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The couch squeaked as Minho collapsed onto it, disturbed by the way his bare skin fused itself to the leather. It had been a long week. He should be thankful, he thought, that their scheduled holiday was just around the corner, but he just couldn’t find it in himself to be excited for it.
His chin fell against his chest, and he watched as a puddle slowly spread from the plastic coffee cup melting condensation onto the studio floor. Minho impulsively dipped his finger in it to spread the water into the wood parquet before picking up the cup. He took a long, slow sip and scrunched his nose at the watered-down taste, looking down into the cup as if it had personally offended him. The liquid swirled at him mockingly.
Everything reminded him of Jisung – from the shoes discarded by the studio door that he helped Minho pick out to the matching couples’ bracelet wrapped around Minho’s wrist and the melting iced americano sitting in his hand. He used to wake up and look forward to sunny days because he could undoubtedly expect a message from Jisung asking to hang out.
But that was before Minho had ruined it all.
It happened a month ago, like any good fuck-up, over a keg of beer. They were circled around the bonfire of a rental house. It was their tradition to escape to the outskirts of Seoul when schedules got too hectic. They’d stock up on meat at the local supermarket and volunteer Chan and Minho to grill it as the rest of the Kids enjoyed the bucolic scenery over a well-deserved drink.
By all accounts, that night was no different.
As usual, Hyunjin overestimated his alcohol tolerance without the buffer of food in his body and was practically dozing in his chair before the barbeque was even turned on, Felix keeping him awake with half-hearted conversation.
Chan was quietly cooking the meat in the corner, taking his job extremely seriously, and stealing bites of beef to “test the flavour”.
Changbin and Jisung flitted about the kitchen, sticking their nose into Minho’s cooking. They claimed to be helping but acted more like overexcited fruit flies observing the process while Seungmin and Jeongin actually helped. After several events involving unseasoned ramen and burnt eggs, everyone agreed it was better this way.
After the food was served and devoured, and their faces were flushed from the drinks, they gathered around a fire, huddled up as the late hour turned their conversation subdued.
“Who was your guys’ first love?” Jeongin asked suddenly, staring up into the dark sky with a looseness in his limbs.
“Aw, is our Innie in love?” Hyunjin batted his eyelashes, plastering himself against Jeongin’s side. “Is it me?”
“Ew, no!” Jeongin pushed him away in disgust. “I was just curious.”
A wave of laughter and then a silence settled over them as everyone took a moment to reminisce on their younger years.
“My first love was a girl I met on the playground,” Hyunjin said dreamily. “She said my eyes were beautiful and gave me a flower. I tripped over my feet running to show my mom and crushed the flower. I sobbed for, like, an hour afterwards.”
A couple snickers sounded around the group.
“Mine was a trainee,” Chan announced boldly, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes as the yard erupted into overlapping questions.
One voice cut in between the rest.
“Oh my God, was it her?” Jisung leant forward with eyes bugging out.
Sometimes Minho forgot that he’d known Chan the longest. It used to bother him, overhearing their inside jokes and vague references to trainee life, but he’d long since overcome his jealousy…mostly.
Sniffing, he watched Jisung’s plastic yard chair lean precariously towards the fire and laid his arm over the back to stabilise it. For Jisung’s safety, of course, not because Minho yearned to be close to him every minute of every day. That would be ridiculous.
Their leader smirked and nodded, and Jisung nearly fell out of his seat with the force of his yell, “I knew it!”
Minho allowed his fingers to crawl up Jisung’s shoulder, settling him against his side, even with the expanse between their chairs making his spine bend unnaturally. It worked like a charm – Jisung melted into him immediately, scooting himself close until their knees bumped and he could rest his head on Minho’s shoulder.
They went around sharing their stories, some of them of first loves, some of passing crushes, and occasionally derailing the conversation into other topics. It filled Minho with warmth, being close with his team like this. He never thought he’d ever treat his coworkers like family, and yet here he was.
“What about you, Minho-hyung?”
Minho paused, glass halfway to his lips, holding Changbin’s gaze over the rim. He gulped down the rest of his beer in one go, pausing to take in the way it numbed his fingers before clearing his throat.
“I’ve already told this story,” he reminded them, somehow maintaining composure, even when his friends decided to gang up on him, whining to tell it again. Forget his previous thought. He hated these people.
“Pleeease?” Jisung batted his eyelashes and clung to his arm, lightly squeezing the muscle there.
…He hated everyone except Jisung.
See, Jisung had Minho privileges, as Seungmin called them. Meaning, he could do all the things that would annoy Minho if anyone else did them, without the consequence of extremely creative and disturbing death threats. Minho knew this, cursed himself for it, yet made no effort to stop his blatant favouritism.
He hid the blush painting his ears with a harsh sigh and stared into the crackling fire, fiddling with the fabric of his hoodie sleeves. The flames danced enthusiastically, and he imagined them playing out the memories in his mind like a silent show.
“It was my friend,” he started, letting an all-too-familiar bitterness settle over his body. “I would come early before school to save us seats next to each other and wait until all our after-school activities were over so we could walk home together.”
“You’re such a simp,” Seungmin called him out, apologising hurriedly when Minho immediately threatened him with a wad of napkins.
From his side, Jisung was watching the interaction with mirth, clutching Minho’s hand still around his shoulder, weakly trying to hold him back. Jisung’s giggles filled him with warmth, fizzling along with the beer sitting in his stomach. It was a familiar feeling by now, but one that never failed to make him dizzy with want.
“How did it end? Did you ever tell him?” Minho was drawn out of his thoughts by Felix, who looked at him with a starry-eyed expression, as if this was the greatest love story ever told.
Suddenly, the late summer air felt cold. His hand trembled around his empty cup as the memories resurfaced. They were only kids. They were stupid. And it was stupid for Minho to still feel any type of way over it a whole decade later.
“Ah,” he paused and grasped at his slipping filaments of energy to school a neutral expression. “We were friends, and, you know, he didn’t take it well knowing another boy liked him,” Minho let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “He freaked out about us sharing the bed at sleepovers and hugging and whatever… Then he never spoke to me again,” his voice tapered out into a whisper.
