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Minho realized he was staring at Jisung again when his friend's laugh got swallowed by the general buzz of the campus café and yet still managed to be the clearest sound in the room.
It had been a long day of classes, the kind that smeared together into one continuous stretch of fluorescent lighting and lectures. The sky outside the big windows was washed in late-afternoon gold, shadows getting longer, students drifting in and out with half-zipped hoodies and overstuffed backpacks. At their table by the window, empty iced coffee cups and abandoned notes took up more space than either of them. Jisung sat sideways in his chair, one leg pulled up to his chest, a pen tucked behind his ear and his hair a little messy from running his hands through it. He was scrolling something on his phone, lips pursed in concentration, bottom lip jutting out in that way that always made Minho's brain short-circuit for a second.
He shouldn't have been looking, really. He knew that. Friends didn't stare at friends like this-like they were trying to memorize the exact flex of a jaw when someone laughed, or the way their lashes brushed their cheeks when they blinked. Friends didn't track the little HP bar at the corner of their phone screen just because the person they liked refused to let it drop below thirty percent.
"Hey," Jisung said suddenly, without looking up. "You're doing it again."
Minho jolted. "Doing what?"
"Burning holes in my skull with your eyes, dude." Jisung lifted his gaze then, eyes bright and teasing. The corner of his mouth tugged up into a grin that was entirely too fond to be legal. Minho forced his heart to behave.
"I'm trying to read your mind," Minho said, leaning back in his chair, putting on a lazy smirk to hide the way his pulse had leapt. "Seeing if there's anything in there besides memes and song lyrics."
"There's also a strong urge to hit you with my notebook," Jisung replied. He swung his leg down and sat properly, closing his notes with a dramatic slap. "Which, by the way, I brought to this very serious study session that you are not taking seriously."
"We finished studying an hour ago," Minho said. "You're the one watching compilation videos of that stupid raccoon that steals cat food."
"First of all, he's a hero," Jisung said, looking deeply offended. "Second of all, I was taking a break. Third of all, you were the one who sent me the video."
"Told you you'd like him," Minho shrugged.
He tried to sound casual, but that was the thing: he liked making Jisung laugh. He liked sending him dumb videos and waiting-not-so-patiently-for the little "typing..." bubble to appear, followed by an avalanche of all caps and keysmashes. He liked the late-night calls that started with "are you awake" and ended with them sharing headphones in someone's dorm, trying not to wake up their roommates. He liked the familiarity between them more than he should. He liked Jisung more than he should. But he'd long since made peace with the fact that it would stay that way-quiet and one-sided. They were good like this. Close. Easy. Comfortable. Minho wasn't eager to risk all of that on a confession that might ruin everything. So he did what he always did when the urge to say something honest crept up his throat: he made a joke instead.
"Anyway," he added, flicking his pen cap at him, "if you don't stop talking crap about my study methods, I'm rescinding your right to copy my notes."
"As if," Jisung snorted, batting the cap away. "You need me. I'm the only reason you remember to eat lunch."
That was, annoyingly, very true.
The door to the café chimed then, letting in a gust of cooler air and the hum of voices from the hall. Someone laughed loudly near the entrance. Minho glanced up and saw a familiar tall figure weaving through the crowd, balancing a tray with two drinks. Jeongin. He paused to talk to the barista for a second, then his gaze swept the café, searching. When he spotted Minho, his face lit up and he angled their way.
"Oh," Jisung said, following his gaze. "You invited Jeongin?"
"Yeah," Minho answered. "He texted earlier. Needed help with the stats assignment. I told him to swing by after his lab."
Jisung's shoulders dropped just a fraction. "Right. I forgot he had that class with you."
There was something in his tone Minho couldn't quite place. Neutral, but... tightened. He filed it away, but before he could think too much about it, Jeongin arrived at their table, grin wide and a little breathless from maneuvering the crowded space.
"Hyung," he said, carefully setting the tray down, "these are for you. I grabbed what you usually get and, uh..." he looked at Jisung, "iced vanilla latte?"
Jisung blinked. "Yeah. How'd you-?"
"You always get the same thing before the music building closes," Jeongin said, shrugging, like it was nothing. "You were in front of me in line, like, four times last week."
"Stalker," Jisung said, but he smiled as he wrapped his hands around the cup, the warmth of his fingers fogging the plastic where the liquid was still slightly warm at the bottom.
Jeongin laughed, sliding into the chair on Minho's other side. "You love it."
Minho smiled a little, watching the easy back-and-forth. It wasn't weird. They all knew each other. Jeongin was a year below them but had been in their orbit since freshman year, always floating between friend groups, somehow in everyone's good graces.
"You're a lifesaver, by the way," Jeongin said to Minho, pulling his laptop out of his bag. "That assignment is hell and I swear the professor is actively rooting for us to fail."
"Oh yeah," Jisung said, spinning his drink's straw between his fingers. "He is."
"You had him last semester, right?" Jeongin asked, opening his laptop. "Any tips? Besides 'cry'?"
"Don't sit in the third row," Jisung said promptly. "He calls on the third row for every question."
"That's so specific," Jeongin blinked.
"That's because I sat there," Jisung said dryly. "Learn from my mistakes."
They laughed, and Minho's chest did that warm expanding thing it always did when his people were around him. It felt good-simple. He leaned in closer to see Jeongin's screen, propping his elbow on the back of the boy's chair, shoulder brushing his.
"Okay," Minho said, "show me where you got stuck."
Jeongin pulled up the assignment sheet, leaning in as well. Their heads were close together, the glow from the laptop lighting both their faces. Minho squinted at the problem, tapping under a line of text.
"Here," he said. "You're overcomplicating it. You don't need to do all that extra integration. Look, if you rewrite it like this-" he reached for Jeongin's pen and scribbled on his notebook, their fingers briefly tangling as he took it.
"Ohhh," Jeongin exhaled, "that makes so much more sense."
He laughed, leaning a bit closer to peer at the page. Minho mirrored the movement, arm stretching along the back of the chair for balance. From the outside, they were practically pressed side to side. He didn't think anything of it. He was focused on the math, on explaining it in a way that made sense. On the way Jeongin's brow furrowed then relaxed when understanding clicked. Which was why he completely missed the way everything in Jisung's posture went very, very still.
Across the table, Jisung had been sipping his latte, letting their conversation wash over him. It wasn't like he didn't know they got along. Minho had mentioned helping Jeongin a couple of times with classwork, had told a story or two about him in that absent, fond way he reserved for people he liked.
