Work Text:
“...Wake up!”
A gentle shake to the shoulder accompanied by a whisper stirred Minho from sleep. He reflexively groaned as he turned a fraction toward the voice, his eyes sewn shut in the darkness.
“Hyung,” Jisung said in a louder whisper, “it’s first snow!”
“First... wha?”
Jisung shook his shoulder again, harder this time. “Look outside.”
Minho felt his roommate’s weight dip into the mattress; a sharp knee dug into his thigh.
“Ow!” he hissed.
“Oops, my bad.” Jisung mercifully removed his knee and rubbed his hand on Minho’s thigh in gentle circles, soothing the pain away.
If Minho wasn’t awake before, he definitely was now.
Jisung reached across the bed and pulled open the curtains, letting a dim light spill into the room. Exhaling a few grunts and mild profanity, Minho sat up and squinted through his blurred vision to make out that indeed snowflakes were fluttering down, coating the ground white.
Minho fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand, and when Jisung’s blurry figure came into focus, Minho’s breath caught at his profile bathed in moonlight.
He pressed a hand over his chest to calm his galloping heart. Shit, it was way too early for this. Or too late. What time was it anyway?
“C’mon, hyung, let’s go outside.”
Before Minho could respond, he was being pulled up by the arm and out of bed. While his brain had emerged from the fog of sleep, his body struggled to catch up, protesting any movement outside of his warm bed. So instead of rummaging through the closet for his coat he wrapped his blanket around his shoulders like an oversized cape and followed Jisung into the living room.
“You’re going out like that?” Jisung said with equal confusion and amusement.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Minho mumbled, stepping into his leopard print Crocs. As he opened the door, a warm body slipped under the blanket and pressed flush to his, creating a rather unwieldy two-man burrito.
Minho didn’t bother questioning Jisung because this was exactly in line with his roommate’s habits—the way he would fit into Minho’s personal space as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
(Most of the time Minho gladly let him, and sometimes he pushed him away with a jab to the forehead to keep him on his toes. But Minho never minded.)
The snow was falling slightly harder by the time they stepped foot outside their building. Minho hoisted the blanket higher over their heads, and they shuffled together onto the lawn whose green was receding in favor of fluffy white.
An arm slid around Minho’s waist; Minho didn’t hesitate to mirror the action.
“Make a wish,” Jisung said.
Minho let his eyes flutter shut but could focus only on the warmth shared by their bodies. If they’d been pressed any closer together, Minho would be in danger of... awakening a certain part of him best left dormant. (He was grateful that he had on relatively loose sweatpants, at least.)
He opened his eyes and turned his head to Jisung, realizing that if he leaned in a hair farther his lips would graze the other’s soft, rosy cheek. He quickly brushed aside the foolish notion.
“What about you—what did you wish for?” Minho asked instead.
This time Jisung turned to face Minho, sweeping his gaze upward.
“I already have you, hyung,” he said with a smile so fond it made Minho’s heart buckle. “Asking for more would just be greedy.”
It wasn’t uncommon for them to exchange flirty banter—which they normally swept away under the guise of joking—but moments like these made Minho question if his months-long-brewing feelings for Jisung weren’t unrequited after all. Could he dare hope?
It was a thought worth examining further, but for now, Jisung’s words against the backdrop of a snowy December night was enough.
Cocooned with the younger like this under the moonlight, a thought finally descended upon him, light as the snowflake melting on the tip of his nose.
A simple love. That’s all he wished for.
They stood silently for a few more minutes until the snow began to dampen their shared blanket. Despite Minho’s warning about catching a cold, Jisung insisted on staying outside longer, until Minho eventually tickled his stubbornness into acquiescence. They shuffled back into their apartment with drowsy giggles trailing from their lips.
“What are you doing?” Jisung said with a goofy grin when Minho climbed into Jisung’s bed, nestling himself under the covers.
“I’m borrowing your blanket. Mine’s all wet now, remember?”
“And whose fault is that?”
Minho turned to his side and wiggled his fingers against Jisung’s stomach, threatening another tickle attack if the younger didn’t pipe down.
Jisung lightly pushed at Minho’s chest, laughing, “Okay, okay! Never mind.”
