

Jisung studied him for a second longer than necessary.

Then he smiled slowly.

“Is this you asking me out?”

Minho’s brain short circuited.

He felt heat rush up his neck.

“I…”

Jisung waited.

Minho swallowed.

“Yes.”

The word came out quieter than he wanted.

So he said it again.

“Yeah.”

Jisung’s eyebrows lifted just slightly. Not shocked. Not smug. Just warm.

“Like on a date?”

Minho nodded once, sharp and decisive, like if he slowed down he would back out.

“Yeah.”

Jisung’s smile widened. Not teasing this time. Real.

“I would like that.”

Minho exhaled without realizing he had been holding his breath.

“Good.”

“Yeah” Jisung echoed, eyes bright.

They stared at each other for a second too long.

Jisung broke it first. “You okay?You look like you just ran a marathon in your head.”

Minho scoffed weakly. “It felt like one.”

Jisung laughed softly.

The sound hit Minho straight in the chest.

“When?” Jisung asked.

Minho blinked. “When what?”

“The date.”

“Oh.”

He had not thought that far.

“Soon” he said quickly.

Jisung nodded. “Soon works for me.”

Minho hesitated, then added “Tonight.”

Jisung’s grin turned slow and dangerous.

“Confident.”

Minho panicked. “I can change that.”

“No” Jisung said immediately. “Tonight is good.”

Minho’s heart kicked hard against his ribs.

“Okay.”

“Okay” Jisung repeated, standing up and slinging the guitar case over his shoulder.

He paused before walking away, glancing back.

“You are cute when you are nervous, by the way.”

Minho stared at him.

“I am not nervous.”

Jisung smiled like he did not believe him at all.

“Sure.”

And then he walked off, leaving Minho standing there like he had just agreed to something life altering without reading the fine print.

Minho watched him go.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Probably Mingi.

He ignored it.

Because for once, he did not want commentary.

He just wanted to sit with the fact that he had done it.

He had asked Han Jisung out.

On a date.

And Jisung had said yes.

Minho changed his shirt three times.

Mingi watched from his bed, chewing gum and scrolling through his phone.

“That is the fourth outfit.”

“It is the third.”

“You tried the same one twice.”

Minho grabbed a jacket and shrugged it on. “This is normal.”

Mingi’s eyes dragged over him slowly. “You look fine. Annoyingly fine. Like the lead in a coming of age film who does not realize he is the lead yet.”

“Stop talking.”

“You are sweating.”

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

Minho left before Mingi could say anything else damaging to his sanity.

Jisung was waiting outside the dorm entrance, leaning against the railing, phone in one hand, cigarette in the other. He stubbed it out the second he saw Minho.

“You came” Jisung said.

Minho blinked. “You sound surprised.”

“Little.”

Minho shoved his hands into his pockets. “I asked you out.”

“I know.”

Jisung smiled anyway.

It made Minho forget what he was about to say.

“You look nice.” Jisung added.

Minho froze for half a second. “You too.”

Jisung looked down at himself. Hoodie. Rings. Messy hair. “This is my default state.”

Minho nodded. “Still nice.”

Jisung’s ears turned pink.

They walked toward the food trucks near the quad, the evening warm and loud with chatter and music drifting from open windows.

They ended up ordering noodles and lemonade, sitting on the near by table.

Jisung slurped a noodle and sighed happily. “I forgot how good this place is.”

Minho watched him without realizing it.

Jisung caught him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That was a lie.”

Minho shrugged. “You get really focused when you eat.”

Jisung blinked. “That is the weirdest compliment I have gotten this week.”

Minho smirked despite himself.

Progress.

“So. Senior dancer. What do you do when you are not emotionally terrorizing underclassmen with talent.”

Minho huffed. “I do not terrorize.”

Jisung gave him ‘yeah right’ look.

“I practice. I sleep. I pretend I am not addicted to caffeine.”

Jisung nodded solemnly. “Respectable lifestyle.”

“What about you?”

