Chapter Text
Day three of Fashion Week was filled to the brim with new designs. Hyunjin tried his best to focus his energy on those rather than speculate why Jerk, Heather, and the Pet Club's owner were there, together. Except, the next time he saw the Club's owner, neither Jerk nor Heather were with her. Hyunjin's head snapped toward Binnie.
"Where are they?"
Binnie shook his head. "Who knows? Maybe the other two went home."
"Maybe..." Hyunjin conceded. His shoulders slumped, worry and caution hunching his tall frame.
Binnie nodded toward the runway. He rubbed Hyunjin’s back to soothe him. "We can sit and speculate, or you can enjoy yourself watching the new couture, Jinnie.” His voice was gentle, supportive despite his own worry creasing his forehead.
Hyunjin smiled and set his head on Binnie's shoulder, eyes on the next model who walked down the aisle. "You're right. Thank you."
"For?"
"Reminding me why I love you."
***
The arched glass doorway into Bergdorf Goodman was intricate. The iron bars twisted into decorative motifs that reminded Minho of the twisting in his belly.
The strangely shaped plants that flanked it to either side reminded Minho just how far away from the lights of the Pet Club he was. Just how alien and unfamiliar this all was. His upbringing should have made this all at least a distant memory of his own.
Yet his mother's selfish desires were the ones that superseded it all.
He had never set foot in a place like this.
Even as a young child, his mother had had his clothes purchased off the rack. His nanny had altered the clothes so they fit correctly. He never could behave the way his mother wanted him to. He had quickly gained relief from attending such events. Unlike now where he stood as Jisung’s date, up until now disguised as a woman.
That now he would be himself again made his heart race.
Now...
Now he faced this alien world of money that he should have been familiar with, from this side rather than as a stranger looking in. And now he felt like an alien most keenly.
Jisung's hand landed gently at the small of his back. "I'm right here with you, Minho. You'll be fine so long as you're with me."
Minho relaxed into the touch, though that was still alien too. "You're right..." He gave a wry smile. "Thank you, Alpha."
Jisung clicked his tongue. "Don't call me that. Not here." He smiled, taking the sting from his words. "Do you need a title, kitten? Or... a nickname?"
Minho's chest tightened in panic.
He did want that.
He wanted it so much.
But...
It must have been written all over his face, because Jisung tenderly brushed a purple strand of dyed hair from his cheek. His hair was getting longer. "Sungie. Call me that, instead. Okay, kitten?"
Minho smiled, and the band around his chest loosened. "Okay... Sungie."
Jisung smiled too. God, his smile. His smile could make a grown man weep, all teeth and brilliance, eyes half-moons over dimpled cheeks. "Let's go, baby. Just follow my lead."
Jisung's hand ghosted low over Minho's back as he ushered him toward the doors. A young man stood on the other side, unlocking the door for them as they approached. "Tell me if something catches your eye, okay?"
Minho nodded, nerves fluttering in his chest like birds crackling just beneath the surface. Jisung's fingers danced across his wrist. His belly flipped, spine shivered, yet the nerves dissipated a little.
The young man inside opened the doors, admitting them into the closed store. "Mr. Han, Mr. Lee, so pleased you could make it in this fine morning."
"Good morning, thank you for accommodating us before business hours," Jisung replied smoothly. "You can call me Jisung and my... paramour, Minho."
The hesitation didn't go unnoticed by either Minho or the young man. But by that point, he had given Minho a double take. Likely because he wore a black hoodie with no coat in the crisp autumn.
"You can call me Jean, then," he replied, schooling his face again. "Minho, my understanding is that you are needing a classic ensemble for a black tie affair and some additional basic things, but may I recommend a coat to match with the weather. Coffee or tea, to warm up?"
Minho melted, his anxiety fleeing and his smile growing in its place. Jean may not have known the exact reasons that Minho did not have a coat, but he was trying his best not to make him feel terrible for it--something Minho could appreciate as he'd been taught similar at the Pet Club. The familiar turn of phrase helped.
"Coffee would be wonderful, Jean. Thank you."
Jean nodded pleasantly, polite and nonjudgmental. "My pleasure. There's some finger foods as well." Jean led the way through the lobby, brilliantly lit in stark white and gold and silver, a chandelier dazzling above and the round desk empty in the pre-opening hours.
