Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, Minho was content with his life. He had a job, a hobby, friends, and regular hookups. Weed and a high tolerance for alcohol were nice bonuses too. When life got tough, he would go to a familiar place—the skate park—to smoke, skate, or just walk around to clear his head. It was a nice life. Not too adventurous, not so crazy as to disturb his routine, but also not monotonous enough to leave him bored. He was comfortable.

Then he met Jisung, and every single day since that night, he has never been the same person he was before. He discovered he liked guys. He discovered he liked Jisung. He fell in love. He started listening to rock music. He started wearing black clothes, forgoing his cream-colored hoodies to steal the big, black ones from Jisung's closet that were really comfy. His trusted beanie was forgotten somewhere, and he now let his hair fall on his face, a habit he fell into from being around Jisung almost every day. He overlooked hookups to spend time with Jisung, until Jisung became a hookup too.

And he can't blame anyone other than himself for that, really.

He laughed more. He joked more. He let himself be free, with no worries, because Jisung was like that. Jisung brought out the carefree side of him, without Minho even realizing it. Jisung made Minho feel wanted. He made Minho want too. And oh, how much Minho wanted him—to feel every inch of Jisung's skin under his fingertips, to sear Jisung's taste on his taste buds, to take Jisung to heaven and go with him.

But more than anything, he wanted Jisung to be happy, even at his own expense. It was a shame that Jisung's happiness wasn't with him. He couldn't help but feel petty every time he remembered this.

Mornings have always been rough for Minho, but for the past two weeks, waking up has been especially brutal. The moment his eyes open, he's hit with the realization that he and Jisung haven't spoken since that night at the ramen shop. The distress is so intense that it ruins his entire day from the start, leaving him in a sour mood.

It seems ridiculous to be so upset, but Minho can't help but feel so intensely bitter. Nothing he does alleviates the pain, it only makes him feel worse. Waking up in an empty bed is now off-putting, even though Jisung didn't sleep over often, since Minho was the one to go to his place more often than the other way around. Just having no one by his side feels overwhelmingly lonely.

Opening his closet, Minho finds Jisung's clothes mixed with his own. These black pieces of fabric stand out between his cream colored and light gray clothes, all from the times Jisung spent the night at his apartment or when Minho took one of Jisung's hoodies from his place.

When Minho smokes, there's no one to share the blunt with, no one to exchange stupid jokes or introduce him to new bands. There's no one to strum a guitar soothingly while he reads a book.

To cope, Minho spends all his free time at the gym or training with his boxing and taekwondo instructors. He avoids his own roommate, coming home only after he knows Hyunjin is already in bed.

One night, while shuffling through songs on his MP3, Minho discovers new songs that Jisung must have added without him noticing. It's the only explanation for why Miyavi and Paramore tracks have suddenly appeared among his usual pop songs. He nearly throws the MP3 across the bus window and into the street, but decides against it at the last minute knowing he can't afford a new one right now.

He definitely doesn't listen to those songs before bed. That would be absurd. 'That’s What You Get' becomes his favorite. He even looks up the translated lyrics on his computer but quickly closes the browser once he realizes what it is about.

Minho's room has become a mess, comically much like how Jisung's room looked the first night they met. He doesn't have the energy or patience to clean up after himself. Even the dishes are piling up, and Hyunjin isn't putting them in the dishwasher either. Minho doesn't care.

Work is a good distraction, and he finds himself oddly grateful for the rude customers who help take his mind off his own shit. One afternoon, his manager, Soojin, catches him in the employee break room. She says she has been alerted he's been drinking all the coffee by himself and the other employees are starting to complain. And asks if he's okay, but for that he just says he's fine, that he's been having sleeping trouble lately. It's not a lie.

Things have been rough for Minho, and there's nothing he can do about it. Jisung made his choice, and Minho's option to ever go back with him vanished during a drunken night after a weekend dance practice. Surrounded by strangers in a bar, all he wanted was to call Jisung. So he did, drunk out of his mind. But Jisung never picked up.

There were four missed calls, all going straight to voicemail. At least his drunk self had the sense to hang up every time Jisung's voicemail message came on.

Everything comes to a head one night when Minho is home alone, eating chocolate ice cream and ruining his diet. The lights are off, and he's staring at what he thinks is the TV. He's not crying, but admittedly, he might be close to tears. Jisung's favorite ice cream flavor is chocolate, and this is his favorite brand. Minho had bought it before that damned trip. Now, after smoking and getting the munchies, it was all he could find in the fridge. He's pretty sure his eyes are red and puffy from the weed, probably making it look like he's actually been crying.

He's holding back a sniffle when the front door jerks open and closes with a bang. Wet sounds reach his ears.

“Let's go to my room,” Hyunjin says, sounding needy. Minho doesn't even flinch.

“No, let's taint the couch instead,” Jeongin replies with a grin in his voice.

Hyunjin giggles, and there's a sound of things being slapped before the light turns on.

Blinking, Minho frowns at the sight of the couple in front of him, making out against the wall. Jeongin has Hyunjin pinned against the wall, their lips locked in a passionate kiss. Hyunjin's hands are tangled in Jeongin's hair, and Jeongin's lips trail down Hyunjin's jaw.

Hyunjin throws his head back, opening his eyes just a little, and makes direct eye contact with Minho. The scream that escapes him is loud enough to make Minho flinch this time. The pint of ice cream in Minho's hands slips a little, and he adjusts his grip. Looking down, he realizes he's eaten at least two-thirds of it. He doesn't even like chocolate ice cream that much.

Jeongin jumps back at Hyunjin's scream, looking around until he spots Minho slumped on the couch. “Oh my fucking god,” he mutters. Minho can't see well, but he can hear better than most.

“Hyung?” Hyunjin asks, looking genuinely confused as he sidesteps Jeongin, trying to tame his hair. Jeongin mirrors him. Minho hadn't noticed Jeongin's hair is now fully ginger and fluffy. He looks good. “What are you doing here?”

“Wallowing in my misery,” Minho replies honestly. “Go to your room if you wanna fuck. I want some privacy to mope in peace.”

“Aren't you going on your date?” Hyunjin asks, taking the loveseat. Jeongin awkwardly hovers until Hyunjin pulls him down by his belt. “Why do you look like a train wreck? Have you been crying?”

“I'm high as hell,” Minho chuckles. He takes another bite of ice cream, leaves the spoon in his mouth until it warms up, then sticks it back in the pint. “What date? I don't have a date.”

“Your date with Jisung?” Jeongin pipes up.

Minho feels his nose burning. “I don't have a date with Jisung.”

“He said he was going on a date, though. Did you forget? Please call him—”

Uh. So it's today.

“It's not with me,” Minho shrugs, trying to keep his resemblance neutral. “He's going on a date with someone else. Whatever, I don't care.”

Hyunjin and Jeongin share a puzzled look. Minho shares the sentiment.

“Is that why you look like someone died?” Hyunjin asks, moving closer to Minho. He stares at Minho's face with wide eyes, as if trying to look into his soul. “What the fuck happened?”

“Oh, that makes so much sense now,” Jeongin tells Hyunjin in a low voice, probably trying to be subtle. Minho can still hear it. “Jisung has been really weird these days. He won't talk to any of us. You saw that earlier, right? The way he only came out of his room to say he was going out?”

“Hmm, you're right,” Hyunjin nods seriously, finally blinking away. “I just thought hyung was in one of his moods—”

“Hey,” Minho tries to interrupt.

“Me too with Jisung,” Jeongin continues, ignoring Minho. “Weird that we didn't realize it was about each other.”

“But Jisung going on a date with someone else? Why would he do that?” Hyunjin questions, clearly confused.

Minho sighs. He really doesn't want to talk about this, not right now when his head is still mushy from the weed and his stomach feels like a bottomless pit craving unhealthy food.

“He said the guy asked him out that day we went on that trip. He's from one of the bands that were performing or something. I don't care,” Minho responds, frustration finally seeping into his voice. “Seriously.”

“That's so weird. He wouldn't do that,” Jeongin insists, shaking his head.

“Well, he's doing it now,” Minho's tone is clipped.

“Are you sure?” Jeongin's eyebrows furrow.

“Yes, I'm sure,” Minho replies, sounding so bitter even to his own ears. “He was very clear about going on that date.”

“Well. He didn't seem that eager to go out tonight,” Hyunjin comments.

“So? Why would he accept going on a date with some guy while I'm in bed with him?” Minho snaps, voice rising without his consent.

That's what seems to shock the couple. It feels like a decade, but he watches intently as the realization eventually seeps into their heads.

“He did what ?” Jeongin exclaims, eyes widening.

“I don't wanna talk about it,” Minho mutters and looks away, getting some of the ice cream into his mouth to keep it busy, just for a moment.

“Hyung…” Hyunjin starts, looking concerned.

“Drop it, please,” Minho interrupts, his tone pleading.

“You know what? No, I won't,” Hyunjin says firmly. “This time you won't run and hide. Please talk to me?”

“I don't want to,” Minho replies, his voice strained.

“Please? I know you're upset, but you just bottle it up every time something happens. You have to talk about it,” Hyunjin persists.

“Hyunjin,” Minho warns lowly.

“Lee Minho,” Hyunjin counters, so bravely using Minho's full name to show how serious he is.

It works. Minho is honestly tired of keeping this to himself. Two weeks might seem like a short time, but two weeks of wallowing in self-pity and sadness is too long for someone like Minho, who usually compartmentalizes everything and forgets about it right away.

“You know what? It fucking hurts, okay?” Minho suddenly bursts out. “It hurts that I finally fell in love for the first time, and I didn't want to tell him in case he didn't feel the same. And that backfired on me because he agreed to go on a date with some dude while I was sleeping after I had let him fuck me for the first time. This is vile. Why would he do that, Hyunjin? He didn't care about me at all.”

The silence that settles in the living room after Minho's words pour out of him like projectile vomit is only interrupted by his own heavy breathing. The sniffle he was trying so hard to hold back finally comes out too, startling the three of them. Minho doesn't cry. Not to himself, not in front of Hyunjin, not in front of strangers. It's probably worse than he noticed, if his emotions are escaping out of him like this.

“Hey, hey,” Jeongin tries touching Minho's knee with one of his seriously inhumane big hands, but Minho flinches away. The hand comes back to hold Hyunjin's forearm instead. “I know that what Jisung did was fucked up, but that's not true,” Jeongin says. “I know he likes you a lot. This doesn't sound like something he would do.”