The thing was, Jisung had always chosen to hear that fondness as... general. Friendly. Casual. But watching Minho now, the easy curve of his mouth as he teased Jeongin's jumbled notes, the relaxed sprawl of his arm around the back of the younger's chair, how he leaned in like they'd done this a hundred times-
Something sour and tight pooled in Jisung's stomach.
Jeongin laughed again, bumping his shoulder lightly against Minho's. "You saved my grade, seriously."
"Calm down," Minho said. "It's one problem."
"Yeah, but if I fail this problem, I fail the assignment. And if I fail the assignment, my grade tanks. And if my grade tanks, I lose my scholarship and have to live under a bridge. Do you want that on your conscience?"
"Wow," Minho said. "That escalated quickly."
They were close. Closer than he and Minho sat most days, Jisung realized with a jolt he didn't know what to do with. Minho's smile reached his eyes. There was an intimacy in the space between them that no one had named, but Jisung could feel it like a bruise.
His throat felt thick. It wasn't that he didn't like Jeongin. He did. They joked around all the time when their paths crossed. He'd helped him carry an amp once, stayed late after a student showcase to chat about some random game. Jeongin was sweet. Smart. Endearing. Easy to like.
What if Minho liked him? What if that was why he hadn't ever... tried anything with Jisung? What if all the soft moments he'd been hoarding-late-night ramen runs, shared headphones, the way Minho always noticed when he was tired and nudged a can of coffee toward him without comment-had never been anything more than friendly concern to Minho? What if Jisung had been reading the whole thing wrong?
He swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. His fingers were clenched around the plastic cup so tightly the lid creaked. He forced himself to loosen his grip. Don't be stupid, he told himself. You have no right to be jealous. You never told him how you feel.
And that was the real problem, wasn't it? He'd chickened out every time. Every time Minho's gaze lingered a second too long, every time their knees brushed on the couch and neither moved away, every time Minho walked him all the way back to his dorm when he could have just said goodnight at the main street. Jisung would open his mouth, heart hammering, and then Minho would look at him with that soft fondness and say something like "get some sleep, idiot," and the words I like you, I think I've liked you for a long time would evaporate on his tongue. He'd waited. He'd hoped. Maybe Minho just needed more time. Maybe he'd make the first move. But now-
"Hyung, can you show me that again?" Jeongin was saying, scooting even closer so their shoulders were fully pressed together now. "Sorry, I spaced for a second."
"It's fine," Minho said, chuckling. "Short attention span. We'll work around it."
They looked good together, a tiny bitter voice in his head whispered. It made sense. Minho liked taking care of people. Jeongin was easy to take care of. Easy to tease. Easy to fluster. Easy to-
"Jisung?" Minho's voice cut into his spiraling thoughts. "You good?"
Jisung snapped his head up. Two pairs of eyes were fixed on him, one amused, one concerned. He realized he'd been quiet for several minutes.
"Yeah," he said quickly. "Fine. Just... thinking about an assignment I have later."
"You want me to look at it?" Minho asked immediately. The tenderness in that simple question made something in Jisung ache.
"It's fine," he said again, sharper than he meant to. "I'll figure it out."
Minho's brows knit. "Okay..."
Jeongin looked between them, sensing the tension. "Uh, I should probably head to the library before it gets too crowded," he said, closing his laptop. "Thanks again, hyung."
"No problem," Minho said, but his gaze lingered on Jisung.
Jeongin stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "See you guys later?"
"Yeah," Jisung managed. "Later."
As soon as Jeongin walked away, Minho turned fully to Jisung, expression pinched in concern.
"Seriously," he said, "what's wrong?"
"Nothing," Jisung muttered, standing abruptly to gather his notes, shoving them haphazardly into his backpack. His heart was pounding too loudly. He needed to move. He needed air. "I just remembered I have something to do before my composition workshop."
"You don't have class for another hour," Minho said, checking his phone. "You said you were free."
"I forgot," Jisung said, avoiding his eyes. "I really have to go."
"Jisung-"
He couldn't do it. Not with Minho looking at him like that, brow furrowed, lips parted just a little in that way they did when he was about to ask a question Jisung didn't know how to answer without everything unraveling. So he did the only thing his panicking brain could come up with. He ran. He swung his backpack onto his shoulder and bolted toward the café door, ignoring Minho's startled "hey!". The bell chimed harshly as he pushed through. Cool air hit his face as he stepped into the corridor, the murmur of students washing over him in a blur. He didn't look back.
Minho blinked at the swinging café door, Jisung's abrupt exit leaving a Jisung-sized hole in the space beside him. For a second, his brain just... stalled. Then everything crashed in at once.
"Okay," he said to himself under his breath, standing so quickly his chair scraped harshly against the floor. A couple of students glanced over. He ignored them. "Okay, that was weird. That was definitely weird."
Jisung had seemed fine earlier. Teasing him, laughing, stealing sips of his drink like always. He had looked a little off once Jeongin sat down, but Minho had assumed he was just zoning out, tired from class. This whole semester had been draining. They were all worn around the edges. But that exit? That had been... something else. Rushed. Almost like he was-
Running away.
Minho's stomach twisted. He grabbed his bag and shoved his notebook inside without even closing it, nearly forgetting his phone on the table in his haste. The barista called out an order behind him; someone bumped his shoulder as he tried to maneuver through the small crowd by the counter. By the time he made it into the hallway, Jisung was already halfway down, moving fast.
"Jisung!" Minho called out.
The other boy didn't react. His steps only sped up. Minho swore under his breath and broke into a jog. They wove through the afternoon crowd-past a cluster of students debating midterm grades, a girl trying to balance a cello case and her coffee at the same time, a guy leaning against the wall cramming flashcards. Minho dodged blazer sleeves and swinging backpacks, his only focus the familiar, slightly hunched shape in front of him.
"Jisung!" he called again, louder. "Hey, wait!"
At the end of the hall, sunlight spilled in from a set of glass doors that led out to the courtyard. Most people were heading in that direction, toward the main campus green. But Jisung veered sharply right, toward the stairwell. Minho's heart thudded, feet pounding harder as he followed. Jisung pushed the heavy stairwell door open and darted inside. It swung shut just as Minho reached it, smacking his palm as he grabbed the handle and yanked it open. The echo of footsteps ricocheted up the concrete stairwell. Minho looked up, catching sight of Jisung rounding the landing to the next flight, backpack thumping against his side.
