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By the time the dinner rush eased into a soft, content murmur of clinking cutlery and low conversation, Jisung's cheeks hurt from smiling.
"Good evening, welcome to Moonrise," he chirped as the couple in front of him pushed open the glass door, letting in a bite of winter air. "Table for two?"
The woman nodded. The man glanced past Jisung into the dining room, already eyeing the window seats. Jisung's fingers moved automatically, scribbling on the seating chart, his voice gentle and practiced.
"If you'd like a window table, one just opened up. This way, please."
He led them into the restaurant, the soles of his shoes silent on the warm wooden floor. Soft jazz trickled from hidden speakers, mixing with the smell of garlic, butter, and something caramelizing on the grill. Edison bulbs dangled from the ceiling, casting everything in a cozy, golden glow. It made the restaurant feel smaller, safer somehow.
He gestured to the table by the frosted window, set with simple white plates and folded navy napkins. "Your server will be with you shortly," he promised, giving them his best polite smile before retreating to the host stand.
He flipped the laminated menus back into their place, tried to relax his shoulders, and forced his gaze to stay on the reservation list.
He lasted about five seconds. His eyes slid sideways, drawn like gravity to the far side of the room.
Minho balanced three plates on one arm and a tray of drinks in the other.
Jisung swallowed. The man moved like he lived on this floor, like the restaurant had been built around him, not the other way around. His black button-up was rolled to his elbows, veins faintly visible where his forearm flexed. The apron strings knotted low on his hips, the faint outline of his shoulders and back shifting as he set down plates with practiced ease.
"Medium-rare steak, mushroom risotto, and the salmon, yes?" Minho smiled at the table, that quick, small quirk of his lips that made his eyes crinkle just enough to be lethal. "Can I get you anything else right now?"
The two girls at the table giggled so hard the silverware rattled.
"We're good," one said, twirling her hair around a manicured finger. "But if we needed you, could we... like... call you over specifically?"
Jisung watched Minho's reaction like it was his job, the way he always did- cataloging every tiny shift, every micro-expression as if they were clues.
Minho's smile turned wry. "If I see you waving me down, I'll assume it's an emergency," he teased. "Like if you need more fries. Or if you suddenly decide your life would be better with dessert."
The girls giggled again. One leaned forward. "What if it's neither?"
Minho just smirked, collecting his tray. "Then I'll assume you're causing trouble," he said lightly. "And I'll send your check early."
They all laughed. Minho winked once and turned away.
Jisung's heart twisted. Even the way he walked back toward the kitchen looked easy, confident in a way Jisung couldn't imagine feeling. People watched Minho when he moved through the restaurant. Customers, waitresses, the bartender leaning over to ask him if he wanted a late-night drink after shift. Minho seemed to take up space without trying. Jisung curled his fingers into his sweater sleeves, tugging them so they hid his hands.
He knew how he looked next to Minho, if "next to" even counted. He was the quiet one by the door. The kid with soft cheeks, a slightly gummy smile, and hair that refused to stay in any style longer than an hour. His uniform shirt always looked a little too big, the hem of his black slacks always catching on the back of his shoes. He was good at smiling, at saying, "Right this way," at remembering reservations and seating allergies. He wasn't... that.
"Table for four at seven just texted," their shift manager, Sunmi, called from behind the bar. "They're running fifteen minutes late."
"Got it!" Jisung replied, snapping out of his thoughts. He scribbled an arrow beside the reservation, adjusting the flow of the evening in his head.
He had a crush on Minho. Fine. That was normal. People had crushes all the time. He just wished his chest didn't ache from it. Because crushes were supposed to be fun, weren't they? Light, silly, something you giggled about with friends. What he felt for Minho sat heavy in his ribs, warm and aching and too big for his small frame. It was the way he noticed Minho's laugh before anyone else's. The way his day brightened when Minho clocked in, shrugging off his coat, hair mussed from the wind. The way something in him burned when he watched the pretty waitresses lean close to Minho over the POS system, their hands brushing his arm, their voices dropping to something soft and teasing.
"You're seriously not dating anyone?" one of them, Yeji, had asked during a lull a week ago, her elbow propped on the counter. "But you're like... you." She gestured vaguely at all of him. "That's a crime."
Minho had chuckled, tapping in a table number. "I'm picky."
"Picky," she echoed, eyes shining. "What's your type, then?"
Jisung had pretended to reorganize menus, heart pounding so hard he was sure it could be seen through his shirt.
Minho had shrugged. "Someone I like spending time with," he'd answered simply. "Someone who laughs at my terrible jokes. Someone who doesn't mind I'm a bit moody sometimes."
"That's it?" Yeji scoffed. "That's so vague."
"Well, if I describe them too specifically, it'll be obvious," Minho had replied.
Yeji's eyes lit up. "Oh? So there is someone?"
"I didn't say that," Minho hummed, but the corner of his mouth had tugged up.
Jisung had forced himself not to look up. Forced his fingers not to tremble as he smoothed the menus for the third time. Of course Minho liked someone already. Of course that someone was probably one of the effortlessly pretty girls who tossed their hair and re-applied lip gloss in the break room. Jisung could barely apply chapstick without somehow getting it on his chin.
"Hey," came a quiet voice from beside him now. "You zoning out there, sunshine?"
Jisung startled, nearly dropping a pen. "H-Huh?"
Minho leaned his forearms against the host stand, bending slightly to meet Jisung's eyes. "You've been staring at the same reservation for two minutes," he said, amused. "Either that person is very interesting, or your brain left the building."
"I was just... thinking." Jisung darted a glance at him and immediately regretted it.