“That's what I thought too, but clearly not,” Minho replies, his voice trembling with emotion. He's going to cry. He's going to fucking cry.

Shit.

“You have to talk to him,” Jeongin says gently.

“You do,” Hyunjin agrees, nodding. “You're clearly miserable without each other. This is unsustainable. Look at you.”

Against his better judgment, Minho looks down at himself. He sees the same clothes he's been wearing for days at home, dirty and kind of stinky. There's a sock with a hole that leaves his big toe out, and an old blanket around his shoulders. The ice cream he's been eating is now melting, turned into a paste, with the spoon drowning in it.

His hands are trembling. Cold. So unusual for him as they never get cold. He always runs too hot. It's Jisung's hands that typically cool them down for him.

A single tear slips from his eyes, landing on his wrist. A sharp intake of breath— he's not sure whose it is.

“I'm gonna call him,” Jeongin says, already taking the phone from his hoodie pocket.

“No,” Minho mumbles, cursing his weak voice. He clears his throat. “No, I'm gonna take a shower, then I'm going out to clear my head.”

With a sigh, he gets up from the couch, his knee joints cracking from staying in the same position for a long time. He leaves the pint on the sink, adding another dish to the pile, and prays in his head that no ant will find it while he's away.

He's halfway down the hall, almost reaching his room, when Hyunjin calls him. As he turns around, he's met with an armful of Hyunjin, long arms wrapping around his neck and pulling Minho's head to rest on Hyunjin's shoulder.

An embarrassing sob wracks through his body in no time. Minho doesn't know how long it's been since he cried to the point of sobbing, maybe since his childhood cat passed away almost five years ago, but here he is, soaking Hyunjin's brand new T-shirt with warm tears as he wails. Not that loudly, but still more than he's used to.

“I'm gonna kill him,” Hyunjin mutters. “I'm gonna cut his dick off and feed it to the pigs.”

Minho snorts through tears, almost choking on the snot that lodges in his throat. “You'd have to have a pig for that.”

“I know people,” Hyunjin says somberly. Minho freezes, because Hyunjin has never sounded so terrifying before. He really is sensitive tonight. Fuck. “I know people who can scare him if you want.”

“Your boyfriend would not like that.”

“That's not a no,” Hyunjin says, grimly. The arms around Minho squeeze tighter for a brief second before letting go. Minho can only watch as Hyunjin exaggeratedly scrunches his face, pushing Minho away with one hand to his chest. “Ew, you stink. Go take your shower, I'll clean the kitchen.”

With that, Hyunjin trots away, leaving Minho dumbfounded in the middle of the hall. Arms hanging by his sides, his face burning and swollen from crying too hard.

At least he won't have to do the dishes.

✩ ♬ ₊.💿⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The shower really does help.

Minho gets dressed in clean clothes he found at the back of his small closet, smelling half like dust and half like fabric softener. He avoids looking at his reflection while brushing his teeth and hair because the bags under his eyes are so swollen they make him feel ashamed for being so sensitive. He got dumped, whatever. It's not the end of the world. He will survive this.

Jisung isn't even that great anyway.

Sure, he's cute. He's a nice person, except for when he agrees to go on dates with guys who aren't Minho. He's talented. And pretty. And he kisses well, and he rides Minho like no one ever has before.

And he makes Minho feel like a high school student with a crush for the first time in his life all over again.

Meh.

Minho is sure he'll get over him and find someone else one day. Someone who will love him the way he desperately wants right now and allow him to love the way he needs to love Jisung right now.

He's angrily putting on his shoes in the foyer, tying his shoelaces with more strength than necessary, when Hyunjin appears, casting a shadow over Minho's crouched form on the floor.

“We're going back to Jeongin's place and staying the night,” Hyunjin says, sounding more like a warning. “Don't fuck up the kitchen while we're gone, or else you're going to have to clean it yourself next time.” He pauses for a moment. “Hyung.”

“I'm going out too,” Minho deadpans, staring pointedly at his skateboard propped against the wall.

“I'm just saying,” Hyunjin stresses with exasperation. “If you're gonna eat, get some takeout. I really don't wanna do the dishes again.”

“We don't have anything to eat anyway,” Minho replies with a shrug. “The fridge is empty.”

Hyunjin throws his hands in the air, staring at the ceiling in frustration. “You were supposed to get the groceries today!”

“I know,” Minho grunts, his tone edged with irritation. “I'm sorry I'm so fucking sad I can't even shower properly.”

Hyunjin sighs, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Sorry, hyung, I didn't mean to make you feel guilty for being sad.”

“I know,” Minho repeats, his voice softer this time, lacking the bite from before. “I'll get the groceries tomorrow, okay? I promise.”

“Fine, okay, don't forget it,” Hyunjin nudges him with a knee. “Now go, you're blocking the entryway.”

Minho rolls his eyes but still gets to his feet and snatches his skateboard, waving with coy fingers as Hyunjin stares at him impassively. Just before the door closes, he notices Hyunjin's face morphing into a grin, the sound of his giggles reaching his ears.

Minho takes his mp3, puts on his earphones, and clicks play on Paramore. The girl’s voice lulls his walk to the skatepark.

✩ ♬ ₊.💿⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

It's not empty tonight. It's barely eight p.m. on a Friday, the moon just crawling up the sky, and there are teenagers and kids playing around and screaming in glee. Minho is honestly not that bothered. His earphones muffle practically all the outside noises, some new artist Minho found a few weeks ago singing about poker faces on repeat.

Mindlessly, he starts creating a rough choreography in his mind to distract himself while he skates from one side of the park to the other. He doesn't attempt the tricks he used to do when he was younger. Some kids stare at him and laugh when they notice him just skating in his corner with his white hoodie over his head, like he’s a ghost about to scare some little kids.

If he were feeling better about himself, he would've been bothered. But as it is, all he can feel is resignation. Of course, on a day when he feels like the absolute worst, some kids are making fun of him for it. He wonders if he should take off his hoodie and stare at them with his bloodshot eyes and enormous eye bags.

Around the fifth or sixth time the song starts again, Minho feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. Not just once, like when he receives a text, but continuously, and his heart drops to his stomach because no one ever calls him. He usually just chats over text, and there's only one person who used to call him because they don't like texting.

The buttons are too small , Jisung had complained, over and over again. Isn't it better like this, hearing each other's voices?

But it can't be Jisung. Jisung is on a date right now. It must be Hyunjin, though Hyunjin hates calling just as much as Minho does unless it's an emergency.

It must be an emergency.

He hurriedly takes off his earbuds, fishes his phone from his hoodie pocket, and braces himself as he flips it open.

There, on the screen, is Jisung's name along with a blurry picture Minho had taken one night when they were having dinner.

Jisung. Jisung is calling him. When Jisung is supposedly on a date. Jisung is calling Minho.

Jisung. Shit, Jisung is calling Minho.

The red button looks too tempting right now, Minho's thumb hovering over it. One press and Jisung's line would be cut off. One press and Jisung would never hear from Minho again.

But he can't do this to himself. He can't deny the chance to hear Jisung's voice. Deny the chance of Jisung explaining himself.

He can't . So that's why he presses the green button instead and raises the phone to his ear.

The first thing he hears is a ragged breath, like Jisung is exhaling into the receiver. It makes Minho hold his own breath in anticipation.

“Hyung?” comes Jisung's tiny, robotic voice. “You there?”

Minho feels like crying all over again. “Hey, Jisung. Yeah, I'm here.”

Jisung exhales again. Minho's fingers curl inside his hoodie, tangled in the wires of his earphones.

“You picked up. I thought you would ignore me.”

What does Minho even say to that?

“I did… pick up,” he adds unnecessarily. “Almost didn't. But I did.”

There's a laugh, like Jisung is chuckling bitterly. “I wouldn't blame you if you didn't.”

Minho breathes out, trying to get his rapidly beating heart under control, but it feels like it is about to grow legs and sprint away from his chest like a cartoon character.

“What are you calling for, Jisung-ah?”

He's ready to hear every possible answer. 'I never want to talk to you again,' 'I want to talk to you again,' and variations in between. He is, he truly is. But Jisung, as always, surprises him.

“I can see you,” he says. There's a tilt to his voice, a bounce, like he's actually excited about this. “I can see you, but you can't see me.”

Minho's head snaps up before he can even process Jisung's words. He hasn't put his contacts in; he can't see anything properly, barely a few palms in front of him. Fuck. Jisung is here?

He turns around, trying to locate a blond—no, a blue mess of hair. Of course, he can't find anything. Jisung must be hiding behind a quarter pipe or a bush, crouching in that way that makes him look like a little tiny ball.

“Where are you?”

“Guess,” is all Jisung says, that is, until Minho leaves his skateboard behind and takes a step forward. “Cold.”

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

He takes a step back. One to his right, and Jisung says, “Cold,” again.

Minho has to think rationally. Clear his head from the mess of thoughts of Jisung, Jisung, Jisung.

He tries taking a step backward, almost tripping on his board, barely holding himself up with his balance, and Jisung giggles. Fuck, he really is watching Minho.

“That's so creepy,” Minho mutters, ignoring the way Jisung's laugh makes him feel like he's floating. “Hot? Warm?”

“Oh, right, I got distracted,” Jisung snorts. “Warm. Keep going.”

Another step backward, another one, and Jisung finally announces Minho is getting hot. Admittedly, he could turn around and face his demons, but he's honestly scared shitless. Because he knows Jisung is right behind him. Closer than Minho imagined, probably.

Another three steps.

“Stop,” Jisung says. Minho halts his steps. “Hot, burning up, scorching hot.”

Minho takes a deep breath as he braces himself to turn around, because Jisung's voice didn't come from the receiver. It came from the real world. Right by Minho's ear.

When he spins on his heels to meet Jisung, he expects all the bad feelings he's been having these two weeks to come back tenfold. But as his eyes find Jisung's, just a few palms away from him, shining under the streetlights like tiny pools, Minho almost loses himself in them for a moment. All he senses is relief.

Relief, and so, so much yearning and fondness for this man, that it makes his stomach swirl, filled with butterflies.

This is Jisung, the man he's in love with, and he's stupid as hell, but no matter what Jisung might say, Minho knows that he'll forgive him no matter what.

Maybe stupid and in love aren't that far off after all.

Jisung squirms in place, lowering his phone, sliding it shut until all Minho hears on his own line is the du, du, du, of the call being cut off.

Maybe he pockets his phone away. He doesn't know. All he knows is that Jisung is here. And he's looking at Minho with expectant eyes.