Jisung shrugged. “Write music. Stress over  deadlines. Smoke too much. Think about quitting. Do not.”

Minho frowned slightly.

Jisung caught it. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Minho.”

Minho hesitated.

“You shouldn’t quit” he said finally.

Jisung blinked.

Minho added quickly “I mean. You should if you want to. I just meant. I’m keeping it a secret because I already know what everyone is gonna say, ‘it’s so bad for you’ yeah no shit I know that. I just… don’t have a desire to quit… so I’m not even trying to.”

Jisung studied him for a second.

Then smiled softly. “Yeah. I’ve been through the same thing.”

They finished eating slower than necessary.

Now they’re sitting on the low brick wall outside the music building. It’s later than it should be. The air is colder now. Jisung is talking about nothing, absolutely nothing but he’s still talking about it, and Minho is pretending he’s listening while internally replaying every time their shoulders brushed tonight.

There’s a pause.

Not awkward.

Just charged.

Minho says something sarcastic. Jisung shoves him lightly. Minho shoves back.

It turns into that stupid back and forth where neither of them moves away.

They’re close.

Too close.

Jisung looks down.

Minho follows the movement automatically.

Their hands are resting between them on the brick.

Barely an inch apart.

Minho’s pulse spikes.

Don’t.

Don’t look at it.

Don’t think about it.

Jisung goes quiet.

That’s what makes it worse.

Because Jisung is rarely quiet.

Minho glances up.

Jisung is already looking at him.

Not playful.

Not smiling.

Just steady.

Minho’s throat goes dry. “What?

Jisung doesn’t answer.

He flips his hand over and slides it into Minho’s.

Warm palm against warm palm. Fingers pressing between his like they belong there.

Minho’s entire body goes rigid.

Jisung doesn’t pull away.

He tightens his grip slightly instead.

Like he’s saying, I meant that.

Minho’s brain is screaming.

“If you don’t like it” Jisung says quietly “tell me.”

Minho looks down at their hands.

Their fingers fit.

Too well.

He flexes instinctively.

Jisung’s thumb brushes once over his knuckles.

Not teasing.

Grounding.

They sit like that.

Hands intertwined.

Not looking at anyone else.

A group of students walks past and neither of them let go.

That’s the moment.

Not the touch.

The not letting go.

His thumb moves again , small, unconscious stroke against Minho’s skin.

Minho swallows.

Jisung shrugs lightly. “You weren’t going to do it.”

Minho doesn’t argue.

Because he wasn’t.

Silence settles again.

But this time it’s different.

Heavy in a good way.

Jisung bumps their shoulders together softly.

Minho bumps back.

Still holding hands.

Still pretending this is normal.

But neither of them are pretending very well.

It’s been a few weeks.

Minho has been… different.

Not glowing. Not obvious. Just distracted.

Checking his phone more.

Leaving early.

Coming back late.

Smiling at nothing and then immediately scowling like he caught himself.

Which is why the intervention happens.

They’re in the dorm living room.

Mingi is on the floor. Hyunjin is upside down on the couch. Chan is eating cereal like this is a normal evening.

Minho is texting.

Hyunjin squints at him. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“You’re smiling at your phone like a schoolgirl who’s texting her crush.”

Minho locks his phone immediately. “I don’t.”

Mingi narrows his eyes. “Okay but why have you been vanishing every night?” He’s still awake when Minho is coming back home since he can’t sleep without one last cigarette that turn into three.

“I haven’t.”

Fuck him and his late night smoking

“You literally disappear after 8 p.m.”

I hope dorm stuff finds out and kicks him out

“I go on walks.”

If they ever suspect something imma blame it all on him

“With who?”

And then hopefully I get a new roommate who’s not a snitch and goes to bed at 9 p.m.

“…myself.”

All three of them stare.

Hyunjin slowly sits upright. “You never went on a random walk by yourself.”

Minho shrugs. “People change.”

Mingi gasps dramatically. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“It’s him.”

Minho’s jaw tightens. “Who?”

“Music boy.”