The small room held a dressing room, a table with tea and coffee and an array of pastries and fruit, and an empty rack against one wall. An overstuffed beige couch was against the opposite wall. Jean nodded them into the room. "Go on and make yourself comfortable, I'll return with some things I believe might suit you."
The door closed behind him, and Minho and Jisung both turned to look at one another.
"Doing okay, Minho?" Jisung asked.
Minho nodded, even though he felt like his senses were on overload. The bright lights outside this room were present here too. The warm sticky scent of sugar hung heavy alongside strong coffee and tea. He fixed himself coffee and cream and sugar in one of the ceramic branded coffee mugs. The real mug was heavy in his hands, warming them like an old friend.
Jisung held a strawberry cream puff to his lips so he didn't need to take his hands from the mug. "Try it. You love strawberries, don't you?"
Minho took a bite, his eyes slightly wide. "How did you know?"
"You had some at my place, the morning we um..." Jisung blushed. "The first time I kissed you."
Minho blushed, his ears tipped in scarlet like they'd been dunked in dye. He opened his mouth to reply, to say anything at all, but the door clicked open again. Jean rolled a rack into the room. His smile was wide, a little more than politeness called for. It was obvious he thought he'd interrupted a lover's confession, and he delighted in it.
Minho wouldn't dissuade him the notion.
He was probably correct.
The rack was heavy with an array of medium weight coats, good for the autumnal weather that bit into the skin with rain and damp. The coats were mostly black or gray or navy or dark or light brown, of varying length and weight and cut.
Jisung put a comforting hand on the small of Minho's back. "What do you think is more your style, Min?" He studiously did not call him kitten in front if Jean, but the new nickname was music to Minho's ears. So was the warmth of his hand to his back, the weight of it counter to the warmth and weight of the coffee in his hands.
"I'm not sure..." Minho replied.
He hadn't ever really had much of a choice in ordinary clothes that leaned toward his gender. His drag outfits were loud and bright for a reason, his hair dyed purple for similar reasons. They screamed that he was here, proud of who he was, and the dull colors of the autumn coats in luxurious brands seemed as alien as he felt being there.
Jisung's hand pressed into Minho's back, rubbing soothing circles around it. "I know, Min," he murmured softly, his voice pitched for Minho's ears alone. "I know what it's like to be robbed of your agency, in something as simple as choosing a coat. Why don't you try a few on, see which feels right to you?"
Minho agreed and set his coffee down on the table. Jean patiently helped him try on coat after coat, until he found one that made him pause and stare at himself in the mirror.
The coat appeared to be a lighter gray unless you were close enough to see the mouline twisting black and white threads. The double breasted buttons numbered six down the center, with two more at the back to help add to the shape of it. It clung to Minho's form like it had already been altered to fit his slim figure perfectly. Warm and wool, it felt like a gentle hug straight from Jisung's arms.
In a word, perfect.
"I think this is the one, Jean," Jisung told the young stylist. "Min?"
Minho nodded and smiled through the mirror at Jisung. "I do like it." The phrase was a pale imitation of what he really wanted to say.
Jisung walked up behind him, his hands falling on the warm wool at Minho's shoulders. "You make it stunning, Min."
Jisung's eyes met Minho's in the mirror, his chin coming to rest atop his right shoulder. Their faces were so close. All Minho needed to do was turn his head to kiss him.
He was kissing Jisung's cheek before he could think better of it.
Jisung's phone notification rang, interrupting the moment as though dousing both in frigid water. Jisung sighed and checked his phone. His face went pale after a moment, making Minho's brows furrow with worry. "What is it?"
"Later." Jisung's reply was clipped, but not unkind.
He was worried.
The rest of the time at Bergdorf Goodman was dulled by the text. The shine of the experience didn't fade, but Minho felt keenly the worry that seemed to come off Jisung in waves. Many of the clothes needed to be altered, and they would return that evening for the refitting. Jisung's money spoke in ways the man himself rarely did.
Outside, Minho and Jisung walked to their next destination rather than taking another of the hotel's cars. Jisung filled Minho in on the text message that had put a damper on their time. "It was from Binnie. Apparently, Heather, Jerk, and the Pet Club's owner are all at fashion week together... or they were. Both Heather and Jerk are no longer with the owner."
Minho's eyes widened, his heart hammering in his chest. "What do we do?"
"We do nothing," Jisung replied, reaching for Minho's arm to stop him. He stared up the scant few centimeters Minho had on him. "Baby, two of the three are facing jail time, and the third likely is as well. Let the law take care of them."