But Minho is an idiot, because he opens his mouth, and he could say anything, but what comes out is a rough, “I thought you were on a date,” that makes both of them blink at each other, startled.

“Oh, that,” Jisung scrunches his nose, purses his lips. Minho finally notices that Jisung doesn't have all his piercings today, only the one in his nose. “It didn't go well, obviously.”

“What happened?” he asks, because no matter what, Jisung's safety comes first. Minho is not against punching some dude in the face if Jisung asks him for it. “Did he do something to you?”

“No!” Jisung exclaims, shaking his hands in front of him. “No, I swear, he's really nice. I feel bad for leaving early, but I just couldn't do it.”

“Why?”

Minho is not sure he wants to know. But he has to.

“I couldn't stop thinking about you,” Jisung whispers, like it's a secret. Maybe it is. But Minho has good hearing. “You ruined everything. You weren't even there, and you still wouldn't leave me alone.”

Minho feels his fists clenching at his sides. “Jisung…”

“Do you know how much you confuse me, hyung? Do you have any idea what you did to me?”

Minho swallows dryly. Jisung is still looking at him like he's expecting something.

“Tell me,” Minho says. “What have I done to ruin your date?”

“Not my date,” Jisung shakes his head. “Me. You ruined me. You rejected me, then you came onto me, and you were the one to suggest we try to do stuff together. You suggested having my first time together. You treat me like I'm something precious. You make me feel so loved, hyung. But why,” he stops talking for a second to catch his breath, the moment so fragile between them that Minho is terrified that if he moves, he'll break it. Or ruin it too. “Why did you give up on me so easily? I don't understand.”

Minho blinks, and then blinks again.

“ You gave up on me,” he says, because that's what happened. “You went on a date with someone else. You decided to go. How is that me giving up on you, Jisung?”

“I told you I didn't want to,” Jisung says, his voice so deep it sounds like he's holding back his emotions. “I told you. You told me to go.”

“Why did you even accept it in the first place?” Minho is on the verge of snapping.

“I'm a pushover,” Jisung exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “I can't say no to people!”

“You say no to me all the time,” Minho retorts.

Jisung laughs, closing his eyes and throwing his head back in a groan. “Of course I do, it's different with you. It's always been different with you. You're my person, hyung. Don't tell me you can't feel it. I won't believe you. I refuse to believe this is one-sided.”

Minho might be going insane. It's the only reason for him to think that Jisung is implying that… he reciprocates his feelings?

“Jisung,” Minho tries to say with a firm voice. It comes out shaky. Jisung's head snaps back to him, eyes finding his again instantly. “I will need you to tell me directly what you're trying to imply. Because I can't delude myself into thinking you mean something when it might be something else completely.”

Jisung takes a big, deep breath. His chest puffs up, hands clasped together in front of him so tightly his skin is discolored.

“Uh, excuse me?”

Minho whips around to find a young woman, not much older than them, hovering awkwardly a few feet away.

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry to bother you, but could you please speak more quietly? Or maybe talk somewhere else? The kids are getting scared of the yelling.”

Minho's shoulders slump. He hadn't even realized they were still in public, their bubble and his Jisung tunnel vision making him forget that there were a lot of people around.

“Sure, yeah,” he nods. “Thank you for letting us know.”

She gives him an awkward thumbs up, then turns around and all but runs to where a few people are waiting for her.

“Do you wanna go back to mine?” Minho says to Jisung this time. “Hyunjin's not home, we can talk while we eat something. I'm starving.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Jisung says, giving him a small, downturned smile. “Lead the way?”

Minho snorts, despite being so overwhelmed with emotions that amusement is the last thing he expected to feel.

“We'll have to stop by a convenience store first,” he warns, walking over to where his skateboard lies forgotten. “Or we could order takeout, but that's going to take too long. I'd rather just get some ramen and call it a day.”

“Whatever you prefer,” Jisung shrugs. “I'm fine with anything. You know me.”

With a sigh, Minho turns to face Jisung again, still not believing his eyes. Jisung is here. Jisung came to him. It must show on his face, because Jisung inhales sharply and grumbles something that Minho can't decipher.

“What was that?”

“I said,” Jisung scrunches his nose, stepping closer to Minho until their shoulders brush against each other. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Minho asks, though he doesn't need clarification.

He knows exactly how he looks at Jisung.

“Like...” Jisung trails off. “Like you love me. Don't— Don't say it. Don't tell me. Not yet.”

Minho chuckles. “Okay, I can wait.”

“Thank you,” Jisung says, bumping their shoulders together. He looks down for a moment, then glances back up with a hesitant smile. “I'm sorry…”

“That you can tell me later,” Minho replies, fighting back a smile. He reaches out as if to touch Jisung's arm, then thinks better of it. “Let's just get the food first, okay?”

Jisung hums, nodding, and finally, they start walking out of the skatepark toward his apartment a few blocks away. The cool evening air fills the space between them as they navigate the familiar streets.

At first, it's kind of awkward. Minho feels nervous and excited having Jisung close to him again. Even though they aren't touching, he can feel a buzzing under his skin. His fingers twist on their own whenever Jisung moves, as if he's connected to him, urging to touch. Every step Jisung takes makes Minho's heart beat a little faster.

He doesn't touch him, of course.

When it becomes unbearable, to the point where Minho almost slips and tells Jisung that he had missed him, Minho occupies himself by fumbling in his hoodie pocket with his free hand. He pulls out his MP3 player, still paused on the song he was listening to earlier.

“Wanna share?” he asks, trying to act nonchalant, though he feels far from it. Jisung turns to him, eyebrows shooting up and eyes roaming over Minho's figure until they stop at his hand holding the MP3 player like a peace offering. “I'm kinda bored.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Jisung agrees too eagerly, hands flying to take the MP3 player between his own.

The eagerness in his voice brings a small smile to Minho's face.

His fingers brush Minho's, and then he proceeds to untangle the wires himself, shoving one earbud in his ear and lifting the other to place in Minho's ear. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through Minho, making him feel more alive than he has in weeks.

Minho doesn't flinch, but he does shiver. The proximity is intoxicating.

“Here, I was listening to this earlier,” Minho says, taking the MP3 player back in his hands and pressing the button to turn the small screen on. He looks at Jisung, gauging his reaction. “I'm planning a choreo for this one, actually. Do you think it's a good song for a competition?”

He presses play. The song starts blasting in his head from his right ear.

“Lady Gaga?!” Jisung gasps, pulling Minho's hand closer to his face to check the screen himself. His eyes widen with amusement. “Oh man, this is so funny, hyung.”

“What's funny about Lady Gaga?” Minho squints, but inside he's glad that Jisung is giggling because of him. The laughter is infectious, and he can't help but grin too, though he schools his expression right after. “Is she a bad person or something?”

“No, no!” Jisung starts walking with a spring in his step, the music giving rhythm to his movements. “No, it's just... from what I've heard, she's been getting famous in the LGBT community. Did you know?”

“Are you kidding me,” Minho deadpans, catching up with him. “I was listening to a gay icon without knowing that she's a gay icon?”

“That's so gay of you,” Jisung snickers, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I always wonder how you managed to spend so many years ignoring that you are queer.”

Minho chuckles, shaking his head as they walk side by side. “I do too, but I think I needed it,” he admits, feeling awfully honest and sensitive tonight.

“Yeah?” Jisung looks at him with round eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I'm glad I hadn't tried to find myself with someone else. I'm glad it was you. I was waiting for you, I think.”

Minho can pinpoint the exact moment Jisung's eyes soften, and suddenly they are filled with tears. Minho is a stupid, stupid whipped man, and his hand betrays him, lifting itself on its own to cradle Jisung's cheek, thumb swiping under his eyes right away, even before the tears slip out.

Lady Gaga stops singing, and a guy takes over the earphones, singing over a piano. Jisung startles, because of course he does, and steps back, lifting his hands to dry his face with his sleeves.

Minho's hand falls to his side. With a sigh, they resume walking.

“I wanna get some candy too, is that okay?” Jisung asks as they step inside the convenience store on Minho's block.

“Of course, Jisung-ah. Do you want a specific ramen, or is the mild one okay?”

“That's perfect, hyung. Thank you.”

Minho grabs the ramen, carefully selecting a few different flavors. As he walks toward the drink section, he scans the shelves and picks up a few cans of soda, choosing a mix of their favorites. Before trying to find Jisung, Minho makes a quick detour to the gimbap section. He picks up a few packages, knowing his future self will appreciate having a quick and easy breakfast for the next morning.

Foolishly, he can already imagine them sitting together at the small kitchen island, enjoying the simple meal and each other's company like they've done so many times before.

With the basket now considerably heavier, he heads toward the counter. That's when he spots Jisung by the candy aisle, standing perfectly still, deep in concentration as he examines the colorful packages on display. Jisung's brow is slightly furrowed, his lips pursed in a thoughtful pout.

It's such a mundane scene, but Minho's heart swells; his stomach fills with butterflies, and for a moment, he almost drops the basket as his hands go weak. The realization hits him like a bullet train.

This is it, he knows. This is the moment he realizes that Jisung might be the love of his life.

Every detail, from the way Jisung's brow furrows in concentration to the slight pout of his lips, is etched into Minho's heart. It's a simple, everyday scene, but it's enough to make Minho's world stand still. And fuck if Minho will ever allow some guy to snatch Jisung away from him again. Never let Jisung slip through his fingers again.

This is the person he wants to spend his life with, and he's not going to let anything come between them anymore.

Steeling himself, Minho takes a deep breath and approaches Jisung, trying to keep his emotions in check. This moment, this quiet, ordinary moment, is everything.

“Jisung-ah,” he calls, stepping closer. “Have you decided yet?”

“Nooo, so many options,” Jisung pouts, shoulders slumped. “Pick one for me?”

Minho snorts. He snatches the candy package from Jisung's hands and drops it in the basket, then decides to just go for it and grabs a couple more. Just in case.

They make their way to the counter as Jisung cheers quietly beside Minho. After ringing up everything and putting their stuff in plastic bags, Minho takes the skateboard he left outside, and they walk back to Minho's apartment.

If Minho thought the walk back was agonizing, the brief elevator ride to his apartment is even worse. Being in a small, enclosed space with Jisung is overwhelming. The tension is palpable, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions. Minho feels every second stretch out, his heart pounding louder with each floor they pass.

Finally, they reach Minho's floor. He fumbles with his keys for a moment before unlocking the door and letting them both inside. Jisung steps in, taking a quick look around, and Minho follows, closing the door behind them.