The group was silent, letting the heaviness settle over them. Minho shrugged uncomfortably, keeping his gaze down from the prying eyes of his teammates. He hated being vulnerable like this, even in front of the people closest to him. Something very close to the truth creeped in his chest, and he was terrified they would see it all.
“Hyung, that’s so sad!” Hyunjin broke the melancholic atmosphere, still obviously drunk. His face contorted with anguish, like Minho’s unsuccessful love life was a Shakespearian tragedy. Honestly, given his current pattern of crushes, he was starting to think it was.
“Guess I’m just the type to fall in love with my best friend.”
The second the words came out of his mouth, there was a shift, but not from Hyunjin or his team. They just chuckled and moved on to the next topic of conversation, oblivious to the way Minho’s lungs constricted. No, the shift was subtle in the way that one voice was missing from the fray.
After years of friendship and countless hours spent around each other, Minho knew every single one of Jisung’s quirks – like how he didn’t like to sleep facing the door or the specific way in which he twisted his fingers when he was nervous, which was different from the way he did when he was excited. Minho was fixated on every minute expression of his, so he felt Jisung’s small flinch at his words.
Cautiously, Minho glanced at him from the corner of his eye, seeing him staring blankly at his lap. He wasn’t clutching Minho’s hand anymore, hunched in on himself. Minho didn’t know what he was thinking, and that was perhaps the scariest part of it all.
Later, when they retired to their shared room – which of course, only had one bed – Jisung lay just out of reach, citing that it was too hot to cuddle that night, and Minho felt something crack in his ribcage as the breeze from the open window chilled the hairs on his skin.
Naïvely, when they woke up the next day, Minho thought the blip they had the night before was just that – a blip. He could chalk up his comment to mild intoxication, and everything would be fine, they’d go back to normal.
It was not fine.
Outwardly, and perhaps to everyone else, Jisung didn’t act any different – he still teased him and humoured his odd jokes, but he didn’t touch him like he used to. There were no bumping shoulders as Minho cooked breakfast or playing with his hands as they drove back to Seoul. Jisung wasn’t fused to his side anymore, and that fact alone brought a sour taste to his mouth. And now, nearly a month later, Minho wondered if they will ever be like that again.
He growled at the dance studio’s ceiling, peeling his sweaty skin off the couch cushions with a grimace. His joints cracked as he stood up, and the taunting, you’re getting old, hyung, of Seungmin’s voice creeping into his thoughts did nothing to lighten his mood.
It was late, way later than he planned on staying. As he unceremoniously slung his bag over his shoulder, he glanced at his reflection in the wall mirror. He looked tired and he knew it wasn’t just the post-comeback schedules. Emotionally, he was falling apart at the seams. He never really stopped to think about Jisung’s role in his life, but being deprived of his presence like this made him wonder if Seungmin’s off-hand comment was accurate; he couldn’t live without Jisung.
Minho shoved a hat onto his tousled hair, hoping to hide the darkness under his eyes, and shuffled out of the studio. As his foot landed aggressively in a puddle outside the company building, he felt his phone buzz. He pulled it out of his pocket and froze in the middle of the busy sidewalk, angering passerby who had to jerk out of their way to avoid crashing into him. A text message from his mother blinked up at him from the screen:
엄마
Hi honey~ Is Jisungie still coming over for your break?
Somehow, in all his overthinking the past month, Minho had completely forgotten that Jisung was supposed to join him for vacation at his parents’ house. Chest constricting, Minho shot off a quick text saying he’d ask and quickly pocketed his phone, noting the lack of the usual Jagi, when are you coming home? message from Jisung.
He stalked down the city streets, taking the usual odd turns to get home, thankful for the cover of darkness. Unfortunately, his luck ended once he reached his apartment building, as a glaring sign of the elevator being down for maintenance stared back at him in blocky generic font. Minho sighed through his nose and gripped the strap of his bag, beginning his trek up to the ninth floor. If he’d known he’d end up here, he would’ve skipped leg day.
Huffing quite ungracefully, he reached his apartment door. The lock trilled in welcome as he walked through the threshold, a pair of familiar chunky shoes greeting him from the doorway. The faint sound of a movie playing wafted through the living room. Like a snake under a spell, Minho followed the sound to Jisung’s room, finding him curled around a body pillow as he stared, entranced, at the TV.
Upon hearing Minho enter, Jisung turned to look at him. His dark eyes glistened against the light of the screen and his hands wedged comfortably between his thighs. The way his face rested against the pillow made his right cheek puff out cutely. Minho had to physically restrain his fingers from reaching out. He shoved them in his pockets instead.
“Hey, you’re back,” Jisung croaked, voice raspy and tired, disinterested.
Struggling to gulp down the knot in his throat, Minho let out a fake chuckle, moving to stand at the edge of the bed.
“Yeah, I got a little carried away at the dance studio,” he answered, resting his knees on the mattress.
As if it would burn him, Jisung inched away from his touch instead of pulling him into the covers like he usually would. Minho froze, kneeling over him as some animated character yelled in the background.
“Have you eaten, Han-ah?” he asked, ignoring the growing chasm in his chest.
The impassive look on Jisung’s face as he shrugged almost made Minho flinch. In that moment, Minho decided that whatever happened, the only thing worse than Jisung hating him was indifference. So, he mumbled something about cooking dinner before standing to leave the room. Once he reached the door, he stopped.
“My mom asked if you’re coming home with me.” Minho chanced a glance at him over his shoulder, carefully phrasing the question in a way that didn’t make it seem like he was asking for himself.
Jisung sat up in bed, glancing to the side briefly before putting on a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Of course. I promised your grandma I’d try her doenjang jjigae, didn’t I?”
He did. It made Minho a little ill now to think about how they managed to so intimately intertwine their lives, and how completely distant he felt from him now.
Minho nodded curtly and left the room, gently clicking the door shut. His hand lingered on the handle for a second too long as he collected himself in the hallway before padding into the kitchen. Tears crept up his throat, but he hadn’t cried over Jisung thus far and he wasn’t about to start now.
His movements were mechanical as he scavenged for various ingredients, and his thoughts raced. Dread heavied his actions as he thought about the week ahead.
