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The car makes an instant swerve and Lee Minho’s heart topples. His hand shoots out to press the driver back into the seat. The brown haired man manning the wheel elicits a breathy sound which dissolves into a laugh. Minho doesn’t register it for a few seconds. He blinks and turns to look at the chuckling man.
Han Jisung’s eyes resemble half moons. His chest rumbles and grinds.
‘Oh my god, Minho.’
Minho glowers, catching on quickly. He snatches his hand back and breathes through his nose. ‘What the fuck was that, Han.’
‘I’m sorry,’ the man says through giggles. ‘You were falling asleep on me.’
‘And instead of waking me up like a normal person, you choose to make me feel like we’re about to crash?’ His voice is steely, but he is relieved. He knows the driver can see it.
‘Sorry.’ It comes again. A small smile still tinkers on Han Jisung’s lips. ‘I’m sorry, hyung. I would never actually do that with you in the car.’
Something heavy settles in Minho’s stomach. He hates it, wishes it’ll go away because Han Jisung is still looking at him with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He goes to speak.
‘But I think it’s so cute that your first instinct is to protect me, hyung. Stupid, but cute. If we were actually crashing, you’re opening yourself to the brunt.’ Jisung cuts in, a little like he knows what Minho is going to say.
‘Stupid. You’re the driver so you have even lower chances of surviving.’ I’d give my life to keep you safe, he doesn’t say because then it’ll be all too real.
Han Jisung puts the car in reverse and Minho knows they will never talk about it again. He knows he can never bring up the fact that Jisung promised not to crash with Minho in the car instead of not crashing at all.
Lee Minho first meets Han Jisung at the 2019 Indy 500. The Florida heat scorches his neck from behind the stands. It’s early, he and his now three man racer team are still getting pre-race massages from the crew while their coach and manager Bang Chan is on the sidelines talking aggressively into his phone.
Minho knows what the heated conversation is about. Their fourth member Choi Yeonjun quit a few days to the big game after announcing his wife’s pregnancy. And Minho is happy for him, really, they’ve been friends since they were eighteen and they’ve been racing two years since then — from Go Karts to F1, still he can’t help but wish the younger boy gave a month’s notice, at least, so they could’ve scrambled for a new member.
Formula 1 race terms explicitly state a four man race team, excluding off track workers, and it’s only his second Indy 500 so he’s not quite gotten rid of the nerves yet. They’ve signed the contract and going back would cost them a lot so he understands why Chan spared him a grating look when he asked to just back out.
Their manager promised a replacement no matter what but as the minutes fly by, Minho is not so sure he can deliver.
A hand pops something in his lower back and he stifles a groan.
‘You need to relax, Mr. Lee.’ The woman’s voice comes in his ear. ‘You’re making work very hard for me.’
But how can he? He keeps checking his watch, every time fans filter in by the dozen something swallows his breath. After coming in second place in his first big race, he was so sure it would be nothing but net from there. Nearly a year later and he’s close to watching his dreams crumble in front of him.
‘She’s right, Min.’ His teammate and best friend Seo Changbin says, offering a kind smile. ‘If Chan says he’s got it, he’s got it.’
Minho wants to believe it so bad.
His legs shake to the point where his masseur has to scold him again from making so much movement. But he can’t help it. The timer has displayed on the huge board, the fans have begun purchasing snacks and finding their seats, the stadium is filled to the brim. The match starts in thirty minutes.
As the red digital hand ticks, Minho reconciles the impending loss with himself.
It’s fine. Their company will handle the losses. He can always try again next year, he consoles himself. It doesn’t work.
Twenty minutes left. He catches Changbin being antsy now. His final teammate Kim Seungmin is on the phone to somebody and he doesn’t seem like he’s expecting much. They don’t say it but they’ve all lost hope in Chan.
Ten minutes and their manager comes strolling in with a boy. He’s small, defined and definitely too bright to be an F1 racer. But he is, and Bang Chan introduces him as such.
‘This is your new teammate — at least for this match,’ he says. ‘I’ve filled him in on the formation. He’s ex NASCAR so he’ll fit right in. Just race like Yeonjun’s still here and we’ll discuss the rest later.’
Chan leaves them to get acquainted as if he hasn’t just dropped the biggest bomb pregame. Changbin and Seungmin don’t seem to care because the latter is engaging in his pre-race ritual of kissing a rosary and muttering a few prayers and the former is already shaking the new comer’s hand and welcoming him to the team.
‘I’m Han Jisung.’ The boy turns to Minho and sticks out a hand. His lips are upturned, his eyes are shining. ‘I’m really excited to be working with you, LM17. I’m a huge fan.’