The familiar surroundings of his dirty apartment do little to calm his racing heart.

After taking off their shoes, Jisung sets the bags down on the kitchen counter and turns to Minho with a small, tentative smile. “Thanks for the candy, hyung,” he says softly.

Minho smiles back, “Anytime, Jisung-ah. Anytime. Are you hungry? Let me—”

“Hyung,” Jisung interrupts, not only with his voice but also by grabbing Minho's sleeve as he passes by to get to the stove. “I have to apologize. It's killing me.”

“I've already forgiven you,” Minho says, finally spilling out his guts. He raises his head to meet Jisung's bloodshot eyes. Jisung isn't wearing makeup this time, and under the kitchen lights, Minho can see the dark circles under his eyes and how his usually full and cute cheeks are a bit sunken. He looks tired. “The moment you showed up. I forgave you.”

Jisung blinks. One, two, three times. “Why?” he breathes out.

“Because I love you,” Minho says. “And I have a feeling you love me too.”

Saying those words is easier than Minho thought it would be.

Jisung inhales sharply, his face softening as he nods slowly. “I do, hyung,” he says, his voice so thin that Minho feels like Jisung is about to break. “I love you. I've loved you since the day we met. Okay, maybe at first it was just a crush, but after you kissed me for the first time, I just… I just knew. It killed me to pretend I didn't, all this time. All my friends teased me about the way I looked at you, and I had to shrug it off because I was respecting your wishes to be friends. But I love you so much, hyung, so much—”

“Jisung-ah,” Minho interrupts softly, his hands now free to cup Jisung's face the way he wants, the way Jisung deserves. He can feel the soft skin burning under his fingertips. “You're rambling.”

“I'm not,” Jisung sniffles. “I'm telling you. I'm in love with you. And I'm sorry for pretending I didn't, and for going on a date with—”

“Stop,” Minho interrupts again, this time more firmly. “I don't want to think about you with someone else.”

“I have to explain myself, please let me,” Jisung pleads. “Please, hyung? Let me do this.”

Minho exhales, the breath blowing Jisung's hair out of his face. He hadn't noticed how close they are.

“Okay. Fine. Do it, but I'm not gonna be happy about it.”

“Hyung,” Jisung whines, squirming in place. Minho holds his face tighter. “Don't be mean.”

“I'm not. It just hurts when I think about it.”

Jisung sighs, eyes dropping to stare at something on Minho's chest.

“I didn't want to accept, I didn't want to go. I don't know why I did, he called me at the worst timing possible,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

Minho breathes out, lowering a hand to gently place it on Jisung's shoulder. “Jisung…”

“You were sleeping, and did you know that you talk in your sleep? You had just babbled my name, and I realized I couldn't hide it anymore. My feelings. I was spiraling. Maybe that's why I accepted it, to take my mind off you? I was too overwhelmed. That's no excuse,” Jisung continues, his voice heavy with remorse. “I should've just said no. I know I hurt you. When you insisted I go and I couldn't tell you why I didn't want to, that made me feel like a piece of shit.”

Minho listens quietly, his expression pained as he hears Jisung's words.

“Because I could see the way you closed up. And I knew you were going to push me away again. And you did. I know you.”

Minho sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I felt defeated,” he mutters. “Earlier that day, I had decided to never tell you about my feelings just so I could keep you close in any way you wanted to be close to me, and not soon after you told me you were going on a date… that hurt. A lot. I get why you did that, because I'm not the most emotionally available person on earth, but that still hurt like hell.”

Jisung bites his lip, his eyes flickering with guilt.

“I know you've said time and time again you didn't want a relationship, but you still treated me like your boyfriend, and that made me so confused,” he says, his voice trembling a little. He looks down again, fiddling with his fingers nervously until he takes the fabric of Minho's hoodie between them.

Minho takes a step closer. They're now chest to chest. If Minho dips his head down a little, his nose will brush Jisung's forehead.

“You're not the only one, you know,” he replies softly.

“Hyung—” Jisung starts, looking up with wide eyes, but Minho quickly interrupts him.

“Now it's my time to be honest,” he says, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice, but it still comes out more intense than intended. “I wanted you since we met, too. I didn't realize it at the time, but I do now. It's you, Jisung, it's always been you,” Minho pauses as Jisung takes a sharp inhale. “Since we kissed, I haven't been with anyone else. I said I didn't want a relationship, but that's because nothing has ever come close to how I feel about you. That's why it hurt so bad when you decided to see some other dude. Right after…” Minho says, his voice breaking as he drops his hands, fists clenching at his sides.

“I know, there's nothing I can do to fix it. I was such a jerk,” Jisung says, lightly shaking the hand that's holding Minho's hoodie, the fabric swaying with his movement. Regret is still heavy in his voice, and Minho can feel it.

“I don't need you to fix it. I just need you to promise you'll never do it again,” Minho replies, keeping his eyes locked on Jisung's.

“I won't. I swear. The date didn't last half an hour, hyung. I couldn't stop thinking about you,” Jisung says, his eyes shining.

Minho nods slightly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he feels his tense body finally relaxing. “You said that already,” he points out.

Jisung blushes, his cheeks flushing immediately. “He suggested we watch an action movie. I left him with the buckets of popcorn and the sodas, caught a cab, and came all the way here,” he chuckles, his other hand finding Minho's wrist. “I met Hyunjin and Jeonginie outside just as they were going out, and they told me you were at the skate park. I've never run so fast in my life before,” he explains, the words tumbling out of him. “I wanted to talk to you so bad, but I chickened out when I saw you. So I called you instead.”

Minho's expression falls slightly as he takes a step back, crossing his arms. Jisung's arms fall back, and he holds the hem of his own shirt this time, fingers gripping so tight his knuckles are turning white.

“But you ignored my calls. Last week,” Minho says, his voice coming out with a twinge of hurt.

“Oh, that,” Jisung looks down again. Fuck. Minho can see him closing off again. “I was at the studio rehearsing, my phone was in my room. I saw them hours later, but I was too ashamed to call back. I'm sorry. I fucked up,” Jisung apologizes, his eyes still downcast, his shoulders slumping. “I don't know what to do, hyung. If you want me to go, I'll go. I promise I won't bother you anymore until you call me, if you still want to.”

Minho steps forward again, reaching out. “Hey—” he starts to say, but Jisung cuts him off, stepping closer and looking up with tear-filled eyes.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Hyung. I love you,” Jisung says desperately, his voice cracking.

Minho softens, and he finally takes Jisung's hands in his, pulling them out from their fists and squeezing his fingers gently. “Jisung, stop apologizing. I already said I forgive you. And I…” he hesitates, not knowing how to say his next words. “I have to apologize too. For being so closed off. For not letting you in. For insisting I wanted to be friends when all I wanted was you, to myself,” he admits, full of regret. “It's not your fault, I fucked up too. We have to start talking properly, but that's something we'll get used to with time, I think.”

Jisung tightens his grip on Minho's hands, his eyes intense. “What do you mean?

“You can't go on dates with other people anymore,” Minho declares, possessive. “You're mine.”

Jisung's breath hitches, his eyes widening even more. “Hyung…”

Minho steps closer. “Fuck that dude, you're mine,” he says firmly, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. It seems to work, as Jisung's mouth drops open a little, his front teeth peeking out. “You're mine. Say it,” he demands, his eyes locked onto Jisung's.

“I'm yours,” Jisung whispers right away. “Of course I'm yours, from the day we met. There was no one else. Only you. You're the only one I think about. All the songs I write are about you. You're the only person that has ever touched me, I won't let anyone else touch me. Never. I'm yours, I am,” Jisung affirms, his voice shaking, his eyes never leaving Minho's.

Minho sighs, and he takes the last step so they are finally chest to chest, breathing in each other's air, his voice barely above a whisper. “Say it again,” he commands softly.

“I'm yours. But you have to be mine too,” Jisung insists, his eyes pleading, his hands trembling in Minho's grasp.

Minho lifts a hand to cup Jisung's cheek again, touch so tender it makes the hair on his arms stand on end. “I belong to you, Jisung-ah. I have been nothing but yours since we kissed for the first time,” he reassures him.

Jisung exhales, leaning into Minho's touch. “Hyung—” he begins, but the words catch in his throat.

Minho leans in, lowering his head so their foreheads gently touch, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. His heart feels like it might burst from his chest, but there's also the soothing calm of Jisung's clammy hand on his. He knows it's not only him, that there's the palpable rhythm of their heartbeats pounding against each other. They're that close.

“I love you,” Minho whispers, his voice trembling with sincerity. He's never been this earnest in his entire life. “I love you, idiot. Now kiss me, I can't hold back anymore.”

Jisung kisses him, his lips pressing against Minho's fervently, so sweet. He frees his hands from Minho's grasp, sliding them up to wrap around Minho's shoulders, pulling him closer. Their lips lock, hungry, both opening their mouths at the same time, tongues intertwining, breathing in each other's air.

Minho's hands find Jisung's waist, gripping firmly for support as he steps forward, guiding Jisung backward until he collides with the counter. The impact makes Jisung gasp, but he doesn't break the kiss. The bags on the counter are ignored, rustling and toppling over as Minho lifts Jisung effortlessly, seating him on the wooden surface.

Jisung's legs immediately wrap around Minho's waist, pulling him in tighter, his heels digging into Minho's back. Minho's hands slide up under Jisung's shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, the soft muscles under his fingertips. He bites Jisung's lower lip with desperate need, a soft groan escaping his own lips.

With a whimper and his fingers threading through Minho's hair, tugging not so gently, Jisung tilts his head to deepen the kiss even more. Minho's hands roam, exploring every inch of Jisung's back, pulling him even closer, as if trying to merge their bodies into one. The heat between them is almost unbearable, their movements growing more frantic and needy with every passing second, Jisung's feet digging into Minho's lower back and pulling him flush against his front.

In need of a breath, Minho trails his lips along Jisung's jaw, his hands slipping under Jisung's shirt to touch his waist with possessiveness, grabbing and pulling at the flesh as if he's going to die if he doesn't have Jisung under his skin right away. His lips travel down Jisung's neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses, his breath ragged.

“You're sorry?” Minho tuts, nibbling on Jisung's ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

Jisung whines, nodding, his breath hitching. “I— I am.”

“Then show me,” Minho orders, his voice impossibly soft for what they are doing. “Show me how sorry you are.”