Minho was a little flushed from the kitchen heat, a few strands of his hair falling over his forehead. He smelled faintly like citrus dish soap and grilled chicken and something warmer underneath, something just... him.
"Dangerous habit," Minho said. "Anything I can help with?"
"Um. No. It's fine." Jisung shook his head quickly, the tips of his ears burning. "Just spacing out."
Minho hummed, unconvinced. His gaze softened. "You eaten yet?"
Jisung blinked. "We don't... we don't get breaks until-"
"I know the rules." Minho's lip quirked. "I also know you forget to actually eat when it's busy. I asked the kitchen to throw together a staff meal for you."
"You... what?" Jisung squeaked.
"Don't get too excited," Minho teased. "It's just fried rice with leftovers. But they put extra egg because I said you look like you'd collapse if someone breathed too hard on you."
"That's so mean," Jisung mumbled, shoulders curling, but warmth flooded his chest.
Minho laughed under his breath. "Come grab it when you've got a second. It's on the shelf near the back door." He straightened, tapping the host stand lightly with two fingers. "Don't make me drag you back there, okay?"
Jisung muttered something that was supposed to be, "Okay," but sounded more like a squeak.
As Minho walked away, another waitress, Ryujin, intercepted him, nudging his arm and saying something that made her grin. Minho smiled at her, polite, easy. Jisung's chest squeezed.
He shouldn't... he knew he shouldn't feel jealous. They were all friends. The staff was close, always sharing snacks and TikToks and memes in the group chat. The girls flirted with Minho because that's what they did. It was harmless. But sometimes, when Minho leaned close to hear them over the kitchen fans, when one of them laughed loudly and touched his forearm, something painful and quiet curled up inside Jisung. He would never be the one making Minho blush. He would never be the one Minho leaned close to in the doorway, lowering his voice like there was a secret just between them. He was just... the kid they walked past on the way in. The thought sat heavy in his chest for the rest of the shift.
By the time they turned the sign to "Closed," it was nearly midnight. The kitchen clanged and hissed with the sound of dishes being stacked and scrubbed. Someone had turned the music up loud, the jazzy tracks replaced with something more upbeat as they cleaned.
Sunmi sighed as she checked the roster. "Alright, people, I'm cutting half of you early before we go over hours," she announced. "Ryujin, Yeji, Minho, you're good to clock out. Jisung, I'll need you for another hour or so to help with the closing side work." Jisung nodded, already mentally rearranging the cleaning tasks.
Minho's brows flicked together. "You sure? I can stay."
"Nope," Sunmi said. "You were here for the lunch shift too. Get out of here before the labor spreadsheet hunts me down in my sleep."
Minho grumbled under his breath but untied his apron. "Fine."
He disappeared into the back for a moment, and when he re-emerged, he'd changed into a simple black hoodie and jeans, hair a little messy from the shirt change. He ran a hand through it roughly and slung his backpack over one shoulder.
One of the bartenders wolf-whistled. "Look at him, going straight to the club."
"I'm going straight to bed," Minho retorted. "I'm old."
"You're twenty-five."
"Ancient."
Minho glanced automatically toward the host stand. Jisung pretended to be engrossed in straightening the stack of "Please Wait to Be Seated" cards. The restaurant looked different at this hour. The tables were empty, chairs half-tilted as they wiped down every square inch of wood. The lights were dimmer, most of the front sconces flipped off. Only the front area remained bright.
Minho padded over, hands in his pockets. "You alright here?"
"Yeah," Jisung said. "I just have to finish the reservation log and sweep by the door and-"
"I meant getting home," Minho interrupted gently. "You're gonna be done late."
"Oh." Jisung blinked. "I'm fine. It's just a ten-minute walk."
"Ten-minutes, at nearly one in the morning," Minho said. "Alone."
"I'm not a kid," Jisung mumbled, though his heart fluttered. "I've done it before."
"I know." Minho leaned forward slightly. "I'll wait."
Jisung's brain blanked. "Wait?"
"Yeah." Minho tilted his head, like it was obvious. "I'll hang around and walk you home when you're done."
"You don't have to," Jisung blurted.
Minho shrugged. "I know I don't have to," he said. "I want to."
His heart thudded. "You should go home," Jisung insisted weakly. "You're... you're tired."
Minho's eyes softened. "I'll be fine. Besides..." He gestured vaguely toward the street outside the windows. "It's cold tonight. If you catch a cold walking home alone, who's going to greet customers with that little smile of yours, huh?"
"I do not have a little smile," Jisung muttered, cheeks burning.
"You kinda do." Minho's lips twitched. "Anyway, don't worry about me. Do your thing. I'll get a staff meal and loiter. I'm very good at loitering."
He did exactly that. For the next hour, while Jisung finished seating chart notes and folding napkins for the next day, Minho lingered at the corner table near the door. He ate slowly, scrolling his phone, occasionally trading jokes with the remaining staff. But every few minutes, Jisung could feel his gaze flick toward the host stand. Just a check, a little glance, like Minho was mentally tracking Jisung's progress. And when the floors were finally swept and the tablet was tucked away, when Sunmi waved them off with a tired, "Lock the door behind you," it was Minho who pulled on his coat and moved toward the door like it was automatic.
"You ready?" he asked.
Ready? Jisung thought. For... what? For walking ten minutes next to the prettiest man he'd ever seen while trying not to do something horrifying like trip over nothing and face plant into a lamppost?
"Yeah," he said instead. "I'm ready."
Minho held the door open with his hips while Jisung flipped the sign and locked the bottom bolt. The winter air slapped him immediately, sharp and cold, making his nose sting. Jisung shuddered.