"Why are you running?" Minho shouted, the words bouncing back at him against the walls.
"Go away, Minho!" Jisung's voice floated down, ragged. Not joking, not playful. Frayed.
Minho's chest tightened. Nope. Absolutely not.
"You know I'm not gonna do that," he muttered more to himself than anything as he took the stairs two at a time.
He didn't even think about where they were heading until he noticed the numbers painted on the walls. Third floor. Fourth. Fifth. The air got a little stuffier, the sounds of campus more distant. He'd been in this building a hundred times, mostly for dance practice when they used the empty classrooms, but he usually took the elevator or stopped at the third floor. Jisung just kept going. Up, up, up.
"Jisung!" Minho's thighs were starting to burn, but he pushed through, hand dragging along the railing.
They passed the sixth floor landing. Then the seventh. Then the eighth. Just as Minho wondered in a mildly hysterical corner of his mind if Jisung was planning on climbing all the way to the actual sky, the other boy suddenly veered off at the next landing, heading not for another flight but for a gray metal door at the end of a short hallway.
There was a red "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY" sign partially peeled off the front of it and a bar handle that had seen better days. Oh. The rooftop.
"Jisung, don't-" Minho started, but he was too late.
Jisung grabbed the handle, shoved the door open, and disappeared outside in a rush of light and cold air. The door slammed shut behind him with a hollow, echoing clang. Minho skidded to a stop in front of it, heart jackhammering. He stared at the metal for half a second, brain offering up a vivid, unwelcome memory: looking down from the fourth floor balcony during orientation week and feeling his stomach swoop so hard he had to step back, palms sweaty, mouth dry. He really, really didn't do heights.
But.
He thought of the way Jisung's voice had cracked when he'd yelled at him to go away. Thought of the look on his face before he'd bolted-something sharp and wounded underneath the hurried words. His fear prowled just under his skin, but something louder rose to meet it: the gut-deep certainty that leaving Jisung alone up there felt worse.
"Fantastic," he muttered, hand closing around the handle. "This is a great life choice."
He shoved the door open and stepped out onto the roof.
The first thing that hit him was the wind. It swept across the open space in a sharp rush, rustling his hair, tugging at his jacket, carrying the distant sounds of campus life from below-shouts, laughter, the faint honk of a car on the street. The second thing that hit him was the sky: huge, open, stretching endlessly above him, tinted with late afternoon hues of pink and gold. The rooftop itself was flat, lined with a waist-high concrete barrier around the edges. There were a few large vents and a squat block of something mechanical near the far end, and a scattering of old plastic chairs someone had dragged up here at some point. And space. Lots of space. Space that ended abruptly at the barrier and then... dropped.
Minho's legs made a quiet decision all on their own. They refused to move. He froze just outside the doorway, fingers still curled white-knuckled around the handle, his body suddenly very aware of how there was nothing between him and the open edge of the building except about twenty meters of rooftop. His brain supplied several vivid mental images in rapid succession of what the ground would look like from that edge, how small the people would be, how high up they were. His stomach lurched. He tore his gaze away from the far side of the roof and forced himself to look at the one thing that anchored him: Jisung. He was standing closer to the opposite edge, back turned toward Minho, hands braced on the concrete railing. His shoulders were tense, head bowed. The wind tugged at the hem of his hoodie, making it flap a little.
"Jisung," Minho said, voice scraping raw. It came out a bit smaller than he intended. "What the hell was that back there?"
Jisung flinched, his knuckles going white where they gripped the barrier, but he didn't turn around. "Go away, Minho," he said, louder this time, voice carrying thin across the rooftop. "Just-just go back downstairs."
"I'm... kind of in the middle of something," Minho said weakly, eyes darting nervously to the expanse of concrete between them. It felt like a mile. "Like, oh, I don't know, our entire friendship imploding maybe?" His attempt at humor fell flat. The wind stole his words and scattered them.
"I'm serious," Jisung snapped, but there was a tremor in his voice. "I don't want to talk to you right now."
"Well, too bad," Minho said, the corners of his resolve digging in despite the fact that his knees felt like jelly. "Because you just sprinted away from me like I told you your favorite band broke up and then ran up eight flights of stairs. My curiosity is killing me."
"I'm fine," Jisung said.
"You're not fine," Minho shot back. "You only run like that when you're late to class or avoiding your ex-tutor who wants to know why you skipped their review session."
"I told you that in confidence," Jisung muttered.
"Yeah, we share things," Minho said. "That's kind of my point. We're supposed to be able to talk. So what the hell is going on?"
Jisung was breathing a little harder now, either from the climb or from holding himself together. He still hadn't turned around. Minho took a breath, tried to convince his locked legs to take a step forward. Just one. Just enough to close some of the distance. His foot moved maybe an inch before his brain screamed, Heights, and his muscles seized again, heart thudding unsteadily. He let out a strangled noise.
"Is... this a bad time to mention I'm afraid of heights?" he managed, voice pitching a little too high at the end.
At that, finally, Jisung's shoulders jerked. He twisted halfway, eyes widening as he looked over at where Minho was rooted to the spot. Minho must've looked a mess. He had one hand plastered against the wall beside the door, the other still gripping the handle like a lifeline. His knees were bent, body crouched just a bit like if he lowered his center of gravity, the ground would suddenly feel less far away. His jaw was clenched tight, and he probably looked as pale as he felt.
"Wait, what?" Jisung said, blinking. "You're... what?"
"Afraid of heights," Minho repeated, words clipped. "Terrified. Not a fan. Zero stars, would not recommend."
"Then why did you follow me up here?" Jisung demanded.
"You literally ran away from me," Minho said. "And clearly something is wrong. Did you think I was just gonna let you go? 'Oh, my best friend is upset and sprinting up the stairs, guess I'll catch him later'?"
The word best made Jisung's mouth press into a tight line. Minho noticed. His stomach swooped, and for once it had nothing to do with the height.
"Look," he said, licking his dry lips, "whatever this is, we're not doing it with you on one side of the building and me clinging to this door like it's going to sprout wheels and carry me away. Can you... I don't know. Meet me halfway?" He tried to smile, tried to soften the words. It came out shaky.
For a moment, Jisung just stared at him. The wind tugged at his hair, blew color into his cheeks. A hundred things seemed to flicker across his face-annoyance, worry, confusion, something heavier that Minho couldn't quite name. Then he sighed. His shoulders slumped just a little. Without looking back at the edge, he let go of the barrier and started walking toward Minho. As he moved, Minho's breathing eased infinitesimally. Jisung's presence had always been grounding, like white noise in the background of an anxious mind. The fact that he was voluntarily leaving the edge to come closer made the concrete feel a little more solid under Minho's feet.