When the laughter died down, Minho’s hand had remained unmoving from Jisung’s stomach, his fingertips stroking the sliver of exposed skin beyond the hem of Jisung’s shirt. Jisung’s hand also remained resting on Minho’s chest; surely his palm could feel the rhythmic pounding with each rise and fall. Feeling exposed, Minho half expected Jisung to crack a joke about it, but was surprised by the soft murmur that followed.
“Hyung, you never told me what you wished for.”
Sensing his heart shift into overdrive, Minho removed his glasses and placed them above the pillow they were sharing, shifting where he lay to dislodge Jisung’s hand from his chest.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s... something dumb.”
Despite his blurred vision, Minho didn’t miss the smile that flashed across Jisung’s face.
“I still wanna know.”
“Then I’ll tell you later,” Minho whispered, “when the time is right.”
Jisung looked as though to press him further but was interrupted by a drawn-out yawn. He blinked slowly, teetering on the edge of slumber. “Promise?”
Minho succumbed to a yawn of his own, his lips drawing into a faint smile. “Promise.”
* * *
“...Wake up. Hyung?”
A low murmur and a gentle shake to the shoulder stirred Minho from sleep. He pried an eye open to be greeted by Jisung’s face hovering close to his.
The next sensation that hit him was the smell of burnt... sugar?
Minho struggled to blink the bleariness from his eyes. “Did you bake again? Is the apartment on fire?”
“How dare you doubt my culinary skills.” Jisung sat on the edge of the bed and planted his hands on either side of Minho’s head, with a coy smile tugging at his lips. “Besides, if the place really were on fire, I’d be carrying you out of the building bridal style like the goddamn superhero I am.”
Minho pulled his blanket up to his chin and snorted. “Obviously. All ten kilos of you.”
“I work out, you know. You won’t be laughing when I’m bench pressing you with one hand.”
Minho’s heart did a funny flip at that completely innocent statement which his brain interpreted as something else. Oops.
He glanced at his clock which read 7:21 a.m. Jisung was lucky that Minho had a soft spot for him (to put it mildly), otherwise the younger would have had a mouthful of bath tissue for disturbing him at such an hour.
Jisung reached across the bed and pulled open the curtains, letting in brilliant sunbeams of a clear March morning. Minho grudgingly sat up and squinted out the window. Songbirds were chirping on still-bare branches, signaling that spring was knocking on winter’s door.
“You couldn’t let me sleep in on my day off?”
“I baked a batch of cookies to bring to work,” Jisung said. “Well, two batches to be exact, but I burned the shit out of the first one. Anyway, I need you to be my guinea pig and tell me if they’re passable.”
“You baked for your coworkers?” Minho was a tad offended that Jisung hadn’t baked anything for him yet. “What have they ever done for you?”
“Felix bakes for other people all the time, so I got inspired to do the same. It doesn’t hurt to be nice for the sake of it sometimes.” Jisung emphasized the nice by poking his finger to Minho’s forehead, before exiting the room again. (One more jab like that and he was asking to be fed toilet paper, Minho decided.)
Right, anyway—Lee Felix. The charming neighbor down the hall who had moved in last month and had beguiled Jisung with his homemade pastries, apparently enough to inspire Jisung to try his hand at it as well. Minho, on the other hand, didn’t have much thoughts on the guy except that he came around a little too often bearing gifts of cookies and cakes, which made Jisung smile a little too fondly.
His musings were halted by a plate of chocolate chip cookies being shoved under his nose.
“My pièce de résistance,” Jisung declared.
Minho grabbed a cookie and carefully bit into it. The texture was good: crispy on the outside with a chewy inside. A hint of nutty aftertaste lingered, the chocolate chips melting easily on his tongue—
Ah, who was he kidding? It was delicious because Jisung made it. The cookies could’ve been made of sawdust and Minho would have deemed them a masterpiece.
Minho shrugged, “They’re definitely edible.”
“Wow, high praise from Caesar.”
“Will you leave some cookies for me before you go?”
“Of course,” Jisung said, wiping off a crumb from Minho’s lips. “They’re on the kitchen counter. I picked out only the best ones for my hyung.”
Minho was curled up on the couch and watching a K-drama (or more accurately, admiring Kang Ha-neul’s exquisite jawline) when Jisung returned that evening.
