Archive of Our Own ^beta

For heavy eyes could hardly hold us

Aching legs that often told us

It's all worth it

—Elton John , We all fall in love sometimes

To put it simply, Jisung thinks that Minho is so pretty.

With plush lips that he’d like to sink his teeth into, shining eyes turning crescents when he’s ranting about something he loves, collarbones hollowed like craters that he’d like to shrink and nestle into without any extra carving. His strong limbs always flailing with motion, his existence is enormous, tangible and closely intertwined with his.

The boy with a multifaceted personality, genuine with keen edges like a well-yielded blade—the loud, the calm, the annoying, the caring—half nectar and half butterfly siphoned. Jisung remembers when little Minho used to stand up for him even when afraid. He remembers his trembling hands cradling his own, a testament to an unspoken protection. Minho is an ocean of love and Jisung struggles to remain afloat.

Jisung’s dad says that childhood is like being drunk, everybody remembers it except you. But Jisung remembers everything, he holds it all close to his heart.

He remembers Minho’s face illuminated by the sun and his hands holding the amp that Jisung wanted so badly. Jisung still uses it even when he has better models now. He remembers when they attended their first concert together, Minho now a smidge taller than him, his firmer hands leading him through the crowd without wavering. He remembers sleeping on Minho’s shoulder on their way back from class. He remembers crying in his arms when his world felt like it was falling apart and he was his only anchor. He remembers their game nights, their fights and their first time drinking together.

Jisung knows it all, too.

He knows Minho like the lines of his palm, and can read his every tick and hum. Minho probably knows him more than himself. He watched him grow, they watched each other grow, and they did it alongside each other earning them a lifetime’s worth of knowledge. So Jisung knows, he knows too much.

He knows that Minho’s kiss on his forehead and his grin as he pulls on his cheek and intertwines their hands - the image shellacked behind his eyelids - is nothing more than friendly. It’s just lover-like.

They’re lover-like but not actually lovers. The difference digs its nails into the walls of Jisung’s brain, screeching in perpetuity.

Still, Jisung allows himself to bask in the moment, willing his consciousness to focus on his surroundings instead. Right now, Minho is napping on his bed, his mouth slightly ajar with his adorable misaligned front teeth peeking out of his lips, one arm splayed over his waist and his legs are peeking out from under Jisung’s favourite small blanket - frayed by love - without realising it, a smile draws up his face as he inches closer to adjust it for him. He lets himself have this at least, to gaze and paint the picture in his memory to immortalise it with his lyrics but his heart yearns for so much more. 

He wishes for Minho to be his harbour instead of just a beacon, he wants his arms to fully cradle him with their limbs intermingling instead of hesitantly looming. Minho is an ocean and Minho is his home and he wants to nestle in his arms and his arms alone forever. But it’s not that simple anymore, is it? 

They’re no longer young and unafraid.

Okay, let Jisung recall from the beginning; hear him sing.

The hot summer heat is burning the back of Jisung’s neck and his sweat droplets tickle where they travel down his spine but he can’t find it in himself to care as he pours a can of beer stolen from his house’s fridge in one of his old lunch boxes with unparalleled mischief.

Jisung is twelve and he’s still full of wonder, he still likes to experiment with things like this. Next to him, Minho is whining about how hot it is having to stand there with no shade in the field. Of course, he had to drag Minho with him, he has to be present for the execution of all his little tricks.

He smiles as the first slug finds its way to the box, a few others trailing behind it. The air smells like sun-warmed beer and grass and now there are snails added to the equation.

“I told you it’d work!” he yells and stomps on the ground with his sandals, toes sweaty from the heat. The ground must be shaking with the excitement he feels. He feels enormous. He summoned slugs!

Minho behind him just lets out an ew sound but his eyes are still glued to the sight as he inches closer “How’d you even find out about this?” he asks, a bit fascinated at the swarms.

“That’s not important,” he says and his eyes follow every approaching slug in his vicinity. “I saw Mr. Kim doing it,” he quickly trails off in a jabber when he sees Minho’s shadow looming over his shoulder. They’re the same height but Minho likes to threaten to bite him by towering over him by standing on his tiptoes, it’s ridiculous and it makes Jisung laugh instead.

“Won’t your dad be mad? Not having a cold beer after a long day of work because your dumb son gave it to the slugs could potentially drive him into madness.”

Jisung chuckles dismissively, “Way to ruin the fun of the moment, dude. Also, you make it sound like you’ve experienced that before.” 

“Who said I’m having fun right now?” Minho raises his brow. Jisung knows because he isn’t watching the slugs drive to their doom anymore. “You dragged me here,” he smiles as he attempts to hold one of the snails but it slips through his fingers and rushes to its last meal. Minho’s nose crunches in disgust at the slimy texture.

“And here I thought accompanying me everywhere is what best friends do. Aigoo…” he says in his old man's voice and puts the back of his hand over his forehead.

Minho lives next door, he takes ten steps to ring his doorbell if they’re small and eight if they’re longer strides. He counted the tiles to his house too. It’s impossible for them to be anywhere without each other and frankly, Jisung doesn’t have anyone else to ask—one best friend is enough. Everyone else thinks he’s a weird kid after all and Jisung hates superficials. 

Not that Minho doesn’t think he’s weird too. But there’s a difference—Minho likes it. All the snide and annoying remarks can’t hide the true nature of Minho’s essence, and it’s that he’s caring. He cares about all the silly shit (don’t tell eomma) that Jisung wants to do and Jisung would unhesitatingly say that he’s his best cheerleader and favourite partner in crime ever.

Okay, this wasn’t the actual beginning, just a silly memory so let him start again.

Jisung is eight years old when he meets Minho for the first time. Minho had just moved next door and his mom came to introduce him to Jisung when she found out that they were the same age.

The first thing he says to Minho when he meets the boy’s eyes is that his bowl cut is more awful than his and that’d make them good friends but Minho’s brows furrow at him and he looks incredibly offended. Oops, maybe that was rude to say. He finds out the boy’s ears heat up bright red when he’s angry.

But look, he was right. It didn’t take long for Minho to become his bestest-of-friends! He can tell because Minho is sneakily eating his broccoli for him right now so Jisung’s mom doesn’t scorn him for extricating them from his plate. Totally a best friend thing to do. 

Minho comes over after school every day, mainly because his parents are home late and Minho doesn’t like spending time alone even if he hates to say it. Jisung tells his mom it's because they’re studying together.

“When we finish lunch we should play Tekken. I’ll beat you this time,” he murmurs with a devilish grin and Minho just scoffs at him.

Minho beats him two times but he lets Jisung win the third time because he threatens not to play with him again if he wins one more game.

Minho’s parents announce their presence with a doorbell ring late at night after they’ve played so many rounds, eaten so many snacks and solved-copied their homework together. That night he sees Minho cry for the first time because his parents refuse to let him stay over and he’s not even sure if Minho is crying for this reason alone. Minho never cries when Jisung teases him or when he fell off the bike that one time and hurt his knee. He wasn’t sure the boy possessed the ductal gland thing that Seungmin from the next class told him about.