With a soft gasp, Jisung pushes Minho away and jumps off the counter, his movements hurried. Minho thinks he's going to get on his knees, but Jisung actually turns around, hooks his fingers on his waistband, and with what looks like deliberate slowness, pulls his pants down, along with his underwear, just enough for the fabric to rest under the swell of his ass. Then he pulls his shirt up, exposing the smooth expanse of his lower back, giving Minho the perfect view of his perky little butt. All for Minho.

Minho's breath hitches, and he steps closer, his hands finding their way to Jisung's ass. He kneads the flesh with his hands, feeling the heat and softness, and his thumbs trace circles on Jisung's skin, making Jisung shiver.

Minho lifts one hand to gently push aside the soft strands of Jisung's hair, revealing the expanse of his neck. With careful movements, he rests his hand against Jisung's throat, feeling the flutter of his pulse under his fingertips. It's a deliberate touch, not too firm, but not gentle either. As Minho's teeth graze over Jisung's now exposed neck, Jisung lets out an audible moan, throwing his head back onto Minho's shoulder.

Sensing the opportunity, Minho presses his clothed cock against Jisung's ass, the friction making a groan and a gasp to escape his lips at the same time, despite the discomfort from the pressure of all the fabric and the zipper against his skin.

“I'm gonna get the lube,” Minho says, not even caring about the way his voice is thick with anticipation. “Wait for me on the couch?”

Jisung lifts his head, looking over his shoulder to glance at Minho. “Why don't we go to your room?”

Like this, his full cheek is right in front of Minho. He can't resist; he leans forward and touches the warmth of Jisung's cheek with his nose, inhaling him in and placing a kiss on his jaw. Jisung smells a bit of musk perfume, a bit of the city, and a bit of sweat, probably from running earlier.

“My room is dirty,” Minho says on his skin. “We can go there after I clean it, but I don't want you to see it.”

“I don't care about that,” Jisung frowns, turning around in Minho's hold and facing him properly. “You know I don't.”

“But I do,” Minho says, feeling his neck burn with embarrassment. To comfort himself, he places his hands on Jisung's bare butt, warm under his touch, and gives it a gentle squeeze.

Jisung sighs, his head leaning forward and resting on Minho's shoulder. “Fine, but—”

Minho kisses him this time, interrupting his words, fearing that he'll never want to stop. It's kind of cute how their lips fit together, as if they were made for each other. Jisung sighs again, but this time needier, one of his legs hooking around Minho's calf. Taking pity on him, Minho pulls his pants up, then cradles the inner side of his thighs for a moment before squeezing his waist again.

“Sit.”

Jisung doesn't hesitate, sitting back on the counter and wrapping his legs around Minho's waist again. That's what Minho wanted, though, because now he can easily lift Jisung, one arm wrapped around his waist and the other under his ass for support. Since Jisung is tiny and light, Minho carries him through the small living room, their lips still locked together in a hungry kiss, until he can place Jisung on the couch.

After Minho lowers Jisung, kneeling between his legs, he lets his hands roam over Jisung's body, feeling the warmth of his skin, the firmness of his muscles. Jisung arches into his touch, his fingers tangling in Minho's hair, pulling him closer.

“Don't take too long,” Jisung whispers against Minho's lips, his voice breathy.

“I won't,” Minho promises, reluctantly pulling away and getting to his feet.

He makes a quick trip to his room, his steps hurried, barely lasting half a minute. When he comes back to the living room, Jisung is adjusting one throw pillow under his head, navy blue against creamy brown.

Minho watches him for a moment, taking in the sight of Jisung spread out on the couch, his body relaxed but his pupils nervously trembling as he stares at the ceiling for a moment. He waits until Jisung is done, and when Jisung looks up to see that Minho is already back, Minho smiles at him. It's a grin that shows how he's actually happy right now. Because he is.

Happy, elated, all the mushy stuff that fills Minho's heart because Jisung is waiting for him now.

Jisung is his , finally his, and just thinking of it sends a thrill through Minho's body. Suddenly, the living room feels warmer, cozier, the soft yellow lighting making Jisung look even more inviting.

Minho can't believe this is real. This isn't what he wanted at first, but now he doesn't want it any other way—someone who is totally his to love and who loves him back. Even after that mess, it seems like their bond is stronger now, more intense than it's ever been before, and they're not even touching yet.

Minho approaches the couch, the bottle of lube in one hand and a condom in the other. He kneels between Jisung's legs again, leaning down to capture Jisung's lips in another kiss, slow and deep this time, savoring him. His hands travel up Jisung's thighs, spreading them wider, and he can feel Jisung shiver beneath him, his breath hitching again.

“I love you,” Minho murmurs against Jisung's lips, savoring the moment.

Just because he can now.

“I love you too,” Jisung replies urgently. “Love you, hyung.”

Minho smiles again, feeling a rush of warmth in his chest and butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He presses one last kiss to Jisung's lips before pulling back and getting to work, determined to not waste any time.

Jisung's socks go first. Minho pulls them off hurriedly, tossing them behind himself without care. Jisung rolls his eyes and lightly kicks Minho on the chest, but Minho just holds his ankle, keeping him in place. Next are Jisung's pants. Minho makes a show of dragging his fingers on Jisung's stomach, thumbing his tattoo, feeling his soft muscles, his unfairly tiny waist. When Jisung starts squirming, Minho unbuttons his pants to pull them off.

“Why do you wear such tight pants?” Minho mumbles more to himself as the fabric refuses to go down. “Such a hassle.”

“It's called style,” Jisung huffs. “Something you wouldn't understand.”

Minho halts his movements, locking eyes with Jisung. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Jisung hesitates, biting his lip momentarily before realizing his piercing is absent today, and he releases it, a faint glisten of spit on it. “Forget it. Just get it done.”

“You're implying that I'm not fashionable,” Minho states the obvious. He agrees, truly, he just wants to wear comfortable clothes and call it a day, but it's fun to make Jisung think he's actually offended. “Ouch?”

“Just get my pants off,” Jisung kicks him again.

Minho shoots him a deadpan look, but as he focuses on removing the stubborn fabric, a giggle escapes him. They are ridiculous together.

Once the pants are on the floor and Jisung is left wearing only a shirt and his red underwear, Minho decides to shed his own hoodie, feeling like he's burning under all that fabric. Grabbing the neckline and pulling, the hoodie and shirt come off simultaneously, adding more fabric to the pile on the floor. Next, he tackles his pants. It takes some maneuvering, but thankfully, his years of dancing have made him somewhat flexible, allowing him to manage without kicking Jisung in the face. Now, he's left only in his underwear, kneeling back and taking his rightful place between Jisung's legs.

“Turn around,” Minho softly commands.

Jisung's eyes pop open, wide as two black dots swimming in a sea of white.

“Hyung?”

“You told me you would show me how sorry you are,” Minho reminds him. “Let hyung finger you open this time, okay?”

Wordlessly, Jisung nods and wiggles around until he's on his stomach. Minho drags his shirt up his shoulder blades, displaying his other big tattoo, tracing the inking with soft fingertips until Jisung's skin is covered in goosebumps and he shudders, holding the pillow tight between his arms and burying his face in it.

Taking Jisung's underwear is easy, and Minho doesn't know where it lands because he can't take his eyes off Jisung's ass, again bare for him.

He starts by tracing with fingers on his hip, the dip on his lower back, then drags them down to knead Jisung's cheeks for a moment before pulling them apart. Jisung hisses, whines, probably at the way the cold air feels on his hole, but Minho is on a mission. He traces his rim, grinning when Jisung clenches around nothing, muttering a ”hyung, don't tease,” and does it again, not pushing inside but just massaging it for a moment.

With his other hand, he fishes the lube from the confines of the couch, popping the cap open with his thumb. Usually, he would warm it up in his hands, but Jisung deserves to be punished tonight, so he squeezes the liquid directly onto his hole, loving the way it glistens and the way Jisung jumps with a pained yelp and clenches again. When Jisung buries his head again in the pillow, Minho finally touches his hole, massaging the lube in it until it's not that cold anymore and he can slip one finger inside.

It's tight, with the way Jisung is squeezing Minho's finger. He tries to push in further than the second knuckle because he knows Jisung can take it, but it's harder than he expected.

Minho leans forward on his free forearm, resting against the couch rest and between it and Jisung's body, placing a kiss on Jisung's shoulder. “Hey, baby,” he calls, trying to wiggle his finger inside.

“Hyung,” Jisung whines, turning his head to the side so Minho can see him.

“What got you so tense?” Minho asks, more like coos, brushing his nose against Jisung's.

“I don't know,” Jisung pouts. Minho pokes it with his tongue, which makes Jisung giggle. “That's nasty.”

“I have my finger in your asshole,” Minho reminds him, moving the finger a bit more purposefully.

Jisung pouts again, using one of his hands to push his hair away from his face. He does the same to Minho, hooking the strands behind his ear that is probably burning red.

“Kiss me?”

Minho complies, leaning the few inches separating them and taking Jisung's bottom lip between his own, sucking, then opening his mouth so their tongues can meet again.

It seems to work, as Jisung kisses back, and Minho's fingers slip inside completely to the last knuckle, snug and perfect. Jisung gasps, and Minho moves it with intent this time, trying not to get lost in the kiss to not hurt Jisung.

But a couple of minutes seem to be enough, as Jisung pulls back and asks for another, and who is Minho to deny him anything?

The second finger goes easier than the first, and Minho takes a breath from the kiss to look at Jisung's face, gauging his reaction as he starts touching his prostate lightly.

Jisung has his eyes squeezed shut, biting on his lip, face flushed all over, even more blotched pink on his cheeks. As Minho continues, he feels Jisung's body relaxing into his, muscles gradually easing under Minho's touch. With each stroke, Jisung's breaths deepen, his moans becoming more frequent until he's practically whimpering with pleasure.

Minho smiles softly at this, feeling a surge of tenderness for the man in front of him as he continues to work Jisung open. Each movement is driven by the desire to pleasure Jisung, even as Minho forgets about his own cock, throbbing painfully and trapped inside his underwear.

It gets to a point that Jisung reaches behind himself, taking Minho's wrist in his hand to stop his hurried fingers. He opens his eyes, finally locking gazes with Minho, and there's so much want in his eyes that Minho feels frozen for a moment.

“Do it,” he exhales, hot breath touching Minho's face. “I'm ready now.”

“Don't you want another one?”

“No,” Jisung's eyebrows meet in the middle, but his eyes are locked onto Minho's, determined.

“Okay, okay,” Minho kisses his nose one last time before he removes his fingers and moves until he's back to his previous position.

As he removes his underwear, Jisung simultaneously peels off his own shirt. Finally, they are both completely naked, at last.

