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“Who’s that?” Jisung straightened from his slouch on the sofa, eyes catching on the boy fiddling with the vending machine a few paces away. He was dressed casually, but neatly, black slacks hugging his thighs and a loose jumper falling over his shoulders. There really shouldn’t have been anything special about his appearance, but Jisung found himself entranced by it regardless.
Seungmin, who was watching his reaction from the seat next to him, quirked an intrigued brow.
“That’s Lee Minho. He’s the new trainee.”
Jisung’s eyes squinted, “He must be a vocalist, no one just looks like that.” He bristled when he caught Seungmin’s amused expression. “What?”
“Nothing,” Seungmin chuckled, eyes falling back on his phone. “I can introduce you two, if you want.”
His offer was left unanswered as the trainee – Minho – turned around, catching Jisung’s eyes. A strange feeling passed through Jisung’s chest, one that he couldn’t exactly place. It was probably jealousy over his good looks. Yeah, that was definitely it.
Minho, drink in hand, gave their little corner a bow and a small smile, and that feeling was back, making Jisung frown. He watched Minho falter slightly before visibly letting go of whatever was bothering him, expression smoothing out, and walking away.
Unfairly, Jisung spent hours that night overanalysing the particular curve of his mouth and the softness of his hair as it fell over his eyes. He didn’t understand it. He’d never felt this way before – hung up on someone else’s appearance. He knew he had somewhat of an ego on him, and nothing ever took away from the fact that he thought he himself was good looking. But Minho made him question everything he knew about beauty.
The next day, Jisung decided to dress up a little. He put on his best “effortless” outfit, took a shower, fluffed up his hair to soften his features further. When he arrived at dance practice that day, he was there.
Lee Minho stood in the middle of the room, chatting politely with Seungmin. Their eyes caught over Seungmin’s shoulder, and when Seungmin noticed his presence through the wall mirror, he turned around, beckoning Jisung over.
“Jisung-ah, this is Lee Minho. Minho-hyung, Han Jisung,” he introduced, stepping back so they could exchange slight bows.
Up close, looking at Lee Minho was even more devastating. Jisung caught his eyes giving him a once-over, and he suddenly felt too hot in his hoodie and jeans.
“Nice to meet you, Minho-ssi,” he stuttered out, cringing when his voice cracked midway through. Now was not the time to sound like a prepubescent boy when he was trying to assert dominance over the new guy.
But Minho’s face didn’t twist into a condescending sneer like he was half expecting it to, instead, melting into an endeared smile.
“Let’s speak casually with each other.” And, boy, his voice was like smooth honey to Jisung’s ears. Just another thing Minho had over him.
Jisung could feel his cheeks flare with warmth and prayed it wasn’t noticeable. Judging by Seungmin’s smirk, it definitely was.
“What year are you?”
“Two thousand,” Jisung mumbled.
“I’m ninety-eight. Call me hyung, then.”
Jisung nodded slowly. “Okay, Minho…hyung,” he tried the words out on his tongue, feeling them settle with a strange familiarity. The smile Minho sent his way somehow made his awkwardness all worth it.
Then, Chan called them all to sit by the far wall, presenting Minho properly to the whole group. Jisung was wrong, Minho was a dancer. And a crazy good one, at that. Except, Jisung cursed the tight pants he was wearing, Minho’s thighs stealing the spotlight from his movements. He didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning of the end for Jisung.
His relationship with Minho progressed naturally. They clicked instantly, falling into each other’s orbit so easily, it honestly scared him a little. Jisung had always carried a façade of confidence with him that he projected with all the intensity he could muster to anyone who would listen, and even to those who wouldn’t. There was no distinction between J.One and HAN and Han Jisung, and it took a toll on his sense of identity. Those sides were all a part of him, but he struggled to find the one that was the real him.
With Minho, the answer was easy. Something about the way Minho spoke to him, how his hands handled him with such care, how he never got put off by Jisung’s childish outbursts, made the burn of anxiety in his chest settle. He thought he liked the version of himself when he was with Minho the most. And with that, came a lot of interesting realisations. Like how what he felt when he first saw Minho all those years ago was decidedly not jealously. And how he definitely wasn’t as straight as he had initially thought.