Maybe it’s the heart shaped smile or the way Han Jisung’s fingers curl around his hand but it’s five minutes to the biggest race of his life when Lee Minho realizes he’s a goner.
Two weeks pass before Han Jisung is officially signed into the team. As one would expect a club racer migrating into the international scene, he’s ecstatic. Even more than when they won the Indy500, a whopping first place. Jisung’s joy spreads and no matter how much Minho tries not to be affected, he is. And where he would normally spend his Saturdays cuddled up to his cat, he finds himself dolled up because one Han Jisung asked to go somewhere and celebrate.
It’s embarrassing, really, that Jisung doesn’t even need to ask twice.
Minho grimaces at the mirror before he leaves because the realisation that he got himself pretty for nineteen year old Han Jisung doesn’t sit well with him.
The whole crew is out by the track. Han Jisung has set up a picnic complete with fairy lights. It’s endearing and Minho’s heart never fails to remind him. The newcomer invited friends from outside the team as well: a pretty, lanky boy — Hwang Hyunjin, a painter that looks like art himself. Lee Felix, the dancer. Yang Jeongin, the musician. The group couldn’t have been more diverse but somehow they all fit right in.
It’s halfway into the picnic when it happens.
Han Jisung is laughing as he says, ‘And yeah, I don’t think it’ll take that long. Soon enough, I’ll have the F1 technique under my belt.’
Changbin sits up at that. ‘I don’t know about soon, man. Training is long and grueling.’
‘Are you saying I don’t have what it takes?’
‘I’m saying take it one step at the time.’
The friendly banter has everyone exchanging glances. Minho looks on in silence, wondering where it will lead.
‘How about a race then?’ The newcomer boldly declares. ‘You and Seungmin against me—‘ before he says it, Minho feels his skin tingle with anticipation. The look Jisung gives him is almost electrifying. ‘And Minho-hyung.’
Oblivious to the growing turmoil of shit do I really like this kid? It’s literally been two weeks, inside of Minho, Changbin springs to his feet, always one for a challenge.
‘Let’s fucking go.’
Minho hates the way Jisung flashes him a smile of which he isn’t sure if it’s supposed to be apologetic or aimed to multiply Minho’s heart beat until he dies. Either is fine.
He doesn’t even speak as he follows and for the second time that evening, he thinks of how humiliating it is that Jisung has him wrapped around his pretty, slim fingers already but when the younger boy reaches out said fingers to entwine their and actually skip to the Mercedes waiting at the start of the track, he thinks it doesn’t really matter.
He also thinks they make an incredible team when they end up winning that race. Actually, they end up doing a lot of things. They end up figuring out their team dynamics only a few months later — Jisung does get good at Formula One and Changbin has to physically eat three cheesecakes as a metaphor for eating his words, they end up learning that Chan got Jisung through a mutual friend (Hwang Hyunjin) after the younger boy quit from NASCAR racing, they end up making it a ritual of having friendly competitive races within the team every two weeks and Minho ends up making a drunken mistake that leads to him and the new team member becoming friends with benefits.
It happens eight months into Jisung joining the team.
They’re touring the world for intense training plus having a feel of different tracks courtesy of their company. Their schedule includes two months of said training before a big race in April and another Indy500 in May. It’s two weeks into the tour; them and their travel team are in a hotel in Santa Monica, rooming two to one. As the universe would have it, Minho ends up with Jisung.
As the universe would ask have it, because apparently they love taking a lot of things, Minho is persuaded into getting high with Jisung. (Our next drug test is in over a month, hyung, and it’ll be out of our system before then).
Minho wishes he’d said no. But it seemed logical in that moment — or maybe it was just the way Jisung looked up at him through his eyelashes. But he’d agreed and soon they were on Han’s couch, popping a blue pill into their mouth.
He doesn’t feel it at first but Jisung says he has to get his mind off of waiting to feel it so they talk. They talk a lot.
‘Oh my fucking god, me too, hyung. I seriously can’t remember the last time I had sex.’ Jisung agrees. What? When had Minho said that. ‘And it’s funny ‘cause there are no restrictions or anything. I guess I’ve just never found the right person to please me.’
Minho only remembers saying, ‘well maybe you’re not looking hard enough.’
But maybe it’s in the tone of his voice and the drooping of his eyes because Han Jisung is suddenly looking at him hungrily and Minho’s brain makes it his sole purpose to please Han Jisung. Because he wants to so bad.
‘Yeah? You have any recommendations?’