Minho takes the condom package in his trembling hand, but as he's ripping it open, Jisung looks over his shoulder and shakes his head.

“No condom,” he says, and Minho's brain all but short-circuits.

“You don't—”

“I wanna feel you,” Jisung mumbles, wiggling his hips in place. Minho's cock jumps at this. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Minho breathes out. “Yeah, let's do this.”

Minho sets the condom package aside on the floor, his heart pounding in his chest with every second that passes. As he positions himself behind Jisung, he slides his hand down Jisung's back, reveling in the warmth of his skin beneath his touch. With a trembling grip, he pours lube onto his hand, feeling its coolness against his skin, before coating his cock. With a slow, almost clumsy movement, he guides himself to Jisung's entrance, breath catching in his throat with anticipation.

Jisung arches his back, pushing back against Minho. As Minho feels the head of his cock pressing against Jisung's tight hole, he tries a steady push, entering Jisung inch by inch, watching as his cock disappears between Jisung's cheeks, glistening with lube, until he's buried deep inside him.

As always, the sensation is overwhelming, but Minho has never fucked anyone bare like this. The combination of heat, tightness, and intimacy leaves him breathless, with his head spinning. It feels like every nerve in his body is on fire, so hypersensitive to the feeling of Jisung's body around him.

Jisung buries his head in the pillows, muffling his small moans. Minho, however, is too focused on watching the way Jisung's hole swallows his cock. He pulls back, fascinated by the sight of Jisung's body taking him in. The contrast of his golden skin against the darker flush of where his body is heating up, where Minho has gripped him hard enough to leave marks, is driving Minho insane. He pushes back in again, the raw friction so perfect it makes his head drop forward with the overwhelming pleasure. He thrusts again, and again, each movement more urgent than the last but still at a slow pace. It's so hot, so intense, that Minho feels like he might pass out if he doesn't fuck Jisung properly right away.

Sweat collects on Minho's forehead, dripping down his temples, as he grips Jisung's hips harder, his fingers digging into the dimples of Jisung's lower back, making him arch like a button was pressed. He can already feel Jisung trembling under him, the room filled with the sound of their bodies meeting, the wet slap of skin on skin, and their soft moans.

Another arch of his back, and Jisung is reaching behind, hand finding Minho's forearm and gripping tight as his fingers dig into Minho's skin.

“Hyung,” Jisung mumbles, voice muffled by the pillow. “I wanna see you—”

That catches Minho by surprise, stuttering his movements. For a moment, Minho freezes, swallowing hard, unsure of what to do. Part of him wants to keep Jisung like this, to stare at the way he takes him in, but another part of him wants to look at Jisung too, even if he knows he will be blabbering and blurting out his darkest desires if they make eye contact when everything is so intense right now. He hesitates, his hips stilling, processing the request.

“Please— Please, hyung—” Jisung's voice breaks, and Minho can hear the desperation in it. “I wanna see you.”

It breaks something inside Minho, the way Jisung sounds like he's on the verge of tears. He pulls out, hurriedly placing his hands on Jisung's hips and carelessly flipping him around, Jisung squawking in the process. Jisung's eyes are wide, chest heaving, but Minho doesn't give him time to process. He starts pushing inside again, both of them gasping at the same time. His hands grab Jisung's thighs, pushing them to his chest to give him better access, their bodies fitting into each other again.

“Holy shit,” Minho mumbles as Jisung's heat envelops his cock again, not as hurried as before. He watches the way Jisung's face contorts with pleasure, eyebrows pinching together, eyes half-lidded and lips parted. “Jisung, you're so tight, what the fuck.”

“Ohmygod—” Jisung moans when Minho bottoms out again, his fingers clutching at the pillow under his head. “Hyung—”

Minho can't take it anymore. He lowers Jisung's legs, allowing him to wrap his legs around his waist and leans forward, forearms caging Jisung's head so he can slot their lips together without losing his balance. Their lips meet in a soft kiss, so soft for what they are doing, and that's enough for Minho to start fucking into him again, slowly, just because he knows Jisung likes it fast. He feels Jisung's hands move to his shoulders, nails digging in again as he tries to pull him closer.

“Jisung,” he calls, voice strained, but that's enough for Jisung's eyes to shoot open, staring straight into Minho's own as they pant against each other's mouths. “Were you going to let him touch you?”

Jisung's breath catches in his throat—Minho notices right away. A smirk tugs at the side of his lips. He slows his thrusts even more, making each one deliberate, grinding against what he thinks is Jisung's prostate. The way Jisung's voice starts breaking as he moans again is a clear indication, and it reaches the inside of Minho's core, making a home there.

“Were you?” he insists when Jisung doesn't answer, his voice dropping to a lower tone. He watches the way Jisung's eyes widen, searching for words but finding none, mouth dropping open and closing a few times. One of Minho's hands trails down Jisung's side, fingers pressing into his skin, short nails leaving marks that will surely linger. “Were you going to let him fuck you?”

Jisung shakes his head frantically, his voice barely a whisper. “No, hyung, only you.”

Minho's grin widens in satisfaction, vindication pooling in his chest. He quickens his pace, finally thrusting harder, movements making Jisung whimper with hot breaths touching his face. He leans down, nipping at Jisung's neck again, this time biting hard to mark him.

The way Jisung cries out at the feeling almost makes Minho come on the spot.

“Good,” Minho says, moving his head up, lips brushing against Jisung's ear. “Because you're mine. Say it.”

Jisung's hands scrabble at Minho's shoulders, but the sting of his nails digging in is nothing compared to the sweet sounds Jisung makes as he cries out, “Yours, hyung, yours—” And it takes a mere second of Minho raising his head to notice that Jisung has tears streaming down his face. “No one— no one's touching me—”

The raw possessiveness in Minho's chest flares, spreading from his core to his limbs to his fingertips in a hot rush. He shifts, speeding up his pace and adjusting the angle to hit Jisung's prostate with every thrust, drawing out louder and more desperate sounds from him.

“You're so pretty,” Minho mutters, placing one hand to Jisung's forehead, pushing his messy hair back and holding the strands between his fingers so they won't escape and hide his face from Minho's view again.

More tears spill from Jisung's eyes at his words, like a fountain has just broken inside him. It's surprising that Jisung doesn't hastily blink them away. Instead, he allows them to flow freely, tracing delicate paths down his temples until they disappear between his hairline. Minho is stunned into petrification for a moment, unsure if Jisung is crying from pleasure or from something else. Jisung's whine of displeasure when Minho stops moving confirms that it is the first option, and he decides to take pity on him.

His hand snakes between them, wrapping around Jisung's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, watching as Jisung's face contorts, finally blinking the tears away and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Fuck, Jisung,” Minho mutters, feeling the tightening in his own core. He strokes faster, matching his own thrusts. “Come, baby. You can come.”

It doesn't take more than a few seconds. Jisung's body tenses, his back arching off the couch as he spills all over Minho's hand, hole clenching around him. The sensation also drives Minho over the edge, an embarrassing high moan escaping his lips as he thrusts deep one last time, spilling inside Jisung and filling him up.

They stay like that for a moment, panting, foreheads pressed together, sharing the same air and looking into each other's eyes. Minho feels like crying himself, his nose burning and his eyes stinging, so he sniffles, trying to hold it back.

When Minho finally pulls back, barely, only enough for their noses to not be touching anymore, he knows there's a fond smile on his lips. He brushes a thumb over Jisung's cheek, failing to wipe away his tear tracks from how sweaty his hand is.

“Jisung-ah,” he whispers with his throat constricted. He leans in, pressing a deep but short kiss to Jisung's lips, their breaths mingling again. “Don't ever try to leave me again.”

Jisung smiles back, looking tired but oh so content. A little smug, a little delighted. Minho wants to wipe it off his face.

“I’ll never, hyung,” he lifts a hand, cupping Minho’s cheek. The touch is tender, fingers tracing the contours of Minho’s face. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Minho hums, leaning his face against his hand, enjoying the way it cools down his burning skin. “I guess we are, because if I pull out now we’re gonna get the couch dirty with cum.”

Jisung’s disgusted face makes Minho giggle. He playfully nudges Jisung’s shoulder, his fingers trailing down Jisung’s arm in a gentle stroke.

“How are you feeling?” Minho asks softly.

Jisung’s eyes are a bit out of focus. He shifts his weight, his fingers moving up and tangling in between Minho’s hair.

“Tired,” Jisung mumbles roughly, barely audible. Minho hears it crystal clear. “It feels like a dream.”

The hand holding Jisung’s hair unclenches, and Minho starts brushing his strands in what he hopes is a soothing way. “Are you saying you have dreamed of me filling you with cum? Do you wanna have my babies that bad?”

That’s enough for Jisung to blink his eyes back to focus.

“That’s so disgusting,” he says and swallows hard, a nervous flick of his tongue peeking out right after. “Don’t talk like that about our child.”

Minho snickers, leaving a last peck on Jisung’s cheek before reaching down to the floor and grabbing the first fabric he can wrap his fingers around—Jisung’s shirt. He maneuvers it around, placing the fabric under Jisung’s ass with some difficulty, but he manages somehow. It’s sad, having to pull out, both of them groaning simultaneously. Jisung lets out a small whimper at the emptiness, and Minho gently strokes his cheek to comfort him before pulling back to sit on his calves with eyes automatically zooming in on the way Jisung’s hole clenches around nothing to keep the cum inside.

It’s as if Minho is possessed. Before he even realizes it, he’s kneeling down between Jisung’s legs, his hands pulling Jisung’s thighs up to give him access to his hole. The moment his tongue first makes contact with Jisung’s rim, Jisung jumps, and Minho’s tongue is filled with the warmth of his own cum spilling out of him.

Something breaks inside him, and suddenly he’s licking up all the cum, his thumbs flying down to keep Jisung open for him. Jisung’s thighs quiver around his shoulders, his heels digging into Minho's back. After a thorough licking, Jisung lets out a rough moan that travels down Minho’s entire core, making him feel like a balloon is about to burst inside his lower stomach.

He doesn’t swallow everything. With a mouthful of his own load, he props his body up and faces Jisung again, holding his face by his chin and opening his mouth with his thumb. The way Jisung obeys right away, parting his lips with a sigh, his tongue poking out and waiting for Minho to spit inside, makes Minho feel lightheaded as he does so. Jisung’s pretty, pink tongue gets covered in Minho’s cum, and when Minho is done spitting, he pulls back and swallows with a loud gulp.

