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The storm outside had faded sometime in the last hour. The wind had quieted from its loud roar, and the rain was little more than a light patter against the windows. At least it wasn’t snow anymore, the first indication that winter was coming to its end and spring was creeping in around the corner.
It had been especially cold this year, and Minho couldn’t wait for it to be over. For the sun to come back out, for the flowers to bloom. For the world to warm and brighten.
The movie they’d been watching, as much a distraction from the storm as a habit for their Friday nights, had ended a few minutes ago. The credits faded to a black screen and an “are you still watching?” prompt appeared.
Minho reached for the remote perched on the arm of the sofa and clicked the power button. The living room darkened, now lit only by the hall light they’d left on hours ago before settling into their usual spots on the sofa—Minho leaning against the arm, and Jisung leaning into his side so they could share the blanket.
Minho looked down at Jisung now, the younger sound asleep with his cheek pressed to Minho’s chest. His mouth was open slightly, and Minho wouldn’t be surprised if he had drooled a little bit. It wouldn’t be the first time.
It had been a long day, and an even longer week. Work was kicking both of their butts, but that hadn’t stopped them from having their regularly scheduled Friday movie night together. Even if Jisung had been working late at the studio all week, sometimes until three or four in the morning, he’d made sure to get home before ten so they could keep up the tradition.
And, on par with tradition, Jisung had fallen asleep sometime in the second half of the movie. Minho would have to explain the ending to him over breakfast. That, too, was tradition.
Minho smiled down at Jisung where he slept, lifting a hand to run his fingers through the tangled fringe of his hair. Jisung didn’t so much as flutter his eyelids, just burrowed himself closer.
In moments like this, Minho let himself pretend that, maybe, they were more than just friends. That Jisung was his other half in every sense, rather than just the best friend he had a bit of a mutual codependency on.
They’d met in high school, when Minho’s friend Seungmin had introduced him to some of his friends from the music department. It had been one of those strange, instant connections. Hangouts with the group dissolved quickly into just the two of them at every opportunity, until someone had joked that they were attached at the hip. Had called them soulmates.
They’d lived together since Jisung started college, in a cramped two-bedroom apartment that was only affordable because of its (non-existent) proximity to campus. It had given Minho the opportunity to move out of the campus dorms after his own second year, granting some semblance of much needed privacy from roommates he wasn’t particularly interested in being friends with—he already had a group of rowdy friends who actually respected his need for quiet time alone, thank you very much. He didn’t mind living in a shared pocket with Jisung. No, when it came to Jisung, he didn’t mind anything at all. Even if it meant that they’d ended up mixing laundry half the time and often fell asleep on one another’s beds because in that apartment they didn’t even have a living room to watch movies in, let alone a couch.
When Jisung had graduated two years after Minho and gotten his fancy producer job at the studio across the street from where Minho was a dance teacher and choreographer, they’d moved to a nicer neighborhood in a complex that Chan and Changbin—working with Jisung in a professional capacity now instead of for funsies on the weekends—had recommended.
In the new apartment, they had space to breathe and their rooms were larger than a closet and the kitchen was actually functional enough that Minho had come to love cooking for them both, even if most nights it was just to make enough leftovers for Jisung to eat when he came home in the middle of the night. Now they had a living room and the furniture to go with it and they mixed the laundry intentionally because it made more sense to run a single load than two separate ones and Jisung took naps on Minho’s bed on the occasion when they were both home from work in the middle of the day.
Sometimes, Minho pretended the domesticity of it all meant nothing to him. Sometimes, like tonight, with Jisung asleep against his side, he let himself admit that it was everything.
Gently, he rose, his arm propping Jisung’s head up so it wouldn’t fall. He got his arms behind and beneath him, lifting the younger easily. Jisung only snuggled closer, tucking his head against Minho’s chest and grabbing him loosely with one hand.
This, too, was a habit. Minho carrying him with utter care across the apartment to Jisung’s room. Stepping around the floorboard that creaked so he would be less likely to disturb the sleeping man in his arms. Settling him into his bed, and pulling the blankets up around his shoulders, making sure he was warm and cozy.
This was where he paused, though.
Jisung mumbled in his sleep, suggesting he was closer to being awake than normal. Minho smiled down at him, heart overflowing with fondness for the younger. He reached out and brushed a few strands of hair out of his face, fingers lingering, before he withdrew.
Minho was already at the door when a sleep-heavy voice reached him.
“Hyung. You didn’t kiss me.”
Minho, in the doorway, froze.
Jisung’s voice was small, thick from sleep, and maybe he’d not meant to speak at all.
Minho had thought him asleep. When had he woken? Sometime between when Minho had scooped him into his arms from the couch to carry him to his own bed and now. But, that question…
“What, Jisung-ah?” Minho asked, clearing his throat as he turned back toward the bed.