Before either of them could say anything else, the door behind Minho suddenly yanked out of his grip, swinging forward on a gust of wind with a loud metallic slam. He jumped and spun around instinctively, reaching for the handle. The door banged hard against its frame, rattling. He grabbed the bar and pulled. It didn't budge. Confused, he pulled again, harder this time. The bar thunked, but the door stayed stubbornly shut.
"No, no, no," Minho muttered. "Come on."
He tried pushing it open instead, then pulling again, then jiggling the handle like that would magically change something. The door remained unmoved. He glanced down and noticed, really noticed, the faint outline of what looked suspiciously like an automatic lock along the side.
"Oh, that's just great," he said, voice tight. "That's awesome. Love that for us."
"What?" Jisung asked, now only a few meters away. "What's wrong?"
"Door's locked," Minho said, staring at it like he could glare it into submission. "It must only open from the inside or something. Or it locks automatically when it closes. I don't know. I never come up here. Because of the whole 'mortal fear' thing." He gave the handle another useless yank. The door mocked him silently.
"So we're stuck?" Jisung's voice rose an octave.
"I mean, probably not forever," Minho said quickly, even as his own heart rate picked up. "Someone's gonna come up eventually, right? Maintenance or- or some dumb kid who thinks this is a good make-out spot or something."
He immediately regretted his choice of examples. Jisung's face did something complicated. Minho pressed his forehead against the cool metal of the door for a second, eyes squeezed shut. Air. Right. Breathe. He pushed himself away and turned back around, only to realize that in his focus on the traitorous door, he'd unconsciously stepped a little farther from the entrance. Not by much. Maybe a foot. But it felt like miles. The world tilted. He swallowed hard.
Jisung was watching him with wide eyes, all traces of anger temporarily overshadowed by concern. "Are you okay?" he asked.
"Define 'okay'," Minho said through his teeth.
Jisung took another step closer, closing the distance between them until they were standing just an arm's length apart. Up close, Minho could see the way his lashes trembled, the tightness in his jaw, the faint sheen in his eyes like he was holding back tears.
"You really are terrified," Jisung murmured, voice softer now. "I thought you were exaggerating."
"I don't exaggerate," Minho said automatically, then grimaced. "Okay, sometimes I exaggerate. But not about this."
"You climbed eight floors of stairs even though you knew this was the roof," Jisung said. "You chased me all the way up here. You hate heights."
"Yeah, well," Minho said, "you were upset. I hate that more."
The words left his mouth before he could stop them. They hung in the air between them, raw and unguarded. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind rushed around them, carrying distant shouts from some game happening on the field below. A siren wailed faintly in the city beyond the campus. A bird wheeled overhead, a tiny speck against the vast sky.
"Why," Jisung began, then stopped. He looked down at his sneakers. "Why did you care so much that I ran away?"
Minho blinked at him. "What kind of question is that?" he asked. "You're my-" He almost said best friend again. The word felt insufficient. Not wrong, exactly, but incomplete. Like calling the ocean a puddle. "You're important to me," he said instead. "When you're upset, I care. When you look at me like I just did something awful, it-" he broke off, exhaling harshly. "I can't just ignore that."
Jisung's throat worked. He wrapped his arms around himself, fingers digging into his own sleeves. "I didn't mean to make you come up here," he said after a moment, voice small. "I wasn't thinking. I just... I needed to get away."
"From me," Minho said quietly.
Jisung flinched like the words were a physical slap. There it was. The bruise he'd been feeling without naming.
"Why?" Minho asked, hearing the hurt bleed into his own voice despite his best efforts to keep it neutral. "What did I do?"
"Nothing," Jisung said quickly. "You didn't... you didn't do anything wrong. I just-" He scrubbed his hands over his face, fingers threading into his hair. "It's stupid."
"Hey," Minho said, softer now. "Don't do that. Don't call how you feel stupid."
"You'll think it is," Jisung muttered.
"Try me."
Silence stretched between them. Jisung's gaze skittered away, his weight shifting restlessly from foot to foot. Minho watched him, the curve of his shoulders, the way he seemed to be trying to contain something too big for his body. His own fear hummed under his skin like a low, constant current, but it was drowned out by the ache in his chest. He couldn't stand this version of them-distant, closed off, hurting each other by accident.
"Look," he said finally, trying to inject some light into his tone even as his heart thudded, "if you don't start explaining in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to have a panic attack on school property. Then you'll have to deal with the paperwork when they list 'emotional distress' as the cause of my downfall."
Jisung huffed out a choked little laugh, despite himself. It cracked something open. He took a breath. Then another. When he spoke, the words tumbled out in a rush. "I didn't like seeing you with Jeongin."
Minho blinked. "What?"
"This is so dumb," Jisung said, gesturing wildly with his hands. "I know it's dumb. I know you're allowed to have other friends. Obviously. I like Jeongin. He's great. He's funny and smart and he always remembers your order and he-he looks at you like you hung the moon, okay? I get it. I do. I just-" He broke off, teeth sinking into his lower lip hard enough that Minho almost stepped forward to stop him on reflex. He held himself in place, fingers digging into his own palms. "And seeing you together," he forced himself to continue, "seeing you leaning in like that, all close and smiling and helping him with his stupid homework, and your arm was around his chair and he kept bumping your shoulder and you didn't even pull away and-" He sucked in a harsh breath, eyes shimmering now. "It hurt," he said, voice cracking. "It hurt, okay? And it shouldn't have. Because we're just friends. You've always said that. You've never... you've never said anything else. So I told myself to be fine with it. I told myself to be happy for you if you liked somebody. I told myself not to make things weird. But then you looked so... comfortable with him. Like you could just... I don't know. Fall into something with him. And I realized that if I didn't get out of there, I was going to either burst into tears or say something that would ruin everything." He laughed then, a short, humorless sound. "So I ran," he finished helplessly. "Because that's what I do when I'm overwhelmed, apparently."
Minho stared at him. "Let me get this straight," he said slowly. "You saw me helping Jeongin with statistics. And your immediate conclusion was that... what? I'm secretly in love with him?"
Jisung bristled. "I didn't say you were in love with him."
"You implied it," Minho said. "Or at least that I like him that way."