The thing was, they’d always been something more than friends. It was an unspoken fact that they were special to one another. Their friends, their fans, everyone could see that. No one would blink twice if Jisung planted a kiss on his neck or if Minho grabbed his butt or if they stared too long at each other, called each other baby, jagi, honey…
These things were accepted as normal, and that was exactly why Minho questioned his position. Jisung was a flirt. He whined for Jeongin to kiss him and fawned over Hyunjin’s looks, but it was never taken seriously. Why would Minho be any different?
But then, Minho made it real. He brought his feelings into the light, and clearly, Jisung didn’t reciprocate. So, okay, this was his way of letting Minho down easy. Consider the message received.
That didn’t make the rejection hurt any less.
Days later, Minho was packing his things and dragging Jisung out the door to the train station, hats resting firmly down their faces and masks pulled up high. The ride was long and quiet. Jisung napped while Minho kept his face firmly buried in a book, forced to constantly re-read the pages as his mind wandered.
Minho’s dad met them at the station when they arrived in Gimpo. He hugged his son tightly before doing the same with Jisung. A smile split Jisung’s rosy cheeks as he was enveloped in the man’s arms – the first real smile Minho had seen in weeks. Feeling rejuvenated from his nap, Jisung chatted up his dad in the car, making light conversation the whole ride. Minho stayed quiet, enjoying hearing his voice ramble on carefree.
When they entered Minho’s house, they were greeted by the curious faces of his cats peeking around the stairs.
“Soon-doong-dori-yah,” Minho called to them, the tension in his shoulders relaxing as they wrapped themselves around his ankles.
He bent down, gently headbutting each cat and giving them bountiful scratches behind their ears.
“Ah, my boys have come home!” his mother’s inviting voice carried into the hall.
Minho felt his remaining anxiety drain out of him as she engulfed him in a warm hug. His eyes felt misty in the way only a hug from your mother could elicit. She looked at him strangely when he lingered a moment too long. Recognition settled on her face when she glanced up at him, and her eyes softened, flicking towards Jisung. She lay a quick kiss on his temple and pulled away. Minho didn’t turn around to watch her do the same with Jisung.
“Come on, let’s get you settled in. You should rest before dinner.”
She herded them up the stairs, disappearing into the kitchen with her husband as Minho and Jisung made their way into the spare room. Two floor mattresses were pressed together in the centre of the space, stacked with pillows and blankets. Soonie trailed in after them and immediately settled on the left futon.
“Well, that one’s clearly yours then,” Jisung joked and threw his bag against the wall, startling Doongie, who had wandered in after his brother. “Oh, sorry, Doong-doong-ah,” he cooed, kneeling next to the cat. He flicked his tail but allowed Jisung to pet him in apology.
It used to be a comforting sight – to watch how neatly he fit into Minho’s life. It wouldn’t be accurate to say there was a Jisung-shaped hole in his life before, but if there were any gaps in it, Jisung filled them perfectly. He gave Minho everything he didn’t know he was missing and more.
Han can live well enough without Lee Know, but I don’t think Lee Know can live without Han.
Minho hated that Seungmin was right. Even though Jisung was still here, within arm’s reach, making silly faces at his cats, he’d never felt so far away. And with every aborted movement, Minho felt like he was truly losing him.
Jisung jumped as a piercing scream from the woman being murdered on the screen emanated from the TV. Minho’s arm jerked to wrap around him, but Jisung was sitting too far away. It was a well-known fact that he loved horror films, but perhaps a lesser-known one was that he couldn’t watch them alone, so Minho was always there by his side to soothe the fear, providing a shoulder to hide behind when the monster got too close.
The seat next to Minho on the couch felt cold. Jisung was curled up on the opposite end, face buried in a blanket, leaving only his eyes peeking out. He stared intently at the screen, jolting at each jumpscare until small whimpers started escaping his lips. Minho couldn’t take it anymore. He let his hand trail against Jisung’s shin, feeling his heartbeat quicken when those eyes settled on him. He gulped down the anxiety and wiggled his fingers invitingly.
“Jisungie, come over here.”
The man stared at him, hesitancy written all over his features, but a few quick glances at the TV and two bloodcurdling screams from the characters later, and Jisung was crawling over to him. He scooted stiffly over to Minho’s side, posture rigid as he lent their shoulders together. A gasp escaped his lips when the next scare flashed on screen. It caught Minho off-guard how much the sound twisted his gut, how much of a visceral reaction something so small could elicit.
Hesitantly, Minho wrapped his arm around Jisung’s waist, dragging him closer. He kept his eyes fixed on the movie even as his friend turned to look at him. After a few seconds of staring, Jisung let out a small sigh and finally relaxed into his hold, nose pressed into his shoulder. It almost felt normal. Minho could almost pretend like nothing had changed.
He kept his breathing shallow just in case, worried even a minor twitch of his arm would scare Jisung off. But as he got himself immersed in the film again, Minho’s fingers wandered, gripping Jisung’s hip and playing with the edge of his shirt sleeve. After all, how could he be expected to unlearn eight years-worth of conditioning in a single month?
Barely twenty minutes later, Minho was startled out of his watching by Jisung clearing his throat. He moved away, stretching performatively and groaning, letting the edge of his shirt ride up. Minho couldn’t help but trace his eyes down the curve of his back, fingers following the path and settling lightly on his lower back. His thumb curled over the elastic of Jisung’s shorts, dipping under to caress the warm skin. Through his haze, he felt the shiver it elicited.
Slowly, Minho trailed his gaze back up, pausing when it caught on Jisung’s inquisitive one. His eyes were warm, imploring, drooping from exhaustion, but there was something soft nestled in them, too. It was the same softness Minho used to take for granted every day.
Swallowing nervously, Minho ghosted his hand over Jisung’s elbow, resting it on his forearm.
“Tired, jagi-ya? Should we go to bed?”
Jisung gave him a yawn and a mumbled affirmative. Groaning, Minho stood up, using the grip on his arm to yank Jisung up with him. Maybe it was the late hour or their day-long travelling, but Jisung’s movements were especially sluggish as they got ready for bed together.
They bumped hips while brushing their teeth, and Minho had to hide the goofy smile pulling at his lips behind his toothbrush. They’ve been living together for over a year now, so it by far wasn’t the first time they’ve washed up together, but something about doing something so domestic side-by-side in his childhood home inspired a whole slew of emotions that Minho could barely contain.