Jisung squeezes Minho’s hand and tells him to wait so he can give him his favourite teddy bear to help him sleep at night. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispers with wobbly lips struggling not to mirror Minho and cry too. Minho hugs him tight and takes the teddy bear from him.

He should’ve known back then that they’d be inseparable, that Minho’s absence can’t be moulded.

Somewhere along the way comes the day in the music shop.

Jisung is almost fifteen when he decides that he wants to buy a guitar for himself. His dad used to play for him when he was younger and he listens to so much nineties band music on his CD player and wired earphones that Minho believes are permanently glued to his ears. So he’s made a habit of tugging at them so he can talk to him. Jisung thinks it's the most annoying thing ever after Minho’s smug smile when he does it.

Anyway, now he’d like to learn how to play his favourite songs. The guitar he has at home is an acoustic one, it's his dad’s and he loves it, he even gave it a name, ‘Billy’ he calls it. But Billy is old and needs a change of strings and he’s lonely on Jisung’s wall so Jisung decides to get him a brother—a red telecaster. It's the second prettiest thing that Jisung has seen and he stands there at the store to stare at it in awe.

“Are you gonna purchase it or not?”

Jisung knows this agitating voice, “Shut up, Minho. I’m admiring it.”

Minho rounds the corner of the cashier and stands next to him to stare at it too then he clicks his tongue, “Yeah, it's just a guitar.”

“You wouldn’t get it, it's a total beauty,” he bites back, looking at Minho.

Jisung would love to say that he dragged Minho with him here but Minho is just doing his job. If anything Jisung is being a menacing customer to him at work.

He does this a lot, he comes to stare at the guitar he wants, sits with Minho for a while and leaves. The store is on the way to their houses from school so he usually just sits there with Minho to entertain him when he clocks in. He doesn’t get why Minho picked the job up when his parents can get him anything he wants and when he asked him he said he’s just not fifteen yet so he won’t understand. What’s a month’s difference, really?

“Can you play me Jeff Buckley on the speakers?” he asks, eyes cloyingly sweet as he fists Minho’s sweater vest.

Minho moves to cut the top of his head with his palm as if Jisung’s head was some malleable dough but he plays him on his computer after some clicks of his mouse. Jisung abuses the fact that there are no cameras in the shop and pulls Minho with him to dance.

“It's a sad song about heartache,” Minho says but his mouth twitches in a smile as his movements follow Jisung’s with no physical protest. He’s learned over the years that Jisung will get his way no matter what, probably because Minho always lets him have his way but that’s besides the point.

He can’t believe it's been eight years of them as a unit. Minho-and-Jisung. Two pieces cut off from the same cloth.

Don't fool yourself
She was heartache from the moment that you met her
My heart feels so still
As I try to find the will to forget her, somehow
Oh, I think I've forgotten her now

Jisung sings the lyrics of the song and holds onto Minho’s shoulders. He wonders when Minho got broader than him. It feels like yesterday when they were the same build. Now he has to look up slightly - because his knees buckle to the song - at his eyes when he smiles all toothy while singing the pre-chorus. He pulls at Minho with one arm as his body rocks forward and backwards, absorbing every lyric and note in his veins.

He’s always been like that; he feels too much—the smallest things induce feelings in him and Minho is a witness to it all, a tether to it all.

It's less dancing and more of Jisung tugging Minho to enjoy the song with him as he sings the bridge along with Jeff.

Minho knows it's his favourite song, that's why he played it for him first in the discography. He’s always humming it while walking with him, Minho complains that Jisung always gets the songs he’s obsessed with stuck in his head too. Minho complains a lot but it’s never real disdain, it’s just how he’s wired.

“You sing like you’ve gotten heartbroken before,” Minho says and Jisung doesn’t have to open his eyes to see his smile because he can hear it in his voice.

“Oh, she was heartache from the day that I first met her,” he sings and cups Minho’s face to make him sing with him. He knows that he’s memorised some of the lyrics, “Sing your heart with me, Minho-yah.”

Minho has the same music taste as him, he lends him CDs and they more often than not listen to music together. When Minho tugs at one of his earphones, it's to steal it and listen with him so Jisung can’t find it in him to remain mad at the scare if it makes Minho join him.

“Tell yourself over and over, you won't ever need her again,” they sing together in tandem, too many teeth showing for such a sad song—time is frozen still, their figures crystalised in a shakable orb with synthetic snow.

Jisung doesn’t buy the electric guitar that day, he buys it before Minho decides to quit, close to his birthday. He no longer has a reason to return to the store with his two favourite pretty things now near him.

Minho was right, he realises why he picked the job up when he turns fifteen and Minho shows up at his doorstep with an amp to his guitar, legs slightly rocking in excitement as he extends the present to him—Minho’s figure illuminated by the sundown streaks at his door’s entrance as he stands there looking at him - so expectantly - with his one-million-dollar smile. 

Jisung realises it then, too, he likes Minho.

It’s a bit funny how such a silly revelation can make him see and act so differently.

He likes Minho, it’s cool, it’s whatever. It’s just a crush. Jisung is currently sleeping on Minho’s thigh in the park, tired of walking around because he spent too much time yesterday getting his fingers stained by ink while jotting down lyrics about a certain someone and he couldn’t get sufficient sleep.

He doesn’t understand why looking him in the eye has him flustered all of a sudden. Jisung’s never been good with eye contact, not at all. But it didn’t make butterflies erupt inside his stomach whenever he looked at Minho before, pinpricks travelling the expanse of his skin.

Minho is so stunning, every time he looks at Jisung it makes him feel small. But not just because he’s so beautiful, but because he looks at him so lovingly, with all of his attention—Jisung doesn’t think he can manage to hold it still in his open palm so he can’t help but flounder in his attempt to convince Minho into letting him play music again. Minho knows what he will play next, he guesses he’s sick of it, all the yearning and melancholic shit even though the mood really calls for it; it’s a chilly spring night and Jisung is so cosy on Minho’s lap.

He lets Minho have the AUX, he plugs it into the CD player and speakers and Jisung can’t make sense of the name of the CD and this would normally drive him crazy because he has to take a look at the cover first—too curious for his own good. But he can’t find it in himself to care now because his eyes snap shut as Minho’s fingers caress his scalp with little slow taps. It feels incredible, it gives him tingles and soothes his nerves.

The song starts and yeah, he recognises this style it’s definitely Jeff but he doesn’t know this song. It’s a live version and he loves live versions of songs so he does little dances with his hands as he listens, a gravitational pull between his body and the music. The first two minutes is an instrumental and then Jeff starts singing, he does this vocal scale that makes Jisung’s toes curl and he keeps telling Minho that it fucks - Minho just nods to the beat with a smile.

Minho lays back, too - at some point in the song and Jisung lifts his head until he adjusts his position then he lowers it on his lap again, the top of his head cushioned by Minho’s other thigh. There’s no way to tell where their bodies begin or end, they probably look like a complicated lump in the darkness of the night.

