Archive of Our Own

The body slipping into the bed to drape over his back slowly rouses him back to consciousness. It’s weighty and warm, and Jisung could probably fall back asleep in seconds.

“Jisungie,” Minho whispers, and Jisung feels a hand run along his stomach. “Hey, hey.”

“Mmmph,” Jisung says, wiggles a bit in the arms holding him. 

“Sounds nice.”

“Hiiiii,” he tries, tongue curling around the word lazily. He rubs back with his ass experimentally, while Minho’s palm is still grazing across Jisung’s naked torso. Minho is half-naked too, and his dick is a bit hard, just like Jisung’s moderate morning wood — reminding him the dick is still attached, not really a pressing issue, but the way his husband is touching him could certainly change it within minutes. “Hi.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“Nothing interesting,” Jisung mumbles into the pillow and reaches out a hand to touch the warm body on top of him. 

“You were supposed to say something steamy.”

“Mm, dreamt that my husband said he was gonna touch my dick.”

Jisung feels Minho leave a smile against the nape of his neck, his nose tracing his hairline. “Yeah? Well, I dreamt that I was fucking around with twenty-one-year-old Hannie and it was the most adorable but sexy thing ever. Except it wasn't a dream.”

Jisung takes a breath.

“Tell me about it?”

Minho molds himself tighter against Jisung’s form, and Jisung goes lax, allows Minho’s arms to wrap around him fully and pull, tilts his head back a bit. He feels Minho lean up and in and leave a kiss on his brow.

“Say please.”

“Please,” Jisung moans, high-pitched and exaggerated.

But the truth is, he’s thinking about the firecracker of a purple Minho, too, the way he braved everything and bared everything, put his trust into a weird Jisung from the future, and let him—

“See, younger you begged me so nicely,” Minho says.

“Younger me,” Jisung turns in his arms forcefully, “wanted to please the mind-numbingly hot man he woke up next to and it wasn’t his fault all the thinking he did was with his dick.”

Minho is exactly what younger Jisung used to dream about. He did go through phases of convincing himself it was all a fever dream and that it never actually happened — that twenty-one-year-old him had his wires short circuited — then wishing desperately for the truth of it. Then, it stopped being important because he had Minho. Didn’t matter which Minho. 

And Minho is the most beautiful man in the entire world, Jisung thinks. As if someone carved him from a single piece of wood. Bits and pieces of sawdust flew off of him as Jisung molded him into the shape of a man, growing alongside him, watching the changes and the becoming — himself, confident, sure. Jisung’s. 

“And you don’t wanna please me anymore?”

“I do. Always,” Jisung leans in and kisses the little hollow space underneath Minho’s bottom lip. Minho in turn catches his mouth in a lip-lock, one at a time, top then bottom. Sucks a little and then slips his tongue past Jisung’s teeth, and Jisung knows that mouth intimately, knows how to push back so that Minho groans softly into the kiss, hands finding the roundest parts of Jisung’s ass. 

Jisung slides his palms down over Minho’s neck, thumbs briefly meeting in his jugular notch, before running them down his chest to cup the swell of his pecs.

“Mm, missed this hot bod,” Jisung pulls away to say, pauses. “The dad bod.”

He roams his hands all over the warm, dry skin of his torso, stopping a bit to graze the tips of his fingers over the waistband of Minho’s flannel pajama bottoms, catches the trail of hair disappearing inside. 

“Excuse me?”

Jisung puts his arms back around Minho’s shoulders. Leans in for one more silk-soft brush of lips. 

“Yeah. You heard me. Great shoulders. Super hot.”

Minho snorts. 

“You’d be a good dad,” Jisung says, just like a by the way. 

“Only good? I already am a dad.”

“A great one. The best ever, if not a bit too lax. And yeah, you’re a dad already but not the. You know. The other kind.”

“The other kind,” Minho parrots mockingly.

“Minho,” Jisung stretches the word out, arranges his thoughts in order, “jagi.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Jagi-ya. You know I want you to be my baby daddy. The father to my kids. I want to see you walk around with a stroller, wait, god, a baby carrier strapped to you, juggling a milk bottle and a diaper bag with fatherly superpowers,” Jisung gets a bit lost in it, images flooding his brain and chest in chaos. “I want you to raise them to be kind and loving and a bit silly just like you are.”

“Jisung-ah, are you crying?” Minho asks, incredulous. Jisung is not. At least not this time. He got distracted and now that he started thinking about it he can’t stop.