He watched Jisung wash his mouth out and turn to exit the bathroom, but Minho caught him by his elbow before he was able to leave.
“You’re not washing your face?”
“But hyung,” Jisung whined, “I’m so tired.” He rag-dolled his arms around, exaggerating his squirming the way Minho would never admit he found cute.
“You’ll make your dermatologist sad.”
Minho dragged him back towards the sink, handing him the facewash. As Jisung splashed water on his face, Minho rubbed his back soothingly, as if he was faring the most difficult activity on the planet. Then, he manoeuvred the man to lean against the sink, grabbing his face cream. With gentle fingers, he rubbed the cream into his smooth skin, revelling in the way Jisung stood pliant under his touch. A small sigh shaped his lips as he let Minho fully support the weight of his head.
“There you go,” Minho murmured, swiping the last bit of cream on his temple.
“Thank you, baby,” Jisung responded sleepily.
Minho froze. Jisung hadn’t used any pet names on him in an entire month. He looked cautiously at him, gauging whether Jisung realised what he’d just said, but his eyes remained closed and his posture relaxed. So, Minho gulped down his feelings and led them back into the guest room.
They collapsed onto the mattresses in a heap. Jisung didn’t seem to notice the way they were pressed together, and Minho didn’t acknowledge it. He just draped his arm over Jisung’s waist from behind, buried his nose into his neck and hoped this meant that whatever weird funk they’ve been in was over.
Minho should really stop getting his hopes up.
When he woke up the next day, Jisung was already out of bed, mattress empty and pushed away from Minho’s. It hurt, and even Dori’s gentle licks against his face couldn’t quell his disappointment.
“Honey, can you pass me the tofu?”
Minho dried his hands on the kitchen towel and handed his mother the chopped-up tofu. A stew bubbled on the stove as Minho’s grandma threw spices in it with practiced ease. As a child, Minho loved cooking with her. The summers spent learning new recipes and fishing with his grandpa were some of his favourite early memories.
“Minho-ya, where’s Jisungie?” his grandma asked, stirring the food.
Minho busied himself cutting the vegetables to avoid making eye contact with her.
“He’s out back with Dad.”
He jerked as his grandma slapped the ladle against the pot and rested it on the edge, turning to face him.
“You know, I like that boy. You two look good together,” she said casually, looking him up and down teasingly. “I keep waiting on you to finally admit you two are dating.”
“Grandma,” he groaned and covered his burning face with the back of one hand, the other slapping the knife down on the chopping board.
His mother giggled from the other side of the kitchen.
“What?” His grandma shrugged, “I’m not getting any younger here. I’d like to live to see my only grandson happy.”
“I am happy.”
“Happy with someone.”
Minho sighed, setting down the knife. The ‘have you found someone yet?’ conversation had been an ongoing one since he finished school. His family had laid off for a while as he got his footing in the idol industry, but he just turned twenty-seven. There was no running away from the conversation anymore.
When he first introduced Jisung to them, the conversation changed from ‘have you found someone yet?’ to ‘when are you and Jisungie getting together?’. Minho always laughed off the comments, a silent ‘hopefully soon’ on the tip of his tongue. Minho wasn’t delusional, right? He knew they had something. He just thought Jisung knew it, too. But maybe Jisung was content with the way things were between them. Maybe he didn’t want more like Minho did.
“Is everything okay, honey?”
Minho’s mother watched the distressed look on his face, carefully approaching him like a frightened animal. She put her hands on his cheeks and smoothed the skin there, glancing over his shoulder at his grandma. Minho melted into her touch immediately. Yes, he was a grown-ass man, but he was a son first, and one gentle touch from his mother still got him choked up.
“I think I messed it up,” he gasped out before finally breaking down. All the heartbreak crashed down on him at once and slipped down his face in heavy tears. He was pulled to a dining chair with a warm hand wrapped around him. The three of them sat at the table in silence, Minho’s quiet sniffling the only noise filling the space.
“Messed what up?” his mother asked carefully.
“Us. Jisung.”
It took him a minute to gather himself again, trying to ground himself in the gentle circles being rubbed into his back.
“I, uh, I made a joke,” he gulped, “and I think it made him uncomfortable. He refuses to be close to me now, and I just– I don’t know what to do."
“Shh, sweetie, it’s okay,” his mother cooed. “What did you say?”
Minho recounted the story, staring at the ground the whole time. He couldn’t watch their pitying looks.
“Oh,” his grandmother spoke up after he was finished, “that’s nothing, Minho-ya. You two will figure it out.”
“But–“
“Trust me, it’ll all work out.”
And then the front door opened to let Jisung and Minho’s father back in the house, and the conversation died there. His grandmother didn’t make her usual grandson-in-law jokes at dinner, their mattresses stayed pushed apart that night and when they finally had to go back to Seoul, his mother hugged him extra tight in goodbye.
Jisung was in a bad mood. Minho could feel it radiating off of him as soon as he crawled out of bed that morning. It haunted Minho throughout the day like a bad omen, and he found himself anxiously twitching in anticipation just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The team was in the studio, half of them having left already after finishing their respective recordings for the new album. Minho and Jeongin sat on the couch, patiently waiting for Seungmin to finish his turn in the booth.
Well, to say they were completely patient was an overstatement. Seungmin was a notorious perfectionist when it came to his own singing, which was why his recordings were always scheduled last or else he’d hold everyone up for the whole day. For reasons unknown to Minho, that wasn’t the case today.
After Seungmin’s third request to re-do a verse, Chan called it.
“Okay, Seungmin-ah, let’s take a break and give the others a chance to do their parts. We’ll come back to this,” he said with finality, leaving no space for argument as Seungmin, obviously frustrated, carefully hung up his headphones and went to plop down on the couch next to Jeongin, looking royally dissatisfied.
“Minho, your turn,” Chan beckoned him forward.
He winced slightly as he stood up, muscles stiff after waiting for so long. Usually, they could make even a long and dreary session fun, but a lot of that hung on Jisung, and without his boisterous energy, the room quickly grew sombre. It was as if everyone could sense that today was not the day to test his resolve.