“Are you comfy?” he asks and Minho nods, fuck . Minho’s head is resting on his palm and Jisung is tilting his head to look up at his eyes. Maybe it’s the vibe they’ve established here but…

Okay, Jisung really doesn’t get it. Having a crush is exciting but it’s also a bit humiliating , like, how can he explain this shift in attitude to an unsuspecting, clueless Minho? It just makes things awkward to proceed looking at him so he closes his eyes and continues jamming to the music. He wishes he would get swept away in the current of its flow.

“Why’s he saying ‘I don’t feel like I’m a man’ ?” he asks with his face facing heavenward, all that’s in his peripheral vision is tree-lined pathways and navy darkness, and Minho—if he tilts his head.

He chooses to look at the navy darkness with speckled stars for now.

“Is he feeling dysphoric?” he adds to his question. Minho is always the one who pays close attention to the lyrics. Jisung prefers the instrumentals and singing techniques but the lyrics are a close second, he focuses on them when the song enchants him.

Minho hums, “No, I don’t think so. Not really, at least. I think Jeff believes that he’s a disappointment to his absent father. Maybe it means that he’s not sure he’s become what he wanted him to be. But again, he doesn’t think that ‘he even cares’ because he abandoned him.”

“Woah, that’s pretty tough. I think I know- like, only one happy Jeff song.”

Minho chuckles, “Play it to me after this one.”

Jisung nods and continues jamming to the song till it reaches the bridge.

“This is crazyyyy, Minho, holy shit,” he says when Jeff screams in a loud octave. He is stimming so hard with silly noises that mimic the rhythm of the song until one accidentally comes out as a moan.

He glances at Minho and Minho’s expression is perplexed as he asks, “Did you just…moan?”

He stays silent for a while as he stares at his face and they both erupt in laughter when Jisung’s lips wobble. He was about to cry earlier because the song had him feeling so sad but now he’s holding his stomach because he’s laughing so hard it’s painful. 

God, looking at laughing Minho doesn’t help either, because they just curl up on the ground like worms drowning in their laughter. It’s not that funny, but it was so quiet and they were engrossed in the vibe until Jisung made that noise.

“Stop it,” he says, hitting Minho’s arm but he can’t stop wheezing either.

“I’m glad to know that the song is that good,” Minho says while laughing, he tries to mimic the sound but he fails miserably and it makes Jisung laugh again.

“It’s Jeff okay…he’s just too good. Please never mention this again.”

“Understandable, I get it. I’d moan too if I could.”

Jisung huffs, “I could because it wasn’t intentional!”

Minho looks at him, intentionally unconvinced.

Then after a while he says something so fucking cheesy, “I like the person I become when I’m with you, Han-ah.” Who says that?

Jisung groans, kicking his feet half in frustration and half in shyness. “You’re annoying, I kinda wish you never moved next door.”

Minho’s eyes bore into him with his kitten blinking. “Oww, could you live without me?”

No, probably not.   

“Unfortunately not,” he says, too gummy to carry any real regret.

Jisung has a crush on his best friend of seven years. He figured it out, albeit a bit late—and it’s totally not cool!

And only passing time

Could kill the boredom we acquired

Running with the losers for a while

But our empty sky was filled with laughter

Just before the flood

Painting worried faces with a smile

This summer passed in a haze, nothing too crazy except for their short trip to the beach where Minho was too scared to go in more than legs deep so they mostly played by the beach, lighting up sparkles and swam in the pool more until they bought him a floaty but the waves were still relentless to him.

Jisung spent the majority of the summer lounging around on Minho’s bed or his floor, playing computer games inside or going to arcades. He practised the guitar a lot and played for Minho often – usually impatient to wait till he mastered the song so he made mistakes while playing but Minho encouraged him with praise. After lots of cold noodles and popsicles on pavements after running around too much they get into the same co-ed high school in their town.

But things do change a bit because nothing stays the same, right?

He finds out that Minho isn’t in his class on the first day, and that’s the first thing that went wrong. Minho has always been in the same class with him, not more than a few desks far because classes were sorted out by names. If he knew about this system he would have studied harder to end up with him.

But for now, he manages by only seeing him in breaks and shared gym practice and by walking home together after the school day is done.

He makes a new friend, his name is Jeongin and he’s a bit timid and nice so he’s not all by himself but it’s still not the same. He can’t shake the feeling of uneasiness. High school isn’t anything like middle school - and that, too, was hell for him - everyone feels like they’re on some code Jisung doesn’t know how to run. 

Jisung never was one to blend in with a crowd; too peculiar, but he never stuck out like a sore thumb either. People mostly ignored his existence and he was more okay with that than getting called names. Minho would stick his fingers in his ears when that used to happen but Jisung could read their lips, he knew how he was viewed—a retarded faggot in everyone’s eyes.

He’s painfully aware of the fact that he’s different and special but not special as in gifted , he needs different care and he behaves too oddly and authentically for the sameness that is required in a high school. He hates this, he hates masking and acting like a jester just to earn the affection of people who don’t even matter to him, it depletes his energy but he doesn’t want to sit alone so he does things that make him loathe himself.

There’s no one who can mould this hollowness except Minho.

He goes to see him during the lunch break, and he finds him sitting with some popular kid with muscles. He looks like he’d bully Jisung and he feels too intimidated to even walk up to Minho until Minho’s eyes meet his and he calls for his name.

“Jisung, this is Changbin,” he gestures to the guy and the guy smiles at him. Jisung just stares at him with a twinge in his gut until the guy extends his hand for a handshake. Jisung shakes it with a weak smile and makes a stupid excuse to leave after sitting there uncomfortably for a while.

It's not the same, it’s not the same, it’s not the same.

Jisung hates change, he can’t adapt easily. That day he has a meltdown for the first time in a while. 

Everything is too overwhelming all of a sudden, his emotions are dwarfing him. His hands are shaking and he uses them to cover his ears to deafen the sounds of students. Everything is too loud, the sun is a bright yellow behind his closed eyelids and the label of his new uniform is scratching his nape. He’s sitting on the dusty ground under some window next to a bush of leaves and he really hopes no one comes and sees him like this; tears streaking down his face and fists hitting his head because he’s just so fucked up.

He wishes he had his earphones with him. It would calm him faster but it’s in his bag. He wishes he wasn’t jealous because his best friend made new cooler friends. He wishes his heart didn’t ache when he saw Minho accept a girl’s confession behind the shoe dressers.

He tries to regulate his breathing because his anxiety is also flaring up, inhale for five seconds, hold for five seconds then exhale and repeat. It kinda works, he’s so thankful for therapy he got as a kid.

When the bell rings, he runs back to class and keeps his head down till the collective slouch of relief when the teacher announces the end of their classes. He collects his things and rushes home without waiting for Minho and blasts music when he goes back till he falls asleep.

This is not how he imagined high school.

Jisung spends the day dissociating and drowns in homework when he gets back then falls asleep and repeats the doom cycle. 