“Honey, I’m home,” Jisung deadpanned, exhaustion etched in dark circles under his eyes. He joined Minho on the couch as soon as his shoes were kicked off. He loosened his necktie, pulling the loop over his head and fitting it around Minho’s head like a makeshift bandana.
“Had a long day?” Minho said, unfazed by Jisung’s actions.
Jisung rubbed his temples and sighed, “To put it mildly, yeah. Work was a fucking shitshow.” He turned to the older with devastating puppy eyes. “I know tonight’s my turn to make dinner, but mind if we order in instead?”
Minho reached out to stroke Jisung’s hair and tutted in sympathy. “I don’t mind. Hey, maybe we can bake something together to take the stress off.”
“Really? You’d do that with me?”
“Only as adult supervision. Gotta make sure you don’t burn the place down.”
Jisung broke into a heart-shaped grin and pulled Minho up by the arm. “I don’t know why I haven’t made you a kept man yet.”
What’s stopping you? Minho thought uselessly, fighting off a blush.
Jisung shuffled off to the kitchen before twirling back around with a slight grimace. “Wait, I just remembered we’re out of eggs. Gimme a minute to pick up some from the store.”
“I’ll go with you,” Minho blurted. “Um, since this is a joint venture and all.”
“You’re going out like that?” Jisung eyed Minho’s outfit consisting of an oversized v-neck sweater and pajama bottoms with a chibi kitten pattern. Not to mention the tail of Jisung’s necktie flopping over the side of his face.
Minho shrugged. “I don’t go to the convenience store to make a fashion statement.”
“With a face like hyung’s I suppose one has the privilege.”
Minho felt his ears burn at the surprise compliment. He gestured for Jisung to walk out the door first to avoid meeting the younger’s gaze, but Jisung reaching back to grab Minho’s hand as they walked down the hallway didn’t exactly help matters.
“Jisungie? Minho hyung?”
They stopped in their tracks at the familiar baritone calling from behind. It was none other than Felix whose head popped out from his apartment door.
“Hey!” Jisung greeted brightly, breaking the handhold in favor of approaching their neighbor. Minho stuffed his hands in his pajama pockets and trudged behind. (No, he wasn’t sulking.)
“I like your pants,” Felix said to Minho with an eye-crinkling smile.
Before Minho could respond, Jisung had already stolen Felix’s attention, and the two fell into sharing their latest baking adventures. Felix disappeared for a moment and reemerged with a tupperware container in hand, passing it to Jisung.
“My latest batch of brownies. They turned out pretty good, if I say so myself.”
“Awesome, thank you,” Jisung said, practically beaming at the other.
Felix winked—a cute gesture that would’ve looked ridiculous coming from anyone else. “Enjoy them with hyung. Together. You know as in, just the two of you.” Another wink, this time directed at Minho.
The three exchanged cordial good-nights, and Minho wordlessly followed Jisung to the elevator. The younger hummed a tune to himself as he pressed the call button.
Minho stared at the container in Jisung’s hand; the hand that Minho should be holding right now, dammit. Jisung pried open the lid to peek at the goods, a sweet contentment settling on his face.
More than anything, Minho wanted Jisung to behold him with that same expression.
“It was you.”
Jisung swiveled his head toward Minho. “Huh?”
Riding a sudden wave of courage, and his ears ringing from the rush of blood to the head, Minho took a deep breath. His trembling fingers fisted the hem of his sweater.
“Remember last winter when it first snowed, you woke me up in the middle of the night and we went outside and made a wish?” He paused to swallow hard. “Well actually, you didn’t make a wish, but you did say something that... confused me. I mean, I didn’t know if you were joking or not... A part of me wondered if you’d meant it, but I also didn’t wanna read too much into it in case you weren’t serious.”
Jisung arched a brow, clearly taken aback by the hail of words tumbling out of Minho’s mouth. Nonetheless Minho pressed on.
“What I wished for that night,” he said, voice small, “was you.”
Jisung blinked. “Me? But—”
“Technically,” Minho barreled over Jisung, “I wished for a simple love—” He screwed his eyes shut for a second, feeling his ears burn hotter than ever. “Oh my god, that sounds painfully cringey when I say it out loud.”