Minho grabbed his guide sheet and waddled into the booth, getting himself set up. As he adjusted the headphones over his head, he watched Chan turn to Jisung through the soundproof glass. Chan was leaning away from his seat, obviously instructing Jisung to take his place at the console, but Jisung shook his head and mumbled something under his chin.
If it wasn’t Chan, Jisung usually took over Minho’s recording sessions. Something about his guidance made Minho’s voice flow smoothly, each inflection purposeful. He knew how to translate every nitpicked instruction into something Minho could effortlessly understand. They barely even had to exchange real human words for a quick and successful recording.
Watching through the glass, Minho saw as Jisung’s refusal got heated, Changbin butting into the conversation halfway through seemingly to scold him. Seungmin and Jeongin sat silently in the background, occasionally flicking their gazes towards Minho. Even the sound engineer looked uncomfortable, glancing awkwardly to the side wall and away from whatever conversation was happening between 3racha.
Carefully watching all of this unfold, Minho wanted nothing more than to crawl under a rock and hide. Because somehow, he knew that whatever disagreement Jisung was having with them was his fault.
He finally took a big gulp of air and spoke into the microphone, “Everything okay out there?”
Everything stilled, and Minho immediately regretted opening his mouth as four pairs of eyes all turned to him, Jisung’s refusing to do the same.
Changbin slammed his fist down on the talkback button, causing one of the engineers to cringe his way.
“Everything’s fine. Jisung will guide you like normal,” he said, ignoring Jisung’s answering glare.
Reluctantly, he wheeled himself towards the console and clicked the talkback on.
“Okay, hyung, let’s start with verse two, third line,” he instructed monotonously, still not looking directly at him.
Minho took another heaving breath and uncrossed his arms, loosening his limbs.
“Whatever you say, jagi-ya,” he sing-songed familiarly, aiming to at least try to bring a small quirk of a smile to Jisung’s face.
But the man wasn’t amused. Instead, he sighed in irritation, and with no extra words, said, “I’m starting the counter. Get ready.”
The first recording went poorly, to say the least. Minho’s shoulders were tensed and his breathing stuttered with every unhappy frown that made its way onto Jisung’s face.
“No, bring the tone down on ‘light’.”
Frustration was now crawling up Minho’s throat as he fumbled his fourth take in a row.
“I am, Jisungie.”
“No, you’re not, Minho,” Jisung snapped, pointedly bypassing honorific at the end of his name.
Though Minho didn’t particularly care about these things, especially not when they were coming from Jisung, he felt himself prickle at this. Usually, when Jisung spoke casually with him, it showcased his comfort around him and the closeness of their friendship. But something about his attitude now rubbed Minho the wrong way. Or maybe it was just the pent up hurt after being consistently pushed aside the past several weeks.
“That’s Minho-hyung to you,” Minho corrected with a carefully even tone. Some of the strictness he usually saved for Seungmin or Hyunjin drew an unfamiliar path out of his mouth. It sat bitterly on his tongue knowing it was pointed at Jisung instead, everything in him protesting to soften the sharpness of his edges around him.
Jisung just rolled his eyes and shuffled some papers on the table to busy his hands, looking progressively more jittery, like he’d bolt out of the room at any second.
“Whatever. Go again, inflection down.”
Minho stared at him for a long moment, trying to communicate how dumbfounded he felt over Jisung’s behaviour, but the tempo beats were soon counting down in his ears, and he had to focus back on his job. He opened his mouth and began to sing the line they were so hung up on, following the new directions.
Halfway through, the music cut again, and Jisung’s voice returned, “No, that’s still wrong.”
Now Minho was really getting frustrated.
“Then tell me what I’m doing wrong, Hannie.”
“I am, your inflection is–“
“You’re not. I don’t understand why you can’t just talk to me like you normally wou–”
“For fuck’s sake, Minho, just stop! Can’t you just be normal for once in your life?”
Even if he weren’t standing in a soundproof room, Minho would be able to cut through the resulting silence with a knife. His throat closed up as Jisung’s eyes finally met his, and he flinched at the hostility in them, the cord on his headphones pulling as he involuntarily stumbled back.
His breathing quickened in his chest, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognised that he was close to hyperventilating. Perhaps it was an overreaction, but Jisung had never raised his voice at Minho like that before – with so much malice and…hate. His glare was unrelenting, and Minho’s fingers were growing numb from it.
He didn’t realise it in the moment, but Changbin had laid into Jisung outside the recording booth in the time it took Minho to catch his breath, damn near flicking the back of his head like a disobedient teenager. Minho didn’t hear any of it, though. His head was pounding with the knowledge that his relationship with Jisung was broken. It was broken. And with it, so was Minho’s heart, however cheesy that may have sound.
Biting back the burning behind his eyes, Minho carefully hung the headphones on the stand in front of him and walked out of the booth. He didn’t look at any of his friends, just quietly gathered his things, and without a single word, walked out. It might’ve been unprofessional, but he wouldn’t have been able to get anywhere with the emotions violently choking him up anyway, so he hoped the studio workers would forgive him for wasting their time. Maybe he’ll treat them to some food later, when he didn’t feel like his chest was ripping itself apart.
No one followed him out into the hallway, and Minho was happy for it, because the hot tears pushing their way out of his eyes weren’t something he was particularly fond of showing his friends. The only person who ever got to see him like that before was Jisung, and he…
Minho pushed open the bathroom door at the far end of the hallway, feeling relieved to find it empty. His hands shook at he turned the faucet on, the cold water making his fingers ache. After giving himself a good waterboarding in the bathroom sink, Minho finally looked up. His face was blotchy and red in the reflection of the mirror. It showed a version of himself that he wasn’t very proud of, one that allowed Jisung to slither his way into his heart and settle down. And he let Jisung get careless with it. He let Jisung hurt him.
It took a while for his breathing to calm down, and he finally, dejectedly, pulled himself out of the bathroom. As soon as the door closed behind him, another opened down the hall. Jisung stood outside the studio, frozen halfway out the door. Minho couldn’t see clearly from this distance, but his figure looked hunched over and small, like he was cowering in on himself. It frustrated Minho, that his first instinct was still to run over and comfort him, even though he was the one wronged.