“Shut up,” he sniffs in the betraying snot — that gathered in his nose at the slightest notion of feeling too much, then takes a deep breath. Runs his hands down Minho's torso again. “Shut up. Now sex me up, where were we.”

“We were at the part where you clearly feel a thing or two about having my babies.”

“Remember when we were at my cousin’s wedding,” Jisung leans in and presses his mouth to Minho’s neck, “and you were carrying one of the kids, pat-patting her little back and being just so… fucking gentle.”

Jisung can feel the vibrations of Minho’s throat with his lips as he answers. “That’s why you rode me so hard we broke the hotel nightstand lamp and two glasses?”

“What can I say, your sweet baby voice just gets me going,” Jisung says and opens his mouth to gently drag his teeth up the side, to bite at Minho’s jaw.

Minho turns his head and kisses Jisung’s temple. 

“We can have kids.”

Jisung’s sleepy heart skips a beat. He lets it unfurl in his chest, the things Minho fills it up with. 

“Yeah?” Jisung asks into the space between their mouths. Stares at Minho, his serious eyes and furrowed brows, as if this hazy morning talk was the most important thing in the world. Even more important than the weight of their cocks still pressed together. 

“Mhm.”

“How many?”

But Jisung doesn’t let him answer, kisses him hard. Inexorable drive, kissing deep and sloppy, swallowing the guttural sound Minho makes, savouring it. Knows that he wants to keep this one close to him. Just for a bit longer.

“You were telling me about what you did with a twenty-one-year-old me.”

“No more kid talk? Time for some very enthusiastic sexual gratitude?”

“C’moooon,” Jisung stresses and rolls his hips into Minho’s to punctuate it. The sheets are so warm and so is Minho's body, he flattens himself against the line of it. 

They bracket so easily — Jisung's body is wider in places Minho's isn't but sometimes Minho touches him in a way that makes him feel small. He loves the high that comes with it. He loves the different kind of high, too, the one where he bears Minho’s entire being, as close to his pulsing surrender in Jisung’s palms as it gets. 

“You know what we did.”

“Yeah, but I’d like you to say it. How did you feel, what were you thinking about? The whole play by play account.”

Minho pushes into him and Jisung allows it, allows the weight of him to sink them both deeper into the mattress. The easy push-pull of their bodies, without neither of them needing to communicate about it. One of Jisung’s wrists gets pinned next to his head but he uses the other hand to slide into the fabric of Minho’s pants and grab at his bare ass. 

“Does it get you all hot? Hearing about what I did with young Hannie?”

Jisung breathes out slowly. It does, just the thought of it. 

“He was… sweet. Would let me do anything.”

And this is what really gets Jisung. Minho talking as if it wasn’t even him, not saying you were but he was, and Jisung can’t stop imagining it, a third person pov porno. Minho, this man, his man, making young Jisung all flustered and needy. And Jisung lived through that but hearing about it again makes a buzz start along his skin. Something about Minho taking the upper hand, only because Jisung didn’t really know how to yet.

“I’ll show you,” Minho says and then he’s pulling away. 

“Wuh,” Jisung says, confused, all the blood supplying his brain long gone south. “Show me what? Where are you going?”

“C’mon. Need to feed the babies.”

“Lee Minho-ssi,” Jisung tries to catch him but Minho slips out of reach, “blue-balling is an art form and you got it down to a pat, you meanie.”

By the time Jisung untangles himself from the sheets, made harder with the thing that got his mind stupidly arousal-fogged, Minho is out of the bedroom.

“Come back here,” he calls but Minho just laughs in answer. 

Jisung seizes him in the hallway, grabs him by the hips forcefully. His fingers map out the iliac crest on both sides before the fingertips dip underneath the waistband of Minho’s pajamas. 

“Baby,” Jisung says into the warm skin of his neck. Breathes him in, the smell of him the same but also a little bit different after all those years. Mellowed out by being naturally amalgamated with Jisung’s by proxy. And it’s theirs. Their laundry detergent, their home. “I thought we were getting somewhere.”

“Stop grabbing my dick, Galbi is staring at me. Oh, Soonie too now.”

Jisung peeks over his shoulder and there they indeed are, creeping around the curved kitchen doorway. Orange and dark brown intertwining as they get closer. Galbi, the traitor, meows in agreement. “Please, they’ve seen worse.”

“They’re hungry,” Minho emphasizes and slips out of Jisung's arms again.

Jisung groans, frustrated. “I am too.”