He confronted Minho about it one day, seeking out his support even then.
“Hyung, what do you think about gay people?”
They were lying in Minho’s bunk, hidden from the outside world by the blackout curtain shielding the edge of the bed. They weren’t cuddling exactly, but there really wasn’t anywhere to go for two young men sharing a twin sized bed. Still, somehow, they made it work.
Minho’s eyes found his in the dark, curious and open.
“Is this a joke?” he asked.
Jisung’s heart did a little squeeze. An unfamiliar nervousness pierced his chest, something he never felt with Minho. Was he wrong to come to him?
“N–no,” he mumbled, averting his eyes and shifting an inch back from Minho, so their hands no longer touched. “Forget it.”
“Jisungie, that’s not what I meant,” Minho’s gentle voice immediately supplied, and he threw his arm over Jisung’s waist, drawing him back closer into his chest. He rested his chin on the top of Jisung’s head, speaking softly, “I’m gay. I thought you knew this.”
The breath caught in Jisung’s throat.
“How would I know? You never told me.”
“I’m pretty sure Seungmin and Felix have made jokes about it before,” Minho chuckled, breath fanning over the ends of his hair.
Jisung shrugged, feeling a little silly at not knowing such an important fact about his supposed best friend. Minho leaned back at the action, trying to catch his gaze again.
“Why do you ask?”
It took Jisung a minute to collect himself, even though just moments ago, he was feeling completely fine about baring his soul to Minho.
“Just– how did you know?”
Minho was still looking at him inquisitively, now with an easy smile playing at his lips. Jisung tried not to let his eyes linger on it for too long.
“Had a crush on my friend back in school,” Minho answered. “That’s how I knew.”
Something about that caught an unnecessarily large amount of Jisung’s attention.
“And now? Do you like anyone now?” he surprised himself by asking. But he found that he was actually really interested in Minho’s answer.
Minho’s smile widened. His hand curled tighter around Jisung, fingers dancing over his shirtless back. It sent shivers over Jisung’s warm skin.
“I’ll tell you, I promise. But I don’t think you’re ready to hear it, yet.”
This made Jisung pout, all nervousness forgotten.
“But why?” he whined. “How dare you keep things from your soulmate?” He was joking, but there was a part of him that was genuinely upset by the fact that Minho didn’t trust him enough to tell him about his crush.
Minho’s expression sobered a little, but the fond look never left. He leaned forward and left a fleeting kiss on Jisung’s forehead.
“Patience, jagi.”
Jisung found it hard to fall asleep after that, face tingling from the ghost of Minho’s lips.
In the end, Minho didn’t have to say anything. Once more, without Jisung even realising it, their relationship had progressed. It wasn’t a conscious choice, not really. One day, Jisung was cursing himself for getting caught on the straight line of Minho’s nose, the softness of his lips, and the next, those lips were pressing against his.
Their first kiss wasn’t anything remarkable. It was Jisung’s first kiss ever, so he really had nothing to compare it to. All he knew was the way it made his chest bloom with something he could never put a name on but which always seemed to float around him and Minho. He realised in that very moment that he was completely and irrevocably in love with his best friend. And his best friend apparently loved him back.
It happened like this – they were in Jisung’s bed this time, hiding away from their band members, who were watching their own movie out in the living room. Minho and Jisung had retired to the bedroom early, citing sleepiness as the excuse, but they had yet to actually commit to sleep, watching YouTube on Jisung’s phone with his head pillowed on Minho’s chest. It rose and fell steadily with each breath he took, lulling Jisung into tranquillity. Every once in a while, his hand would slip under Jisung’s shirt and rub smooth circles into his hip. By that point, Jisung was used to the flurry of butterflies his touch elicited.
“Did you know that shingleback lizards mate for life?” Jisung said suddenly, because that’s just what he did. When Minho didn’t say anything in response, he continued, “The male has to prove himself by following the female around until she decides he’s giving her enough care and attention. Then they have loads of babies and live happily ever after.” His fingers mindlessly tapped a pattern over Minho’s chest, attention locked on the bird documentary playing from the phone.