He uncrosses his legs, stares Jisung right in the eye and speaks. ‘I could think of a few.’
It doesn’t take a full second for Han Jisung to smash their lips together. There’s clashing of teeth and exchange of spit but Minho has never been kissed so hotly before. His fingers find the buckle of his trouser a minute before the find the buckle of Han Jisung’s.
Their lips never detach as he’s pushed down on the bed with sun force that he’s whimpering into the kiss. He feels Han Jisung smile against his lip and he melts. Jisung only leans back to hurriedly pull his shirt off his back and Minho returns the favour.
They’re kissing again: madly and Minho already feels sweaty all over. There they are, bodies pressed against each other, clad only in boxers. Jisung pulls his hair and Minho gives a surprised moan into the kiss. They’re heaving through their nose, grazing with their teeth and making out with such frenzy, as if they’d waited their whole lives.
Minho’s fingers travel from Jisung’s soft brown hair to the curve of his back and up again.
His fingers graze something, then another and another. He’s running his hand all over Jisung’s back frantically and there are bumps everywhere. He stills and struggles to sit. Jisung doesn’t let him, kissing forcefully as if fueled with a certain rage. He tries again.
‘Wait.’ Minho whispers in the moment when Han Jisung does not stop. ‘Ji, wait. Please, just—‘
The man in top of him pauses, rolls off. Shoulders slumped. ‘Did I hurt you?’
Minho’s throat is dry. He wants to ask, doesn’t know how. ‘No, no. It’s just…your back is—‘
As if suddenly remembering, Jisung lets out a humourless laugh, rolls off completely to the other end of the bed. His back is to Minho.
The sight has the older man’s head spinning. His chest stutters. They’re everywhere, the scars, marks and even as they’ve healed and left fleshy gashes in their wake, Minho can almost feel them on his own skin. About twenty or more scars that look like they’ve been slowly cut into his skin over even more. He sits there, transfixed, even as Jisung’s back disappears when he lays on it.
‘There goes getting off.’ The younger man jokes.
‘Ji—‘ Minho chokes.
Unshed tears brim his eyes, his hands shake the longer Jisung doesn’t stare at him. The man eyes the barely illuminated ceiling nonchalantly, as if this is normal. As if having dozens of deep knife marks on your skin is normal.
‘Just forget about it, hyung. Forget you saw anything.’
His voice is so airy, so usual that Minho almost wants to scream at him. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t, instead he grabs his face and smashes their lips together because that’s all he knows how to do. Jisung is melting again, forgetting again. Minho wants to mold into the kiss so he can forget too.
This time, his hand comes up to thumb the boys back tentatively. He shivers as his fingers graze over the scars yet again and he feels the trembling need to kiss them; to gather Han Jisung into his arms and kiss his scars one by one, tell him how he feels with each press of his lips against skin. How he doesn’t deserve any of it. How he wishes it were him.
But Han Jisung is whispering impatiently against his lips: hurry up. And Minho ends up figuring out one more thing about the newcomer; while Minho wants to make love to him, Han Jisung only wants to have sex.
They don’t talk about it again. But that ends up being only the start of the jokes. They worsened with time to the point of the team having hushed discussions, worried about the brown haired man. Minho is worried the most.
The next time he sees a side of Jisung the younger most likely never wanted him to, Jisung is having a panic attack. To be honest, Minho is almost as clueless as he is in love so it takes him a minute. They’re watching a psychological thriller one night before a small scale race. It’s become a ritual to gather at each other’s house for a pregame movie.
This time, it’s Minho’s turn. Changbin bailed, date night with Chan and Seungmin is sick so it’s just the two of them. Naturally, Minho had been trying to impress Jisung so the genre he picks is way out of the league of romcoms he’s used to watching. But the younger boy seems excited so Minho keeps it.
He tries to pretend that them being so close that he’s sure he can feel the hair on Jisung’s shoulders doesn’t affect him. But it does, a lot. And it hurts really bad when he thinks about the fact that him being so close doesn’t affect Jisung in any way because the man is zeroed in on the motions on the screen while Minho is transfixed looking at his thick black lashes and the way his brown brows crease when something unexpected happens. His now blonde hair falls a few inches above his eyes and his jaw is set.
Minho’s brains doesn’t fail to remind him how in love he is in that moment. Because, God, Han Jisung is so beautiful, Minho is almost scared to breathe in case it’s all a dream and when he moves, he’ll realize he’s back at the stand for his second Indy500 dreaming up a fantasy boy from nerves.
He stares for too long. Enough for him to notice Han Jisung is unblinking. And his hands are shaking and his chest is pelting up and down.