“Thought your parents fed them,” Jisung grumbles as he walks into the kitchen. Pauses in the doorway. “What did you do with our wedding pics?” 

“Oh, they’re in the coffee table drawer, you can put them back up,” Minho calls. “I did not want small Hannie to get the shock of his life.”

“Pretty sure wedding photos were harmless compared to the shock of your dick against his ass first thing in the morning but you know.”

“Sorry for wanting to be considerate.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Jisung gathers the picture frames, noticing the messy throw pillows and blankets strewn around on the sofa, the two mugs left on the table, and a corner of his mouth curls up fondly as he goes back into the hallway. 

It’s sweet, deliberately touching each and every photo and paying attention, not just walking by them mindlessly. 

There’s their saturated wedding pic, and it's one of Jisung's favourites, the candid smiles and fairy lights backdrop as Jisung embraces Minho from behind, hands interwoven so tightly he can't tell where one golden band begins and the other ends. The eight of them at their engagement, teary eyed but radiant, and a reunion concert photo, the most recent one. 

And there’s one from the day they got Soondubu, the little orange fluff in Minho’s arms as Jisung hugs Galbi to his chest, sitting in the mess of their old living room. Jisung hangs the frame fondly. Remembers the argument happening just moments prior, about how they’re most definitely not naming another cat after the food we ate on our dates, Han Jisung, and yet. And yet. Soonie is a nice compromise. 

Jisung loves them even though they’re the biggest cockblocks of his life. 

The kitchen is full of spilled sunlight. There’s snow clinging to the bottom of the windows and the outside windowsill and it always makes everything brighter, both nights and days.

Jisung looks at Minho baby-talking to their cats and stroking their little heads and his chest gets a bit tight but it’s mostly a sticky and warm happiness thing. He thinks about young Minho and his determination, thinks about young Jisung and the way they made it work. 

Thinks that the way they’ve been inextricably linked from the start meant no other outcome. Just this.

Minho glances up at him, his messy hair and glasses he’s put on somewhere in the process, his regally straight nose and perfect mouth pulled into a sweet smile. “What?”

“Nothing, just…” Jisung says, takes a breath. It shakes him to the core. “I fucking love you.”

“Of course you do.”

But Minho goes a bit shy from it, even after all these years, and Jisung takes immense pleasure in watching his smile grow, standing up flustered as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands anymore. 

Jisung joins him at the sink where he’s washing them and he gets nice and close, pokes at Minho’s cheek. The heat is still spiraling and coiling low, and Jisung loves how he can have this every single day and not get tired of it. “You gonna finish what you started now?” 

“Hmm,” Minho draws it out and Jisung ruefully smacks his chest.

“This is where he sat,” Minho points suddenly at the dining table, “and this is where he stood, turned those sweet eyes at me, and said—”

“Hyung,” Jisung says instead and Minho’s eyes widen. “No? That’s what he called you.”

“Yes,” Minho breathes.

“Did it get you hard and leaking? ‘S what small Tinky Winky called me too, for a bit,” Jisung rasps, tongue getting tangled with it. “God, it was so hot.” 

Minho blinks, tips forward and his hands come to cradle Jisung's ribs as if wanting to ground himself. Jisung lets his chest expand, inhaling into Minho's palms. 

“He was all fiery determination, but he was so young. I left him with the illusion of control and he took it so eagerly. Some of your confidence and reason, but it was flighty with emotion.” 

That's how they operate right now, Minho's rationalism and morale, Jisung's drive for all things heart-spoken, running into a heartache heedlessly. Good at pretending logic doesn't exist while Minho is best at listening to his own mind. It's how they've always been, just less pronounced, less settled into themselves. It's how they're always going to be, and it's fine, Jisung thinks. 

“Guess we were both eager to please.”

Jisung smacks the kitchen counter with his palm and Minho’s eyes get impossibly big. 

“This is where you imagined you’d fuck him?” 

“Huh? Yeah— but then…”

“Then what?”

“Then I took him back to the bedroom. Needed him in bed. That’s what he deserved.”

“And what do you think you deserve, hm?”

Jisung tenderly cups the back of Minho's head, so he keeps still, runs his nose along one soft cheekbone. The fingers on Jisung's ribs tighten. 

“For leaving me dry…”

He grabs Minho's wrist and brings it toward where his cock is slowly coming to life again. Slowly letting all thoughts escape like one end of the thread tying them together is frayed in several directions and the other is tied to him. To Minho.

“…and alone.”

“Stop, you weren’t.”

“Yearning desperately,” Jisung insists.