Jisung had pulled the blankets up further around himself from where Minho had tucked them, so only his face peeked out, his half-lidded eyes reflecting the light from the hallway.
“You usually kiss me,” he murmured, more asleep than not. “When I fall asleep and you carry me to bed.”
Minho’s ears were hot. He knew? How many times had Minho dared to leave a small kiss to Jisung’s temple or crown, believing him asleep? The only reason he hadn’t tonight was because he was sure Jisung was close to waking. Didn’t want to wake him entirely, or so he told himself.
He cleared his throat, unable to look at Jisung directly. “Do you want a kiss, bug?”
A small nod, eyes creasing further in a smile. “Please, hyung.”
Slowly, Minho moved back to the bedside. He bent, pushing the fringe of Jisung’s hair back from his brow once again, and placed his lips to the warm skin of his temple.
Jisung hummed, a happy sound, and when Minho leaned back, his eyes were fully closed. He had the smallest, most content smile on his face.
“Goodnight, jagi,” Minho murmured, watching him for another few seconds before dropping his hand from Jisung’s hair and shifting to leave.
“Goodnight, hyung,” Jisung whispered.
❦
“You can just go home, hyung. It’s so late,” Jisung murmured.
Jisung was half asleep at the console, his head resting against his arms, headphones around his neck. He’d been scribbling in a notebook for the past while, adjusting a word here and there in the lyrics that had been troubling him for most of the night.
Minho glanced at the clock, seeing it was nearly two in the morning.
He’d been there for six hours, since he’d finished at work at the dance studio across the street, and his own workout beside at the company gym. He had to be back at ten to meet with the new group he was meant to begin choreographing for next week. But leaving now meant Jisung wouldn’t have a ride home—Chan and Changbin had left twenty minutes ago, when Jisung had promised he was close to wrapping up, and, even then, Minho was sure they’d only gone because Minho had been there.
Someone to keep him to his word, even if Minho would give in every time Jisung said just a little longer, hyung.
Minho rose from the sofa, crossing to squat beside Jisung’s chair and spinning it to face him. “I go home when you go home, Jisung,” he said quietly.
“You don’t have to—”
Minho sighed. “Sungie. The busses aren’t running this late and you are not walking home alone in the dark. If you want to keep working, keep working. I’ll be here as long as you need, but I might need to get a coffee from the kitchen.”
Jisung sat up a little straighter at mention of caffeine.
Minho smiled slow, a brow lifting. “Would you like a coffee?”
Jisung nodded, and Minho rose to his feet with a groan, his joints clicking. Before he could pull away fully, Jisung’s hand caught his wrist. He dragged his hand down to tangle their fingers together, squeezing tight before releasing. “Thank you, hyung.”
Minho ran fond fingers through Jisung’s messy hair, then stepped out to the hall.
The building was silent as he walked down to the next floor, where the staff kitchen was located. He didn’t bother with the main lights, navigating by the single light bulb serving as the night light in the corner. The coffee machine gurgled to life, and he scrolled aimlessly on his phone while he waited.
A text chimed, and he swiped up to see Jisung had texted him. He smiled, rubbing his face with his free hand.
Bug
Are you coming back soon hyung
Its too quiet now
Were you kidnapped by the ghost on the third floor?
Minho typed out a quick response.
Me
The coffee’s almost ready. If I’m not back in five more minutes you can send a search party.
He tucked his phone into his back pocket so he could pour their coffee and carry the cups. In four minutes, he was pushing the door to the studio back open, turning to catch Jisung’s heart-shaped smile bloom across his face.
Minho brought one of the mugs over, hyperaware of Jisung’s tired, happy grin. Too aware of the way his head tipped back, cheek angled toward him like he was asking for something.
Not letting himself overthink it, Minho bent and pressed a quick kiss to the proffered cheek. He stepped back, retreating to the couch with his own coffee so that he could hide the flush in his own face. His lips tingled—stupid, because it wasn’t even the first time he’d kissed Jisung like this. Soft, fleeting. Friendly. Never mind it was the middle of the night and they were both more affectionate when tired.
At least they hadn’t been drinking—drunk Jisung tried to kiss everyone in their friend group, and often had to be gently restrained against Minho’s side so Hyunjin or Jeongin would stop shoving him and his repeated attempts off. Of course, the last time they’d all gone drinking, not two weeks ago, Jisung’s full range of affection had been turned on Minho and he’d been especially clingy. He very notably hadn’t tried to kiss him, though, and Minho didn’t know if he was disappointed by that or not.
Minho shook his head, dislodging the thought. It didn’t matter. Clearly, even drunk, Jisung had a firm boundary when it came to kissing Minho. Even if that boundary had begun to blur since the night a month ago, when he’d explicitly asked for that goodnight kiss after their movie.