Minho blinks in surprise and returns his gaze to the television. The scene playing involves the main character and his father who has locked him in the basement and stripped down his clothes. Something shifts inside of him as he turns to look at Jisung to find he has tears in his eyes.
‘Fuck, Ji.’ He hurried to turn the telly but the boy is still unblinking, shaking with force. ‘Fuck, fuck.’
Minho doesn’t know what to do. He’s never been in this kind of situation before. He crouched in between Jisung’s thigh and the man flinches all of a sudden as if burned.
‘I’m sorry,’ his voice comes in a meek whisper. He’s trembling. Minho reaches out but Jisung winced and his hand pauses mid way. ‘I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad, I—‘
The older man can’t understand. ‘Mad? Ji, I’m worried. So worried. Please. You need to tell me what’s going on.’
‘I’m sorry.’ It comes again. Jisung’s voice is so small, so different from the boisterous baritone Minho is used to. Tears streak his cheeks and Minho feels so useless. ‘I—I can’t breathe.’
This alarms him. Jisung is clearly not okay and now he can’t breathe and Minho doesn’t know what to fucking do.
‘Okay, okay—‘ he tries to reassure both of them. ‘Just—just, fuck, breathe with me, okay? Hyung’s breathing, in and out. Can you do that with me? In, yeah just like that, out. You’re doing so well. You’re doing so well, Ji.’ A breathy crack forms in his voice. It takes the tears hitting his arm for Minho to even realize he’s crying.
He’s crying but he’s trying his best and Jisung is slowly calming down so that something. He waits, breathes in and out slowly with him, until the boy is no longer shaking, until his eyes are no longer glazed with tears and he doesn’t flinch at the slightest touch. Then Minho’s head falls on Jisung’s thigh and he just lets the tears flow.
‘I’m sorry.’ It’s Jisung. His Jisung. The Jisung in front of everyone and not the one that just scared Minho to half to death. ‘Hyung, hey, look at me.’
It takes everything in him to bare his tear creased face to the man above him but he does and Jisung’s eyes soften. He shifts and crouched so they’re face to face.
‘Sorry.’ He whispers, cupping Minho’s face. ‘Pretty hyung, sorry for making you cry.’
The older man only sobs more from sheer confusion and concern.
Don’t apologise for making me cry. Tell me what made you cry. Why’re you hurting? He wants to say.
But he can’t find the words because Jisung is pulling him into a salty kiss and Minho is melting, melting, melting. He hates it; the fact that the younger man has such power over him but when he opens his eyes and finds Han Jisung’s closed, he knows.
They won’t talk about it again.
Oh my god, this scene reminds me of that time my dad threw a plate at me for not getting into the football team.
You’ll cut me off? Jokes on you, I’ve had worse cuts than that.
Bro with the amount of shit sitting in my head, I’m going to need lifelong therapy.
The jokes just never stop coming. The more he says them, the unfunnier it is, the more it sounds like a cry for help and the more Minho is fucking worried.
It’s driving him close to insane how the man he’s so desperately in love with just cracks these jokes he thinks are minute, jokes that make Minho want to vomit. Jisung’s father is usually the center of all of it, always doing one thing or another that undoubtedly scarred the boy for life. He hates how Han Jisung is conditioned to use humour to deflect whenever he tries to talk to him about his very obvious need for therapy.
But it’s a day before their second Indy500 together that he decides to put his foot down. Jisung invites him over and the tone in his voice assures Minho that it isn’t just to hang out. When he arrives, the man greets him at the door, a small smile tinkering his mouth.
‘You’re early.’ He comments, closing the door behind him. Minho makes to move but is instead ambushed with a pair of lips. ‘Missed you.’ Han Jisung mumbles into the kiss.
‘Yeah?’ Minho’s eyes close when Jisung’s lips attach to the dip in his neck. He wants to hear it. Wants the assurance.
Jisung’s kisses are always hot and rushed. And even though sometimes Minho wishes he’d take it slow, kiss him like he means it, he likes the electrifying feeling in his gut. He likes feeling like Jisung wants him.
‘Yeah.’ The younger man confirms, teeth grazing Minho’s sensitive flesh. He shudders. ‘Fuck, yeah. Been thinking about you all day.’
‘Me?’ Minho laughs, half needy half shy. ‘And not the big race you’re having tomorrow?’
The answer comes quickly. ‘Care about you more.’
Minho’s eyes squeeze. If he wasn’t putty before, if he wasn’t clay in Jisung’s hands, ready to bend to his every will, ready to please just so maybe Jisung can look at him like he’s worth something a little while, he sure is now.