Minho laughs against the side of his neck and Jisung feels it in his whole body.

“Minho,” he says, low and considering, “get to your knees.”

Minho sinks to the ground with a thud. As if it's thoughtless, the same as the inside of Jisung's brain at last. 

“That’s good.”

“Yeah?” Minho untangles the string of Jisung’s pants, stares up at him, eyes big and mouth parted. A bit out of it. 

“You were so bad at sucking cock,” Jisung says and watches as Minho's entire neck goes red. He brushes his fingers against one red ear and his heart sputters and squeezes alarmingly. “Okay not bad per se, but… your lovely little mouth struggled. Choked a little.”

“I have this feeling you’re fishing for a big dick compliment.”

Nails gently scratch down Jisung's flank and it makes his eyes slide halfway to close. He shuts them briefly when Minho's thumbs rub circles into one of the most sensitive places on Jisung's body — the thin skin just shy of his hips, where the muscles and bones form a divot. He goes electric and the world dark, but he opens his eyes in seconds just so he can look at Minho again. 

Jisung takes off Minho’s glasses as a precaution, then his hand whispers down the side of Minho’s cheek. “Oh, whatever made you think that honey.”

“Just your ego that gets personally hand-fed every time I say your cock is huge.”

“One of my better qualities.”

“Yeah? And what’s your best?” Minho asks and drags Jisung’s pajamas down. 

“You.”

“So cheesy.” 

Jisung laughs and Minho’s head falls forward, face against Jisung’s crotch. “You smell good.” 

Noses at his balls, rubs his cheek against Jisung's cock like a cat. It's not embarrassing, the rush of blood, not after all those years. “Yeah? You gonna show me how much better you got at this?”

Minho glances up at him, lashes impossibly long and dark. He deliberately sticks his tongue out and then runs it along his cock, root to tip. Jisung rockhard, shaft kicking at the wet, hot contact. 

“No better person to make that judgment,” he says and seals his lips against the tip of Jisung’s cock. Takes him into his mouth, hand joining in the middle pulling up, up and the tight lips sliding down, down, a brief and punishing brush of teeth that makes Jisung hiss. 

It’s wet and searing hot, Jisung’s thighs trembling at the promise of thrusting right there when he feels inclined to push deep. Make Minho take it. So hungry for it, always. 

Minho’s larynx, the clenching heat around him when Minho finally allows the movement of Jisung’s hips set the pace, only pulling away after a good few thrusts that make Jisung grip his hair hard and moan. “Fuck.”

Minho swirls his tongue around the tip and catches at the underside, the sensitive frenulum where he flicks over and over until Jisung can’t stand it anymore, until he snaps and pushes deep with a violent jerk. He fists his hands in Minho’s hair even tighter, ruts between his filthy lips.

“Oh god, Minho, your mouth.”

Minho grapples at Jisung’s ass, grips the roundness of his glutes, and pulls back again, meets Jisung’s eyes from where his head has fallen forward, vision kinda blurry.

“C’mon, darling. Go,” he coughs a little and then smirks, eyes big and wet staring right at Jisung as he sticks out his tongue and catches the drops of precum that bead slowly at the tip of Jisung’s cock. 

A fondle and a tug, Minho taking him into his mouth again for another delicious moment, allowing the push at the back of his throat, convulsing with every thrust, encouraging it with the fingers still digging into Jisung’s ass. Jisung feels lightheaded. Every single sensation gathered to a single point, to Minho and his impossible mouth. Knees threatening to give out, his filthy, incredible husband turning Jisung’s kneecaps into mush.

“I can’t,” Jisung gasps, “oh, Jesus Christ.”

He pulls out with the wettest sound, forces Minho off by his shoulders using them as leverage to stop him from collapsing to the ground. The hands on his hips are strong, strong enough to keep him upright, but so soft. 

“Fuck,” Jisung says, “fuck, I need you, I need to touch you, I—” 

“Was I good,” Minho asks, innocently blinking his eyes up at him as if he didn’t just suck out every ounce of staying-alive capacity through Jisung's cock.

“The best, baby, always,” Jisung says, still a bit out of it but stroking both palms over Minho's cheeks, pulling him upwards like that as he bends down to take that mouth into a kiss. Kind of a dumb angle, but it works to convey the desperation. “Come here, come on.”

“Here?” Minho asks, but his hand is already opening up the cupboard under the sink where a lube bottle has its permanent place.

“Here. Anywhere. You know that.”