Chan chokes on his cereal. “Music boy?”

“You know who” Mingi says.

Minho rolls his eyes. “We’re just hanging out.”

All three freeze.

“Just hanging out?” Hyunjin repeats carefully.

“Yes.”

“How often?”

Minho hesitates. Wrong move.

“…Most days.”

The room explodes.

“MOST DAYS?”

“You said just hanging out like it was casual.”

“Since when is most days casual?”

Minho throws his hands up. “It is casual.”

Hyunjin leans forward. “Are you together?”

“No.”

“Have you kissed?”

“No.”

“Has he said he likes you?”

“…No.”

The room pauses.

“And you don’t know if he likes you?”

Minho looks away. “…I’m not even sure.”

Dead silence.

Then—

Mingi bursts out laughing.

Not mean.

Just shocked.

“YOU’RE not sure?”

Minho glares. “Stop.”

Hyunjin looks genuinely confused. “But you’re out with him constantly.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means something” Chan says carefully.

“It could mean he’s bored.”

“Minho.”

“I’m serious.”

Mingi sits up straighter. “Okay. Let’s say hypothetically he doesn’t like you.”

“Yes.”

“Then why does he keep texting you?”

Minho freezes.

“He texts you first?” Hyunjin asks.

Minho regrets everything.

“Sometimes.”

Minho feels defensive now. “He hasn’t said anything. Maybe he’s just comfortable.”

“With you specifically?” Hyunjin presses.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Minho opens his mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Exactly.

His phone buzzes.

All four of them look down like it’s a bomb.

Minho hesitates.

Mingi lunges.

Minho jerks the phone away. “Don’t.”

Too late.

They’ve seen the name.

Han Jisung

The room goes quiet again.

Minho slowly checks the message.

Jisung:

Hey

There’s a campus event next week

Another buzz.

Jisung:

They asked me to perform

Hyunjin’s eyes widen slightly.

Mingi leans closer but doesn’t grab the phone this time.

Another buzz.

Jisung:

Would it be weird if I asked you to come?

The air shifts.

Minho’s pulse jumps.

Another message.

Jisung:

I think I’d feel better if you were there

Chan slowly lowers his spoon.

Hyunjin whispers “Oh.”

Mingi blinks once.

Then twice.

“…He likes you.”

Minho swallows. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

Mingi turns to him slowly. “He wants you there for his performance.”

“So?”

“So???”

Minho looks at the words again.

I’d feel better if you were there.

His chest feels tight.

He types back.

Minho:

I’ll be there

If this guy will feel better with me there I am coming even if I have to skip 2 funerals and a wedding.

The reply comes almost immediately.

Jisung:

Great!

I was hoping you would be

This time, no one laughs.

No one yells.

They’re just staring at Minho like they’ve discovered something fragile and explosive at the same time.

Hyunjin speaks first.

“You’re still not sure he likes you?”

Minho doesn’t answer.

Because suddenly.

He’s not sure what he thinks anymore.

Where does the ‘we’re close friends’ line end and ‘we might be something more’ starts.

Minho tries to act normal.

He fails.

Jisung has been different.

Not distant. Not colder. Just quieter in a focused way. Disappearing into studio rooms. Wearing headphones more. Typing lyrics into his notes app when he thinks no one is looking.

Minho notices.

Of course he does.

One evening they’re sitting on the dorm stairs, air soft and warm.

Jisung is restless.

Tapping his fingers against his knee like there’s something trapped under his skin.

“You’re nervous?” Minho says.

“I’m not.”

“You’ve tapped the same rhythm for ten minutes.”

Jisung smiles faintly. “It’s just a campus event.”

“You’ve performed before?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

Minho studies him. “Is this a new song?”

Jisung glances at him.

That pause is too long.

“…Maybe.”

Minho’s stomach flips.

“About what?”

Jisung looks away, like he’s debating how much to say.

“…About wanting something and not knowing if you’re allowed to want it.”

Minho’s breath catches.

“That’s vague.”

“Yeah.”

They sit there in it.