Clutching his hand into a fist, Minho restrained himself, turned around and walked away. He rode home in a company car, knees feeling weak and hating himself for being so goddamn affected by the whole situation. He couldn’t help but feel each cold stare and harsh words like a stab wound in his chest.
It used to slide over his shoulders when Jisung would accidentally say something snippy to him, knowing that it came from exhaustion or frustration or even hunger, and that all he needed was a hearty meal and a shoulder to lay on in bed. This was different. It was unprompted, and Minho didn’t know what to do with that. Because this wasn’t something that could be solved with a quick trip to the café down the street, the issue was with him. And how could he fix himself without knowing what was wrong in the first place?
The shrill tone of his apartment door unlocking broke his thoughts, and he stepped inside, ignoring all the domesticities they’ve created in their little two-bedroom space. He walked past Jisung’s shoes by the door, past his sports bag slumped next to them and straight into his room, locked the door and collapsed into bed, intent on spending the rest of the evening buried under the blankets alone.
Later that night, when the hour was truly turning dreary, he got a message from Seungmin, informing him that Jisung would be staying with him and Felix for the night. Feeling something important crack in his chest, Minho smothered his face in the pillow and succumbed to a restless sleep.
After that day in the studio, Minho felt like he lost a part of himself. Him and Jisung barely talked outside of joint schedules, and he could feel their shift in dynamic wedge something awkward in the team. More than once, Chan tried approaching him about it, but Minho just brushed him off, saying that if it didn’t affect their ability to make music, it wasn’t any of his business to find out what was going on between him and Jisung. On those days, Chan’s frown would deepen, and he’d get this disappointed look on his face that make Minho’s skin crawl with guilt.
At home, Minho barely saw Jisung. He’d still cook food for two, leaving one bowl carefully wrapped in foil while he took his own into his room. Some time later, he’d hear Jisung’s door open, and his soft footsteps pad into the kitchen, before shutting himself back in his own room. Minho would turn his anime on louder to drown out the loneliness he felt.
This wasn’t to say that Minho ever ignored Jisung. He couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried. Any conversation born between them nowadays was sparked by him. It was all surface-level – did Chan say what time to be at the studio tomorrow? or we should do laundry, and most times, Minho felt like he was talking to himself. If he was lucky, Jisung would grace him with something more than a one-word answer or the occasional hum, but the conversation quickly died, and there was nothing else left for them to do than retire once more to their separate rooms.
Most days, Minho could go through the motions with relative ease, if he didn’t stop to think about the soft sounds of the videos they were meant to be watching together drifting from the confines of Jisung’s room. But late at night, when everything settled and the air was at its stillest, Minho let himself crack, just a little. He never cried, not since that day in the studio, but his skin tingled with the pain he felt at losing his best friend.
Today, the pain lingered.
Minho was sitting at the dining table, taking his breakfast outside of his room because he knew Jisung wouldn’t be up this early. Which is why he startled and nearly dropped his spoon when Jisung’s door opened. He was dressed in casual jeans and a soft hoodie, hat planted firmly on his sleep-tousled hair. He looked good, soft, just like Minho remembered him to be.
“Going somewhere this early?” he asked, tensing lightly at the fleeting glance Jisung sent his way.
“Going to a café with Lix,” Jisung answered in a dismissive tone, pulling on his shoes in the foyer.
“Oh, what café?”
Jisung’s fingers stuttered at the knot on his sneakers.
“Blue Moon.”
“Oh,” Minho’s response was quiet. He checked the date on his phone, and sure enough, today Blue Moon was showcasing the one-day-only variety tasting of cheesecake.
They had planned this day out a month in advance, before all the bullshit between them started, when Minho had walked by the café one day, seeing the promo posted out front. When he floated the idea of testing it out to Jisung later that day, Jisung had been ecstatic, bouncing on the balls of his feet and smothering Minho in a tight hug. Now, Jisung stood awkwardly by the front door, shuffling between his feet as he tried to not make eye contact with him.
“I should really go if we want to get ahead of the queue,” Jisung jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, as if asking permission to leave.
“Yeah,” Minho’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, have fun.”
Jisung nearly tripped rushing out the front door. Once he was gone, Minho leaned back in his chair, already used to the frown he knew was pulling on his eyebrows.
By the time he had come back from his afternoon vocal lessons, Jisung still hadn’t come home. Minho knew for a fact that he didn’t have anything else on his schedule, because they’d planned the whole day out so they could spend as much time together as possible. Stuck in his apartment all by himself now, Minho felt restless, so by the time dinner hit, he was jumping back into his shoes and slamming the front door shut. His feet easily carried themselves to the convenience store around the corner, like he’d done a thousand times before. Except, those times, he had a gentle smile and a warm hand in his keeping him company.
“What’s up with you lately?” Changbin asked Minho, throwing his feet on the coffee table and taking a swig of his drink.
On his way back from the store, Minho decided to stop by Changbin and Hyunjin’s place for a little impromptu visit, because drinking the eight-pack of beer he bought alone as he wallowed in the misery of heartbreak was just sad, even for him.
So now, he was sprawled over the living room couch with Changbin, having wrangled him out of the gym for a drink. Minho never texted him for drinks, so he might as well have sent SOS with a storm siren. It was probably why Changbin had agreed so quickly.
“Don’t put your feet on the table,” Minho chastised instead of answering the question.
Changbin deadpanned at him, “It’s my house, I can put my feet on the table if I want.”
Minho sighed dramatically and shook his head, “No respect from the youth these days.”
Despite his words, Changbin retracted his feet and set his beer down in their place, giving Minho his full attention.
“Don’t think you’re getting out of this conversation.”
Rolling his eyes, Minho mirrored his position.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responded, keeping his face neutral.
“Don’t do this, hyung,” Changbin groaned, putting on his no-nonsense voice. “You know exactly what I mean. What’s going on with you and Jisung?”
“There’s nothing going on with me and Jisung.”
They stared at each other, which Minho found especially hard to keep up with the alcohol in his system. He was already feeling tipsy with the few beers he’d had, and it was making his vision fuzzy at the edges.
“You can’t win at a staring contest with me, hyung.”