"You didn't bring a scarf?" Minho scolded lightly as they stepped out onto the quiet sidewalk. The city felt strangely muffled, like someone had pressed a pillow over the noise. Streetlights hummed, pools of pale light dotted along the pavement. A bus rumbled past, nearly empty.
"I forgot," Jisung confessed. "I was late."
"How many times have I told you to check the weather before you leave home?" Minho sighed, but it was so fond. "You're always underdressed."
"I'm not underdressed," Jisung argued, tucking his chin deeper into his sweater. "I'm just... under-prepared."
"That's literally the same thing."
Their footsteps echoed softly as they fell into a comfortable pace. The restaurant sat on a slightly busier street, but once they turned the corner, it quieted, buildings turning more residential, windows lit up with the occasional flicker of a TV.
They'd only been walking a minute when Minho spoke again, casual as anything. "How was your lunch today?"
"Oh, right," Jisung said, shy. "Thank you. It was really good."
"I told the kitchen to go easy on the chili oil," Minho said. "You made a face the last time they went too heavy."
"You remember that?" Jisung blurted.
Minho glanced at him, brows lifting. "Of course I remember," he said. "You looked like you were trying to pretend your tongue wasn't on fire."
Jisung laughed, the memory resurfacing- him desperately trying not to breathe too loudly through his mouth while Minho watched, clearly biting back a smile.
"I thought you didn't notice," he admitted.
Minho snorted softly. "I notice more than you think."
The words caught on something inside Jisung. He pushed it down, afraid that if he looked at it too closely, it would hurt more.
They walked in silence for a moment, listening to the wind between the buildings, the far-off honk of a car. A cat darted across the street and disappeared under a parked sedan. This was their routine now. Nearly every night, no matter what time their shifts ended, they walked this same path. Past the late-night convenience store with fluorescent lights and aisles of instant noodles. Past the tiny park with the rusted swings. Over the small bridge that crossed the narrow canal, just a few blocks from their apartments.
At first, Jisung had thought it was coincidence. That Minho just... happened to be walking the same direction. Then he realized Minho's bus stop was actually one street over. That he had to go out of his way to walk this path.
When he'd tried to bring it up, Minho had just said, "It's on my way. Don't overthink it," and shrugged like his heart wasn't quietly rearranging Jisung's entire world.
Tonight felt colder. The wind bit harder. Jisung hunched instinctively, hugging his arms around his torso.
Minho sighed again, a little dramatically this time. "That's it," he announced.
"Wh—?"
Something warm and heavy settled over Jisung's shoulders, the world filled suddenly with the smell of laundry detergent, faint cologne, and something that was unmistakably Minho. Jisung froze. Minho had stopped walking, standing close enough that their shoulders almost brushed. Carefully, he pulled his sweater around Jisung, tugging the sleeves up over his hands.
"There," Minho said, tone matter-of-fact. "Don't argue."
"I should argue," Jisung protested weakly. "You'll be cold."
"I run hot," Minho replied. "You, on the other hand, are like a baby chick thrown into a freezer."
"That's oddly specific," Jisung muttered, but his voice came out breathless.
The sweater swallowed him. It hung almost to his thighs, the collar slightly stretched from when Minho had pulled it over his own head. The inside was still warm from Minho's body heat. The fabric brushed against his bare neck, and Jisung shivered for an entirely different reason. He tugged the edges together, fingers trembling slightly. His face felt like it was on fire.
Minho watched him, hands shoved into his pockets now. His breath puffed in small white clouds in front of his mouth. "Better?"
Jisung nodded quietly, unable to trust his voice.
They started walking again, but something had shifted. The air between them hummed, charged with something new and delicate. Their arms kept brushing, sending sparks up Jisung's skin. He kept his gaze fixed on the ground, on the way the pavement changed from smooth concrete to uneven tiles. His heart beat against his ribs hard enough to make him lightheaded. He was wearing Minho's sweater. He was wearing Minho's sweater. This was the kind of thing that only happened in stupid romantic dramas he pretended not to binge. But in those dramas, the girl always wore the guy's jacket. She would look small and pretty, cheeks pink, hair perfectly curling around her face. The guy would ruffle her hair, call her cute, maybe tilt her chin and-
Jisung's chest pinched.
Because he wasn't a girl. He wasn't even the kind of boy people called pretty. He was average in every way, the kind of face you forgot after a few glances. His laugh was too loud, his jokes came out clumsy. He tripped over his own feet half the time. He wasn't graceful or elegant or alluring. He was just... Jisung. And Minho... Minho had a whole cast of people to choose from. People who flirted with practiced ease, who touched his arm without thinking twice. People who could match his confidence, his easy charm.
Why was Minho so nice to him? The question lodged itself in his throat, too big and bitter to swallow down. The thought had been circling for weeks, a quiet, ugly thing that refused to be ignored.
Why are you so nice to me? The more he tried to shove it away, the louder it got.
They turned onto the final stretch of road before the small bridge. The canal lay ahead, dark water catching the glow of streetlights. His apartment building stood on the other side, windows dotted with yellow squares.
Minho looked over at him once, eyes soft. "You're quiet tonight," he commented.
Jisung dug his fingers into the sweater cuffs. "Just tired," he said.
"Yeah?" Minho's brows furrowed. "You looked tired this morning too. I almost bought you a coffee, but I wasn't sure if you'd already had one."
Jisung's head jerked up. "You... thought about buying me coffee?"
Minho snorted. "I think about buying you coffee a lot," he said, like it was obvious. "You show up looking like you had an argument with your alarm clock and lost."
"I did lose," Jisung mumbled.