Unspoken.

Heavy.

Minho almost asks.

Almost.

But he doesn’t.

Jisung is a very talkative person. He could see a weird looking cloud and talk about it for an hour. So if he wanted to talk about something, he would.

The quad is crowded. String lights. Cheap speakers. Too many people pretending they aren’t impressed by student talent.

Minho stands near the front.

Chan is beside him. Mingi behind him. Hyunjin somewhere complaining about the lighting.

Minho’s heart has been racing since he got here.

Jisung walks on stage.

The cheering is loud.

But Minho barely hears it.

Because Jisung looks different under stage lights.

Sharper.

Brighter.

Untouchable.

He smiles into the mic.

“Hi.”

The crowd cheers.

“I wrote something recently,” Jisung continues, voice steady but softer than usual. “It’s… new. So if I mess up, pretend I didn’t.”

Light laughter.

Minho’s chest tightens.

Jisung adjusts the mic.

And then

“This one’s called ‘Hold My Hand.’”

Minho’s brain goes quiet.

The first chords start.

Soft.

Acoustic.

Gentle.

The lyrics begin simple.

Minho’s throat closes.

He remembers the crosswalk.

The brick wall.

The way Jisung’s fingers slid between his.

The chorus builds.

Jisung looks out into the crowd.

Not randomly.

Not vaguely.

Directly.

At him.

And he sings:

“Cause all I want is you, not your tears

I wanna make you the happiest one, no fear

So baby, hold my hand now”

Minho stops breathing.

All I want is you

Not vague.

Not poetic abstraction.

You.

Hold my hand now

His heart slams so violently it almost hurts.

He knows.

He knows.

This isn’t interpretation.

This isn’t delusion.

This is confession in melody.

His crush wrote a love song about him.

Minho’s face burns.

His hands feel shaky.

He can’t even look around because if anyone sees his expression he’s done.

He swallows hard.

And then he feels it.

That sensation.

Being watched.

Not by Jisung.

From the side, like someone is trying to burn a whole through him.

He turns his head slightly.

And sees her.

Summer.

Standing a few rows back.

Arms crossed.

Not angry.

Not crying.

Just… looking.

At him.

Then slowly back at the stage.

Then back at him.

Her expression shifts.

Recognition.

Understanding.

And something else.

Not jealousy.

Not exactly.

More like

Oh.

It’s about you.

Minho’s stomach drops.

Because she knows him.

She knows his tells.

She sees the way he’s frozen.

The way he hasn’t blinked since the chorus started.

She sees the truth land on his face in real time.

And she understands.

Jisung’s voice fills the quad again.

“Hold my hand now!”

Minho looks back at the stage.

Jisung is still looking at him.

Not smiling.

Not performing for the crowd.

Singing to him.

Minho feels exposed.

Seen.

Terrified.

And stupidly, overwhelmingly happy.

His friends are probably figuring it out too.

The whole world feels like it’s tilting.

But in that moment

All he can think, written in pink letters with glitter all over them, is:

✧･ﾟ: *✧He wrote a song for me ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The event ends in noise.

Clapping. Whistles. People shouting. Someone bumps into Minho and he doesn’t even react.

His ears are ringing.

Not from the speakers.

From the chorus.

All I want is you.

He hasn’t moved.

The stage lights are dimming. Students are crowding forward. Some going backstage. Some leaving.

And Minho is standing there with two very clear paths.

To the left — Summer.

Still where she was.

Watching.

To the right — the backstage entrance.

Where Jisung disappeared five minutes ago.

His heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might actually be visible under his shirt.

Chan touches his shoulder lightly. “You good?”

Minho nods automatically.

He’s not.

Mingi leans close. “You look like you just saw God.”

Minho doesn’t answer.

Silence.

None of them say anything else.

They don’t need to.

Minho inhales slowly.

Summer catches his eye again.

She doesn’t look cruel.

She doesn’t look furious.

She looks… aware.

And that almost makes it worse.

Because she knows him.

She knows when he’s overwhelmed.