“Is this a hint for me to be more doting on you?” Minho asked, hand sliding over his naked ribs.
“You already spoil me enough, hyung,” Jisung answered honestly, too distracted by the narrator to read into the hidden meaning behind his words.
But Minho kept talking, amusement in his voice, “So, you get enough attention, and then we’ll have loads of babies together?”
Jisung’s face burst into flames. He sat up, dislodging the phone Minho was holding, now laying discarded on the sheets next to him.
“Minho!” He slapped his chest lightly, feeling scandalised. “You do realise we’re both men, right?” He didn’t know why his mouth decided that was the most important thing to bring up at that moment and not the fact that Minho just casually mentioned not only having children with him, but also the process by which those children were made. With Jisung.
Minho, like a damn succubus in disguise, simply shrugged, “No harm in trying.”
If it was possible, Jisung’s cheeks felt even hotter at the insinuation.
“You are actually insane,” is all he could think to respond with, plopping back atop Minho’s chest, waiting for his heartbeat to gradually steady. “Ask me to dinner first, at least.”
“We’ve been to dinner plenty of times.”
“I meant a date, hyung.”
“Weren’t they?” Minho asked, a question in his gaze, like he was checking to see if Jisung was on the same page.
He was.
“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, tracing Minho’s night-softened features with his eyes.
Minho’s hands settled more firmly around his waist, pulling them flush together.
“So, how about those babies?” he grinned wolfishly, squeezing Jisung’s middle.
“Be patient, dude. I am a gentleman, first and foremost.”
“Don’t call me ‘dude’ when we’re about to kiss,” Minho pouted.
Jisung smirked, “We’re about to kiss?”
Minho didn’t respond, instead, hooking his fingers over Jisung’s nape and gently pressing his mouth against the seam of his lips. Jisung sighed into it, easily letting him take the lead. The small nips on his bottom lip made his head spin and he could barely contain the soft noises barrelling out of his chest with each swipe of tongue Minho bestowed in apology.
When they finally pulled away from each other, all blushy and out of breath, Jisung stayed close, hovering over him and just taking him in. He admired the redness adorning Minho’s ears and the gentle way his cheeks pulled up as he looked back at him.
“Was that your first kiss?” Minho asked, fingers playing with the short hairs haloing his face.
“Was it not good?” Jisung frowned, his insecurities bleeding through. He shifted slightly away in discomfort, but Minho only tightened his hold, keeping him close.
“It’s you, jagi. Of course it was perfect.” Minho planted another small peck on his mouth. “Besides, we’ll have plenty of chances to practice.”
He tackled him then, placing fleeting kisses all over Jisung’s face until he was squirming in his grasp, giggles painting the air around them. It wasn’t long before they were interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Are you two decent? I need to get ready for bed,” Jeongin’s voice carried into the bedroom.
Jisung sat up on his elbow, untangling himself from Minho’s grasp.
“Come in, Iyen-ah,” he called.
Jeongin entered the room cautiously, like he was afraid of stumbling into something salacious. But Jisung was a good hyung, and he would never subject their poor maknae to anything of that nature willingly. That didn’t stop him, however, from laying a final kiss on the corner of Minho’s mouth when he was sure Jeongin had fallen asleep.
They never put a name to it. They never had to, because they knew what importance they carried for each other without the need to put it into words. They also never announced it. Nevertheless, it seemed like their friends somehow knew anyways. Minho never corrected anyone when they asked if he was “bringing his boyfriend over” to hangouts with his Gimpo friends, but he never used that word himself, either. Terms like ‘boyfriend’ and ‘partner’ felt too trivial for what they shared. It was too simple to encompass the connection they had. So, they never labelled their relationship, just silently agreed that they were each other’s person.
But that didn’t mean it was always easy. Every time things got difficult, every time Jisung’s anxiety flared up to unbearable levels, and he snapped at the people around him, he’d think, this is it, this is when he leaves me. But Minho never did. In fact, on those days, he made sure to ingrain himself even deeper into Jisung’s life – a silent reassurance that he was there to stay. His support was so consistent, in fact, that, eventually, Jisung stopped worrying.