"The alarm clock always wins," Minho agreed solemnly.
The corner of Jisung's mouth twitched, but the knot in his chest didn't loosen. If anything, it tightened.
They stepped onto the bridge. The wind was a little stronger there, whistling over the low railings. The canal below was narrow, more a man-made stream than a real river, but at night it looked deeper, the water an inky black ribbon catching stray reflections of neon signs in the distance. Minho slowed near the middle, as he always did. This was their unspoken stopping point, a brief pause before they continued the last few minutes home.
He leaned his forearms on the cold railing, looking down at the water. "You know," he mused, "one day we're going to see something wild float down this canal. I can feel it."
"Like what?" Jisung asked, voice thin.
"I don't know." Minho tilted his head. "A plastic lawn flamingo. A shopping cart. A cursed doll that will haunt us if we make eye contact."
"Please don't say that," Jisung groaned. "Now I'm going to imagine it every time we cross."
"Good," Minho said. "That's what you get for ignoring me all shift."
"I wasn't ignoring you," Jisung protested, flustered. "I was working."
"I know," Minho said quietly. "You're always working hard."
The compliment hit like a physical touch. Jisung swallowed around the lump in his throat. Minho turned, resting one elbow on the railing now, his body angled toward Jisung. The streetlight above them buzzed faintly, bathing them in a halo of pale yellow.
"Hey," Minho said softly. "Seriously. You okay?"
Jisung stared at his shoes. The question had been waiting at the back of his throat since the sweater settled on his shoulders. It pushed forward now, stubborn and desperate.
"Minho," he said, before he lost his courage. "Why are you so nice to me?"
Minho blinked, the easy line of his mouth faltering. "What?"
Jisung's fingers twisted in the hem of the sweater, knuckles whitening. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his fingertips. He kept his gaze fixed on the dark water below, because looking at Minho while he said this felt impossible.
"Why are you so nice to me?" he repeated, voice barely above a whisper. The words trembled in the space between them, raw and small.
"What kind of question is that?" Minho asked, genuinely confused. "I'm nice because I like you."
The words punched a breath out of Jisung, but not in the way he wanted. "You like... everyone," he muttered, cheeks burning. "You're nice to everyone. You... let them flirt with you. You... smile at them and laugh with them and..." His throat closed up.
Minho fell silent.
Jisung swallowed hard, his eyes burning suddenly. "I just..." he tried, voice cracking. "I don't get it."
"Get what?" Minho's voice softened further. There was a rustle of fabric, like he'd shifted closer, but Jisung couldn't look.
"Why you wait for me," Jisung blurted. "Why you bring me lunch. Why you think about buying me coffee, or make sure I get home safe, or..." His breath hitched. "Why you give me your sweater when you could be giving it to someone who actually... deserves it."
"Deserves-?" Minho cut himself off.
"I'm not..." The words spilled out now, too big to hold back. "I'm not like them."
"Like who?" Minho asked, carefully.
"The girls," Jisung whispered.
His vision blurred. Embarrassment and something deeper, sharper, twisted inside him. He hated that his voice shook. Hated that his chest hurt this much over something so stupid.
"They're... pretty," he said, forcing the word out. "They're funny, and confident, and they know how to flirt, and they're..." He swallowed again. His nose stung. "They're what people want."
Minho didn't say anything.
"And I'm..." Jisung laughed once, miserably. "I'm just... me. I'm not pretty. I'm not funny like that. I'm not..." His voice dropped to a thready whisper. "I'm not a woman."
The last word tore something open inside him. It was the quiet, ugly truth he'd been wrapping bandages around for weeks, pretending it didn't bleed. He blinked hard, but the tears slipped free anyway, warm tracks against his cold cheeks. He ducked his head, hoping the streetlight's angle would hide it. For a moment, all he could hear was the distant hum of the city and the rush of blood in his ears.
Then Minho sighed, very softly, like someone releasing a breath they'd been holding for too long. "Han Jisung," he said.
The way he said his name made Jisung's heart stumble.
"Look at me," Minho murmured.
Jisung shook his head, wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. "I'm fine," he lied, voice thick. "I should just go-"
Warm fingers closed gently around his wrist. Minho's grip was careful, just enough pressure to stop him without hurting. His thumb brushed once over his pulse point, slow and grounding.
"Please," Minho said quietly. "Look at me."
Jisung lifted his head slowly, bracing for... he didn't even know what. Pity? Confusion? The careful distance people put between themselves and things they didn't want to understand? Instead, he found Minho's eyes, wide and soft and full of something that made his breath catch. In the pale streetlight, hiss pupils looked like deep ink. His lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks. His lips were pressed together, as if he were physically holding back a lecture.
"You're crying," Minho said. It wasn't a question.
Jisung sniffled, mortified. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize," Minho said immediately. His thumb rubbed another slow circle against Jisung's wrist, soothing. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"I'm being stupid," Jisung muttered. "I shouldn't... It's not your problem."
Minho's cheeks puffed slightly as he pressed his lips together, clearly biting back something. For a second his nostrils flared, and Jisung braced for laughter. But when Minho exhaled, it came out as a half-laugh, half-disbelieving huff. "I swear," he muttered. "You-" He trailed off, staring at Jisung like he'd grown a second head.
"What?" Jisung asked, throat tight.
Minho shook his head slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching like he couldn't quite decide whether to smile or scold. "You really don't see it, do you?"
"See... what?" Jisung said weakly.
Minho's gaze swept over him once, lingering on his flushed cheeks, his swollen eyes, the way Minho's own sweater was bunched up in his fists. Something softened further in his expression, turning almost fondly exasperated. "Silly Jisung," he said, and the two words were so full of affection that Jisung's knees nearly gave out.