“Just feels like we’re getting a bit too old for kitchen counter sex,” Minho says and Jisung helps him to his feet, pulls him up from the overpriced hemp rug from a small business they’d bought in their sustainability era. 

“Never. I can’t help the way you get me hot, sexy. The bedroom’s too far,” Jisung says into Minho’s ear raunchily. Smacks a hand against his ass. 

"Shut up," Minho says but he’s got his gaze square on Jisung’s, pupils blown wide and he opens his mouth, licks a stripe up his palm while the other hand fumbles with his pants. “I’m so fucking hard, Ji.”

Jisung’s entire world goes narrow. It hits him like a punch, the want in Minho’s voice, the way he strokes himself. The way he looks, right there in the kitchen, ready— 

“Need you to fuck me.”

Jisung slides his hands up the bunched muscles of Minho’s thighs, steps closer to his body and Minho sighs, his pretty mouth open. Jisung slots his over it, fucks his tongue inside with greedy intent until he feels Minho go slack. “I will, baby.”

Then, Jisung grabs his waist and spins him around, buoyed by the gasp when Minho’s thighs get pushed apart. Elbows hitting the counter as he collapses forward, bending at the waist and lying flat. Willing.

Jisung's eyes drinking the sight of him like that, set gaze carved out of lust — he's had him like this, countless times, right there next to the sink, in this apartment, and in their old one, too. But it's never the same, the way Minho's body looks in this particular light, on this particular morning.

“Tell me what you did to me. In the bedroom.”

“I… oh, I took my time.”

Jisung slicks up Minho's hole and the first finger slides in so easily, regular sex meaning far less prep, a faster fuck. If he were to fuck younger Minho, he’d need to take his time. The thought makes his head spin, makes him remember all the times they’d tried it, fumbling and inexperienced. All their first times, together.

“Played with your pretty body,” Minho says.

“Yeah? What about my hole?”

Minho’s knees knock together, wobbly as Jisung pulls out, gets lube all over his hand, and then puts two fingers back in. 

“Ah, I— yeah…”

The squelch is obscene, Jisung’s fingers disappearing inside of Minho, and he loves this part, loves watching. Loves the way his rim gets relaxed, and how his wedding band disappears into the slick hole, that’s how deep he gets. 

“Wanted to put it in so bad,” Minho gasps, “but I— fuck, I held back.”

Minho pushes onto his tiptoes as if wanting to escape the ruthless pressure of Jisung’s hand but Jisung catches him by the hip and curls his fingers towards his prostate as he leans over to talk into his ear. “Really? Wanted to fuck my pretty little virgin hole?”

Minho buries his face into his forearms and sobs, almost, futilely attempting to keep quiet. 

“Jesus, why would you say it like that,” he gets out and it sounds like he’s gritting his teeth. “Never wanted anything more.”

“I wanted it too. Back then. So bad.”

Jisung finally lets up with his fingers. He smacks Minho’s ass a few times, wants to make bruises with his mouth and teeth all over. His pale little ass and cutest hole, it makes Jisung’s cock twitch in anticipation. Unwavering, possessive, he takes Minho in — the curve of his back smoothly fading out into the skin of his thighs, strong and supple. He looks maddeningly inviting, ass out, face still hidden. 

“I could do this forever. Die like this, with my fingers in your perfect ass,” Jisung says, but he’s running the head of his cock against the mess of lube around Minho’s hole now, drawing it out until they both can’t stand it. It slips in, catches against the rim and Jisung drags it down to Minho's perineum, then back again, pulsing in his hand. 

“Put them in me then, put— oh.” 

“Hyung has fueled many of my jerk-off fantasies. So shameful but it got me so hard. Came always,” he says and sinks inside. Has to shut his eyes briefly to focus on the way his cock throbs, buried deep. Testing the give of Minho’s body, legs kinda shaking and sweat tearing at his temples. 

“Shut, shut your mouth, oh my god. So nasty, I can’t,” Minho trailing off into a long, low moan as Jisung fucks inside. 

Jisung spreads his legs wider, pulls Minho’s ass against himself, leaving him yanked open, this beautifully unbearable thing. He watches as Minho tries grabbing the closest thing in his vicinity which is the assembled IKEA dish rack but the cutlery part falls off, clatters into the sink loudly. He swears. 

Instead, Jisung feels him stretch his hand back and grip his hair, almost rip a chunk out of his skull with the force. 

“I didn’t fuck him either. You,” Jisung says and leans over the delicious curve of Minho’s back to get closer, bites at Minho’s shoulder. “Thought about letting young you fuck me, though.”