Minho apparently notices that Jisung has been ignoring him because he shows up at Jisung’s house after a few days of him evading Minho at School. Minho hears him telling his mom to tell him that he’s sleeping but that doesn’t work on pushing Minho away because the next thing he’s rushing to open his room’s door after he’s closed it.

“What’s wrong, can you tell me why you’re avoiding me?” Minho asks far too gently and it makes Jisung mad because he should be upset. Jisung is upset.

He sits on his bed covering himself with the quilt and stays silent.

“Jisung, come on,” Minho whines. He looks so goofy hanging there by the door and Jisung takes pity on him even though he can’t speak because there’s a lump in his throat.

“Who said I’m upset?” he says without looking at him.

Minho takes his reply as a cue to come closer, “You so are! Did I do something stupid?”

“I’m just struggling at school, you know. I feel alienated in the new environment,” he says, it’s part of the truth and it feels so relieving to admit.

Minho sits on the bed beside him and Jisung finally looks up from his tangled fingers.

“Oh, Jisungie,” Minho sighs. The good thing about Minho is that he never exaggerates his reactions or sugarcoats his words. So whatever he’s displaying must be a real concern.

“Have you tried making friends? You can take your time with it if you haven’t, I know it can be hard,” he trails off.

“Yeah, I made a friend in my class. His name is Jeongin.” he smiles a bit because the boy buys him convenience store food with him whenever he goes even though Jisung doesn’t ask for it.

“Okay, that’s great. What else are you struggling with then? You know you don’t have to earn everyone’s admiration right? You’re too unique for that. Do you get overwhelmed often? You can come find me if you do.”

Jisung nods, he doesn’t know to what exactly, “Yeah, I know. I’m trying to find my footing. I miss you,” he says, squeezing Minho’s hand that’s holding his.

Minho smiles, “I’m right here.”

Yeah, but he’s still holograms away, he’s not near enough. “That’s the problem.”

Minho stays for a bit and they play some games and he eventually tells him about his new girlfriend.

“I know, I was waiting for you to tell me,” he says. Which is sort of a lie because this carries the notion that he was awaiting it. But he was just scared. 

Minho looks surprised but he nods to his words before Jisung opens his mouth to continue.

“Rumours travel fast, you know since you’re so handsome,” he says and it feels acidic on his tongue. What is he even saying?

Minho chuckles awkwardly, “That’s your first time calling me that.”

Yeah, that’s more of Minho’s game because he’s the flirty one. And Jisung prefers calling him pretty, beautiful, gorgeous, mesmerising—a dozen times over in his brain but never out loud.

“She’s super shy but I should introduce you to her sometime since you’re my best friend and all.”

“Right, can’t wait,” he smiles but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes and he wants the bed to swallow him.

Minho tells Jisung more about her and he dissociates so badly that he’s sure Minho can tell but he doesn’t comment on it to be polite.

“If you have someone you like you’ll tell me right?” Minho asks and it’s hilarious, really.

It’s you, it’s you. How do you not know it’s you? His brain screams.

Jisung looks at him blankly, “Yeah, definitely I’ll tell you if I have a crush,” he lies again. God, he hates lying.

Eventually, Minho leaves and Jisung grapples with the ache in his chest, he tries to quiet down his pain but it overflows and drowns him under its current.

He wants to be happy for Minho, he really does but he can’t bring himself to. He has to get over his feelings for Minho because it’s counterproductive and there’s no hope for them to end up together. Because as far as it seems, Minho clearly doesn’t feel the same way.

High school years pass in a blur, he barely recalls anything from it aside from feeling restricted. Being sixteen was awful, because duh . Seventeen was a tad bit better but still shit nonetheless he just listened to all the songs with seventeen in the lyrics and tried to relate. 

Youth is a funny concept, why’s it so romanticised?

Minho treats him the same as usual, he changes girlfriends every other month and ends things with them for reasons beyond Jisung’s knowledge because he doesn’t ask; he’s learnt that he can’t fake his reactions for shit—and Jisung is still the faggot who’s in love with his straight best friend and can’t move on to save his life. It’s comical, really. Living with the pain didn’t get any easier but he’s better at dealing with it now, it just flares up sometimes; an open wound that keeps bleeding because Minho sticks his nail into every once in a while. He can’t heal.

He should’ve known that it was a premonition of sorts to dance to a song about heartache with Minho back when he didn’t know anything about that feeling. Now, he’s well-versed, he hopes Jeff’s skills come with being heartbroken but most of the time Jisung can’t bring himself to derive anything creative out of his pain. He just wallows in it and consumes music instead. At least this makes him sing sad songs with more feeling than before.

The good thing about being a senior aside from the fact that they’re finally fucking graduating soon is that they can have performances at the end of the year. Since Jisung is in the high school band with Jeongin they decide to carry a performance together.

Minho will be his muse, if he can’t get over him because he’s by his side and it only makes him sink deeper then he’ll channel this feeling into something mega cool before he gets out of this shit hole.

One last time , he tells himself. It’s to bid farewell to the feeling without outrightly expressing it.

Jisung chooses to perform ‘Forget Her’ by Jeff Buckley. It’s the most meaningful song to him at this point, Minho didn’t particularly betray him but it does feel like it sometimes when emotions take over the driving wheel kicking logic out of the vehicle. 

Whatever they have is real but how real is it? 

The performance pushes many of the viewers to tears - because Jisung put his whole heart into it - including Minho who’s standing in the middle of the crowd. He sticks out to Jisung’s eyes as if he has a spotlight on him and he doesn’t take his eyes away from him for most of the song. His heart hurts.

When he finishes the performance, Minho surprises him with a flower bouquet, standing there teary-eyed and he hugs him so tightly it’s almost soul crushing.

“I’m so proud of you, you did amazing,” he says, wobbly voice into Jisung’s neck.

Tell yourself over and over you won’t ever need her again.

But don’t fool yourself.

Jisung is eighteen now, he knows that he’s been in love with Minho for the past three years and he’s known Minho for ten whole years in total. Ten years is a lifetime to some. Minho is his lifetime and his first heartache.

Graduation is fun, Jisung takes a lot of pictures and rocks back and forth between excitement and nervousness. It’s overwhelming in a good way. He spends the following weeks studying for his college entrance exams and he ends up getting accepted into the same university as Minho. He didn’t plan it, but he guesses they really can’t get rid of each other easily.

He rushes to ring Minho’s doorbell and they jump together at the happy news that they’re finally getting out of this city. Jisung is a music major and Minho is a dance major and their schedules don’t overlap much but Jisung likes it that way. Distance makes the heart grow fonder and stuff. Jeongin does end up being in his department as well and they grow closer than they were in high school because Jisung decides to put in the effort for it to happen.

Jeongin tells him about a freshman party and Jisung hates parties but he decides to give it a shot. New world and all. He shouldn’t have drunk so much because when he runs into Minho he sticks to him like a leech and says the stupidest shit ever.