Minho bit his lip. How could he even begin to explain to Jisung that he didn't expect any of the three to face true justice? "But..."
"Kitten, I am not naive enough to believe they face consequences without intervention," Jisung said, and he cupped Minho's cheek gently. "Trust me?"
Slowly, Minho nodded. His chest still felt tight with panic but he trusted Jisung. More than he probably should.
Jisung's hand caressed his cheek. "You have me now, Minho. I won't let any of them hurt you again. Now... put it out of your mind. I need your opinion for our next stop, and I won't have their fuckery fucking our day up. Okay?"
Minho gave a little disbelieving laugh. "Okay... Where are we going next?"
Jisung turned and pointed to a small business in the next block of buildings. "David Alan. He's a bespoke jeweler I'm fond of. He made Innie's promise rings for Seungmin and himself. I thought it might be a good idea." He offered Minho his arm, one eyebrow lifted. "I think we need a change from that collar... Will you let me promise you to protect you and care for you?"
Minho's throat closed up on itself, panic rising. You didn't buy a ring for an escort. You didn't offer the world to one like himself like this. Yet that's exactly what Jisung offered, as easily as breathing.
He'd run to protect this man if he needed to. He'd bolt at the first sign his presence in Jisung's life made things hard. He'd...
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuckfuckfuckfuck!
When had he fallen so deeply in love with Jisung Han that he considered staying might be better for them both?
But if he did anything but take Jisung's arm now, he felt like he'd shatter in a million pieces if Jisung frowned. Jisung might sell all the stars in the sky for his smile... Minho knew in his heart he'd prefer burning out of existence in the center of the sun than see Jisung hurt.
So Minho took Jisung's arm, in spite of every instinct screaming beneath his skin that letting Jisung love him would ultimately hurt them both. That his mother would find them and destroy Jisung's reputation with his poor life choices.
He took Jisung's arm anyway, because the pain of his mother's version of love did not diminish the love he could see in Jisung's eyes. He had told himself he shouldn't fall for the pretty doe eyes that shimmered like those very stars. He'd warned his own heart.
He couldn't deny it to himself any longer. Minho Lee had fallen in love with Jisung Han some time between that first moment at Lincoln's and now.
Jisung's smile was radiant, like the sun Minho had thought of to burn him away. The warmth in it was like a soft spring day. "I can think of nothing better, Sungie."
Jisung's smile only grew wider. "Good. Let's get in here, our appointment is soon. And then maybe we can go to Central Park and the Met, and we can have lunch somewhere in between."
The bespoke jeweler was a blur. Minho just kept staring at Jisung. The ring was a promise ring, a promise to protect Minho, to care for him.
The white gold Jisung had chosen was to be a thick band, and the settings flat within it. A ruby carved to look like a cardinal, a pink sapphire heart to represent Minho, an emerald heart for Jisung, all surrounding a half carat diamond right in the center. The cost must have exceeded any wedding ring, but Jisung brushed off any protests. And then he told Minho that they were to have matching ones.
Minho wanted to protest. But he decided not to. He would care for this ring like his most prized possession.
Best of all... it was much more difficult to rip off or steal a ring.
They left the bespoke jeweler and headed off to the rest of their day as much more ordinary New York tourists. Minho had never thought to see the Met or Central Park or taking the ferry or standing in the Statue of Liberty.
But with Jisung, he felt like he could have this.
He could have life.
He could not just survive, not just live, but thrive with Jisung Han by his side.
The thought of thriving, the silver lining of hope…
It was nice.
***
Jisung could count on one hand the days he could recall in their entirety. Today was going to be one of those days. It was a day filled with love though neither man had confessed to it yet. Minho’s eyes sparkled with a kind of life that made his heart race.
Everything about Minho made his heart race.
He wanted nothing more than to kiss him, make love to him, make his whole world shrink down to just the two of them.
He wanted to coax the fiery demon he could see lurking within the man out.
He wanted to make Minho Lee submit to him on his knees.
He wanted Minho to make him submit with his small hands in his hair.
He wanted to lay Minho down on the hotel room bed, rose petals spread out in every direction, candles scenting the air, and make sweet, gentle love to him.
He wanted so much.
Yet he was content to hold Minho’s hand, wandering down Saks Fifth Avenue. Eating lunch at a little cafe. Minho’s little dance of pure unadulterated joy at the taste of the strawberry creme puffs. He was right that Minho liked strawberries, had tasted them on his lips that first time they kissed.