She knows when something matters.

And she absolutely knows that song wasn’t vague.

A thousand thoughts slam into him at once.

What if she tells people.

What if she tells her friends.

What if it spreads.

What if people start labeling him before he even understands himself.

His throat tightens.

He hates that this still scares him.

He hates that part of him still worries about whispers.

He looks back toward the backstage door.

Someone pushes it open.

Jisung steps out briefly — surrounded by people congratulating him.

He’s smiling.

But he looks like he’s searching.

Scanning the crowd.

For someone.

Minho’s chest physically aches.

Even if the whole world finds out.

Even if Summer says something.

Even if people start assuming things he hasn’t fully named yet.

Right now

He just wants to talk to him.

Not about labels.

Not about fear.

Summer takes a small step forward.

Like she might approach.

Minho freezes.

This is the moment.

Old life.

New life.

Fear.

Want.

He swallows.

Then before he can think himself out of it — he turns.

And walks toward backstage.

Each step feels terrifying.

And right.

He doesn’t look back.

He doesn’t check if Summer reacts.

He just moves.

The closer he gets, the louder his pulse becomes.

What is he even going to say?

You wrote that about me?

I know?

Thank you?

I’m scared?

The backstage hallway is narrow and loud.

People everywhere.

And then Jisung sees him.

Mid sentence with someone else.

He stops.

Actually stops talking.

Their eyes lock.

Everything else fades a little.

Jisung excuses himself quickly, stepping away from the group.

He walks toward Minho.

Not running.

Not dramatic.

Just direct.

They stop a few feet apart.

For a second, neither speaks.

Jisung searches his face.

Nervous now.

“Hey” he says softly.

Minho’s voice feels stuck in his throat.

“You wrote that about me.”

Not a question.

Jisung doesn’t pretend.

He doesn’t laugh it off.

He just nods.

“Yeah.”

Minho’s heart almost gives out.

The hallway noise feels distant.

Another step closer.

Not touching yet.

Jisung adds gently “I meant every word.”

Minho’s chest tightens.

“I don’t regret singing it.”

There it is.

The choice.

Fear.

Or this.

Minho looks at him, really looks at him, still flushed from performing, hair messy, eyes vulnerable in a way Minho has never seen before.

Even if the whole world finds out.

Even if things get messy.

Even if he doesn’t have a perfect label.

He knows one thing.

He doesn’t want to lose this.

So he steps forward.

Closing the last bit of distance.

“I don’t regret hearing it” he says.

He isn’t thinking about Summer.

Or whispers.

Or labels.

Just the boy in front of him who wrote hold my hand like he was asking in front of everyone.

And very quietly, almost like it’s just for them and not the entire universe

“So… will you?” Jisung says.

Minho’s brows pull together slightly. “Will I what?”

Jisung doesn’t look away this time.

“Hold my hand.”

It’s not a joke.

Not a callback for applause.

Not a stage line.

Minho feels something in his chest crack open.

All the fear about Summer.

About whispers.

About labels he hasn’t sorted out.

It’s still there.

But it’s smaller.

Because this is bigger.

Jisung doesn’t move.

He doesn’t reach first this time.

He waits.

Minho looks down at the small space between them.

Then at Jisung’s hand.

He exhales slowly.

And steps closer.

He doesn’t hesitate now.

He takes Jisung’s hand fully , firm, deliberate, lacing their fingers together like it’s not a test anymore.

Like it’s a choice.

Jisung’s breath catches.

Minho feels it.

Feels the way Jisung’s grip tightens instinctively.

The hallway noise fades even more.

Jisung’s eyes soften in a way that almost undoes him.

Minho doesn’t overthink it.

If he does, he’ll freeze.

So he doesn’t.

He leans in.

Slow enough to stop.

Close enough that Jisung can pull back if he wants.

He doesn’t.

Their foreheads almost brush.

Minho closes the last inch.

The kiss isn’t rushed.

It isn’t desperate.

It’s soft at first, testing, careful.