They’re in some sort of chair he supposes, he can’t really tell because everything is so hazy. But it’s not loud so they’re probably out of the party. It’s cold, Minho has his scarf wrapped around Jisung’s neck, and his jacket is on his shoulder. Minho gets cold, Minho…

“Why don’t you..? Why? I do, I do! I have for so long,” he vaguely hears him slurring into Minho’s face, his cheeks squished in between his hands because he’s kneading his fingers through them. Minho just holds him still by his waist and stays silent, expression unreadable. “It hurts a lot, Minho-yah. I never- I never knew it would hurt like that and I can’t do anything about it.” His eyes are betraying him again, tears flowing over his cheeks.

He’s so mad and he’s so devastated so he hits Minho’s chest where his heart is with his fist, his alcohol-addled brain thinks it’d make him love him. “Do you even have a heart like me? Wha-Why won’t you open it for me?” his voice breaks out. “My heart is open and bleeding for you, it has for so, sooo long. Why am I the only one hurting? Can’t you even see me?”

Then he does something even stupider and kisses him. Minho doesn’t utter a single word when he does it either.

The next morning Jisung wakes up with a killer headache and finds medicine on his bedside table and a cup of water from Minho.

“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” he asks.

Jisung fucked up really badly. He panics then he laughs, “No, did I do something stupid? Please say no,” he lies. Jisung hates lying.

Minho looks disappointed but then his expression returns neutral, “No, you didn’t. You were just super clingy. Do you want soup?”

“Yeah, guess I’m a clingy drunk haha… I’d love some soup, yes,” he awkwardly replies.

Minho disappears into the kitchen and Jisung buries his head under the pillow.

For all it’s worth, Minho doesn’t date anymore in uni. He doesn’t know why, maybe he doesn’t have the time to anymore or perhaps he’s just sick of breakups. But this changes things both for the worse and for the better for him because his brain believes that he’s allowed to love him now. Everything Minho does for him is shrouded in a romantic light and the possibility that Minho could love him back someday—that he perhaps already does. Jisung tries to curb this flimsy hope but he’s only human.

Jisung is standing on someone’s balcony at another shitty party. He's taken a liking to going to them and sitting in seclusion watching people or something. It’s fascinating to him, humans are endlessly fascinating. They do things that never fail to amaze him.

The cold October air hitting his face along with the odd melancholic vibe he feels makes him inclined to go for a smoke. He borrows a lighter and a cigarette from some guy and lights it up to take a drag. He gets why people get addicted to this shit when it sinks in his lungs, it feels just right at this moment.

He takes another drag and when he blows the smoke Minho is in front of him looking at him angrily. He snatches the cigarette from his mouth.

“Hey! What the hell, man?” he yells, thinking he’s gonna throw it away. “I had a guy roll me that don’t toss it,” he begs but it’s also a demand.

Minho just eyes it in his hand and steps back from Jisung who’s trying to snatch it. Then he takes a hit, tilting his head to blow the smoke away from Jisung’s face and Jisung feels his legs becoming jelly at the sight. Minho looks so hot smoking a fucking stolen cigarette, he does it with so much ease that Jisung believes he’s done it before.

“It’s bad for you, you shouldn’t smoke,” Minho says and it’s a bit hypocritical with a cigarette right in between his fingers.

“What if we share? I feel bad for the person who grew the tobacco only for it to be thrown away,” he tries to coax Minho into it with a smile.

“Who said I’m throwing it away?” he takes another drag and tabs the butt with his nail making embers fall. Does he have any idea how infuriatingly hot he looks doing that?

“Minho, come on! I won’t smoke again, just this once,” he whines with the biggest case of puppy eyes ever.

“Fine, just this once,” Minho gives in, handing out the cigarette to him.

Unlike Minho, Jisung blows the smoke into Minho’s face and smiles when Minho scowls.

“It’s warming me up,” he says because the cigarette is hot in his freezing fingers.

“Yeah, the weather calls for a smoke sometimes,” Minho replies, resting his arms on the fence of the balcony, eyes gazing ahead on something Jisung isn’t sure exists.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” he says and hands the cigarette to Minho after a second hit.

“I don’t,” he inhales then exhales in Jisung’s face with an annoying smile. This bastard!

Jisung plays ‘Scenes from an Italian Restaurant ’ on his phone. In reminiscence of when they used to listen to music together back in the day.

Minho chances a glance at his lock screen, “Billy Joel, nice.”

“Yeah, I named my acoustic guitar and the amp you got me after him. They’re not even family, it's kinda funny.”

Minho looks at him, a bit surprised, “Which is which?”

“You’d have known if you were a real one,” he teases and Minho huffs, “The guitar is Billy and the amp is Joel,” he says after a beat.

Minho just hums, and taps his shoe to the beat of the song.

“This is such a good song,” he says when the vibe changes and hands the cigarette to Jisung, but this time he holds it to his mouth because Jisung’s too busy dancing while holding the phone with his right hand.

Jisung looks up at him and then takes a drag and blows the smoke into the distance ahead.

Minho takes another hit after him and it sinks in that this is sort of an indirect kiss because that thing was just in between his lips. He’ll go crazy if he thinks about it so he locks the thought away.

The song changes the vibe again and Jisung takes the cigarette again as well. It’s really warming him up, “Why does this go on forever?” he says because the cigarette won’t burn faster no matter how many hits they take.

“Hand-rolled cigarettes last longer,” Minho replies, he wants to ask how he knows that but he swallows the urge because he has a feeling he probably won’t like the answer.

“Good for us,” he says with a grin and Minho makes a movement of cutting his head with the heel of his palm.

Jisung shields the top of his head with one hand, “Ouch, you haven’t done that in a while I forgot how much it hurts.”

Minho’s jaw tightens, and he looks sad all of a sudden, “Sorry,” he says.

“Why are you sorry? Don’t be weird, I missed that,” he laughs and takes another hit then passes it.

He watches Minho’s face while listening to the song, moonlit and glowing in his dark clothing, even the smoke can’t shroud his light. It's strange how time shaped them both so differently, while time softened Jisung’s edges, it sharpened Minho’s instead.

“What?” he asks, perplexed as to why Jisung could be staring at him.

“You’re pretty,” Jisung says while looking into Minho’s eyes.

Minho flounders, his cheeks heating up, “Are you drunk or something?”

“No, do I have to be?” he asks, leaning into the fence more, he doesn’t know why but he feels unabashed about it. Maybe because it’s just a fact at this point.

“I don’t know, last time you said this it was sarcastic.”

Oh, the last time he said it he was jealous .

“Hm, no I mean it this time,” he smiles and it feels freeing to say this for some reason. He wants to yell it to the world, he longs to whisper sweet nothings into his soft skin, meant just for him. Loud and quiet all the same, just anything .

“Uhh, thanks,” Minho says and hands him the cigarette, “You can have the last hit. No need to pass it again.”

Three inhales and exhales and he tosses it with a kick of his finger after its light goes out.

He looks at the screen again when the seven-minute song ends and it reads 12:01 am, October 25.