“Thank you, hyung,” Jisung sand, voice too sweet.
Minho glanced his way, catching the way Jisung’s face had warmed with a blush as he turned back to the computer monitor in front of him, mouth pulled up in a pleased smile.
Minho’s own tangled feelings twisted into knots in his chest as he forced himself to settle back onto the couch with his coffee. It didn’t have to mean anything at all.
...Right?
❦
It wasn’t the first time they’d shared a bed.
The vacation house had four rooms, and everyone had to pair up. Only two of the rooms had two single beds, the other two boasting queen sized. They’d had to cram three or four in a room on past trips, with Jeongin paired with the two of them most often. Not this year, though.
Both Minho and Jisung had shrugged, not minding sharing with each other. No matter how many were in a room, they always paired up. That left them out of the playful arguing and the rock-paper-scissors tournament between the rest of their friends as to who would share the second queen bed.
Now, after going out for dinner with everyone and staying too late at the bar, they’d come back and taken turns in the ensuite bathroom, brushed their teeth and crawled beneath the over-soft, pristine sheets of the bed. At least they weren’t scratchy, like the sheets at the rental house they’d stayed in for the group trip the year before.
“I missed group trips,” Jisung said into the dark as he rolled to face Minho. He’d only had one drink, so his usual drunk-clinging hadn’t made an appearance. He’d stayed close to Minho the whole night, though, which had left Minho’s chest tight with a now-familiar warmth.
“Its only been a year since the last one,” Minho murmured, eyes already closed. “It’s late, Sung-ah. And Lix wants us all up and functional to make the brunch reservation.”
“I know,” Jisung sighed. “I just had a lot of fun. I’m glad we did this.”
Minho rolled over to face him, eyes opening to find that Jisung was within easy reach. They didn’t bother trying to stay to their own sides when they shared a bed; they always drifted together in their sleep, regardless. The number of times Minho had woken with Jisung half-sprawled over him, their limbs tangled, was too many to count.
“I missed this,” Jisung murmured, reaching out to trail his fingertips along Minho’s arm, down until he could take his hand and twine their fingers together.
They hadn’t had a sleepover at home in a while. Between Jisung’s endless late nights at the studio, their trio getting ready for another album release, and Minho’s new clients at the dance hall wanting early time-slots, their sleep schedules had misaligned more often than not.
There was a narrow shaft of light, from the rental’s exterior lights, coming between the curtains. It lit Jisung’s face in a golden stripe, reflecting off one of his eyes.
“I missed it, too,” Minho breathed. He tried not to let his heart rate kick up, because surely Jisung just meant spending time with him. He’d been holding himself back more lately, too, outside of those moments when Jisung took the lead in snuggling up to him on the couch. He had to, because he worried that if he acted on the feelings stirring in his chest, it would be too much. That he’d overstep the blurred boundary that had existed between them for years. That he’d cave in and the overwhelming flood of his feelings would pour out and he’d not be able to reign them back in without ruining this thing they had.
“If we don’t go to sleep, you’ll be cranky in the morning.”
“You mean, you’ll be cranky,” Jisung’s lips pulled in a pout.
Minho bundled him closer, his aggression at how cute Jisung was almost pushing him to cross that blurry edge. To kiss him senseless.
“Yes, I will,” he said, forcing the thought away. “Now sleep, bug.”
“What about my goodnight kiss?” Jisung whined.
Minho snorted. Because, of course, this had become normal, too. He opened his eyes, scanning Jisung’s face for a moment. Felt himself soften, because the younger man had closed his own and tipped his forehead toward Minho.
In the two months since learning that Jisung knew about what Minho had thought were secret kisses when he carried him to bed, Jisung refused to go to sleep after a movie night without one. Even when Minho was absolutely positive that Jisung had drifted off, he’d crack an eye open and pout until Minho pressed his lips to his temple. Blurring the lines until Minho didn’t know what side he was standing on. If a line truly even existed anymore.
But it had to.
They’d been best friends for a decade, yet he knew these were not things best friends did. Some of their habits, yes. The hugs. The living together. The proximity. The waiting up at the studio to take Jisung home after a late night working. But not goodnight kisses—chaste as they were—and cuddling in their sleep. Maybe not even the shared laundry loads or always making enough food for both of them.
With a soft sigh, Minho leaned forward, brushing twin kisses over each of Jisung’s closed eyelids. When he pulled back, those eyes were opened wide in surprise.
He couldn’t help the heat in his chest, knew his ears were burning. Thank god it was dark enough that Jisung probably couldn’t tell.