Wandering around the Met, enjoying the art. Minho’s hand never leaving his till they were back out on the street.
And then standing in the observation platform in the Statue of Liberty, the sunset kissing the harbor. The lines of orange, pink, lilac, and violet, of pale blue and yellow, all casting magic over the dark water that rippled so many feet beneath them. The platform was full, yet somehow they seemed to have their own little bubble.
New Yorkers tended not to bother people.
Somehow, all of the tourists they’d seen that day had minded their own business too.
It made Jisung hope that when he came out, with Minho by his side, that it wouldn’t be the horrible experience some of his other gay friends had experienced. Not like how Minho had experienced.
He couldn’t wait to introduce Minho to his father. His dad was going to adore Minho.
That night, Minho curled up in his arms to sleep. A little smile played across the dancer’s lips. Jisung knew that he had done well, that this day hadn’t only been a beautiful one for him. Minho fell asleep quickly. His lips went slack, revealing his teeth that reminded Jisung of a baby bunny.
In his mind, he knew logically that Minho was not innocent. He had lines of worry across his forehead. Frown lines at his lips. Where smile lines should have been, there was little. When he slept, though, it all faded, making him look a decade younger. Innocent and beautiful. Ethereal in the pale violet light from the window.
Jisung had never been happier than that moment. Late into the night, a beautiful man curled up in his arms. He wondered, fleetingly, if he were as bisexual as he thought he was. It didn’t matter.
He was home.
Morning came early, but Minho still slept peacefully in Jisung’s arms. They were flying home the next day. The short weekend getaway far too short for Minho, who deserved much longer. He deserved to sleep the day away for weeks. Just like this.
Wrapped up safe in Jisung’s arms.
Safe in Jisung’s arms.
Safe.
Jisung was not a stupid man. It would take an eon, a lifetime, before Minho truly felt safe anywhere. His mother had become a spectre on the horizon, a spook who could be called upon to instill fear in him at a moment’s notice. That she really could cause Minho a great deal of damage made convincing him that much more difficult to accomplish.
That it was his mother made Jisung’s blood boil. Minho probably hadn’t felt safe his entire fucking life. His mother should have been a woman who had held his hand in crowds. Who kissed little injuries better. Who carried him when he was small, gave him hugs when he was bigger, who supported and loved him through all of life.
And yet, from what he had gathered, she hadn’t so much as loved her son as loathed him. She had tried to change who he was, fundamentally. Jisung should have--could have--met him long before Hyunjin told Binnie that his friend needed help.
Karen Lee had once been an integral part of the city’s community. Her son vanishing… Most hadn’t even known the woman had a son until the divorce happened. Jisung had met her once, many years ago. He hadn’t liked her much. His father had explained to a young boy that she tried to appear more important than she was.
It was as good a reason as any that he had very little memory of her.
It was probably for the best that he didn’t.
An idea began to form in Jisung’s mind. One he was not certain he could act on, not now, not yet.
Yet he longed to.
He wanted to.
He’d kissed Minho at the Met the day before. The kisses had been tender, bordering on desperate from both parties. They hadn’t been yelled at, which had been his experience before when kissing in places one not ought to kiss.
He hadn’t dared kiss him more than just a sweet buss as soon as they were back in the hotel room. He hadn’t trusted himself.
Jisung made a list on his phone. His ears burned the more that he requested, the more than he thought of. He gently rolled Minho from his lap to ease the pressure. It would be horrible if he woke to find him in this state now.
He finished the list and sent it to the concierge with a somewhat desperate plea not to begin until after he and Minho had left for the evening. His last surprise for Minho.
Today was all about surprises, the first of which was going to be a dance class. It was more for him than Minho, of course, but he assumed it had been quite some time since Minho had done any kind of hip hop dancing. He hoped the older man would enjoy it, at least.
Jisung ordered room service for breakfast in the same email he sent to the concierge for the night, overemphasizing his points.
Minho awoke to the sound of the cart squeaking into the room.
“I thought we were going out today too?” He asked, trying and failing to smother a yawn. His face all scrunched up made him look even more like a kitten.
“We will, baby,” Jisung said, breezily to cover his own anxiety. “We have to go pick up one of your suits for tonight, so I figured we’d have breakfast first.” Most of the clothes Minho had gotten the day before would be sent via courier home, but they did need this one in particular.