“Hold on, I—”
“But when I wished for it, I was really wishing for you. Except that I was too cowardly to admit it even to myself.”
Jisung stared at him for several moments until the elevator finally dinging open broke the tension, though neither motioned to step inside. After another stretch of silence (in which the elevator itself seemed to judge them), the doors whirred back shut.
“Hyung,” Jisung began, “if I can say someth—”
“Did I make things weird between us? Shit, I did, didn’t I. I know you like Felix, I’m sorry, I should’ve just kept my mouth shut. You know what forget I said anyth—”
The abruptness of moist cake being shoved in his mouth halted his desperate monologue.
Jisung stepped closer, his eyes glinting softly. He held a chunk of brownie in one hand. “Sorry, but you wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise.”
Minho blanked out and bit into the rich moistness of the brownie. By gods, it was delicious.
“Hyung,” Jisung continued, “of course I remember that night. I practically confessed to you! But when you didn’t say anything back I figured you didn’t feel the same way.”
Minho paused his chewing; his eyebrows shot up to his hairline in disbelief.
“Wha??” he said, several crumbs falling from his mouth.
“And I don’t like Felix,” Jisung laughed feebly, “not in that way. God, we really are a pair of dumbasses. I like you, hyung.”
Minho frantically swallowed the mouthful of brownie. “Then why didn’t you say something?!”
“I did that night, three whole months ago! Or at least I tried to. I don’t know—you’re an amazing roommate and one of my best friends. I couldn’t risk ruining that, either. Even if I couldn’t have you, I was grateful that nothing changed between us.”
“Oh,” Minho calmed down enough to exhale, near tipsy with relief. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
“So we like each other.”
“Glad we could clear that up.”
“So... what now?”
Jisung shrugged. “I could feed you more of this,” he held up the brownie chunk in his hand, “or I could kiss you.”
Minho’s fingers released the hem of his sweater, the tension draining from his body replaced with a surge of excitement.
“Since I’ve already had the brownie...”
With a knowing brow quirk, Jisung took hold of the tie-slash-makeshift-bandana hanging from Minho’s head and tugged the older forward till they were almost nose-to-nose.
“Your breath smells like brownie,” Jisung said with his signature fond smile.
“And whose fault is that?” Minho said, right before Jisung closed the distance and pressed his lips sweetly to Minho’s.
* * *
“...Hyung, wake up.”
A gentle hand stroked Minho’s hair, followed by an equally gentle kiss to the forehead, drawing out a sleepy moan in the darkness.
“Go back t’sleep, Jisungie.”
“But it’s first snow. Look! Let’s go outside.”
Jisung shuffled on his knees to draw the curtains open, but he was intercepted by Minho’s arm looping around his waist pulling him back onto the bed.
“Dun wanna,” Minho slurred. He tightened his hold around Jisung’s bare torso and absently thumbed along the dip of his spine. “Stay in bed. Need cuddles.”
“You’re no fun, old man—ow!” Jisung received a kick in the shin for that. He pinched Minho’s stomach in retaliation, prompting a dramatic and humorous wail.
Jisung shifted onto his side to face Minho and swung a leg over the other’s hip. “Aren’t you gonna make a wish at least?”
Minho shook his head—or as much as he could with his cheek pressed to the pillow. “I already have everything I want.” He pulled in his boyfriend closer for emphasis. “Asking for more would be greedy.”
“Did you just plagiarize me?”
“What, I can’t pay homage to the man I love?”
“I love you too, but find your own cheesy line ‘cause that one’s mine.”
“You’re mine.”
Jisung laughed airily, propping himself up on an elbow. “Duh, but that’s beside the point.”
A stretch of silence passed before Minho spoke again. “Actually, I think I’ll make a wish after all.”
“Oh? Care to share?”
Minho reached over and traced the curve of Jisung’s cheek with his fingertips, drawing a slow, quiet breath to maintain a semblance of composure. Two matching rings glimmered in the far corner of his mind, but the thought vanished in a blink as though it were too precious to hold onto.
“Not to be secretive again, but I’ll tell you when the time is right.”
He expected Jisung to protest or prod him further; instead, he was met with a hand reaching out for his own.
“Promise?” Jisung whispered.
Minho closed his eyes and entwined their fingers against his beating heart, steadfast and true.
“Promise.”