A drop of cum catches on Jisung’s upper lip. Minho lowers his head to lick it away, but it seems that Jisung misunderstands his intentions and lifts a hand again to pull Minho down, their tongues sliding together right away in a filthy kiss.

Minho doesn’t know what gets to him, but in the middle of the kiss, he feels a giddy sensation bubbling up in his chest and starts giggling against Jisung’s mouth. He’s not even high anymore, he knows this. And yet, he feels like he is, and he just can’t stop laughing, his nose bumping against Jisung’s every time he moves.

“What’s so funny?” Jisung’s lips jut out when Minho can’t kiss him anymore and pulls back slightly, arms are burning from holding his weight up.

“I don’t know,” he admits, pursing his lips to stop the laugh, but it comes out as a snort this time.

Jisung jumps at the sound, his eyes widening as if he can’t believe the sound that just came from Minho.

“Don’t—” Minho starts, but Jisung suddenly starts laughing too, cackling, throwing his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, and everything, even pounding his fist on Minho’s shoulder lightly like Minho had just told him the funniest joke he’s ever heard.

Minho playfully rolls his eyes before finally getting back on his knees to rise from the couch, his legs shaky.

“I’m gonna grab some clean clothes for you,” he tells Jisung, who looks up with a little frown. “Then we can eat. Sound good?”

“No shower this time?” Jisung wrinkles his nose in distaste.

“After we eat,” Minho promises, crouching down to bump his nose against Jisung’s cheek. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

One minute turns into five, then almost ten. Minho blissfully puts on a pair of sleep shorts and grabs a change of clothes from his room, ignoring the mess behind him. He heads to the bathroom to get a cloth to clean Jisung, but looking at himself in the mirror distracts him. He's never seen himself like this before. His skin is blotched red and dripping with sweat, nail scratches mark his shoulder, and his chest heaves with each breath. His overgrown hair sticks out in every direction, but what catches him by surprise is his face.

Minho's face is so red it looks sunburnt. His lips are swollen, and his cheeks, hollow from the stress of the past two weeks, still show signs of exhaustion with dark circles under his eyes, but he doesn't look half-dead anymore. His eyes are sparkling, and there's a tiny smile at the corner of his lips.

He's never seen himself this happy before. It's a weird feeling, but as he swallows and takes a deep breath, he realizes he quite likes it. He curses when he remembers he forgot to get the cloth and runs to turn the shower on to get warm water.

After grabbing it, he returns to the living room to find Jisung still lying on the couch, on his side, with his hands under his cheek and his eyes blinking lazily as he stares at the TV screen, turned off.

Jisung whines a little as Minho cleans him but doesn’t complain when he helps him get dressed in sweatpants and a loose shirt. After that, Minho takes his hand and they take the five or so steps necessary to get to the kitchen again and finally get their ramen ready.

It’s not awkward at all. As Minho is at the stove waiting for the water to boil, Jisung starts humming a song, fingers tapping on the counter as he waits. It’s a song Minho knows, so he starts singing the lyrics under his breath too, and then Jisung joins him, tapping harder on the surface to make a beat. As Minho is putting the ramen inside the pot, he almost burns his finger and yelps, which makes Jisung laugh at him again.

After they finish eating the entire pot of food, Minho tells Jisung to wait on the couch while he attempts to tidy his room, but to no success. Minho is gathering dirty clothes from the floor when he hears a ”Woah,” and his head snaps up to find Jisung leaning against the door, eyes scanning the cluttered room with arms crossed.

“I told you to stay on the couch,” Minho mumbles, ignoring the embarrassment he suddenly feels as Jisung stares at his inner mess. “Please don’t look.”

“You weren’t exaggerating,” Jisung says. Minho scoffs, turning his back to him. “Hey, why are you upset?”

“I don’t want you to see this mess,” Minho grits his teeth, taking another dirty hoodie in his hands and throwing it on the bed. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Hyung,” Jisung starts, his voice drawing closer, but he's interrupted by a cracking sound nearby. Minho whips around to see Jisung standing with his foot on a dirty glass plate Minho forgot to pick up, now split in the middle.

“Jisung!” Minho rushes to kneel by him, taking his ankle in his hand. His fingers gently press around Jisung's foot, checking for any signs of injury. “Are you hurt?”

“Of course not,” Jisung replies softly, lifting his foot and wiggling his toes to show that he’s completely fine. “See?”

Minho huffs, taking the plate in his hands and making sure there are no shards for Jisung to step on again. He rises to his feet and leaves the plate on the desk. When he turns around, Jisung is pouting, his shoulders slumped, looking really upset.

“Hyung,” Jisung starts again, walking slowly to where Minho is standing. His eyes are filled with tears. “I’m sorry…” His voice trembles, and he looks down at his feet.

Minho sighs, a sad feeling washing over him too. “I told you to stop apologizing—” He steps closer to Jisung.

“I didn’t realize I hurt you like this,” he sniffles. “You’re the most organized person I know, how—”

“I was depressed,” Minho admits, wrapping his fingers around Jisung’s shirt and pulling him closer. “You broke my heart. The last thing I was thinking about was cleaning the house.”

The tears spill from Jisung’s eyes, trailing down his cheeks.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he bites his lower lip, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

“You can make it up to me,” Minho says with a tiny smile, trying to lighten the mood. Jisung sniffles again, his figure trembling as if he's holding back sobs. “I'm not upset with you anymore, but if you're still feeling guilty, I'll let you make it up to me later.” He reaches out, brushing away a tear from Jisung's cheek.

Jisung squeezes his eyes shut and nods, his breath hitching.

“I was a fucking asshole,” he mutters. “I’ll do anything if it means you can truly forgive me.” He looks up, his gaze earnest and pleading.

Minho sighs, pulling Jisung against himself fully and wrapping an arm around Jisung’s shoulder. With his other hand, he lifts Jisung’s face, thumb brushing his lower lip tenderly.

“We’ll talk more about this later,” he says, trying to keep his own voice from coming out choked up. “We need a clear head to have this conversation, and now it’s not the time, okay?”

He gently pats Jisung’s cheek in reassurance.

“Why are you so nice to me?” Jisung asks, blinking his eyes open.

Minho shrugs, pouting a little. Jisung chuckles wetly and brings his hands up to dry his face. They are so close that his hands touch Minho’s face too, and Minho pouts all the way when one of Jisung’s knuckles hits his nose.

“I’ll finish cleaning and change the sheets,” Minho says. “We can shower tomorrow. I’m tired now.”

Jisung nods, stepping back. “I’m gonna go brush my teeth, then.” He gives Minho a small, tentative smile.

Minho gives him a thumbs up, then turns back to the mess, picking up dirty pants from the floor. He hears Jisung's footsteps retreating, and takes a deep sigh as he focuses on tidying up.

Twenty minutes later, the floor is finally clear of dirty clothes, the bedding freshly changed, the couch spotless, and the dirty dishes piled in the sink. Minho is nestled under the covers, his breath smelling of mint, while Jisung is in front of him, one leg tucked between Minho's and his fingers tracing a path up Minho's arm, from elbow to shoulder.

“Hyunjin and Jeongin found me earlier tonight,” Minho says, voice rough from sleep. He squeezes Jisung’s waist, just because he can. “I was sitting in the dark, and they were making out with the lights turned off. Hyunjin almost had a heart attack when he saw me. They asked me why I wasn't ready for our date, that's how I found out it was tonight.”

Jisung sighs heavily. “I didn’t tell anyone. I was too ashamed.”

“Why did you even go?” Minho mumbles, his voice heavy with sleep.

“I’m an idiot,” Jisung replies, trailing his fingers until he can feel Minho’s hair at the nape of his neck. “I thought we had that established already.”

“Still,” Minho frowns in the dark, even though he knows Jisung can't see him. “It hurt a lot. I already thought you didn’t like me, and that was a pretty good confirmation. It sucked.”

The sound of sheets ruffling fills the air as the leg between Minho's shifts even closer, and their torsos touch. “Did you cry?”

“Of course I did,” Minho snorts humorlessly.

Jisung hums, his thumb brushing Minho's cheekbone, swiping back and forth so slowly that it leaves a burning imprint under Minho's skin. “I'm gonna make it up to you,” he says. “I promise.”

Minho nods, because he’s not sure what else to do. “I missed you a lot,” Minho murmurs. “It was awful not having you around.”

Jisung chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through Minho's chest from how close they are. “Are you getting sleepy?”

“Not yet,” Minho grumbles out the lie. He knows that Jisung knows that he’s lying.

Jisung’s fingers move to Minho’s neck, shoulder, collarbone. “I’m here now,” he whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Minho lets out a sigh, so exhausted and relieved. “Good,” he says, his voice barely audible. “Stay. For good.”

They lie there in silence for a while, the only sounds being their steady breathing and the occasional rustle of the sheets. Minho relaxes even more at the warmth of Jisung’s leg entwined with his, the warmth of his body seeping into his own. It’s comforting, reassuring, and it makes Minho’s eyelids grow heavier each passing second.

“Hyung,” Jisung whispers, breaking the silence.

Minho hums in response, too tired to form a proper reply.

“I love you,” Jisung says, just like that.

Minho’s heart skips a beat. He opens his eyes, even though he can’t see anything in front of him, but he can imagine Jisung’s determined, earnest expression. “I love you too,” he whispers back.

Jisung buries his face on Minho’s chest. Minho can feel his smile against his skin.

As sleep finally begins to take him under, Minho’s last conscious thought is of how right this feels. He’s everything Minho has been yearning for and didn’t even know until he met him.

With a contented hum, Minho falls asleep, like this.

✩ ♬ ₊.💿⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When Minho wakes, the first thing he sees is Jisung, sprawled on his stomach with his arm draped over Minho's stomach. Jisung's nose gently nuzzles Minho's shoulder, breath coming in warm, tender puffs against his skin. The morning light filters in through the slightly open window, casting a soft glow on Jisung’s face.

Minho takes a moment to admire the peaceful lines of Jisung’s features like this. Bottom lip slightly jutting out, his pupils fluttering under his closed eyelids, and his eyelashes brushing against flushed cheeks. This sight of Jisung is so endearing, he’s so cute , it feels like a pang in Minho's chest. He's so deeply in love that it sometimes hurts .

But there are things to be done. Minho had promised Hyunjin he'd pick up groceries. Reluctantly, he extends a hand and lightly grazes Jisung's cheek with the back of his fingers. Jisung remains still. Minho tries again, a bit more insistently, nudging him from his slumber.