He blinked up at Minho, confused and raw.
Minho took a tiny step closer. "First of all," he said, voice low and steady, "you are pretty. So pretty it drives me a little crazy sometimes."
Jisung stared at him. "What?"
Minho's lips quirked. "You heard me," he said. "You're a million times prettier than any of the girls we work with."
"That's not..." Jisung shook his head, heat flooding his face. "That's not true. They're beautiful."
"I never said they weren't," Minho replied. "I said you're prettier."
The words felt impossible, like they belonged in a script from someone else's life. Minho's free hand lifted, hesitating in the air for half a second before he gently brushed his knuckles along Jisung's cheek, wiping away a tear. His fingers were warm against Jisung's cold skin. The touch was incredibly soft, like he was afraid Jisung would break.
"You have no idea, do you?" Minho murmured.
Jisung's breath hitched, his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else.
"I like your face," Minho continued quietly. "I like your stupid cheeks that get all red when you're embarrassed. I like the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh, and how you bite your lip when you're concentrating on the reservation book like it's a bomb you're trying to defuse."
"That's not-" Jisung tried, voice shaking.
"I like," Minho went on, overriding him, "the way you talk to customers. How you're always kind, even when they don't deserve it. How you remember everyone's names, and who came in for anniversaries, and who needs a booster seat. The staff loves you, you know that? The cooks will actually listen to you when you tell them we're out of something. They just tell me to shut up."
A watery laugh escaped Jisung despite himself.
"And you are funny," Minho said deliberately. "Not in the way some people try really hard to be, throwing out lines and hoping something lands. You're funny in all the right ways. In the way you just... are. The way you mutter under your breath when the tablet freezes. The way you make up those stupid little songs about the menu items when you think no one's listening."
"You heard that?!" Jisung squeaked.
Minho's lips stretched into a grin. "Oh yeah."
Jisung wanted to sink through the bridge and into the canal.
"And," Minho added, tilting his head, "for the record, I can't recall a single time", his voice dropped a touch, emphasizing each word, "I've ever said I was into women."
Jisung's mind sputtered, like a computer freezing mid-update. "You..." he managed. "But... you... I just thought..."
Minho's thumb brushed away another stray tear, careful and patient. "Everyone assumes," he said quietly. "The girls flirt, and it's easier to laugh it off than make a big deal out of it. But I never said who I like."
"You said you were picky," Jisung whispered.
"I am," Minho agreed. "And I have a very specific person I like. I've been trying to show him without scaring him away, but apparently he's so busy thinking he's not worth my time that he hasn't noticed."
Jisung's lungs forgot how to work. "I..." he croaked.
Minho's fingers slid from his cheek to his jaw, gentle but sure. He was close now, closer than they'd ever been, their bodies aligned in the soft circle of streetlight. "Why do you think I wait for you after every shift?" he asked. "Why do you think I bring extra lunch 'just in case' you forgot yours? Why do you think I almost fought Sunmi when she tried to assign you the closing shift alone that one time?"
"You didn't-"
"We had words," Minho said dryly. "She won. But I sulked."
Jisung made a strangled noise that might've been a laugh.
"Why do you think I walk this way every night," Minho continued, "even though my actual bus stop is on the other street? Why do you think I grumble at you about weather apps and alarm clocks and taking care of yourself?" His voice softened further. "Why do you think I'm here right now, on this freezing bridge, giving you my favorite sweater?"
"Because you're... nice," Jisung whispered.
Minho blew out a breath, tiny puff of white. "I am nice," he allowed. "But I'm not that nice."
His thumb brushed once more over Jisung's jaw, then moved up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear.
"I'm doing all of this," Minho said, looking directly into his eyes, "because I like you. Because I care about you. Because when I don't see you at the host stand, I feel like the restaurant's missing something."
The tears spilled over again, but they were different now. "I thought..." Jisung's voice cracked. "I thought you'd never... I'm not..."
"Not what?" Minho asked softly.
"Not what you want," Jisung finished, barely audible.
Minho's expression crumpled, just for a fraction of a second, like that sentence physically hurt him. "Jisung," he said quietly. "You are exactly what I want."
The words landed like a warm weight over his shoulders, heavier than the sweater and twice as comforting. Jisung's mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.
Minho's hand slid from his jaw to cup his cheek fully, thumb brushing back and forth in slow strokes. "I'm sorry," he said. "If I made you doubt that. I thought I was being obvious."
"You were not," Jisung whispered, a shaky laugh escaping. "You were... you were just being you."
Minho smiled faintly. "I'll confess more clearly next time," he said. "But for now..." He hesitated, eyes flicking down to Jisung's mouth and then back up, checking. "Can I...?" He didn't finish the sentence, but the question hung there, gentle and open.
Jisung's heart surged. His throat felt too tight to speak, so he nodded once. Minho leaned in slowly, giving Jisung time to pull away if he wanted to. His breath brushed against Jisung's lips first, warm and sweet, tinged with the lingering taste of the staff meal. Jisung's eyes fluttered shut, every nerve buzzing.
Then Minho's mouth met his. The kiss was soft, so soft it barely felt real at first. Just a press of lips, tentative, careful. Minho's hand cradled his cheek, holding him steady, thumb resting just beneath his eye. His other hand slid to Jisung's hip, fingertips curling lightly into the thick sweater. Jisung made a small, broken sound into the kiss, something halfway between a sigh and a whimper. It felt like everything inside him was melting and sparking all at once.