“Happy birthday, Minho. Are you doing anything for your birthday tomorrow?”

“That’s hyung for you,” he says with a smug grin and Jisung lets him have this.

Jisung spends the day with Minho. They have morning classes that day so they meet after and go to a nice restaurant for dinner and eat ice cream on their way back. Minho complains that he’s cold so they end up going back sooner than intended and they watch some Christmas movie. He wanted the day to be special so he wanted to do more things but Minho looks pleased enough, all bundled up in a blanket.

“I got you a present,” Jisung says at some point in the night.

“What is it? You didn’t have to, you know,” Minho replies from the other side of the sofa, slowly lifting his head from the armrest.

“Hair dye, we’re dyeing your hair purple,” Jisung says with a grin, jumping on his toes.

“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” Minho laughs then his expression shifts when the words sink in, “Wait, are you serious?”

And that’s how they find themselves in the bathroom, with Jisung sitting on the closed toilet lid and Minho sitting on the ground in between his legs. Jisung is bleaching his hair first with a brush after wetting it. He’s wearing gloves so his skin doesn’t burn if bleach grazes it and Minho’s neck is covered with a towel.

Minho is sitting silently on the ground, scrolling on his phone. There’s no point in talking while dyeing hair, any wrong movement and chemicals could get into your mouth or eyes.

Jisung can sing though, so he hums while covering chunks of Minho’s hair in bleach, smoothing it together so that they can fuse to the strands. He’s a bit surprised because he expected to need to put in more effort to convince Minho to let him dye his hair but he was just up for it for the fun of it. Something about being nineteen and doing crazy things or whatever.

“Okay, we’re done. We should wrap your head in plastic for thirty minutes so that it catches the dye,” he says and heads to the kitchen to get a white plastic bag with a green label.

“A plastic bag, really?” Minho complains, all long limbs splayed on the ground so he has to be careful not to step on his leg while returning to his spot.

“Chill, no one else is gonna see you like this. Everyone will see the finish that’s going to be so cool because I was the one who dyed it, of course.”

Minho laughs loudly at his dramatics as he puts the plastic bag on his head and ties it at his nape so air doesn’t get inside.

“Sorry though, I actually didn’t think of getting a bonnet because the other brand I use usually has a disposable one in the package but it was out of stock.”

Minho squeezes his arm, “I don’t actually mind, I’m just being annoying for fun.”

Jisung rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, “Okay, now we’re bleaching my hair in the meantime. I hope you don’t burn my scalp.”

Minho’s wide kitten eyes stare at him, “Woah, I’ve never dyed anyone’s hair before though, are you sure?”

Jisung nods, “Yeah, I trust you with my pretty hair.”

Minho climbs off from the ground and sits in Jisung’s place and waits for him to sit down.

“I need to wet my hair first actually,” he says while opening the faucet.

“Do you need help?” Minho asks but he’s already getting a towel and putting it on Jisung’s shoulders.

Jisung’s hums a thanks and dunks his head under the faucet. It feels cooling, he didn’t realise his head was heating up until he had it under cold water. Minho’s fingers graze his scalp as he spreads the water to his strands and smoothes it onto his scalp. It feels incredible, it’s like getting a head massage.

“This is so nice,” he says but he doubts Minho can hear him over the sound of the water.

“Yeah, I know,” comes his reply.

Minho is so gentle it suddenly makes him want to cry, there’s water on his face anyways, some tears won’t be obvious, he guesses. He’s so fragile, crumbling under the smallest weight.

When he lifts his head from the sink, Minho towels his hair so softly that it's damp and not dripping water on him. Jisung just stares at Minho’s face as he does it, brows furrowed in concentration. He looks adorable and boyish, anyone would fall for him.

Jisung wants to curl up and die. He wishes he was normal, he should just view things platonically because Minho is his best friend. But all he can feel is immense desire to crawl inside Minho’s skin, would Minho let him? To what limit does his kindness really extend?

Minho doesn’t mess up when he bleaches Jisung’s scalp, he does it so meticulously and his head doesn't burn as much as it heart does.

He dyes Minho’s hair purple after rinsing out the bleach and dries it with the already wet towel, Minho looks like a pretty cream of tartar when they’re done. He wonders if it’d char his tongue to the touch like the fierce flame it is—the most energetic.

“I told you it’d end up looking amazing,” he says while staring at Minho’s hair from behind him. Minho just examines his new look in the mirror and clicks his tongue.

“I’ll get used to it, it’s very different for sure.”

When Jisung rinses his hair under the shower head and shampoos it to get rid of any excess dye residue and emerges from the bathroom, Minho gapes at him a bit weirdly from the kitchen stool.

“What?” he asks, turning on the kettle with a click to make hot chocolate.

“You look so pretty,” Minho says with a smile, “Blue hair suits you really well.”

Jisung stammers and some of the cocoa powder falls on the kitchen counter, what the hell?  

“Uhh, thanks. Purple suits you too.” His cheeks are heating up. This is so stupid; liking someone makes you act stupidly. He wonders if he’ll ever stop being stupid. Most likely not if Minho keeps being Minho .

He hands Minho a cup of hot chocolate and they sit to drink it together in the dimly lit kitchen.

When he goes to sleep he wonders if Minho will wake up and find his pillow case stained purple and think of him first thing in the morning. Jisung’s fingers are stained purple because he helped Minho rinse his hair without wearing gloves, it probably won’t come off for days. That makes them have a similar stain, a link or whatever. It’s just another stupid thought of his, desperation makes you a fool.

They have exams coming up next week so they get busy preparing for that until they can have fun again at the end of the year. Jisung’s mom sends them side dishes and knits Minho a scarf because he gets cold easily. They celebrate Christmas and the New Year with lots of sweets and hot chocolates back home. They get lots of matching winter clothes because of the offers on them but they don’t know which is whose because they end up sharing the clothes anyway. Minho sleeps in his bed sometimes because it’s cold and their heater isn’t working and the sight of his face in the morning sends his heart into cardiac arrest, it's more functional than any alarm bell.

A few months pass and they start another semester and next thing they’re celebrating Jisung’s birthday instead. They eventually graduate uni after lots of hair colour changes till they go back to their natural ones and after going through so much shit from classes to exams to final projects and instead of helping each other do their assignments they’re filling out job applications together.

It’s terrifying how fast time passes. They were just two clueless children without a worry yesterday and now they’re adults with responsibilities who know about pain, disappointment and so much more…

Winter always requires you to bring a loved one with you.

Jisung’s memories are mostly of winter. He guesses it's the cold that forces you to need someone’s body heat nearby, or it's just the winter wonder. Shining, silver and shimmering so prettily is Minho in winter. Really, Jisung never gets used to it, Minho is always star killingly handsome when it’s cold.

Minho is currently standing in their kitchen, sweater sleeves pulled up revealing his flexed arms as he holds a jar of milk powder ?

“What are you making?” Jisung asks and rounds the corner of his room to the kitchen and sits at one of the stools.