Minho smiled sleepily. “Okay… Whatever you want, Sungie.”
Jisung was going to become a puddle on the floor every time Minho called him Sungie. It was just a thing. He smiled dopily and offered strawberry-covered crepes. “Are strawberries your favorite? I think you said as much.”
Minho frowned, taking the plate. “Yes, they’re my favorite food.”
“The first time we kissed…” Jisung reminded him, shy.
“Oh. My chapstick?” Minho asked, stifling a laugh.
“Why are you laughing at me?” He whined.
“I’m not laughing at you, I just thought of something funny. The song lyric? Taste of her cherry chapstick. I Kissed a Girl, except…”
Jisung flung himself back on the bed, chuckling, and then full-bellied laughter made his body shake. “Oh God, I forgot about that song! But yours is strawberry.”
“Well yes. Because we’re both men.”
Jisung laughed again. “So gay men use strawberry chapstick and lesbian women use cherry?”
“Well when you put it like that!” Minho rolled over to tickle the younger man, causing more gales of laughter that spread through the room like a sweet cloud of perfume.
Jisung would do more than sell the entire night sky of stars for Minho’s laughter. He’d sell his very soul for it. Maybe he already had, from the moment he’d first kissed him on the kitchen counter in his high-rise what seemed a lifetime ago.
Jisung cradled Minho's face in his hands. Minho's warm laughter faded, his eyes that held the universe in them, widened slightly. Jisung closed the small distance and kissed him, kissed him soundly from the very first brush of their lips together.
Jisung slid his hands from Minho's face to the back of his head, angling his head just right. Dominance, albeit gentle, that Minho melted into, submitted to as easily as breathing. Neither took more than sips of air, heat simmering under the surface like molten chocolate, sweet and tempered by longing and desire and restraint.
When they broke apart, Jisung had to tear his eyes from Minho's kiss-plumped lips. "Kitten...?" Was that his voice? It was all gravel, husky with desire and something else even he couldn't define. He straightened Minho's hair as best he could, for an excuse to touch him, to stay near him.
"Yes, Sungie?" Minho's voice sounded like he wanted to be uncertain, unsure, but the tone was wrong. Like he was more sure than he thought he was.
"We've got a busy day," Jisung replied, reluctance in the words and in the way he tucked Minho's fading purple hair back from his face. "Or I'd figure out how to..." His face flushed bright red. The concierge would help with that, but not right now.
They untangled from one another, but Jisung couldn't help himself from little touches here and there even as they left the room to begin their day. A brush of his hand to Minho's. A kiss on his forehead. A hand at the small of his back.
Anyone who saw would see a man in love, a thought that Jisung should have shied away from.
He didn't.
***
Jerk growled to himself, pacing the Los Angeles holding cell like a caged wild animal. His powder blue suit had been torn at the cuff by the handcuffs. He was pissed off about that just as much as he was about being locked up again. His cell phone had been declared evidence instead of personal property.
What really boiled his blood was the sneer on the cops' faces when they helpfully informed him that they had witnessed what he'd done. They'd also helpfully informed him he wouldn't be posting bail because there would be no bail.
He waited in a fury for the stupid guards to come get him so he could get the hell out of here. He could get out of the country easy enough, there were corners of the world that wouldn't send him back.
That wouldn't--
The guard appeared at the door, more cuffs in hand. "Your attorney is here to speak with you."
Ah. So Karen's lawyer had already been summoned.
Perhaps he wouldn't have to deal with any of this after all.
Perhaps.
***
Heather tapped her nails on the table at the café she'd ducked into after giving her statement to the police. The phone in her other hand rang and rang, before finally connecting.
"Samuel Finch," the journalist said, identifying himself.
"Mr. Finch, thank God," Heather said. "I'd like to retract my statements--"
Samuel sighed. "I'm sorry, Miss Reid, the story has already gone to print."
The color drained from her face. "Well, get it back!"
"Ma'am, I couldn't if I wanted to. Have a good evening." The phone clicked, hanging up without another word.
Heather squawked indignantly, unaware of just how much she sounded like a bird at that moment. She ground her teeth. She'd never been so disrespected in her entire life! She'd never...
She sighed softly. Wilted in her seat. Maybe... just maybe, mind you. This might have been all her own fault. She unlocked her phone to call the one person she could where it came to Lee Know: her friend Jill, who had tried to stop her.