Unlike Minho, who’d downright glare at anyone who got too friendly with him, Jisung never got jealous. He couldn’t, not with the thousands of fancams showing exactly how devoted Minho looked at him. He could feel it in every small action Minho made towards him. But it took a while for Jisung to convince him that the opposite was true, too.
Jisung was very affectionate, he knew that. He hung himself over Chan’s shoulders and peppered kisses on Felix’s cheeks. He flirted with Hyunjin on stage and jokily asked for a peck when they drank together. The ‘I love you’s he threw at his friends were genuine and plenty. So, he understood how it must look like from Minho’s perspective to have all those things done to him and think the important behind it was the same.
They only had a conversation about it once, on a quiet night when something in Minho’s gaze was a little more distant that usual. Another idol had leant into Jisung’s side just a smidge too close during an awards show to whisper something in his ear, and Jisung smiled just a little too wide, and Minho must’ve already been feeling some type of inadequate before that because when they split off into separate cars to go back to their dorms, Minho stayed with him.
Into the stillness of the night, he had whispered, “I’m scared you’ll find someone better and leave me.”
Surprised by his sudden uncertainty, Jisung abandoned the sleep shirt he was about to tug over his head, padding slowly towards Minho.
“Baby, what are you talking about? Of course I won’t leave you,” he spoke softly, like the situation warranted something delicate.
Minho let out a little self-deprecating chuckle.
“I don’t know, I’m not friendly like that. I’m weird. You could probably easily find someone who’d just say what they mean and not cover it with a dumb joke.”
Jisung looked at him for a long moment.
“You’re right, I could.” Before he could let Minho overthink his words, Jisung gently placed his hands on his jaw, thumbs circling his cheekbones. “But I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”
He kissed away Minho’s frown and kept kissing him until he was sure that Minho believed his words.
“You know, I still don’t get why you and Minho-hyung chose not to live in the same dorm,” Hyunjin said one day over lunch.
Minho had just left the aparttment he shared with Chan, Changbin and Hyunjin after sleeping over the night before. It was a common occurrence for him to stop by, sometimes to visit his teammates, but mainly to see Jisung outside of work hours, even if it was just for a fleeting five minutes.
“Because,” Jisung popped a chip into his mouth, “we wanted 3racha together, and Minho, I quote, ‘wouldn’t be able to deal with our constant ruckus’.”
He was right, of course. Minho loved getting in his healthy eight hours of sleep a night, and their constant late-night songwriting would surely disturb that. Hyunjin only wasn’t bothered by it because he also regularly went to bed in the early hours of the morning and slept like the dead. It did, however, make being intimate with each other…awkward. Though nothing was more awkward than having had to banish their precious youngest member from the old dorms so they could go about their adult business.
The distance wasn’t putting a strain on their relationship per say, but they were extra clingy when they did see each other, which was mainly at work and included exposing most of their yearning moments on camera. Not an ideal situation overall.
Jisung was brought out of his thoughts by Hyunjin, “Channie-hyung mentioned that they were thinking of letting us room in two’s. Why don’t you ask Minho-hyung to move in together?”
For some reason, the idea made Jisung’s heart jump. It was silly, because they’d lived together for close to five years before, this time shouldn’t be any different. And yet, it was. Because this wasn’t just two friends deciding to split the rent or a company trying to cut costs on its employees, they were in a relationship. And this is what regular people did in a relationship – they moved in together. They would be left completely unbothered and, most importantly, alone.
So, the next time Minho slept over, Jisung brought up the idea to him.
“What do you think about living with me?” he asked, twisting around in his rolling desk chair. He didn’t know why he was nervous or why Minho’s answer carried so much weight to him.
Minho glanced at him over the screen of his phone from his sprawl on the bed.
“You know I can’t deal with the 3racha noise,” he said simply, going back to whatever 2D game had captured his attention.
Jisung’s fingers twisted in the fabric of his sweatpants.