Minho looks up from the skillet he’s heating up, “Zero flour cake, Seungmin is allergic to flour so I wanted to try making this cake for his birthday.”

Jisung stares in bewilderment, “Do you use milk powder instead of flour?”

Minho nods, he measures two and half cups and pours them into the skillet, “I toast it a bit and add sugar and baking powder on top.”

He whirls around to get sugar and baking powder from the cabinet and adds them over the milk powder and stirs with a spatula.

Jisung looks at the other lit stove, “Where’d you even get this pressure cooker? It looks familiar.”

“I borrowed it from your mom,” Minho replies, matter of fact.

“Damn, she’d never lend me a pressure cooker. She thinks I’d let it explode in my face or something. You know, moms and their irrational fears. But she apparently trusts you with it?” he asks, grinning and nudging his shoulder in his direction.

“Yeah, I’m her favourite kid,” Minho teases, his smile lines showing.

“I can tell, she treats you better than me,” Jisung scoffs, but he doesn’t hate it. He likes the fact that Minho is so intertwined with his life, his presence woven through every stitch line—take him out and everything would crumble.

“So what’s in the pressure cooker?” he asks, entering the kitchen to stare up close.

He hears a loud screech from Minho.

“Get away from the stove, Jisung. Last time you tried using it you put your hand on the induction to check if it’s on and burned yourself.”

Well… In his defence, he couldn’t really tell whether it was on or not, technology makes things more complicated sometimes.

He pouts and steps away, trying to climb onto the kitchen counter to watch instead. Minho helps him up by his waist and Jisung squeaks out a weird sound.

“Condensed milk,” Minho says, face inches away.

“What?” Jisung says, confused, brain smushed inside a pressure cooker.

“The pressure cooker has a condensed can of milk inside,” he says, stepping away to get some eggs that are in a bowl on the sink.

“Are you sure that thing isn’t going to explode?” he laughs. “It seems risky.”

Minho lifts a brow at him after cracking one of the eggs in the bowl, “Are you scared?” He smiles.

“What, isn’t this a normal fear to have? What if that thing explodes in my pretty face?” he dramatically scooches a bit further and crosses his legs.

Minho chuckles, “Don’t worry, I’d probably catch the most harm.”

“I don’t want it to explode in your pretty face either! Imagine going on the headline for something like that, disastrous,” he says while enunciating with his hands.

“Should I wear a face shield? You know those ones they wear on bikes,” he says and Jisung is sure he’s just thinking out loud.

“A visor, a visor, Minho,” he laughs, there’s nothing he loves more than being pedantic because it makes fumes come out from Minho’s head like in cartoons.

“Whatever,” Minho pouts while pouring the eggs and oil mix on the dry mix.

“Can I taste that?” Jisung extends his hand.

“No,” Minho replies and pushes his hand away and continues mixing the batter and smoothing it with another spatula that he took out of the drawer.

Jisung huffs and crosses his arms, “Will you let me taste it when you’re done when the pressure cooker doesn’t explode in your face?”

Minho sputters out a loud laugh like Jisung just said the funniest thing in the world, “Yeah, of course,” he says, putting the pan in the oven.

Minho stands back to the kitchen stool facing him.

“Do you still stay in touch with Changbin?” He asks, breaking the silence that befell them. The guy is nice, he’s shown this over many occasions and Jisung was just quick to misjudge him because he was an insecure and disturbed high school freshman.

Minho’s eyes are boring through his soul. He’ll truly never not feel pinned to place under his gaze. “Yeah, he’s dating Seungmin.”

Jisung’s mouth goes oval, “Seungmin? Kim Seungmin, the one you’re making the cake for?”

“Yepp,” he says, enunciating the ‘p’ sound.

“Wow, I didn’t know that. How’d they even know each other?”

“I introduced them to each other in uni. They’ve been dating since.”

Makes sense. “We should hang out sometime. I’ll invite Jeongin,” he says.

Minho nods, “That’s a really good idea, I’ll make sure to tell them but you should remind me if I forget.”

“Sure,” Jisung says, dangling his legs back and forth. It sounds exciting.

“I’ll need to open the pressure cooker now, shield your face if you’re scared. Though there’s only water and a can of condensed milk inside.”

Jisung laughs because he isn’t genuinely scared anymore, he takes Minho’s reassurance at face value. Because usually when Minho assures him that his fears won’t come true, he ends up being right. And on the rare chance that he’s wrong, he still has him while going through it—shared pain makes the burden lighter, Jisung doesn’t know things otherwise.

He doesn’t ache as much about his love for Minho anymore, he’s used to it now; a static in the background. It’s a habit, a sentient fire inside of him that does act up sometimes because the spark never fully smulders, sometimes there’s smoke and it suffocates him because he isn’t letting it out the way it’s meant to so it burns inside him over and and gets rebirthed again when it dies.

Somewhere along the way, comes the day Jisung gets accepted into his dream job. And it goes from We’re in the same uni! To You’re finally a composer what the hell? His job is in the same city as their university so they don’t need to move out of their shared apartment. Jisung has a lot of his equipment at home so he often works remotely and Minho graduates and gets a job at their university as a dance teacher and he’s just as well-loved as he was when he was a student.

Jisung watched it all, Jisung can say that he’s finally living now after grappling for so long. Youth was a bit cruel but it taught him a lot of things, or maybe it’s nostalgia that’s painting it in a different light, this happens. He also doesn’t hate the fact that he’s different anymore. He went through a lot to realise that it's okay to be just himself - flawed, authentic and a bit weird - because anything else doesn’t cut it.

He doesn’t hate the fact that he loves his best friend who doesn't love him back either, he’s tried giving up this love many times but it didn’t work—noose tightly secured around his neck.

There’s no one closer to him anyway, if they died someday people would think that they were just two really good friends who did many lover-like things together. Which would be correct.

Jisung is happy, truly, it’s enough. Greediness is a bad trait to possess.

Somewhere along the way comes today.

“We used to be crazy back then,” Minho says around the mug he’s holding, letting the smoke blow on his face to warm him up, a blanket splayed on his legs. He’s wearing this sweater with holes and Jisung keeps fiddling with it with his fingers because his hands are always seeking textures.

“You’re still crazy, Minho, don’t act feign maturity,” Jisung laughs around his own cup of honey tea.

Minho looks at him as he says, “No remember when you covered 'Forget her’ in the high school performance, I still can’t get over it.”

Me neither. Jisung mentally groans, his voice cracked many times and it still haunts him.

Jisung looks at him with a confident grin, “Aren’t you a bit obsessed with me?”

Minho smiles that eye smile that makes him look like one of those cute kaomojis and he still gets the urge to knead through his cheeks, “Can you blame me?” he says. “Everybody wants you,” he trails off.

Okay, that’s not true. People might want Jisung from afar but once they get closer they realise that eyes are deceiving, and of course Minho is the exception to this. Jisung doesn’t care about others but Minho…

Minho wants him, yes. He likes him for who he is, yes , but not like that— never like that, god forbid!