He'd imagined this before, in stupid, guilty moments before sleep, but the reality was nothing like those hazy fantasies. It was gentler, warmer, more grounding. Minho was solid against him, the gentle press and retreat of his lips, like he was memorizing the shape of Jisung's. Their noses bumped clumsily. Jisung's heart leapt into his throat with embarrassment, but Minho just huffed a tiny laugh against his mouth, adjusting the angle like it was the most natural thing in the world. His fingers, still wrapped around Jisung's hip, squeezed once, reassuring.
The world shrank to the small circle of light on the bridge. To the feeling of Minho's lips on his, the slide of warm breath, the faint scent of detergent and citrus. The cold air bit at the exposed skin of his neck, but everywhere Minho touched felt blazing. When Minho finally pulled back, it was only a few centimeters. Their foreheads bumped lightly, noses brushing. Jisung's lashes trembled as he opened his eyes.
Minho was looking at him like he was something precious. His cheeks were a little pink now too, his eyes soft and bright. "Hi," he murmured.
Jisung let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. "Hi," he whispered back.
"How you doing?" Minho asked, voice hushed, thumb still stroking his cheek.
"I..." Jisung searched for words. "I think my heart stopped. But in... a good way?"
Minho's mouth curved. "We'll get you checked by a doctor in the morning," he said lightly. "For now, you're stuck with me."
"Is this real?" Jisung blurted. "You're not... joking?"
Minho's expression sobered immediately. "No joking," he said. "I'd never joke about this." His eyes searched Jisung's, serious. "I like you. A lot. More than a little bit of a crush, if I'm honest."
"More than a little bit?" Jisung echoed weakly.
"Yeah." Minho's mouth twitched. "Like, fall-asleep-thinking-about-you, stare-across-the-restaurant-at-you, roll-my-eyes-at-myself kind of lot."
Jisung's knees threatened to give up again. "You... do that?"
"Have you not noticed me staring at the host stand like a creep?" Minho asked, scandalized.
"I thought you were just checking the seating chart," Jisung said, dazed.
"Sure," Minho chuckled. "Let's go with that."
He brushed his thumb one last time across Jisung's cheek, wiping away the final traces of tears. "No more crying because you think you're not good enough, okay?" he said softly. "I'm here. I'm literally kissing you on a bridge in the middle of the night. You think I'd do that with just anyone?"
Jisung made a small, embarrassed noise. "When you say it like that..."
Minho's eyes sparkled. "Do you...?" He hesitated, suddenly looking a little unsure for the first time. "Do you... maybe like me too? Or did I just project this entire thing and you're being very polite."
A startled laugh burst out of Jisung. "Minho," he said, incredulous. "I have the biggest crush on you. Everyone probably knows. It's pathetic."
"It's not pathetic," Minho said immediately. "It's adorable. And for the record, if anyone knows, they haven't said anything. I would've beat them up for teasing you."
"You can't beat up the entire staff," Jisung protested.
"Watch me," Minho muttered, then grinned when Jisung giggled. He leaned in and pressed another quick, gentle kiss to the corner of Jisung's mouth, like he couldn't help himself. "So..." he said softly. "Do you want to... try this? With me?"
"Try... what?" Jisung asked, brain still lagging.
"This," Minho clarified. "Us. Dating. Being stupid and sappy and making Sunmi regret letting staff date each other."
"She already regrets it," Jisung said faintly, then swallowed, his chest swelling. "Yes," he added quickly. "Yes, I... I want that. With you."
Relief flooded Minho's face. He let out a breathy laugh, his shoulders dropping. "Good," he said. "Because if you said no, I was going to have to walk dramatically into the river."
"You can't," Jisung said, horrified. "It's like two feet deep."
"Exactly," Minho deadpanned. "I'd just stand there awkwardly until someone asked me to go home."
Jisung giggled, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly, lighter than it had been in weeks. The ache in his chest had shifted. Minho was still holding his wrist, his fingers still gentle on his cheek. He realized, abruptly, that he didn't feel cold anymore. Minho's sweater, his arms, his words- it all wrapped around him, chasing away the chill.
"Can we..." Jisung hesitated, ducking his head in embarrassment. "Can we kiss again?"
Minho's eyes softened even further, if that was possible. "Yeah," he murmured. "We can definitely kiss again."
The second kiss was still soft, but less tentative. Minho tilted his head slightly, fitting their mouths together more comfortably. Jisung's free hand, the one not captured in Minho's grip, lifted hesitantly before sliding up to rest against Minho's chest. His shirt was soft beneath Jisung's fingertips, but he could feel the steady thump of Minho's heart underneath. It was pounding, fast, just like his own. He pressed his fingers a little more firmly there, needing the reassurance that this was real. Minho made a quiet sound against his mouth, almost a hum, and deepened the kiss just a fraction. They broke apart after a few moments, both of them breathing a little harder. Jisung's lips tingled. He touched them with his fingertips, wide-eyed.
Minho watched him, amusement and fondness mingling on his face. "I'm going to be thinking about that all night," he admitted.
"Me too," Jisung whispered.
"In a good way," Minho added, just in case.
"In a very good way," Jisung confirmed, cheeks burning.
They stood like that for another minute, caught between the glow of the streetlight and the dark water below. The world felt strangely far away, like someone had turned down the volume on everything but the two of them. Eventually, Minho squeezed his wrist gently and let go, only to slide his hand down and lace their fingers together instead. His palm was warm, fingers sure as they threaded between Jisung's.
"Come on," Minho said softly. "Let's get you home before you turn into an icicle."
"I thought you said I was a baby chick," Jisung pointed out faintly.
"A baby chick-shaped icicle," Minho corrected.