***
Autumn leaves twisted through the cold wind that bit the tips of Minho's ears and his nose. The new coat Jisung had purchased the day before, along with the gray and black plaid woolen scarf that wound around his neck, kept him just as warm as the lovely feelings that turned his cheeks pinker than the weather suggested.
Not once had he ever considered that he could have something like this. Strawberry kisses and heated looks, little touches that said Jisung couldn't keep his hands away if he tried.
Was this love? Was this what love was like? His heart raced at the thought, but he didn't dwell on it. Not yet. He knew he’d fallen for the man, but it was a new concept in his mind. One he still shied from.
The fitting of his suit was over before he could blink, and Jisung insisted he wear the formal gray pinstriped suit, black tie, and white dress shirt. The black car that had become more normal than it had been would deliver his street clothes back to the hotel.
For now, however, it took them to the most ordinary place in New York City: Central Park. Minho was at first confused why he was dressed to the nines for the park. That is, until Jisung led him to the one thing he knew Central Park to be famous for.
The horse drawn carriage was smaller than he'd thought it might be. The scarlet padded seats and canopy were stark against the white of the painted wood. The horse looked to be well rested, at least so far as he could tell. The young man holding the reigns nodded to one side, revealing the purpose of the suit. A photographer stood off to one side. He was a jovial man, flamboyantly gay, which put Minho at ease.
"I wanted to remember this forever," Jisung whispered as they posed at the photographer's gentle requests. "I wanted you to see how happy I am by your side, kitten."
Minho's smile widened, the blush that stole across his cheeks hidden by the cold. "I don't think I could forget this if I tried."
"Sungie," Jisung whispered, his eyes large and innocent. "Please. Please call me by it."
Minho glanced at the photographer, who had stopped to fiddle with an attachment. "Sungie, you never have to beg me to call you that," Minho whispered back. And he gave Jisung the chastest of kisses to his cheek. The flash of the bulb was all that alerted either that the photographer had caught the moment.
Funny. Minho couldn't even glance away from Jisung's gorgeous chestnut brown eyes. Flecks of gold and amber were scattered among deeper mahogany hues.
And Jisung said his eyes shown like stars?
Minho snuggled into Jisung's warm embrace after the photographer finished, and the forty-five minute ride began. The driver pointed out a number of landmarks, but neither Minho nor Jisung paid him any mind at all.
"Hey," Jisung murmured, so soft that if Minho hadn't been so close he wouldn't have heard.
"Yes?" Minho replied, voice just as soft. His heart pounded in his chest for some reason.
"You're okay? With the surprises?" Jisung asked.
Minho leaned back to look at him. "Yes, I'm okay. More than okay." He meant it.
Jisung smiled and sweetly tapped the tip of Minho's nose where it curved. "Good. I have a few more today."
Minho allowed himself to feel... some kind of way. He wasn't sure exactly. "And since they're surprises... no hints?"
Jisung smiled mysteriously at him. "No hints." He confirmed. "But first we should eat something. It's too cold for a picnic... what do you feel like?"
Minho thought about it for a moment before slowly asking: "Is it possible to get kimchi jjigae here?"
Jisung's smile widened. "Yes. Did you grow up with Korean food or...?"
Minho shrugged, glancing away. "When I was little, I had a nanny who was a North Korean refugee... She made me a lot of Korean foods. It's a comfort thing now."
Jisung laid his hand on Minho's arm. "Do you know what happened to her?"
"She is still on my Facebook friends list, but I've not been on Facebook since..." Since I started hiding from my mother.
Minho wanted to say the words, but they got stuck in his throat.
"What's her name?"
"She goes by Star here in the US," Minho said. "Her name is Byeol La."
Jisung nodded thoughtfully, but they arrived at the stopping point for the carriage then. By the time Jisung had finished wrapping things up with the driver, Minho had forgotten that he'd asked.
Minho was certain of it now that he'd eaten so many meals with Jisung. Food simply tasted better in company with him. Not that the kimchi jjigae was not the best he'd ever tasted. Not that it didn't remind him of a time before fear ruled his life, when he was an innocent child being loved and cared for by a nanny who truly did care about him.
Things were brighter with Jisung. Colors were brighter, scents were stronger, food tasted better. His spirit felt at ease. His mind settled.
His mother's reach felt farther than it ever had.