Pressure attacks his groin knocking a winding breath out of him. Han Jisung’s knee is mush against Minho’s steady growing cock.
‘God, Minho, you’re hard already?’ It’s the way he says it, Minho’s name, with intent. It’s the way he discards the honorifics as though in this moment Minho does not deserve his respect. ‘Haven’t even touched you yet.’
Jisung licks a strip from Minho’s neck to his ears, teething on his pink lobes. His knee presses deeper and an involuntary whimper leaves Minho. He swallows around his brimming emotions.
Large hands wrap around his ass hoisting him to Jisung’s chest. The younger boy’s lips never detach from Minho’s body. Everything is on fire. Breath knocks out of his lungs when he’s thrown on the bed and he tries to catch it but Han Jisung is hovering over him looking as sinful as he is sweet and Minho resigns to die there, trapped under the man he would give his life to.
Jisung’s face crumples and then relaxes into a sensual smile. He looks at Minho as if there’s nothing he wants more and the older man preens.
Jisung’s fingers clasp around Minho’s, drag it to the hem of his sweatpants and then lower. Minho squeezes and the younger boy twitches.
‘Fuck — this is what you do to me, hyung. Make me all nice and hard, wet for you.’
Christ. Minho can physically feel himself get larger.
The younger man takes his time pulling the thin material off and — god, he isn’t wearing anything underneath. Minho groans, deep and raw. He’s never wanted to put someone’s dick in his mouth so bad. Jisung is thick and long, pretty pink cockhead leaking spurts of precum that Minho wants to suck on so bad.
Jisung bends to pull off Minho’s shorts, sliding his boxers off along the way. The boy’s hand are cold, skilled and Minho wants them in him with building desperation but he doesn’t say. His eyes fall shut when his shirt is raised to beneath his chin.
Warm, wet lips wrap about his perky pink nipples and Jisung sucks for dear life. Minho archs as the younger boy chases the flesh with his teeth, fingers playing with the other nub. His knee is still pressed to Minho’s cock as he las on top of him and with the assault on his chest, Jisung begins to slowly rotate his leg.
‘Shit,’ Minho whines, chasing the building pressure.
Jisung smiles against his pecs, going from fondling them to pushing them up with his hands, weighing Minho’s chest.
‘Fuck your tits are so swollen.’ He mutters, squeezing. Minho whimpers. ‘Wanna milk them so bad. Can I, hyung? Can I suck on your tits until I’m full.’
Minho is close to tears. Minho is always close t tears whenever Han Jisung talks so crudely, whenever he takes care of him.
‘God, Han—‘
The driver smirks and slides. Minho feels the slickness of his cock when it grinds against his own and he’s choking on air, begging for more. More? Han Jisung says, rolling his hips forwards slowly. Is your dongsaeng not doing enough?
Han Jisung is the devil, Minho quickly learns.
Before he can retort, he’s being turned, ass in the air, face in the mattress and fuck, he thinks as the ac tickles his puckering, fuck fuck fuck. Jisung’s hands are in him by the minute, coated in lube, two fingers curling around in his insides, turning him into mush.
‘I won’t fuck you tonight. Wanna worship you.’ Han Jisung declares as he pulls his fingers out. Before Minho can ask what he means, he feels a hot, wet tongue probing him and oh.
‘Oh, fuck. Ji, fuck, I—‘ those are the only words his mouth can form because Jisung spits on his hole and kisses it off and Minho just can think straight.
His cock twitches, full, leaking. He’s so close and they haven’t even done shit.
He asks for ‘deeper,’ and ‘please,’ and ‘I need you, Ji. Fuck, please.’
It’s hell, the way Han Jisung’s lips curl around him, the way his hands stretch apart Minho’s ass cheeks, the way they slap it ever so often to keep him on his toes. He’s full and loved and taken care of and it’s when the younger boy whispers:
‘God you’re so beautiful, hyung. All mine. You’re all mine.’ That Minho cums, tears in his eyes, mouthing: ‘yours. yours, all yours.’
It’s five minutes later when Jisung cums untouched from the sight of Minho alone, when they’re laying in his bed, heaving, content, lying in their own cum that Jisung says it; yet another unfunny joke concerning something form his past that has Minho reeling with uncouth anger.
He can’t stop himself. ‘Why do you keep doing that?’
Jisung stills but manages to rest on his elbow, turning to Minho. ‘Keep doing what?’