Jisung snorted, but he let himself be tugged along, their joined hands swinging slightly between them.
The last few blocks felt different now. The same buildings, the same cracked sidewalk and crooked mailbox, but everything seemed... sharper. Brighter. Every time their shoulders brushed, every time Minho's thumb stroked absently along the back of his hand, something fluttered in Jisung's stomach.
"So," Minho said eventually, their apartment buildings coming into view. "Ground rules."
"Ground rules?" Jisung echoed.
"Yeah," Minho said. "Rule number one: If you're ever feeling like... that again," he nodded back toward the bridge, "you tell me. You don't have to cry alone about it."
Embarrassment flickered on Jisung's face. "I wasn't-"
"You were," Minho said gently. "And it broke my heart a little. So. Talk to me next time, yeah?"
Jisung swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Okay," he whispered. "I'll try."
"Rule number two," Minho continued, his tone softening. "No more saying you're not pretty. I will personally bop you on the head if I hear it again."
Jisung groaned. "You can't just-"
"I can and I will," Minho said. "I'll do it lovingly, though."
"That doesn't help," Jisung muttered.
"It helps me," Minho said, grinning.
They reached the front of Jisung's building first. It was an older place, the paint slightly chipped, but the small lobby was always clean, a potted plant bravely clinging to life near the mailboxes. Jisung stopped in front of the door, turning to face Minho. Their still-joined hands tugged them closer.
Minho tilted his head. "Rule number three," he said softly. "You keep the sweater tonight."
Jisung's eyes widened. "But you'll be cold."
"I'll survive," Minho said. "And I like the idea of you wearing something that smells like me. Makes it easier to pretend I'm there annoying you."
"You don't have to pretend," Jisung said shyly. "You... could be there."
Minho blinked.
Jisung realized what he'd implied and squeaked. "N-Not like that. I mean- you could come up. If you wanted. Not to- just- to talk. Or... or sit. Or..." He trailed off, mortified.
Minho watched him flail for a second, clearly fighting a smile. Then his expression softened. "As much as I want to, I should probably let you sleep," he said quietly. "We both have the lunch shift tomorrow."
"Oh," Jisung said, trying not to sound disappointed.
"Hey." Minho squeezed his hand. "This isn't the only night I get to do this." His thumb stroked over Jisung's knuckles. "We have time. I'll take you out properly when we both have a day off."
"A... date?" Jisung asked, voice small.
"A date," Minho confirmed. "Several, if you'll let me."
Jisung smiled, shy and bright. "Okay."
Minho leaned in for one last kiss, gentle and lingering. When he pulled back, he brushed their noses together briefly, making Jisung's stomach flip.
"Text me when you're in bed," Minho said. "So I know you didn't trip over your own feet and die in the lobby."
"I won't-"
"You will," Minho said, amused. "You have the coordination of a baby deer."
"Why baby animals tonight?" Jisung muttered, pouting.
"Because they're cute," Minho said simply. "Like you."
Jisung's brain short-circuited. "G-Goodnight," he blurted, fumbling for the lobby door.
Minho let go of his hand reluctantly, but not before giving it one last squeeze. "Goodnight, pretty boy," he murmured.
Pretty boy. Jisung nearly dropped his keys. He stumbled into the lobby, heart doing somersaults. He turned back just once, through the glass door. Minho was still there, hands in his pockets, watching him with a soft smile. When their eyes met, Minho lifted a hand in a small wave. Jisung waved back, then practically fled to the stairs.
His apartment was small- just a studio with a compact kitchen and a bed pushed against the window- but tonight it felt like the coziest place on earth. He shut the door behind him, leaning back against it, heart sprinting. The sweater still hugged his body, thick and warm, carrying Minho's faint scent. He pressed his face into the collar and groaned into the fabric.
"He called me pretty," he mumbled to no one. "He kissed me. On the bridge. Under a streetlight. That's so cliché. Oh my god."
He shuffled to his bed, dropping his bag on the chair, kicking off his shoes, and flopping down on the mattress.
His phone buzzed.
Minho:
> Did you trip and die
Jisung:
> no 😤
I made it to my bed alive
Minho:
> proud of you
10/10 survival skills
Another message popped up a second later.
Minho:
> seriously though
are you okay?
not too overwhelmed?
Jisung chewed on his lip, thumbs hovering over the screen. Then he typed, fingers flying.
Jisung:
> I'm okay
a little overwhelmed
but in a good way
my heart is loud
but it's happy loud
There was a pause.
Minho:
> good
mine too btw
happy loud heart club
Jisung snorted into his pillow.
Minho:
> also
I'm making a new rule
Jisung:
> ?!?
Minho:
> rule number 4
when you feel jealous or insecure or sad
you tell me
and I remind you how much I like you
deal?
Jisung stared at the screen, eyes stinging again—but this time with something warm. He swallowed and typed back.
Jisung:
> deal 💗
Minho's reply came quickly.
Minho:
> sleep, pretty boy
we have a big day tomorrow
I get to flirt with my boyfriend at work
Jisung almost dropped his phone. Boyfriend. He buried his face in Minho's sweater again, kicking his legs uselessly against the mattress.
Jisung:
> you're going to make me explode 😭
goodnight minho
Minho:
> goodnight sungie
The nickname made his stomach flip again.
He set his phone on the nightstand, then hesitated. Carefully, he pulled the sweater off, hugging it to his chest. He changed into his pajamas, then tugged the sweater back on over them, feeling a little ridiculous but not caring at all. He curled up under his blanket, the fabric soft against his cheek, the familiar scent soothing. For the first time in a long time, the ache in his chest was quiet. He drifted off to sleep with Minho's words echoing in his head.