"How was I supposed to know you didn't?" Jisung shot back, cheeks flushing. "You're really nice to him. You always talk about how funny he is and how talented and how he's 'really come out of his shell this year' and you get this stupid proud face when you say it."
Minho opened his mouth, then closed it. He... did do that. He liked seeing people grow. It made him happy. He hadn't realized it looked like that from the outside.
"I like him as a friend," Minho said firmly. "He's a baby. He still gets lost trying to find the music building. I have to send him little maps sometimes."
"That's not helping your case," Jisung muttered, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Minho took a breath, trying to steady his racing thoughts. "So let's say, for the sake of argument, that I did like him," he said carefully. "Why would that hurt you?"
The question hung heavy in the air. Jisung stared at him. Bruised vulnerability bled through the cracks in his defenses. "Because," he said, voice barely more than a whisper, "I thought you liked me."
The rooftop seemed to fall utterly silent. Even the wind felt muted, the world narrowing down to the space between them, to the way Jisung's words knocked the breath right out of Minho's lungs.
"I-" Minho started, then stopped. His brain scrambled, heart flipping, stomach swooping. "You... what?"
"I thought you liked me," Jisung repeated, a little louder now, as if he needed to hear the words himself. "I mean, not just as a friend. I thought-god, this is so embarrassing." He lifted his hands to cover his face, speaking through his fingers. "I thought you maybe... had a crush on me. Or something. Because you're always so... you. You walk me home even when it's out of your way. You text me good luck before every performance. You bring me snacks when I'm cramming. You remember the dumb little things I say. You look at me like I'm... like I matter. And then today, you were looking at Jeongin like that." He dropped his hands, eyes shining with unshed tears, jaw trembling. "And I realized that all the things you do for me, you could do for someone else," he said, voice breaking. "Someone who isn't me. Someone who didn't waste years being a coward and not telling you how they feel. And it hurt. It hurt so much I panicked. And then I made you come up here and now we're trapped and you're terrified and I'm the worst friend in the world."
A tear slipped down his cheek and dropped onto the concrete. Minho's heart hurt. He wanted to walk forward and pull Jisung into his arms. Wanted to wipe the tears off his face, wanted to press his forehead against his and say don't you get it, you idiot, it's you, it's always been you. But his legs were still locked, muscles humming with fear, the knowledge of the drop at the edge of the roof like a shadow at the back of his mind.
"First of all," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "you are not the worst friend in the world. That title belongs to Chan, who ate my leftovers last week and then lied about it."
A wet hiccup burst out of Jisung, half-laugh, half-sob. He sniffed, swiping at his eyes with his sleeve.
"Second of all," Minho continued, "I do look at you like you matter. Because you do. More than you apparently realize."
Jisung swallowed, gaze flickering up to meet his. There was a scared, hopeful something there that made Minho's chest feel too small.
"And third," Minho said, feeling like he was stepping off some edge that had nothing to do with the roof, "you were right."
Jisung's breath hitched. "Right about... what?"
Minho's fingers tightened around the door handle behind him until his knuckles ached. "I do like you," he said quietly. "Not just as a friend.".
"I have for a long time," he went on, the confession tumbling out now that the first dam had broken. "Like, painfully long. Like, 'I had a crush on you during that stupid freshman-year group project where you spilled coffee on your laptop and then cried for twenty minutes and I thought it was the cutest thing I'd ever seen' long. Like, 'every time you fall asleep on my shoulder during movie nights, I have to stare at the ceiling for an hour afterwards so I don't do something idiotic like kiss your forehead' long."
Jisung's eyes were huge, lips parted. "Then why didn't you-" he started.
"Because I didn't want to mess this up," Minho said. The words were raw, honest. "Because you're my favorite person and the idea of you looking at me differently, of losing what we have, of making you uncomfortable? That scared me more than anything. So I told myself to be patient. To be content with what I had. To wait and see if maybe you'd give me some sign that you wanted more. And you... never did."
"I-" Jisung's voice faltered. "I thought I was being obvious."
Minho huffed out a weak laugh. "Trust me, you weren't. Or if you were, I misread everything because I was too busy second-guessing myself."
"That makes two of us," Jisung muttered. He shook his head, a strangled laugh-sob escaping him. "We're idiots."
"The biggest," Minho agreed.
They looked at each other then, all the unsaid things of the past months-years-spilling into the spaces between heartbeats.
"So when you saw me with Jeongin," Minho said softly, "you thought I'd... moved on? From you?"
"Yeah," Jisung admitted. "And I know that sounds self-centered. Like I expected you to just... wait around forever or something. I didn't. I just..." He exhaled shakily. "I wanted to be the one you looked at like that. And the idea that it could be someone else made me feel... replaceable. I didn't want to see it."
"You're not replaceable," Minho said, the words coming out fierce. "There is no one else like you. I like Jeongin, sure, but not like that. I gush about him because he's grown a lot since last year and I'm proud of him. That's it. When I look at him, I'm thinking 'please don't trip over your own shoelaces onstage' and 'wow, he finally learned how to do his laundry on a regular schedule.' When I look at you..."
He trailed off, swallowing. "When you look at me?" Jisung prompted, voice trembling.
Minho's lips quirked, something tender slipping into his eyes despite the anxiety still simmering under his skin. "When I look at you," he said, "I think about how your smile makes my day better no matter how crappy it was. I think about how you tap your thumb three times on the table when you're nervous. I think about how you always sing under your breath when you're focusing and how I sometimes stop what I'm doing just to listen. I think about how you always split your last piece of candy with me even though you pretend to be selfish. I think about how much I want to hold your hand and how terrified I am that if I try, you'll pull away."
Jisung's breath came out in a shudder. His eyes were glossy, lower lip wobbling. "You're so dumb," he whispered.
"Rude," Minho said, but his voice was soft.
"For thinking I'd pull away," Jisung clarified, taking a small step closer. They were almost toe-to-toe now. "I've been waiting-hoping-for you to reach for me. I just... didn't know if you wanted that. Or if... if I would be too much."
"You are a lot," Minho said, the corner of his mouth lifting. "But it's my favorite lot."
That dragged a laugh out of Jisung, thick with tears.
"You're shaking," he added then, gaze dropping to where Jisung's hands were clenched at his sides. "Are you cold?"
Jisung shook his head. "No. I'm... just overwhelmed. In a good way, I think. Also you're still kind of clinging to that door like it owes you money, and I'm worried about you."