Like they’re both confirming this is real.

Jisung’s free hand comes up hesitantly, hovering for half a second before settling at Minho’s shoulder.

Minho feels that.

Feels everything.

The warmth.

The certainty.

The fact that Jisung is kissing him back without hesitation.

That’s what makes something inside Minho settle.

Not explode.

Settle.

He deepens it just slightly, not enough to make a scene, just enough to say I’m here. I’m choosing this.

When they finally pull apart, they don’t separate far.

Their hands are still linked.

Jisung’s forehead rests lightly against Minho’s.

There’s a shaky laugh under his breath.

“You just kissed me backstage.”

Minho huffs softly. “You sang a love song about me in front of half the campus.”

“Fair.”

They stay like that for a second longer.

And for once, Minho doesn’t feel split in half between fear and want.

Someone calls Jisung’s name again from down the hall.

Reality creeping back in.

Jisung looks at him carefully. “You okay?”

Minho thinks about Summer.

About the crowd.

About tomorrow.

Then he squeezes Jisung’s hand.

“Yeah.”

And this time, it’s not fragile.

It’s certain.

Minho and Jisung stand there for a second longer.

Still close.

Still holding hands.

Reality waits outside that door.

Jisung looks at him carefully. “We don’t have to—”

Minho knows what he means.

We don’t have to go out there like this.

We don’t have to make it visible.

We can let go first.

Minho thinks about how scared he was fifteen minutes ago.

About Summer’s look.

About whispers.

About being labeled before he figured himself out.

He exhales slowly.

Then tightens his grip instead.

“Let’s go” he says.

Jisung searches his face.

“Okay” he answers.

They push through the door.

The quad is still crowded.

Lights glowing overhead. People sitting on blankets. Groups taking photos. Someone arguing loudly about a missed cue. Someone else crying about a midterm.

Minho steps out first.

Jisung beside him.

Their fingers intertwined.

Minho’s heart jumps.

He expects

Stares.

Gasps.

Someone whispering.

Someone pointing.

He braces himself.

And then…

Nothing.

A group of freshmen run past them arguing about pizza toppings.

Two girls nearby are dissecting a situationship like it’s a crime documentary.

Someone shouts Jisung’s name and congratulates him on the performance, gives him a quick side hug, barely even glances at their hands.

“Dude that chorus was insane” the guy says. “Are you coming to the after thing?”

“Maybe, I’ll see” Jisung replies, completely normal.

They move forward again.

Still holding hands.

No one freezes.

No one reacts dramatically.

Minho scans faces anyway.

A few people look.

But not in shock.

Just curiosity.

Recognition.

And then they move on.

Because someone else is laughing too loud.

Because someone else is spilling a drink.

Because someone else just got broken up with ten minutes ago.

The world does not stop.

It doesn’t even slow down.

Minho feels something unclench inside him.

He glances around again.

Nothing.

He almost laughs.

All that fear.

All that spiraling.

For this.

People have bigger problems.

Like finals.

Like rent.

Like their own messy love lives.

Jisung squeezes his hand gently.

“You’re scanning” he murmurs.

Minho huffs. “Habit.”

“See anything dramatic?”

Minho looks around one more time.

Someone is arguing about parking tickets.

A couple is making out very aggressively near the fountain.

He shakes his head slowly.

“No.”

Jisung smiles, small and relieved.

“Told you” he says softly.

Minho looks at him.

Really looks at him.

At the boy who wrote a love song and sang it anyway.

At the boy who asked him in front of the whole campus without actually saying his name.

Minho’s voice drops a little.

“I was worried for nothing.”

“About?”

“…Everything.”

Jisung bumps their shoulders together gently.

“You think people care that much?”

Minho considers it.

Then watches as two guys nearby start loudly debating whether a professor should be fired for giving a surprise quiz.

He almost laughs again.

“No” he admits.

“They’re too busy” Jisung says.

“Yeah.”

They keep walking.

Still visible.

Still holding hands.

Still existing.

And the world keeps spinning like it always has.