Something in his tone says he knows, the same thing that tells Minho to drop it. But he doesn’t listen, not this time. He’s listened for over two years. Not airing this out would drive him mad
‘Keep making these uncomfortable jokes.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about, hyung?’ It’s supposed to come out playful but the words have a bite to it.
Minho rolls his eyes. He’s hazy with postcoital haze but he isn’t stupefied just yet. ‘Oh don’t bullshit me, Han. You know exactly what I’m talking about.’
Jisung sits up. His back is to the headboard. Minho sees in his squared shoulders that he’s agitated. ‘It’s literally not even that deep. It’s just a joke.’
‘But who’s laughing, Han Jisung?’
The atmosphere is charged with unspoken tension. All of a sudden, it’s like Minho can taste he heaviness in the air. He sits up as well, if only to study the setting in the younger man’s jaw and the fisting of his fingers. Minho finds his boxers to clean up most of the cum on his chest before he slides on his shorts. He find a seat on the ground in front of the closest wall to the bed.
‘Alright, I get it. My jokes make you uncomfortable. I won’t make them again.’ Jisung is looking around for something. Or maybe he’s not, maybe he’s just avoiding Minho’s gaze as always.
A sigh rocks Minho’s chest. ‘It’s not about making me uncomfortable, Ji. It’s about the fact that you’re deflecting. You’re trying to make painful situations funny to convince yourself that it is. That it doesn’t hurt. But it doesn’t work like that.’
Jisung’s brow raises as he scoffs. ‘Who died and made you my therapist? I’ve said it’s fine, hyung. I’ll stop. Can we just drop it?’
Minho should’ve. He should’ve let it die there. But he doesn’t and no matter how much he blames it on post-coital haze, he knows that is his ultimate mistake.
‘Why? So we can all go back to pretending there isn’t something very clearly wrong with you?’ He winces once the words are out. They don’t come the way he intends.
‘Wrong with me? Why? Because I make a few harmless dark jokes? Ever heard of a coping mechanism?’ The younger man’s voice is edgy with defense. His chin is raised in a way that makes him appear closed off.
‘I’ve heard of healthy ones.’ Minho just keeps going even when the voice in his head is telling him to shut the fuck up.
The words are all he needs to set the man off. Han Jisung’s brows are creased, his lips are pursed and his face is drawn into a well rehearsed scowl.
‘You don’t know shit about what I’ve been through so don’t you dare sit there and tell me how to cope.’
‘But that’s the thing. I want to know!’ Minho cries out. ‘I want to know but you keep pushing me away and I—‘
‘Because you’re lying! You’re fucking lying and I have to play along so you won’t leave. Because you sure as hell won’t still be here if I tell you the truth.’ Jisung finally bursts, his loud voice bouncing off the walls causes something in Minho to reverberate.
‘Why would you think that? How could you say that?’
‘Because let’s be fucking honest, Minho, why do you want to know? What even is there to know?’
‘Everything! There’s everything, Han. You’re clearly not fine and you’re scaring the shit out of me and I want to know everything.’
Jisung suddenly springs up and when Minho looks, he can barely recognize him. As of filled with drunken haze, he crosses the bed and corners the older man who, terrified, shuffles until his back presses against the cool wall.
‘Everything? You want to know everything? You want to know how my father started raping me when I was fifteen after my mother left?’
‘Han—‘ Minho wants to tell him to stop. He doesn’t want to hear vulnerabilities in moments of anger.
‘You want to know how he brutalized me and hid the first aid kit in his room so I would come to him to clean it? So he would have an excuse to shove his grimy cock in my mouth?’
Minho wants to scream because the words are attacking him from every corner. Because he can see the images in his eyes and it makes him want to claw them out. ‘Ji, please—‘
‘Do you want to know how he had his friends in a circle and made me play a ‘game’ where I’ll have to suck them all off or get put in the dark basement for days on end with no fucking food or water because all I’m made for is being ruined until I’m useless? Do you wanna fucking know?’
Minho’s chest shakes with how hard he is sobbing. ‘Please…please.’ What is he asking for? To stop? Does he want to apologise? Minho doesn’t know but all he’s sure of is how much he hates it. How much the imagery makes him want to fucking die.
‘See you don’t. You don’t, Minho because no one wants to know that shit. You don’t because no one fucking cares.’
‘I care.’ He utters the words with desperation, as if he has to let Jisung know at every cost. ‘Please, Ji. I care so much.’
‘Why? Why the hell do you care?’
‘Because I fucking love you!’ The words are out before he can even think about the repercussions.
He stills, so does Han Jisung. The world around them is submerged in deafening silence. Minho’s ear is ringing, his head is banging.