Minho turns his neck to the side, eyes violently pleading. Carnal with the way he drags Jisung’s head closer, the briefest hungry press of lips. Their bodies fused together, sweaty and hot. Jisung grabs the hand holding onto his hair and pins it against Minho’s lower back, fingers metronoming over his wrist. Uses it as leverage to fuck into him, over and over. 

Jisung has never touched anything so carefully as he has the younger Minho. But this Minho, too. The wordless soliloquy, declaring his intent: you’re mine, and the world has never been quite as saturated without you.

“F-fuck, shit, you’re so— keep going,” the sounds are almost punched out of Minho by now, Jisung’s thighs burning with it, a senseless shock of pleasure. “There.”

And Jisung listens, he doesn’t change the angle but lengthens the strokes of his cock. In, out, innnn, the hot walls squeezing impossibly tight and Jisung’s movements becoming almost mindless as he tries to get his fill of the writhing body underneath. 

“Yeah baby, I got you.”

It engulfs him, all those feelings, the filth of it but the love, too. He holds onto the back of Minho’s neck, permits the wrist to wiggle out of his grip and towards the front, where Minho’s dick has to be desperately hard. 

“Ah, ah, Jisung.”

“Come on.” Giddy and breathless, full of this unthinkable feeling soaking the air out of his lungs, Jisung fucks Minho into the kitchen counter. 

Waits until Minho’s whole body seizes and shudders, begging for it first with words and then wordlessly, squeezing around the length of Jisung’s cock and Jisung tells him he’s so good. Tells him he’s perfect. Tells him he’s his. It’s blissful and black-out inducing, the pressure, the wonderful body underneath him and he lets himself go a bit greedy with it.

With the fact that Minho is not pulling away even though his arm that comes to grip the back of Jisung’s neck and is a bit wet, fingers probably streaked with the come that painted the front of their kitchen cabinets. And so he goes a bit selfish, tries to fit the entirety of himself into Minho, mouth pressed into the topmost vertebra that’s jutting out, tasting salt. Pushing his knees into the backs of Minho’s so hard it must hurt, ears ringing, blood rushing, with a grunt he comes inside, as punishingly sweet as an orgasm can be. 

After, they sit at the dining room table, a spread of side dishes and coffees, Minho whipping out gyeranjjim in a matter of minutes because Jisung’s stomach had gurgled loudly. And the past and the future suddenly seem elusive, an impermanent thing. Compared to this. Compared to now.

“We were so silly, weren’t we? Each had the half of a braincell.”

“I got the bigger half,” Minho says, face awash in the direct stream of the sunlight. 

“You got the bigger half,” Jisung says dutifully, “both still dumb.”

Soonie and Galbi emerge from where they’ve been hiding through the ordeal, long over their guilt-inducing staring phase where they’d be watching them go at it, and cuddle up against one table leg. 

“Yeah?”

“Or, no just… needed some more cooking time.” 

“That’s so cute,” Minho says, “just the two of us rawdogging it through the universe until our brains developed enough.”

“Minho,” Jisung sighs but Minho is looking at him, bright and beautiful, and the sight of it could propel Jisung’s world forward for a couple of centuries. “Good for us, honestly.”

“Wouldn’t trade it for anything. Want you, always,” Minho says so fucking casually and unselfconsciously and Jisung can barely believe his life anymore. That he’d have Minho look at him the way he’d looked at him in the dark back then like Jisung was something beautiful. Like Jisung meant something vital. 

Jisung reaches out to touch each and every single one of his reddened knuckles, dips a finger into the divots between them and Minho turns his hand, lets his fingers unfurl slowly. Jisung's try to compress a solar's flare worth of feeling into the way they slot in between. 

“Small Minho needed that push, I think,” Minho says, staring at their hands.

“Needed that stubbornness pulled out of him, if you know what I mean,” Jisung says, “but god, not the realisation phase, was kinda painful. I'm rooting for them.”

“And yet, Han Jisung—” Minho says and Jisung doesn’t tell him, he’s never told him about the countless Lee Jisungs written in his notebook alongside half-scraped lyrics, but he’s also never told him about the way Minho’s mouth forming the vowels and consonants fills every hollow space in his body. That it’s more than just sounds. And he doesn’t need to. 

“—look at us.”

And Jisung can’t believe it, he really can’t. Best friends, lovers. Maybe they've always been both. He wants to always be both. 

“Can’t take my eyes off, baby.”