All was right in the world when Jisung's eyes met his. His heart raced not in anxiety but in anticipation. The surprises were pleasant, and they would always be pleasant where Jisung was concerned. It was a fact that settled into his chest with a warmth that resembled a bonfire party he'd attended years ago. He could almost smell the acrid smoke billowing from it in his memory.
"We have two more surprises today," Jisung said, giving him a soft smile. He had those twinkling doe eyes that made Minho think of a mischievous Nara deer. "We'll head to the hotel and change before both, I'm afraid. Are you okay with that?"
Minho nodded, finishing up his spicy rice balls .
"Yes, of course." Minho tilted hid head in curiosity. "But why twice?"
"The first one is a bit of exercise, and the second is more formal," Jisung explained. "I think you'll enjoy both, but... let's leave some of the mystery, huh?" He grinned.
Minho found himself returning the smile. "Okay, Sungie."
There it was. Every time Minho said the cute little nickname, Jisung shined like he'd just been given everything he'd ever wanted all at once. Even if his lips weren't spread out in a smile, his eyes tilted just a little and shimmered like the Milky Way over a corn field on a moonless night.
Minho knew how happy the nickname made Jisung, and he wondered not for the first time why he hadn't just said from the outset that he didn't actually want to be called Alpha.
It didn't matter. Jisung's gorgeous soul was happy. That was all that mattered to Minho.
They arrived back at the hotel, where Jisung had a matching set of joggers and sweatshirts--Givenchy brand across one knee and the breast--laid out on the bed for them both. Minho wasn't sure what exactly he needed such clothes for, but he obediently put them on in the bathroom. They were soft and thick, of good construction without the seams rubbing against his skin like the cheap ones he bought as pajamas.
He'd missed good quality clothes. His mother may have made his life a living hell once he came out, but up until then he wore brands like this. Mother couldn't keep up appearances if her son wore department store clothes.
He hugged the soft fabric to his belly after Jisung disappeared to change too.
The car pulled up outside Broadway Dance Center, and Minho stared at Jisung like he'd grown another head.
"What? I signed us up for a drop in class." Jisung shrugged.
"What kind of class?" Minho asked, though he climbed out of the black car to go inside.
"It's an intermediate hip hop class for theater," Jisung replied. "I took some dance classes as a younger adult. I can keep up."
"I haven't done hip hop in years," Minho said, following Jisung into the building. He stopped short. "What do you mean, you took some classes?"
“I took all the usual ballroom dance classes as a child,” Jisung said, turning to place his hand on Minho’s waist. “But also ballet, a few hip hop classes… It’s why I admired your pole dancing for the art of it at first.”
Minho chuckled, feeling rather pleased. He couldn’t help but tease the younger man. “The art of it, huh? Not with how you were watching me the last time, Sungie.”
Jisung’s gaze held heat when he made eye contact. “Correct, kitten.”
The air in Minho’s lungs fled. He didn’t have long to dwell on it, though, as they’d reached the front counter. Jisung spoke to the receptionist in a pleasant tone, but to Minho it sounded like static.
The class was on the small side, with only a handful of others. Minho thankfully didn’t recognize any of the other students. He’d heard of the instructor, a choreographer for some of the shows that performed on Broadway. He trusted the name and was not displeased by the level of instruction.
What surprised him was how Jisung danced. The man followed instruction with the precision and ease of a dancer of many years. A dancer like Minho, who had trained under the best in the city of their birth.
Minho could not afford to be mesmerized if he were to escape notice by either the rest of the class or Jisung.
It did not matter. He was mesmerized.
Jisung popped his chest on beat. He flowed into the dance like water, like molten earth and fire, like a man who was no longer man but angel. Minho danced as he always had. Half a mind to what he was doing, yet still able to nail the dance. Jisung took more concentration. But the man still danced like rent was due.
It was quite possibly the sexiest thing Minho had ever witnessed, bar none. Is this what his patrons saw when he danced? Is this why they came night after night to watch him?
Is this what it felt to love everything about someone?
When they finished the class, Minho scarcely accepted the compliments from the choreographer for them both. He was too wrapped up in watching someone else dance. Someone he loved with every fiber of his being.
He loved Jisung Han. Every moment in New York City just made that more plain. Every moment, every breath, every solitary beat of his heart.
They returned to the hotel sweaty messes. Jisung insisted he shower first, that they had one last surprise for the evening. Minho almost didn’t care what it was. All he wanted was to exist in Jisung’s presence for the rest of his life.