You are exactly what I want.
The next day, he showed up to work early. He hadn't planned to. He'd woken up before his alarm, heart still doing tiny flips, and realized lying in bed staring at the ceiling wasn't helping. So he showered, pulled on his uniform, and, after a brief moment of hesitation, reached for Minho's sweater again. It was probably too much. Too obvious. Too clingy. On the other hand, Minho had literally told him to keep it. And also called him pretty. And his boyfriend. His cheeks burned. He compromised by folding the sweater neatly and tucking it into his bag, deciding he'd just... see how he felt later.
He arrived at Moonrise to find Minho already there, leaning against the front window with a takeout coffee tray in his hands. Jisung stopped dead on the sidewalk. Minho looked up at him through the glass and broke into a smile. He pushed the door open with his shoulder.
"Morning," he said.
Jisung helplessly smiled back. "Morning."
"You're early," Minho noted. "Overachiever."
"You're earlier," Jisung pointed out.
"Over-overachiever," Minho amended. "Here." He held out a cup from the tray. The cardboard sleeve had a little doodle of a sun on it, drawn in black marker. "I told you I think about buying you coffee a lot," he said. "Today I actually followed through."
Jisung accepted the cup, warmth seeping into his cold fingers. "Thank you," he whispered.
"Let me guess," Minho said, eyes bright. "You didn't eat breakfast."
"I had half a granola bar," Jisung said defensively.
Minho's expression was unimpressed. "We're working on that," he muttered. "One step at a time."
They stepped inside together, the familiar warmth of the restaurant wrapping around them. Sunmi glanced up from behind the bar, eyebrows lifting.
"You're both early," she said. "Do I need to be suspicious?"
"No," Jisung squeaked at the exact same moment Minho said, "Yes."
Sunmi blinked.
Minho coughed. "I mean, no," he amended. "Nothing to be suspicious about. We're very well-behaved."
Sunmi narrowed her eyes, looking between the two of them. "Uh-huh," she said slowly. "Well, as long as whatever you're doing doesn't mess with my seating rotation, I don't care." She turned back to counting the cash drawer.
Jisung blew out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
Minho leaned closer, voice dropping. "See?" he murmured. "She already regrets staff dating. We didn't even do anything yet."
Jisung giggled, cheeks pink. "Maybe we should actually work before we get fired," he whispered back.
Minho's eyes softened as he looked at him, and for a second, the world narrowed again. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Let's work."
The morning passed in a blur of familiar motions. Jisung greeted customers, guided them to tables, smiled and laughed. But everything felt different now, buzzing under his skin.
He felt Minho's presence in every corner of the restaurant. The way Minho's gaze caught his across the room, lingering for a beat longer than necessary. The way Minho brushed their shoulders gently when he passed behind the host stand. The way he slipped a small folded note under the seating chart when no one was looking. When Jisung unfolded it on a lull, his heart did another somersault.
In Minho's neat handwriting:
> pretty
funny
mine
Jisung pressed his hand over his mouth, grinning into his fingers.
Later, during the brief lull before the dinner rush, Yeji leaned on the host stand, chewing bubblegum and scrolling her phone.
"Did you hear?" she said casually. "Minho's off the market."
Jisung choked on his own spit, coughing violently. "W-What?"
Yeji nodded, eyes still on her phone. "He told me this morning," she said. "Said he's seeing someone."
Jisung's heart did something between a leap and a nose dive. "Oh," he managed. "That's... nice."
"Yeah," Yeji sighed dramatically. "Tragic for me, but his happiness is more important than my thirst."
Jisung made a strangled noise.
"Apparently," Yeji continued, smirking now, "his new boyfriend is really cute."
Jisung froze.
Yeji finally looked up, eyes glinting with mischief. "Any idea who that might be?" she asked sweetly.
"I–I..." Jisung sputtered.
Minho appeared out of nowhere, like he'd been summoned. "Yeji," he warned.
"What?" she asked innocently. "Just making conversation."
"Leave my boyfriend alone," Minho said, sliding an arm along the host stand near Jisung, close but not quite touching. "You're scaring him."
Jisung's brain stalled.
Yeji rolled her eyes, but she smiled. "You two are disgustingly cute," she said. "I'm telling everyone."
"You already told everyone," Minho pointed out.
"Yeah," she said cheerfully. "But now I get to tease you about it." She sauntered away.
Jisung stared down at the seating chart, his face on fire.
"Sorry," Minho murmured, voice low near his ear now. "I didn't mean for them to ambush you."
"It's okay," Jisung whispered. "I'm just... getting used to it."
"To what?" Minho asked.
"To being..." Jisung swallowed, cheeks flaming. "Your boyfriend."
Minho's breath hitched. His hand, resting on the host stand, curled slightly. He leaned in, just enough that their shoulders brushed. "You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that," he murmured.
Jisung smiled, small and shy, feeling like he might float away.
The rest of the shift, he found it easier to hold onto Minho's words than the old, familiar ache. Whenever his mind tried to slip back into the dark corners, whispering that he wasn't enough, he remembered Minho's hand on his cheek, his voice saying, You are exactly what I want.
And later, when they walked home over the same bridge, the sweater around Jisung's shoulders and their fingers intertwined, the night didn't feel quite as cold. Under the same streetlight, Minho stole another soft kiss, just because he could. Just because now, finally, Jisung knew why he'd been so nice all along. Not because Jisung was just anyone. Because he was him. Because he was pretty, and funny, and real, in all the quiet ways Minho loved. Because every day, Minho had waited. And now, finally, Jisung was walking toward him with his heart wide open, ready to be wanted back.