Minho glanced back at the door. His fingers were indeed dug into the metal bar like he might fall off the building if he let go. He forced his hand to relax, peeling his fingers away one by one. "I'm fine," he said.
"You're not," Jisung said. "You hate it up here. I dragged you into your worst nightmare because I was jealous and dramatic. I'm sorry."
"Hey," Minho said. "We're kind of even. I'm the one who gave you the wrong impression in the first place by being a coward."
"We're a mess," Jisung concluded.
"The messiest," Minho agreed. "But we talk, right? That's what makes us... us. So we'll figure it out."
Jisung nodded slowly, eyes searching his.
"So," he said, sucking his lower lip into his mouth again before catching himself, "what... what now?"
Minho's heart thudded. Now. As in, what were they? What did this mean? How did they move forward from here with everything out in the open, with their feelings laid bare on the rooftop of an eight-story building while the sun slid lazily toward the horizon? He'd thought about this moment so many times in so many hypothetical ways-under stage lights after a performance, in the quiet of a dorm room, at three in the morning in the glow of a phone screen. None of those scenarios had included him being mildly dizzy from fear of heights. But maybe it didn't matter how or where it happened. Maybe what mattered was that it was finally happening.
"Now," he said slowly, "I'm going to ask you a question. And you're going to answer honestly. Deal?"
Jisung swallowed. "Okay."
"Do you want to... try this?" Minho asked, gesturing between them. "Like, actually try. More than friends. Dates. Holding hands on purpose instead of by accident. Me kissing you when you look really pretty and I can't keep it together. That kind of thing."
Jisung's cheeks flushed. "You think I'm pretty?" he asked.
Minho rolled his eyes fondly. "That's what you took from that?"
"Answer the question," Jisung insisted, a smile tugging at his mouth despite the wetness on his lashes.
"Yes, I think you're pretty," Minho said, no hesitation. "Beautiful, actually. Stunning. An affront to my peace of mind. Now answer mine."
Jisung exhaled a laugh that sounded a little like a sob. "Yes," he said. No wobble, no hesitation. Just yes. "I want that. I want all of that. With you. I've wanted it for so long, Minho. It's always been you."
Something inside Minho unclenched so suddenly his knees nearly buckled. "Okay," he said, letting the word sink into his bones. "Okay."
"Okay?" Jisung echoed, eyes bright.
"Okay," Minho repeated. "So... we're... what? Boyfriends?"
The word felt strange and wonderful on his tongue, like a secret he'd been holding for years and finally got to say out loud.
"Do you want to be?" Jisung asked, gaze darting nervously over his face.
"I've wanted to be since you fell asleep on my shoulder during that stupid superhero movie marathon," Minho confessed. "You drooled on my hoodie."
Jisung gasped. "You said you didn't notice!"
"I lied," Minho said. "It was adorable. Also disgusting. But mostly adorable."
A wet, incredulous laugh burst out of Jisung. He took another small step forward without seeming to realize it, until they were close enough that Minho could feel the warmth of his body, could see the faint freckles dusting his nose. His fear hummed in the background like static, but the proximity of Jisung, the way his entire focus narrowed down to the boy in front of him, made everything else blur.
"Can I...?" Jisung started, then trailed off, looking suddenly shy.
Minho's breath caught. "Can you... what?"
"Kiss you," Jisung said in a rush, cheeks flushing an even deeper pink. "I mean, I know this isn't the most romantic setting or anything, we're literally trapped on a freezing rooftop and you're on the verge of a panic attack, but I've wanted to kiss you for so long and-"
"Yes," Minho said, the word coming out almost before Jisung finished. "Please."
Relief flickered across Jisung's face, followed immediately by something brighter, more determined. He reached up slowly, like he was afraid Minho might disappear if he moved too fast, and cupped his jaw with one hand. His fingers were a little cold, but his palm was warm where it pressed against Minho's skin. Minho's breath stuttered. His heart pounded loud in his ears, but it wasn't fear this time. It was anticipation. It was years of slow-burning what-ifs finally sparking into something real. Jisung leaned in. For a second, they hovered there, their noses nearly brushing, sharing the same small pocket of air. Minho could see every line of his face, the faint tremor in his lashes, the nervous tilt of his mouth.
"Tell me if this is too much," Jisung whispered, their foreheads almost touching. "If you get dizzy or-"
"Jisung," Minho said softly, fingers curling into the fabric of the other boy's sleeves without his permission. "Just kiss me."
So he did. It wasn't fireworks and dramatic music. It wasn't some perfectly choreographed movie moment. It was a little awkward-their noses knocked together for half a second, and Jisung's first brush of lips was too hesitant, too light, like he was afraid of pushing too far. But then Minho made a quiet sound in the back of his throat-something halfway between a sigh and a whimper-and the tension drained out of Jisung's shoulders. He tilted his head slightly, pressing back more firmly, his mouth warm and soft against Minho's. The world narrowed down to the press of lips, the slide of breath, the gentle tremble in Jisung's hand where it cradled his jaw. Minho's eyes fluttered shut. He stepped forward instinctively, eliminating the last sliver of space between them, and something in him eased, like a key finally turning in the right lock. He'd imagined this so many times. In all those imagined versions, it had never quite felt like this-this soft, this overwhelming, this simple. Like breathing after being underwater for too long. When they eventually pulled back, it was only a few centimeters, their foreheads resting together, breaths mingling in little puffs of white in the cooling air.
"Wow," Jisung whispered, lips brushing Minho's as he spoke.
"Yeah," Minho croaked. His voice sounded rough. "Wow."
They stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, just existing in that small, shared space. Minho's heart was still hammering, but the frantic edge had dulled. The fear of the height was still there, but muted, drowned out by the warmth flooding his chest. He opened his eyes after a beat and found Jisung already looking at him.
"You're okay?" Jisung asked, searching his face. "Not too overwhelmed? We can slow down. We can, like, schedule a proper date first. With chairs. And no threat of gravity."
"You make it sound like gravity is going to personally come for us," Minho huffed, but he smiled. "I'm okay. I mean, I'd really like to get off this roof at some point before my legs give out and I spontaneously combust, but emotionally? Weirdly good."
Jisung grinned, the expression bright and wet around the eyes. "I like you like this."
"Like what?" Minho asked.
"Honest," Jisung said softly. "Soft. A little unhinged."
"I am not unhinged," Minho protested.
"You chased me up eight flights of stairs even though you're terrified of heights," Jisung pointed out. "That's, like, definition unhinged behavior."