‘I…’ Jisung speaks as if his throat is heavy. He’s weak. ‘I love you too, hyung. You’re my best friend.’
First something cracks inside of Minho and then he feels it all at once. It rushes forward like a dam. His chest heaves, throat closes up. He feels the tears drip ages before he feels the sting of them.
‘You know damn well that’s not what I meant.’
Jisung’s eyes close for a brief moment. He looks pained. ‘Don’t do to to me, Min.’
A whimper leaves him. The dam fails and in an instant he’s stumbling for his shirt through blurry vision. He catches Jisung staring after him from the corner of his eyes, hands twitching like he wants to hold and Minho wishes he would. He wishes Jisung would gather him in his arms and bury him with kisses and promises that he was just fucking around and he loves Minho back but he’s still, throat bobbing and Minho wants to die.
‘Hyung, it’s late. Please don’t leave. I—‘
‘It’s okay.’ Minho stops him from breaking his heart into smithereens and scattering them like ash in the ocean. ‘Fuck, fuck, it’s fine. Just…I’ll go. Just forget this ever…’
He wants to crumple to the ground and cry, he wants the earth to swallow him but he plants his feet on the ground and pulls a shirt over his matted hair. He turns to leave.
‘Hyung — please.’ Jisung has never sounded as broken as he does. But Minho doesn’t turn to look, afraid he’ll go bundling into his arms. Afraid he’ll lose himself.
Minho doesn’t know what the younger man is asking for as he leaves, but he has a feeling neither does Jisung.
Deja vu. It feels like his second Indy500 all those years ago after Yeonjun left all over again. He’s sitting there, scorched under the Las Vegas sun as his masseuse removes creases from his body. Chan is shouting something into the phone and Changbin and Seungmin are looking at him with worry.
Minho thinks it’s a miracle that he could get himself out of bed today. Granted he looks worn from lack of sleep (from reliving the nightmare of his confession) but he’s here and that’s what matters. He’s here and Han Jisung isn’t.
‘Have you called him?’ Seungmin’s voice breaks him out of his stupefied state. ‘He always picks up when you call.’
Minho hums and makes up a white lie off the top of his head. His teammates don’t seem convinced but they also don’t seem ready to pick apart whatever is going on. Bang Chan approaches them thirty minutes to the game.
Han Jisung is fine, he says. Stuck in traffic but fine. This is why I always say we should come in groups. Minho, you two were supposed to leave together, why’d you leave him behind?
Another monotonous white lie. Another tremor going through him at the thought of Han Jisung.
It’s funny, but not really, that Minho almost wants to make a joke about the state that he’s in. (I confessed to the love of my life and he may or may not have crushed me with a few words but just another Tuesday, am I right?)
Maybe this is how Han Jisung feels. Maybe it really does hurt less.
When the younger man does come, he looks even more stupefied than Minho and the driver almost hates him for it because how can he, who has stomped on Minhos heart, look like he’s been hurt. How can he appear just as affected.
The race starts and everything is a blur. Adrenaline evades him and he just feels like his head is under water the more the speedometer counts. Changbin, the frontrunner, starts with momentum that Minho cannot bring himself to reciprocate but he pushes himself, steps on it anyway.
They’re in first place when he makes the first pitstop. Chan throws him a bottle of water and it works well to ground him for the few minutes before he has to go again. It feels like a moving picture: he’s in his car, his tires have been changed, he feels the seatbelt click. He’s peeling out of the pitstop, him and his team have gapped out the rest of the competitors.
They will win. He knows victory when he sees it. Yet, he can’t help but feel indifference towards it. Where Chan is on his toes waiting for their autos the speed past the line, he feels like he’s stuck in a loop.
Han Jisung is leading. Minho is behind him so he can see his custom Mercedes clearly when it races through.
So they win. Han Jisung’s car speeds past the black and white checkered flag and he sees it all in real time. That’s why it hurts even worse.
Because where Han Jisung’s car is supposed to come to a stuttering halt, it doesn’t. It doesn’t and Minho sees the crash just as he sees their team name on the scoreboard announcing their victory.
As all the important times in his life happen to be, Lee Minho doesn’t recall what happens after. He knows he flies out of his car, knows he’s pulling open Han Jisung’s driver side door before anyone can stop him, glass shards piercing his fingers as he drags the bleeding boy out of the burning vehicle. But that’s about as much as he can remember.
He remembers his ears ringing, his chest heaving and Jisung’s words playing in his ears like a severed record.
I’m sorry, Hyung. I’ll never do it with you in the car.
Well, Minho thinks as he hazily watches the body get placed on the stretcher, Jisung never really promised not to do it at all.