Minho feels lighter.

He squeezes Jisung’s hand this time.

On purpose.

Jisung looks at him.

“What?”

Minho shakes his head slightly.

“Nothing.”

But there’s a small smile tugging at his mouth.

And it’s not nervous anymore.

It’s free.

Minho and Jisung are halfway across the quad.

Still holding hands.

Still walking like this is normal.

Minho’s heartbeat has finally leveled out. The fear has dissolved into something lighter. Almost amused.

And then he hears it.

“OH MY GOD.”

Hyunjin.

Across the quad.

Loud enough to wake the dead.

Minho closes his eyes briefly. “…Kill me.”

Jisung stiffens beside him. “What?”

Too late.

Mingi spins around dramatically, following Hyunjin’s line of sight.

He freezes.

His jaw drops.

He grabs Chan’s shoulder violently.

Chan turns.

Sees.

Stops walking.

Blinks once.

Twice.

Then

“Oh.”

Hyunjin is already speed walking toward them like he’s about to witness a live execution.

“ARE YOU HOLDING HANDS?”

The entire surrounding area now absolutely cares because Hyunjin has decided to announce it to the planet.

Minho does not let go.

He refuses.

Jisung looks like he might combust.

Mingi reaches them next.

He stares at their hands like he’s discovered alien life.

“You said you weren’t sure he liked you.”

Minho deadpans “I was working through things.”

Chan, calm but clearly trying not to smile, looks between them.

“So?”

“So” Minho echoes.

Hyunjin gestures wildly. “SO?? Since when? Since when is this happening? You left for five minutes.”

“Seven” Mingi corrects automatically.

Jisung looks overwhelmed but amused. “Hi?”

Mingi points at him dramatically. “YOU. We need a timeline.”

“There is no timeline” Minho says.

“There is absolutely a timeline.”

Hyunjin grabs Chan’s arm. “Did you know? Did you know this would happen tonight? I feel betrayed.”

Chan is openly smiling now. “I suspected.”

Mingi gasps. “You suspected and you didn’t tell us?”

“I said give it time.” Chan replies calmly.

Hyunjin looks back at Minho, eyes wide. “You kissed him, didn’t you.”

Silence.

Minho’s ears go red.

Jisung’s ears go red.

Mingi screams.

“I KNEW IT.”

“Can yall stop acting like the world is falling apart.” Minho snaps, but he’s failing to hide the smile threatening his face.

Hyunjin spins in a circle. “This is better than the performance.”

“Rude.” Jisung mutters.

Minho finally sighs. “Can you all relax?”

“No.” all three say immediately.

Chan steps closer, softer now.

“You’re okay?”

That’s the real question.

Minho glances around the quad again.

No one staring.

No one whispering.

Just normal campus chaos.

He looks down at their joined hands.

Still steady.

Still warm.

“Yeah” he says.

And this time it’s easy.

Hyunjin clutches his chest dramatically. “He’s in love.”

“I did not say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Mingi wipes imaginary tears. “This is growth.”

Jisung leans slightly closer to Minho and murmurs under his breath “Are they always like this?”

“Yes, you’ll have to get used to it.” Minho replies without hesitation.

Chan finally laughs. “We’re happy for you. Even if you are painfully slow.”

Minho rolls his eyes.

Mingi points again. “You owe me twenty dollars.”

“For what?”

“I bet Hyunjin you’d panic and run.”

Minho scoffs. “I don’t run.”

Hyunjin squints. “You emotionally jog.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does to me.”

Jisung is fully smiling now.

Relaxed.

Included.

And still not letting go.

Minho notices that.

He squeezes his hand once.

Mingi sees it and makes a strangled noise.

“Okay that’s it I need a minute, and a lighter.”

Hyunjin fans himself dramatically.

Chan just shakes his head fondly.

And around them

The campus continues not caring.

Because the only people who think this is world altering are the three idiots who have been watching it build for weeks.

Minho looks at Jisung.

Jisung looks back.

The chaos fades into background noise again.