"I told you," Minho said, reaching up with his free hand to swipe his thumb under Jisung's eye, catching a lingering tear, "I hate seeing you upset more than I hate heights."
Jisung's smile wobbled. He leaned into the touch, eyes closing briefly, lashes fanning over his cheeks. "You're going to make me cry again," he muttered.
"I'll be very gentle when I tease you about it later," Minho promised.
Jisung snorted, opening his eyes. "No, you won't."
"Yeah, you're right," Minho admitted. "I won't."
They lingered in that small pocket of closeness, the cold air nipping at their cheeks, the sky slowly deepening above them. The campus below was a blur of movement and sound they couldn't quite make out from this height, but for once, being disconnected from it didn't make Minho feel dizzy. It just made this feel... separate. One of those moments that sat slightly outside of time, suspended.
"Do you think the door will actually stay locked?" Jisung asked after a while, glancing over Minho's shoulder at the offending slab of metal. "We might have to start rationing our snacks."
"You didn't bring any snacks," Minho pointed out.
"Yeah, so now I'm regretting all my life choices."
"Well, someone's bound to notice eventually," Minho said. "We've both got friends. Schedules. People who would ask questions if we just disappeared for hours."
"You do," Jisung said. "Everyone loves you. You're like the campus mom friend."
"That is a slanderous accusation," Minho said.
"You are," Jisung insisted. "You always have band-aids. You always know when someone needs water or a pep talk."
"And what about you?" Minho asked. "You think no one would notice if you vanished? Felix would break into the security office and start tracking you via CCTV."
"That's true," Jisung admitted, grimacing. "He does have too much free time and a disturbing amount of skill."
"See?" Minho said. "We're not going to die up here. Worst-case scenario, we yell for help and traumatize some passing pigeons."
"You say that like you're not also afraid of birds," Jisung pointed out.
"I am not afraid of birds," Minho said, offended.
"You flinched when that pigeon flew too close to you on the quad last month," Jisung said. "You made a noise."
"That noise was manly," Minho said.
"It was a squeak," Jisung said, grinning now.
Minho glared at him, but the expression didn't quite stick, not with the way his cheeks were aching from smiling too much. "I'm breaking up with you," he said. "This relationship is over."
Jisung's grin faltered for a heartbeat, and Minho realized too late how the words might land.
He softened immediately, slipping his hand into Jisung's, fingers lacing through his with a gentle squeeze. "Hey," he said. "I'm kidding. I'm not going anywhere."
Jisung's shoulders loosened. He looked down at their joined hands, thumb brushing hesitantly over Minho's knuckles. "This feels... really nice," he murmured.
"Yeah," Minho agreed quietly. "It does."
They stood like that for a while, hands tangled. Minho listened to the slow sync of their breathing, the way his own heartbeat seemed to gradually match Jisung's, steadying.
"Can I ask you something?" Jisung said eventually.
"Of course."
"When did you know?" he asked. "That you... liked me like this."
Minho hummed, tipping his head back a little to look at the sky as he thought. The first stars were starting to peek out, faint in the still-light sky. "I don't know if there was a single moment," he said honestly. "It was more like... a collection of tiny moments that just started stacking up until one day I looked at you and realized I was in too deep."
"Give me one," Jisung insisted, nudging him gently. "A moment."
Minho smiled slightly, memories flickering behind his eyes. "Okay," he said. "Remember that stupid group costume party freshman year? The one where everyone was supposed to dress up as a meme?"
"Oh god," Jisung groaned. "I try not to."
"You went as that 'this is fine' dog," Minho said, chuckling. "You made the whole costume out of cardboard and yellow paint, and you were sweating buckets but refused to take the head off because 'then the bit won't work, Minho.'"
"I was committed to the bit," Jisung muttered. "Also, cardboard is not breathable. I almost died."
"You were miserable," Minho said fondly. "And still you spent half the night walking around handing out cups of water to people because you were worried they'd dehydrate. Even though you were the one about to pass out."
He glanced at Jisung, eyes soft. "I remember watching you and thinking, 'oh,'" he said quietly. "'I am in so much trouble.'"
Jisung's face flushed, mouth twisting. "That's so sappy," he said, but his voice was thick.
"Yeah, well," Minho said, squeezing his hand. "I'm allowed to be sappy sometimes. Boyfriend privileges."
"Say that again," Jisung said abruptly.
"What, sappy?" Minho asked.
"No," Jisung said, shaking his head. His eyes were bright in the dimming light. "The other part."
Minho's lips curved. "Boyfriend," he said, savoring the word. "You're my boyfriend."
Jisung made a small, choked noise and then launched himself forward, wrapping his arms around Minho's middle and burying his face in his chest. Minho let out an oof, instinctively rocking back onto his heels to keep his balance. The sudden press of weight against him made his stomach swoop again, but this time it was more from surprise and the sudden rush of affection than from the height. His arms came up automatically, closing around Jisung's shoulders, hands splaying across his back. He felt the rapid thrum of Jisung's heart against his ribs, the warm puff of his breath through his shirt.
"Hey," he murmured, cheek resting on top of Jisung's head. "Careful. I am still technically a hazard zone."
"I'll protect you," Jisung mumbled into his chest. "From heights. And pigeons."
"What about my own feelings?" Minho asked. "They're kind of dangerous too."
"Those I'll just drown in my own," Jisung said, voice muffled. "We'll cancel each other out."
Minho chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest.
"I really like you," Jisung said suddenly, pulling back just enough to look up at him. His cheeks were flushed, his nose a little pink from the cold, eyes shining with something that made Minho's heart clench.
"I kind of picked up on that," Minho said. "What with the rooftop confession and the kissing and all."
"No, but like," Jisung insisted, hands sliding up to rest on Minho's shoulders. "I really like you. When you're bossy. When you're sarcastic. When you're quiet. When you're trying not to show that you're worried. When you laugh at your own jokes. When you look so determined on stage. When you fall asleep with your mouth open in the library and I have to nudge your chin closed so you don't drool."
"I do not fall asleep with my mouth open," Minho protested.
"You do," Jisung said, smiling. "It's cute. You're cute. I like all of it. All of you."
Minho swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I like you when you talk too fast because you're excited," he said quietly. "When you get shy and hide your face behind your hands. When you complain about assignments but still somehow get them done on time. When you drag me out for street food at midnight. When you send me twenty TikToks in a row and then apologize for spamming me even though you know I'm going to watch all of them."
"We're sappy," Jisung said again.
"Disgustingly," Minho agreed.