Jisung mumbles, snuggling closer and clutching Minho's waist as if trying to anchor him in bed. “Jisung-ah,” Minho murmurs, shaking his shoulder gently. Jisung responds with another sleepy hum, but his breath comes in uneven, sharp bursts—he’s awake, if not fully conscious. “I need to go get groceries.”

Jisung shifts slightly but doesn’t release Minho. Instead, he takes Minho’s wrist and guides him as he turns, his butt pressing deliciously against Minho’s dick. Minho’s hand hovers near Jisung’s stomach, feeling the subtle warmth of his body through the thin fabric of his pajamas.

“Good morning,” Jisung says with a groggy, husky voice. Minho's body reacts immediately, his dick already stirring at the sound. “Do you really have to go?”

Minho buries his face in Jisung's hair, smelling the sweat and coconut shampoo that reminds him of what they were up to just a few hours ago. “Hmm, the store closes at noon. I’m sorry,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the nape of Jisung’s neck.

But Jisung doesn’t relent, tugging more insistently as he guides Minho's fingers beneath his waistband. Minho’s pulse quickens, his fingers wrapping around Jisung’s length, feeling the warmth and hardness as he presses slightly without moving.

“Can I come with you?” Jisung asks.

Minho hums, pressing his lips to Jisung’s shoulder and sucking lightly. Jisung shivers against him.

“Of course.”

“T-thank you…” Jisung stutters, as Minho moves his hand, slowly and familiarly.

Minho can’t stop the fond chuckle that escapes his lips.

“Hmm,” he grins, finally moving with purpose. Jisung sighs and grinds his hips back, rubbing against Minho’s now fully hard cock. “You’re welcome.”

A grunt leaves Jisung’s throat as he pushes against Minho with more intent. “I’m still loose,” he mumbles.

Minho lets out a laugh. He pulls his hand away to drag Jisung's underwear down, flinging it aside carelessly. Jisung makes a noise of protest when Minho’s hand leaves him to pull down his own underwear, but Minho silences him with a playful bite to his trapezius.

“You’re insatiable,” Minho mutters.

“You’re worse,” Jisung shoots back.

Minho rolls his eyes, taking the back of Jisung’s knee and pulling his leg up to gain better access. “Can you blame me?”

“Hyung…”

It’s pure luck that past Minho always leaves a bottle of lube within reach. He grabs it from the nightstand and pops it open with his thumb. It’s a bit awkward, with his other hand still trapped between their bodies as he props himself up on his forearm, but he manages to get his fingers wet somehow. Rubbing the lube onto his aching cock, he hisses at the sensation, not wasting any time before pushing himself inside.

Jisung lets out a sound that’s part huff, part whimper, muffled by the way he hides his face with his hand.

“You’re doing good, Jisung-ah,” Minho whispers as he bottoms out with ease. “Feels amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“So good,” Minho reaffirms, his voice thick with the haze of lust and lingering sleep. His thoughts slip from his tongue before he can stop them. “I love how soft you are for me, letting me have you however I want.”

Jisung responds with nothing but another breathy whimper, his body so pliant under Minho’s. Seizing the opportunity, Minho begins to move, slow and deliberate at first, drinking in every sound Jisung makes in the quiet morning. He lifts his free arm, fingers squeezing Jisung’s waist and pulling him close, flush against the bed. As he picks up pace, his moves become more insistent now. Time is slipping, just like his restraint. They still have plans for the day, but this, right here, this is what he needs.

When Jisung comes, it’s with his face buried in Minho’s pillow, his hips rutting desperately against the once clean sheets. And when Minho follows, it’s with his face buried in Jisung’s hair, his hand gripping Jisung’s waist so tightly he half wonders if he’ll leave bruises. Not that he minds.

After he pulls out, Jisung turns toward him and captures his lips in a messy kiss. Drool and morning breath be damned.

✩ ♬ ₊.💿⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Hey, Minho hyung,” Jisung says out of nowhere, his voice soft. He’s running his fingers along the handle of the shopping cart as they wander through the aisles, cart wheels squeaking faintly on the greasy tile floor.

Minho lifts his eyes from the crumpled shopping list in his hand he was scanning before glancing at Jisung. “Hm? What’s up?”

Jisung hums, pushing the cart slowly, eyes scanning the shelves. He stops beside Minho, his body so close Minho notices him hesitating for a brief moment.

“What are we?” he finally asks.

Minho stops mid reach, his hand hovering in the air as he was about to grab a box of wet tissues. He blinks, suddenly caught off guard. “What?”

Jisung fidgets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, fingers curling tightly around the cart’s handle.

“What are we?” he repeats, this time his words a little faster. “Are we… still friends?”

Minho frowns, turning his full attention to Jisung. His grip on the box loosens, and he lets it fall back on the shelf. “Do you wanna be friends?”

Jisung’s eyebrows are meeting in the center of his forehead, lips pressing into a tight line. He can’t hold Minho’s gaze for long before he looks away, pretending to examine a random bottle of laundry detergent.

“Do you?” he shoots back.

Minho’s response comes without hesitation. “Of course I don’t.”

Jisung’s face falls right away. His gaze drops to the floor as he bites on his bottom lip.

“Oh…”his voice trails off, sounding so disappointed. “Oh, okay. I wanted to be friends…” He shrugs, pushing the cart forward an inch, the wheels creaking in protest.

Minho frowns, his hand reaching out to gently grab Jisung’s wrist, stopping him from walking away.

“Why?” he narrows his eyes, trying to read Jisung’s expression.

“Friends is better than nothing,” Jisung’s voice comes out thin, his lips forming a pout. He tugs slightly at Minho's shirt, not quite meeting Minho’s eyes.

“What do you— nothing?” Minho’s voice rises, a little incredulous. He releases Jisung’s wrist only to step closer. “You think I want nothing with you?” he huffs. “Jisung, hey. I don’t want nothing. I want everything with you. I wanna be your boyfriend, your partner, whatever you want me to be. I thought I made that clear last night.”

Jisung’s breath hitches, his fingers fiddling nervously with each other. “I was just… we were emotional,” he mutters, his shoulders drawing inwards slightly. “I need reassurance, okay? I have to be sure.”

“Okay.” Minho’s voice softens, his fingers brushing against Jisung’s elbow. “Let’s start as boyfriends, then. We can go on a date later. A proper date. Fancy clothes, getting to know each other,” he grins, wiggling his eyebrows to try to ease the tension between them.

Jisung’s eyes widen, a big smile stretching on his lips. “You wanna be my boyfriend?”

Minho rolls his eyes, a chuckle escaping him.

“I just said that.”

“We need to work on our communication issues,” Jisung huffs, but he’s looking relieved as he grins up at Minho.

Minho laughs, shaking his head. “Let’s just be honest with each other from now on.”

“Okay,” Jisung nods, turning to the cart slightly, but Minho can still see his cheek bunching up from his smile. “Okay. Let’s go on a first date. As boyfriends.”

Without warning, Minho leans in. He doesn't even bother to glance around the aisle to check if anyone's watching, and in one smooth motion, he presses a soft kiss to Jisung’s cheek.

“Hyung!” Jisung squeaks, eyes wide as he instinctively steps back. His elbow bumps the shelf with a dull thud, sending a box of tissues tumbling to the floor between their feet.

They exchange glances, blinking at each other, before Minho snorts. Jisung, flustered, crouches down, grabs the tissues, and tosses them inside the cart.

✩ ♬ ₊.💿⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Watching Jisung perform is always a thrilling experience. Since day one, the excitement and admiration Minho feels for this boy makes his heart race and his palms sweat. But watching Jisung perform an original song, especially as his official boyfriend of three months, is an entirely different sensation— an out of body experience that takes him to another dimension. His head spins, and his vision blurs from the bright stage lights and the overwhelming energy of the crowd.

Minho stands at the left side of the stage, just a few feet away from Jeongin and his amplifier. Their voices harmonize beautifully as they sing one of the songs Jisung has written during these past few intense weeks.

There’s a talent scout in the crowd— some guy from a well known company considering signing them under their label. The catch? The scout wants original songs, which has pushed the band to spend the past weeks holed up in their small home studio, writing new material and rehearsing non stop. Minho has barely seen Jisung during that time, only dropping by every other day to check on him without staying over.

But Jisung is amazing, as always. He’s singing his heart out, using his beautiful voice to pour out the lyrics he crafted about holding someone’s hand.

“Is it about me?” Minho had teased him over the phone one night after Jisung explained the lyrics to him.

Jisung had snorted, choked on laughter, and squeaked in that adorable way he does when he’s embarrassed. All at the same time. “Who else would it be about, baby?” He had aimed for that husky, deep voice, but Minho knows him better by now. Knows that this is just the act he put on to mask his shyness, likely blushing cherry red in the cheeks.

Minho can feel the song coming to an end. He watches Jisung as he finishes playing the guitar, the way he gently holds the pick between his fingers before pushing the guitar behind him. With a fluid motion, he grabs the mic and pulls it closer to his mouth. As the drums kick in, Jisung lets out a final note, pouring his everything into the last line. When the song ends, the crowd erupts into cheers, there’s a laugh that gets picked up by a mic.

Instead of launching into the next song or even making a small comment, the band goes silent as Jisung steps away from his spot, moving between Jeongin and the crowd— right toward Minho.

Minho’s stomach drops. Jisung looks directly at him, laughter dancing in his eyes. He had told Jisung not to get carried away with a hotshot executive right there, but when has Jisung ever listened? With a quick shake of his head, Minho crosses his arms in an X in front of him, silently pleading with Jisung not to do whatever he’s planning.

But Jisung only shrugs, crouching down to take one of Minho’s hands in his. He pulls it toward himself, then sweetly kisses Minho’s knuckles, pressing his lips warm against his skin.

God dammit. Heat rushes to Minho’s face, embarrassment flooding him as he realizes how many people are watching with hawk-like intensity. Some are laughing, some are screaming, but when Jisung slowly lets go of Minho’s hand, all the surrounding noise fades away. Minho can’t let him go just yet.

He grips Jisung’s hand tightly, pulling him closer a bit more roughly, causing Jisung to sway on his crouch and squeal, struggling to stabilize himself on the stage. Jisung’s face is just a bit above Minho’s, so all Minho has to do is rise up on his tiptoes and plant his lips against Jisung’s surprised, parted lips.

The crowd erupts in a roar. Jisung squeezes Minho’s hand tighter. After what feels like just a couple of seconds, they pull apart, blinking at each other in astonishment.

Then Jisung laughs, and Minho lets himself be kissed properly.