The news says it’s an accident — the fault of their pitstop team who are promptly fired. But Lee Minho has his ways and soon he’s looking at the car maintenance report of Jisung’s vehicle minutes prior to the crash and everything was so throughly checked, there is no indication of a malfunction or faulty parts.
Minho knows.
The accident shakes the world of sports racing for the entire three weeks that it takes Han Jisung to wake from his medically induced coma.
The first week, Minho doesn’t go, not even after his team tried to convince him. He doesn’t go the second either. Or the third. He turns off his phone, doesn’t look at any form of media, locks himself in his room. He can’t do it. No matter how much his inner voice berates him for it, he can’t go because seeing the younger boy’s face will just seal the fact that he tried it.
He swerved. He let go of the steering. He actively tried to end his life knowing Minho was watching. Knowing the man who loved him so rawly was only a few inches behind and, selfish as it is, Minho can’t forgive Jisung.
He can’t forgive Jisung for hating him so much, he’d try to kill himself right in front of Minho.
It’s the second day on the fourth week when he finds himself at the hospital. He catches wind that Jisung is scheduled to be released in a few days from Chan and in a sudden burst of sheer need, he hurries to the medical unit.
It smells like hope and death at the same time and when the nurse leads him to Jisung’s room and he opens the door, he isn’t sure which stench is stronger.
He stands in front of the white door for more than a minute. Han Jisung is hooked up to so many wires, he wonders how the younger boy can move. But he does. When the door makes a soft click, Jisung turns his head and freezes when his eyes come to land on Minho.
He’s sickly, more mentally than physically and Minho briefly wonders who looks worse between them. Jisung’s throat bobs up and down and his dark eyes are twisted in fear. There are healed cuts on his face and Minho has to dig his fingernails into his palm to stop from going over and kissing them.
‘Hyung.’ Jisung finally speaks, tired, almost afraid. ‘You came.’
Minho doesn’t know what to say because, fuck, of course he came. He’s in love with the man hooked up on wires on a hospital because he tried to kill himself.
He doesn’t speak for a while and Han Jisung must take that the wrong way because tears are suddenly stinging his eyes that he’s squeezing shut.
‘Please…please say something, Min. I can’t take the silence.’
Minho’s chest rocks and he finally speaks. It comes out as a sob as he crumples to the cool white tile. Han Jisung moves too quickly on reflex, like he wants to catch him, and he curses when he’s recoiled by the things hooked to his skin.
The older man’s face is covered by his hands as his entire body shakes vigorously.
‘I hate you.’ He cries, the words spilling quickly. ‘I fucking hate you. Why? How could you do this to me? God, I—fuck!’ He screams all of a sudden, too many emotions for him to control.
Jisung is quiet, watching. He listens as Minho stays on the ground and sobs. He gives the man room to grieve what would have been.
The crying quietens after a while and dissolves to pained sniffles. Jisung reaches to wipe tears from his face.
‘Please come here, hyung. I’m not allowed to walk and if I don’t hold you, I just might die.’
Minho’s head snaps towards the boys but he finds nothing but sincerity. His shoulders relax as he recognizes it’s not another grim joke. His legs are heavy as they carry him but he soon finds himself squeezed into bed with Han Jisung, head on the sick man’s chest, comforted by his steady heart beat as a reminder that he is still alive.
‘I’m so sorry, hyung.’ The boy kisses his hair.
Minho doesn’t want apologies. He wants explanation but he’s also learned long ago that Jisung substitutes physical affection for actual reasons so he falters.
But another kiss comes and Han Jisung is talking again. ‘I’ll explain everything, I promise. Once I get out of here, I’ll explain everything to you and…whoever is willing to listen.’
Something akin to hope blooms in Lee Minho’s chest. He shuffles up to stare at the man.
‘Really?’ His eyes are wide.
Jisung nods, smiles. ‘Of course. You deserve to know and I…deserve to live a life where I’m not haunted.’
Fresh tears brim Minho’s eyes. He has so much to say, so many promises on his lips to make but he instead reaches down and presses them against Jisung’s. He’s not afraid because he knows they’ll talk about it.
In that moment, he kisses the younger boy as many things: Han Jisung, his best friend, Han Jisung, the man he’s in love with but most of all, Han Jisung, the man who has been through unspeakable things and yet finds courage to seek help. Minho isn’t sure where they’ll be if they try but he knows he’s willing to do anything for the boy in his arms.
Han Jisung might crash but Lee Minho will always be right next to him in the passenger’s seat, arm shooting forward to press him back into his chair.