"Felix is going to lose his mind when he finds out," Jisung said, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. "He's been shipping us for months."
"Oh god," Minho groaned. "He's never going to let us hear the end of it."
"Are we going to tell people?" Jisung asked, more seriously now. "About... this?"
"Do you want to?" Minho asked. "We can take it slow. Keep it between us for a bit if that makes you more comfortable."
Jisung considered. He looked down at their joined hands, then up again, resolve settling into his features. "I want to tell them," he said. "Not right this second maybe, but... soon. I don't want to hide. Not this. Not you."
Something warm unfurled in Minho's chest. "Okay," he said. "We'll tell them. Together."
"Together," Jisung echoed, squeezing his hand. Then his expression shifted to something borderline evil. "We should do it in the most dramatic way possible."
"Of course you want drama," Minho sighed.
"Chan will cry," Jisung said, eyes lighting up at the thought. "Like, actual tears."
"Hyunjin will pretend he knew all along," Minho added.
"Felix will probably make us a cake," Jisung said.
"Jeongin will feel weird for like five seconds and then start asking invasive questions about our 'process,'" Minho said, making air quotes.
"He's definitely going to ask who confessed first," Jisung snorted.
"We'll tell him we both did," Minho said. "On a roof. In violation of multiple campus safety regulations."
"Very us," Jisung said, eyes crinkling.
They fell into an easier quiet after that, the tension that had been coiled tight around them slowly unwinding. Minho's fear of the height was still there, like a shadow lurking at the edges of his vision whenever he accidentally glanced toward the barrier, but it no longer felt suffocating. He was about to suggest they try yelling for help when the metal door behind him shuddered suddenly, then swung inward with a loud clang. Minho yelped and lurched forward instinctively, grabbing onto Jisung like a lifeline as a head popped through the open doorway.
"What the- you guys aren't supposed to be up here," a middle-aged man in a maintenance uniform said, frowning. "Didn't you read the sign?"
Jisung choked back a laugh, burying his face in Minho's shoulder.
"Sorry," Minho said weakly, trying to compose himself. "The door... locked. We, uh. Got stuck."
The man sighed, rubbing his temples like he'd had a long day and this was not helping. "Students," he muttered. "Always sneaking up here to smoke or whatever."
"We weren't smoking," Jisung said quickly, poking his head up. His cheeks were still pink from crying and the cold. "I promise."
"Yeah, yeah," the man said. "Just... don't come up here again, alright? It's not safe."
"Trust me," Minho said fervently. "I have never agreed with anything more in my life."
The man stepped aside, holding the door open wider. "Come on," he said. "Off the roof."
Minho didn't need to be told twice. He tightened his grip on Jisung's hand and cautiously moved toward the doorway. His legs felt a little wobbly, but having Jisung's solid warmth at his side helped. When they stepped back into the stairwell, the walls closing around them, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Thank you," Jisung said to the maintenance guy, bowing slightly.
"Uh-huh," the man said. "Don't make me catch you up here again."
He shut the door behind them with a firm click, locking it from the inside this time. The echo of it bounced around the stairwell. For a moment, they just stood there on the landing, breathing in the comparatively still air. Then Jisung turned to Minho, eyes dancing.
"Well," he said. "That was dramatic."
"You're dramatic," Minho said, but he was smiling, wide and real.
"Yeah," Jisung agreed easily. He tugged on Minho's hand. "Come on. Let's get you something sweet. You survived your worst fear. You deserve a reward."
"Being your boyfriend isn't reward enough?" Minho asked, feigning offense as they started down the stairs together, hands still linked.
"That's more like a lifelong mission," Jisung said thoughtfully. "The reward is cake."
"Felix really has rubbed off on you," Minho said.
They descended the stairs at a much more reasonable pace than they'd climbed them, the ground getting reassuringly closer with each flight. As they walked, their shoulders bumped occasionally, fingers tangling and untangling in familiar patterns made new. At the third-floor landing, Jisung suddenly stopped.
Minho looked at him, brow furrowing. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Jisung said. He stepped closer, leaning in until their faces were only a few inches apart. "I just realized something."
"What?" Minho asked, heart picking up again for a very different reason this time.
"I never officially answered your question," Jisung said.
"What question?"
"When you asked if I wanted to be your boyfriend," Jisung said, lips curving. "I said I wanted it, but I didn't actually say the words. I feel like that's important."
Minho's breath stuttered. "So say them," he said quietly.
Jisung smiled, that full, bright smile that had lit up Minho's world more times than he could count. "Lee Minho," he said, the stairwell suddenly feeling like the center of the universe, "I want to be your boyfriend. Like, officially. Completely. No backsies."
Minho's chest felt like it might burst. "Good," he whispered. "Because there's no way I'm letting you back out now."
Jisung's smile turned a little smug. "Who said I'd want to?"
Then he rose on his toes and kissed him again, right there in the stairwell, with someone clattering down the stairs a floor above them and the faint hum of campus life seeping through the building. This kiss was softer, surer. Less hesitant. It tasted like relief and the promise of something new. Minho kissed him back, one hand sliding up to cup the back of his neck, thumb brushing the soft hair at his nape. When they broke apart, they were both a little breathless, cheeks pink.
"We should probably go before someone catches us making out in the stairwell," Jisung said, though he didn't move away.
"Let them," Minho replied, but he took his hand again anyway, fingers intertwining.
They made their way down the rest of the stairs and out into the campus, which had shifted subtly in the time they'd been gone. The light was softer now, the sun lower in the sky, the air cooler. Students hurried by wrapped in jackets, clutching coffee cups, laughing, complaining, living. It all looked the same as it had before. But for Minho, everything had changed. He walked through the familiar paths with Jisung's hand in his, and the campus felt different. Brighter. The chatter around them sounded a little like background music and a little like applause.
"Hey," Jisung said as they crossed the quad, bumping their shoulders together. "Minho?"
"Yeah?" Minho glanced at him.
"Just so you know," Jisung said, eyes soft, "if you ever lean too close to Jeongin again, I'm dragging you up ten flights of stairs next time."
Minho laughed. "I'll keep that in mind," he said. "But, for the record, the only person I want to lean too close to is you."
"Good answer," Jisung said, cheeks pink but eyes shining.
He squeezed Minho's hand. And as they walked toward the café again, this time side by side and slightly closer than friends, the lingering aches of insecurity and fear faded into the background, replaced by something steadier. Something warm. Something like the start of a new chapter. Together.