“Sleep, jagi,” Minho murmured, forcing his own eyes shut, his heart rabbiting in his chest. He didn’t roll away, not wanting to release his hold on the younger.
Jisung shuffled, and Minho’s arms tightened around him, forcing him still.
Minutes passed in silence, and Minho was drifting when Jisung spoke, his voice quiet and muffled from where it was pressed to Minho’s chest.
“I love you, hyung,” he murmured against the fabric of Minho’s shirt, after long minutes of silence.
“Love you too, bug,” Minho mumbled, just before his conscious faded.
❦
The cherry blossom trees were in bloom. Spring had finally arrived.
They both had the day off, a rarity during the week with their busy schedules, but one they did not take for granted as they strolled side by side along the river. Jisung had his head tipped back, squinting behind his sunglasses at the vibrant blue sky, smiling every time they passed beneath the white-pink boughs of the cherry trees.
Sometimes, their hands would brush. Sometimes, Jisung would twine their fingers together for a few steps before letting go. Sometimes, Minho would cling to his fingers for longer, not wanting the familiar warmth to go away.
When he clung longer, Jisung would turn to look at him with a soft, knowing smile. Minho wished he could see his eyes properly in those moments, rather than them being hidden behind the dark mirror of his sunglasses. And then Minho would have to extract his fingers, placing a half-step between them so he could breathe. So he could pretend that his heart rate wasn’t ticking unreasonably high for something so simple as holding hands in public.
They eventually settled on the grass, in the shade of one of the trees. White-pink flowers drifted around them when the breeze rose, scenting the air. Other people passed by along the path, but they were removed enough to feel like they existed in their own little world.
Jisung leaned back on his hands, pushing his sunglasses up to rest on his head. Minho settled beside him, picking at a stem of grass as he stared out over the flowing river.
“Minho-hyung,” Jisung said, in that same tone he used to ask for a kiss. Soft, almost sleepy.
It wasn’t dark any more. The night wasn’t hiding them, wasn’t veiling the truth he’d wanted to speak for half a decade and more. It had burned brighter the last few months, when Jisung would tip his forehead or cheek toward him in a quiet ask.
Minho hadn’t denied him once, in all those weeks. He wasn’t about to start now, even in broad daylight, where anyone and everyone might see.
Minho exhaled through his nose as he leaned into Jisung’s space. He tipped Jisung’s face toward him with a soft press of fingers to his jaw, and bent to meet him.
At the first brush of their lips, Jisung inhaled sharply. It only took a heartbeat, and his hands were framing Minho’s face, drawing him closer and deepening the kiss.
It was everything Minho thought it might be, their lips slotting together perfectly. It was like coming home after being gone for weeks, returning to something familiar and comforting. He melted into the kiss, thinking that, were it possible, he'd live in that moment forever.
When they parted, neither went far. Their foreheads came to rest together, still sharing the same space, and Minho ran his thumb along the curve of Jisung’s neck below his ear.
“I’ve been waiting for you to do that for months, you know,” Jisung said, voice soft with amusement. "Almost every time I've asked you to kiss me."
“Months?” Minho’s eyes widened. “Jisung, I’ve been holding back from kissing you like that for years.”
Jisung’s eyes went round as he leaned back. “What—”
“I’ve been in love with you practically since we met,” Minho said, unable to keep his laughter from creeping out.
Jisung shoved him. “Why didn’t you say anything!”
There was no heat in his words, but the way his face pinched—
“You’re my best friend,” Minho whispered.
“You’re an idiot, hyung. We can be best friends and be in love with each other. Actually, I’ve heard that’s how the best relationships start.”
“You love me?” Minho blinked rapidly. “What—why didn’t you say anything?”
Jisung shrugged, laughing. It faded, and he looked almost sad. “Of course, I love you. And I didn’t want to push you, if it wasn’t actually something you wanted. But I’m pretty sure everyone thinks we’ve been dating for years. They do refer to us as the old married couple of the group. I just didn’t know if you saw it that way or if I was projecting my own feelings.”
“I’m sorry,” Minho breathed. He wrapped his arms around Jisung’s waist, pulling him close again, bringing their foreheads to rest together.
“Don’t be sorry. I’d have waited for you,” Jisung said quietly, resting a hand on his chest, tugging at a loose string near the zipped of his jacket. “You did, after all. You waited for me all this time.”
“Will you go to dinner with me?” Minho asked. “With both of us knowing its an actual date? As—as my boyfriend?”
Jisung nodded, looking down. “Yes. Yes, please.”
“Bug,” Minho frowned, thumb dragging across his cheek. “What’s wrong?”
He peered up at Minho, face flushed and eyes bright. “Would you—will you kiss me again?”
“Yeah,” Minho smiled, closing the space between them to press their lips together once more. “Anytime you want.”