And for once

Minho isn’t scared.

The campus was quiet now. Streetlights painting gold rectangles on the sidewalk. The quad was mostly empty, the echoes of the night’s cheering fading into distant laughter and footsteps.

Minho walked beside Jisung, hand still entwined in his. It felt natural. Wrongly natural, maybe, but perfect all the same.

When they reached the edge of the quad, Jisung stopped. “I… don’t want to say goodbye yet” he murmured, voice low, almost lost in the night.

Minho’s heart thudded. “Yeah… me neither.”

Jisung leaned closer. The world seemed to shrink until all that existed was the two of them, their fingers laced together.

He tilted his head slightly, brushing his lips against Minho’s.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, a test. But it didn’t stay tentative. Minho responded before he even realized, pressing closer. The rest of the quad, the people still lingering, the streetlights, none of it mattered.

When they finally pulled back, breaths shallow, foreheads resting together, Jisung whispered “Goodnight”

“Goodnight” Minho replied, voice shaky but happy. They let go of each other’s hands reluctantly. Jisung turned and disappeared into his dorm, leaving Minho standing there, heart still hammering, hands tingling where they’d been joined.

When Minho finally got home, the quiet of his room hit him. The adrenaline of the night still buzzed in his veins. He sat on his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the kiss, the lyrics, the way Jisung looked at him when he sang Hold My Hand.

And then, finally, he pulled out his phone. Fingers trembling, he typed a quick message:

Minho: I can’t stop thinking about tonight

Seconds passed, but he didn’t send it yet. He needed to compose himself but the truth was, he didn’t really want to. He just wanted to say it.

A sigh, a glance at the ceiling, and then he did it , because he was human and flustered beyond repair, he did the single, most questionable Google search of his life.

Tricks to Keep Yourself From Fucking Him Before You Fuck Him Anyway

He stared at the results. Blinked. Laughed softly. Groaned. Heart still racing.

Jisung was asleep.

Minho was awake.

And somehow, the world felt entirely too small and entirely too big at the same time.

It’s a Friday night, and Chan and Hyunjin’s shared apartment is alive with noise, clutter, and the distinct smell of leftover takeout.

Minho is sprawled on the couch with Jisung beside him, it’s almost their four months anniversary.

Across the room, Mingi is leaning back in the armchair, flicking imaginary smoke from a lighter.

Changbin is sprawled across the floor, scrolling through his phone, muttering about dumb TikToks.

Felix and Seungmin are arguing over a video game, tossing controllers across the small space, while Jeongin just sits cross legged on the floor.

“You’re terrible at this game,” Felix shouts, tossing his controller toward Seungmin.

“I’m not!” Seungmin yells, barely catching it. “You’re cheating!”

“Kim Seungmin if we were in a breathing competition you would still try to cheat.” Felix yells back, dramatic and loud.

Changbin groans from the floor. “You guys are all idiots.”

Mingi snorts. “Confirmed.”

Chan, who has been quietly observing, finally breaks the silence. “Anyone want more snacks? Or should we start the actual movie?”

“Snacks!” everyone shouts at once, a chorus of chaos.

Minho watches Jisung grab a handful of chips, stealing one from Minho’s reach deliberately. “Hey!”

“Mine now” Jisung says, teasing, and Minho laughs, swatting his hand away gently.

Outside the chaos, video game shouting, snack stealing, random arguments about nothing, Minho leans back into the couch, letting himself relax. He’s happy. Safe. Content.

And Jisung’s hand brushes against his. A small, casual squeeze.

“Just so you know” Jisung murmurs, voice low enough for only him to hear “I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

Minho smirks, squeezing back. “Good. Because I’m not letting go either.”

Mingi groans loudly from the chair. “Ugh. I hate you guys. But also, fine. Whatever. Just don’t make out in front of the snacks.”

Minho laughs, and Jisung laughs, and somehow amidst all the chaos of a crowded apartment with their friends, it feels like they have a little corner of the world that’s entirely theirs.

So baby, hold my hand now.