Minho could already feel his eyes burning. He blinked.
“Fuck.” He brought a hand up to rub at his eyes. “Fine, God.”
Changbin waited patiently for him to continue. It these moments of emotional maturity, it was really hard to see him as someone younger.
Minho was never the type of person to talk seriously about things. The sincerity made him awkward, and his first instinct had always been to joke, which, if he were being honest, didn’t work too well when he was comforting others, but it was his best defence mechanism when it came to himself.
“I fucked it up, Changbinnie.” Minho let out a humourless chuckle. “We were so good, and I fucked it all up.” He closed his eyes. He was getting tired of talking about this, thinking about this. He just wanted to go back to the way things were.
“You didn’t fuck anything up, hyung.”
“I did!” Minho snapped, immediately apologising for the harsh tone and massaging his temples. His head was beginning to hurt. He should probably stop drinking. He took another sip instead, emptying the beer can and opening another one right after. “He won’t talk to me. He barely even looks at me anymore,” his voice tapered out into a hurt whisper.
Changbin was quiet for a moment, and Minho was about to default to humour again when he spoke, “I tried talking to him about you after what happened at the studio.”
Minho froze lifting the drink to his lips.
“What,” his voice shook slightly, “what did he say?”
Changbin sighed, clasping a supportive hand on his shoulder with sympathetic eyes.
“Not much, but you should really talk to him. You know how non-confrontational he is, he’ll never come to you first. He’d rather dance around the tension just to avoid having the conversation.”
The floorboards creaked as Minho shifted his weight on the sofa, leaning his elbows on his knees and burying his head in his hands. He pulled lightly at his own hair, the pain sobering his thoughts.
“Changbin, I love him,” he admitted quietly. He’d never said it out loud before, but he’d thought it enough times that the words felt right on his tongue. A small part of his chest lightened at the confession. It was a small reprieve.
“I know,” his friend responded, just as subdued. “That’s why you need to talk to him. You’re only hurting yourself like this.”
“What if I ruin everything?”
“Can it really get worse than this?”
It can always get worse, Minho didn’t say.
His gaze grew even more hazy as he gulped down his n-th drink. He stared blankly at the beige wall opposite him. Unlike his apartment, it was filled with decorations and hand-drawn artworks. The space really felt like a home, and for some reason, the thought just made his heart ache more.
“Your TV isn’t centred,” he mumbled suddenly. He should really put down the beer.
“Hyung,” Changbin called him, squeezing his shoulder again to get his attention. Minho lazily hung his head to the side to meet his eyes. “This is you and Jisung we’re talking about. You’re his soulmate. I’ve known him since he was sixteen and I’ve never seen him act with anyone like he does with you.” Changbin stared meaningfully at him. “You’re special to him. He’s not going to just throw that all away.”
Distantly, Minho felt himself nod. He abandoned his beer.
“They should call you the Stray Kids couples’ counsellor. We would’ve fallen apart ages ago without you.”
Changbin’s cheeks flushed.
“Shut up, that’s not true.”
“Aw, is our Changbinnie embarrassed?” Minho teased, reaching up to ruffle his hair, to which Changbin yelled out loudly in protest.
They scuffled around a bit and talked about more mundane topics before Minho called it a night. He stumbled pulling on his shoes and waved Changbin away when he offered to walk him home. The cool night air felt nice on his flushed skin. When he entered his apartment, he was shocked to find Jisung waiting for him by the door, phone open in hand.
“Jisungie, you’re not sleeping?” Minho asked, wavering slightly where he stood. He wasn’t drunk exactly, but he felt dead on his feet both from the late hour and his own emotional turmoil.
“Changbin-hyung texted me,” Jisung raised his phone up in front of him. He watched Minho move further into the apartment carefully, almost scrutinising. “Are you okay?”
Minho didn’t stop or turn around, just made his way to his room, feeling Jisung shuffle after him. He let out a dry chuckle, Oh, so now he cares.
“Everything’s fine, Hannie, you should go to bed.”
He shed his hoodie, which him and Jisung had shared so much over the years he wasn’t even sure whose it had been originally. But Jisung didn’t leave like he expected him to, just watched silently as he stumbled around taking his clothes off and got into bed.
“How drunk are you?” Jisung wore an unreadable expression, haltingly approaching and sitting down on the mattress next to him.
Why was Jisung asking all these questions all of a sudden? As if they haven’t been acting like just roommates instead of best friends who live together for over a month? Minho wrung his fingers in his lap and settled down, staring at the fading print on his sheets.
“Not at all.”
Jisung nodded, then pulled his legs under the covers to lean against the headboard with Minho, but he overestimated, and their shoulders brushed together. Expectedly, he jerked away, creating almost a foot of space between them. To Minho, it was the last straw.
“Why do you keep doing that?” Minho asked aggressively. He was fed up with the whole thing, and even if the reason hurt him, he just wanted to know.
“Doing what?” Jisung asked cluelessly, but his fingers began nervously fiddling with the fabric of his shorts. Minho lifted his hand so the back of it grazed against Jisung’s, and the man immediately moved away from his touch.
“That,” Minho pointed at the offending limb. “You’re uncomfortable with me.”
Something in Jisung’s expression softened at the hurt buried within the words.
“I’m not.”
“You are,” Minho’s voice cracked pathetically. Leave it to Jisung to be the only person capable of taking him apart at the seams. “You’re being distant and–and downright mean sometimes, and I just… Ever since I made that dumb joke, you’ve…” A broken gasp wracked his body, and his heart threatened to jump out of his chest with how fast it was beating. His hands tingled and clutched at the blanket, looking for something to keep them from shaking. “I feel like I’m losing you,” he knocked his head back to stare at the ceiling, vision spinning.
“Hyung,” Jisung tried finding his gaze, but Minho stubbornly refused to look. “Baby,” he called, which finally, unfairly, garnered a reaction.
“You don’t call me that anymore,” Minho whispered, eyes squeezing tightly shut. He hated the way tears prickled at his eyes. He hated how much power Jisung had over him.
“No, Minho, please let me explain.” Jisung tentatively brought his fingers to rest against his cheek, caressing it softly. “Please.”
And Minho…Minho was weak. He’d been deprived of his closeness for too long.