Something inside Jisung stops, it’s like his heart is a clock that gets its hands forcefully clawed out with sharp teeth, “That’s not right, who wants me?”

Minho looks at him blankly, like he doesn’t believe what Jisung is sputtering, “Literally who doesn’t?” 

Jisung doesn’t think when he says it, “You,” he whispers. Then he processes it. “You,” he says, louder.

Finally, finally, finally. He spent years holding onto this burden. Catharsis shall fall. He takes a deep breath that fills his lungs and builds a home inside.

Minho looks frozen still, like he wants to speak but can’t find the right words. Like he wants to reach out and touch but doesn’t know how—infinite holograms away.

“Have I shown you the lyrics I recently wrote?” He says to avoid whatever Minho is trying to do. He doesn’t wanna know, no more consolation or pity or whatever. He’s fine, for fucks sake!

“No, you haven’t. Let me see,” Minho replies, setting his mug aside on the bedside table to take the notebook from Jisung.

Oh, shit. The lyrics are unfinished and they’re kind of about Minho. He couldn’t finish them because it’s a story and all stories have endings, but what’s theirs?

He didn’t finish it because he can’t bring himself to.

Minho’s eyes carry an emotion that Jisung can’t decipher, “This is really good, Jisung. I remember when you used to struggle with writing lyrics and used the crumpled paper to toss me with because you were frustrated,” he says with a tender smile, reminiscing.

Jisung is frustrated and sick of wallowing in the past. He wants a hopeful future, he wants something bigger to look forward to.

“I can’t finish writing the song, it needs one final lyric.”

The end—an end, what will it be? Okay, the ball is in Minho’s court now. He hopes he’s not as foolish as him.

“You want me to finish it?” Minho asks and Jisung nods. It’s only fair, because Minho must know how he feels. He has to, because he’s painfully obvious— all his feelings are translucent like he’s walking around as an X-ray figure instead of a normal human body.

Minho borrows a pen and starts scribbling down a final line. He looks so determined.

I love you, will you let me take care of you?

Jisung takes the notebook from him and reads the words over and over. He hides his face with it, what?

Minho pries the notebook off his face, cold hands cooling his fuming cheeks, hot breath fanning his face. He’s suddenly everywhere around him and not an arm’s length away.

“I’m sorry for realising it so late. I love you Jisung, I have for so long with all of my being and I was just too stupid to notice… But please, will you let me love you the way you deserve from now on?” He looks into Jisung’s eyes and Jisung knows this gaze, it’s not any different from how he’s always looked at him.

Jisung finds himself getting emotional but then confusion catches up to him again, “Wait a second, I thought you were straight?”

Minho chuckles, “Nope.” He says, brushing his hair away from his eyes.

“What are you?” Jisung is so confused, it’s probably apparent on his face.

“I’m gay,” he says.

Jisung takes a deep breath, “What about all the ex girlfriends?”

“A copious amount of internalised homophobia,” Minho laughs, but then he looks oddly melancholic. “Sorry, it was a long fight. But I won. I was an asshole all to those girls by dating them while being in love with my best friend,” he continues.

“Yeah, indeed,” he huffs, smoothing his fingers over Minho’s face, because he can. “What the hell?” He says under his breath while gazing at Minho’s face because the words still won’t sink in.

“Thank you, Jisung-yah,” Minho says into the heart of his palm.

“For what?” Jisung asks, he hasn’t done anything, has he?

Minho looks at him. Minho is looking at him and for the first time it doesn’t sear through his skin.

“For kissing me that night, what you said was a wake up call.”

“You remembered?” Jisung panics, cheeks heating up. That wasn’t his best work, he stopped drinking a lot ever since.

“Yeah, and so did you,” Minho says, an indisputable truth.

Jisung won’t even deny it, there’s no point because he did remember it. “I’ve loved you since I was fifteen. How long has it been for you?”

Minho takes a second to count on his fingers then gives up, “When you used to drown slugs in beer, I was like yeah, I’m gonna marry this guy. I thought that was a normal thought to have though.”

Jisung scoffs, “What the hell? You can’t be serious, we were twelve! You can’t just say you loved me before I did, that's crazy,” he yells, his voice breaking and his eyes overflowing with all his emotions. Minho makes him cry a lot for a guy who wants to treat him right.

“I’m so sorry, I was so stupid. I’m sorry I was scared to love you openly,” he murmurs, as reverentially as a prayer while wiping Jisung’s tears gently with his thumb. “I won’t be the cause of your tears again.”

Jisung looks up at him through his lashes, Minho is divine and he’s here consoling and confessing to him after so many years, and muttering promises that he wants to hear, it feels insane—straight out of a dream that Jisung would wake up from and sob.

“I’m sorry too, I resented you sometimes because I was selfish and I wanted you to myself. I couldn’t stand seeing you loving someone else.”

Minho looks at him empathetically, his gaze cradling Jisung’s heart in his palm, “Is this why you hooked up with this guy in front of me?”

Jisung wracks his brain, trying to remember this.

“Oh, no, that was just because I wanted to get laid, obviously.” Well, he was a bit shit about it, though…

“We can do that,” Minho says, gently affirming him.

Jisung arches a brow, he’s a bit slow today it feels like he’s constantly getting exposed to one shock after another but they’re all so gentle, and dream-like. “Do what?” He asks.

“I can be yours,” he says with a smile into the skin of his palm, then after three heartbeats he trails off, “I’m yours,” while gently pushing Jisung to lay down on the bed.

“I’ll consider this offer if you kiss me,” Jisung jokes while looking at Minho who’s hovering over him, but there’s always some truth to jokes, isn’t there?

Minho cups Jisung’s face and joins their lips together. It’s soft and it’s the shore to his drowning ocean. He can’t believe it took them twenty years to confess. Minho breaks the kiss to say something, but Jisung doesn’t let him, he pulls him in again by the neck and he smiles into it this time as Jisung licks at his lips, nibbling. The kiss feels like this one cake Minho makes every year—delicate and unbelievable.

“I love you,” Minho says, mere inches away from his face when they break apart.

“I know,” Jisung replies, all gummy and heart-shaped. “I love you too,” he whispers into his skin. He wants to scream it, he can finally scream it. He has the chance now.

Jisung is twenty eight, and he doesn't care to know many things because the things that matter to him can be counted on his fingers. But he knows that he’s been in love with Minho for longer than he hasn’t—the boy in his teens and the man in his twenties. He also knows that Minho loves him back, he knows now, he knows.

“You’re so pretty,” Minho continues, “It feels a bit strange to admit these things out loud to you after thinking about them for so long, but I’ll say them over and over again to compensate for all the times that I didn’t.”

Jisung’s reply comes in another clash of their lips, he will never get enough. Good thing, Minho is his harbour now. “This is our song,” he says after three heartbeats because Jisung always keeps count.

Naive notions that were childish

Simple tunes that tried to hide it

But when it comes

We all fall in love sometimes

— Elton John , We all fall in love sometimes