“No, I mean, what do you think about living with me, alone?”
All noise in the room stopped, only the sound of Minho’s phone clicking shut cutting through. When Jisung glanced up, Minho was slowly crawling to the foot of the bed and kneeling on the mattress in front of him.
“You want to get an apartment together?”
There it was. They weren’t just going to be living in the same space, they were building a home together. Jisung didn’t know at which point he started to think of Minho as his ‘home’.
“It would be easier than having to constantly run between our dorms,” Jisung offered as an argument, but the sparkle in Minho’s eyes told him that the effort was unnecessary.
“Come here,” Minho reached out to him, and Jisung stood on autopilot, approaching until he was firmly perched in Minho’s lap. “I’d marry you tomorrow if I could.”
The declaration came out of nowhere, and yet, Jisung found that he wasn’t all that surprised by it. He giggled softly, brushing stray pieces of Minho’s fringe off his forehead.
“Have you forgotten where we live?”
Minho groaned in great suffering, “Why do you keep crushing my dreams?”
Jisung threw his head back laughing at that, endeared by the pout adorning his lips. He kissed it for posterity, just because he could.
“Ask me again in a few years, maybe I’ll say yes.”
Minho rocked them forward, making Jisung lock his arms around his neck, and kissed him deeply.
“Of course I’ll live with you. Did you even have to ask?”
And that was how Minho and Jisung came to inhabit their average-sized two-bedroom apartment. They were casual about it, like with everything else involving the two of them. They took their time choosing the furniture, making sure it fit the domestic lifestyle they wanted to curate. They still had their own rooms, because even when you’re in a relationship, it was important have your own space. Jisung’s had a queen-sized bed, a karaoke system and a desk, where he’d do his producing from home, but he spent most nights in the king-sized bed in Minho’s (their) room.
The first few days of living together were strange, if Jisung had to describe it. It wasn’t just the lack of noise coming from the recesses of the apartment, it was the lack of other people intruding on their space.
Minho had caught him in the kitchen on their second day living there, gracefully accepting the freshly brewed mug of coffee from his hands. The sunlight seeping through the curtains painted his sleep-swollen face in streaks of gold, making him look even more heavenly than he already did. When his eyes met Jisung’s, a light shiver coursed through Jisung’s body. It was fascinating, how Minho still had such a profound impact on him all these years later.
“Whatcha thinking about, jagi?” Minho purred, placing his mug on the kitchen island.
Unable to resist his playful gaze, Jisung pulled on his shirt until he had successfully crowded Jisung against the counter.
“Just thinking about how handsome you are, hyung,” he murmured, basking in the serene atmosphere.
Minho hummed, hands coming up to encircle his waist.
“Trying to get somewhere, Hannie?”
“Never,” Jisung answered with faux seriousness.
Next thing he knew, he was being hoisted up on top of the island, Minho slotting himself neatly between his legs. Instinctively, Jisung threw a glance over his shoulder, worried that someone would walk in on them. But there was no one else there.
“What are you looking at?” Minho twisted around to scan the empty living room curiously.
“I’m just not used to having the whole place to ourselves,” Jisung chuckled sheepishly, fiddling with the neckline of Minho’s shirt.
“Well, now that we do, I can do this.”
Minho’s grip on his waist tightened, before his hands slowly crept down towards his ass. He gave it a firm squeeze, to which Jisung squeaked and jerked forward, right into the arms of the beast. The hands trailed down over his thighs before coming to settle in the space where his underwear met bare skin. The fingers of his left hand teased their way under the fabric, caressing the warm skin of his thigh. Jisung couldn’t help it, he let out a high-pitched whine, already feeling too worked up for the early hour.
“Minho,” he sighed, bunching up the fabric around his shoulders, “don’t tease.”
Minho’s face got close as his mouth twisted in a smirk.
“Oh no, baby, I’m going to take my time with you. Just because I can.”
And, okay, yeah, Jisung could very much get on board with that.
And if he walked a little funny the rest of the day, there was no one else to make fun of him for it. Aside from Minho, whose teasing laughter always followed him with a hungry, lidded gaze.