“You’re so special to me.” Minho couldn’t help the way his breath hitched at that. “But,” of course there was a ‘but’, “I don’t know how to be close to you.”
“Don’t know how to be close to me? You’re being close to me right now.” Minho took the hand off his face to wave it around. His hurt gave way to muted anger. Jisung gently removed his grip, intertwining their fingers instead. His touch was light, soft in a way Minho didn’t think he’d ever experience again.
“I don’t know how to be close to you without wanting more.”
Minho’s confusion carved into his expression.
“What do you mean?”
Jisung sighed, finally leaning against his shoulder and gripping his hand firmly, with a wavering sigh.
“I mean, you’re my best friend, hyung. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Seungmin’s words – which lived rent-free in Minho’s mind apparently – yelled back at him.
“You’d survive.” He glanced away, distracted by the way Jisung’s thumb rubbed over his knuckles.
Jisung let out a frustrated noise. “That’s the thing, though, I don’t want to live without you,” he stressed, rolling his head back to emphasise the point. “We’re soulmates, you can’t just leave me!”
Minho yanked his hand out of Jisung’s grasp.
“You think I want to? All I’ve ever wanted was to be close to you!”
“You are–“
“Am I? I feel farther away from you than I’ve ever been!”
Jisung quieted. His eyebrows scrunched as he chewed on his lip, glancing uncertainly to the side.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I made that joke. I just want us to go back to the way things were,” Minho pleaded, breath heaving. A tear threatened to drip down his face, and he angrily wiped it away.
“Did you mean it?”
Minho froze, hand still rubbing the salt off his cheek. “What?”
“Did you mean it?” Jisung repeated.
Minho considered a moment to lie, but this was Jisung. His Jisung. It didn’t matter if he knew the truth. There was no undoing the damage anyways.
“I did,” Minho mumbled quietly. “I love you.”
There was a devastating moment in which nothing happened, and then Jisung rocked forward and captured his lips. Jisung was steady where Minho trembled under his touch, joining their hands to keep them close to each other. It was so surreal for Minho, he forgot to kiss back. All too soon, Jisung pulled away with an uncertain frown.
“Are you oka–“
Minho interrupted him with another kiss, pouring every ounce of betrayal he’d endured at the hands of Jisung and giving it all back to him. It was passionate, but it was also them, so it didn’t feel foreign, but like an extension their usual connection finally freed.
“I love you, Jisung,” Minho emphasised when he pulled away. “I love you so fucking much.”
He brought their foreheads together just to feel him close. The soft puffs of air Jisung let out against his lips scrambled his brains until nothing existed outside of their little bubble. He watched Jisung’s cheeks flush with colour and try to move away. Not letting him go far, Minho grabbed his neck to draw him back.
“You’re cute,” Minho whispered against him.
A whine escaped Jisung’s lips, “Hyung.”
Minho chuckled lightly, “What?”
“It’s embarrassing.” Jisung struggled half-heartedly against his grasp, pouting. Smirking smugly, Minho let him escape, watching him fluster and squirm. “You’re sadistic,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
“No, where’d you get that idea?” Minho asked sarcastically, already feeling more like himself than he had in weeks.
Jisung squeaked and smacked his arm, looking scandalised, then yelled again when Minho fell back into the pillows, dragging him down with him. He circled a strong arm around his waist to press Jisung flush on top of him.
“So annoying,” Jisung grumbled.
They stared at each other in silence until Minho shifted nervously and glanced away.
“You know, I think I’ve said ‘I love you’ like five times now. It’d be nice if you said it back.” He fiddled with the waistband of Jisung’s shorts, slipping his fingers lightly under his shirt.
“Three, actually,” Jisung corrected with a shy smile.
“You were counting?”
“Of course.” Jisung pecked Minho on the lips before sobering his expression. “I love you too, hyung. And I’m so sorry for being a dick. I know I hurt you and I–I feel really guilty about that,” he spoke mutedly. “I was just scared.”
Minho glided his fingers into his hair, twisting the dark locks. Jisung finally melted at the touch, thudding his forehead against his chest.
“Scared of what?”
“You just,” Jisung started and let out a frustrated huff, “you make me feel so much. And when you said that, I thought, if you really do have a habit of falling for your best friend, then it only proves you don’t like me like that if you never said anything. So, I made myself keep my distance from you because I was convinced you didn’t feel the same. I was afraid you’d see right through me.”
Minho watched his expression carefully and only found sincerity buried in the confession. Minho hugged him closer.
“And what would I see?” he murmured.
“This.” Jisung leant down, warm hands resting against his chest and sighing into their next kiss. It was slow and lazy, and Minho felt his skin tingle with the wave of affection that filled him.
“Can I stay with you?” Jisung asked when they pulled apart.
“Oh, I’m not letting you go now.”
A deep laugh shook Jisung, and with him, Minho. It brought a lovesick smile to his face.
“I feel like that sounded less romantic and more like a threat.”
Minho’s smile sharpened, and he dug his teasing fingers into Jisung’s side.
“Oh my god, stop!” Jisung squealed, wiggling away to the opposite side of the bed.
An intrusive thought drew Minho to pounce on him and bite his chubby cheek, earning him a yelp and a light punch to the shoulder. Minho chuckled, forcing down his excitement to stare at the blush dusting Jisung’s cheeks. He looked beautiful like this – soft and carefree, happy.
“Don’t ever fucking do that again, or I’ll kill you. Understand?” Minho threatened with a glare.
Jisung just rolled his eyes, rubbing his face into the pillow, but his voice was sombre when he spoke, “Yes, hyung, I’ll be good for you.”
A subdued fire ignited itself in Minho’s gut at the words. He’ll need to explore those feelings more in depth later.
“You’ll be good for me?” He threw his arm around Jisung’s slim waist and drew him into himself, delighting in his aborted giggle. The fire sparked and died down into warm embers.
“Yes,” Jisung grumbled, hiding against his chest.
“Good.”
Minho kissed the top of his head, wrapped them up in the blankets and turned off the bedside lamp. His lungs finally felt light enough to take a full breath, so he did, and felt Jisung’s chest bump against his. Holding him tighter, Minho closed his eyes and let their slow breaths steady his heart.