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Jisung is washing his hands with the bubblegum-scented soap with the party booming on the other side of the locked bathroom door when someone grabs the handle to yank it open.
“Coming out in a second!” he shouts, though he doesn’t really have any hopes of them having heard him over the music. It’s a pity that he can’t spend any moment longer inside—it’s much quieter in here, and after socializing for so long, he finally has a moment to be alone.
After so much time surrounded by sweaty bodies and cigarette smoke, a minute alone in the only place that doesn’t reek is like heaven. But Jisung isn’t enough of an asshole to clog the bathroom up, so he shakes his hands off and decides to leave.
The hallway is dark, so when he pushes the door open, he can only vaguely make out the outline of someone leaning against the wall on the other side of the corridor. They step closer at the sound of the bathroom door opening, face coming into view, and Jisung freezes.
His heart stop for a moment that feels like forever, the sound of blood rushing in his ears so deafening that he barely hears the surprised call of his name. Jisung releases the breath he was holding, turns on his heel, and marches away.
“No, Jisung, wait!”
The footsteps behind him pick up the pace, and before he can escape, his arm is being grabbed by the person he never expected to see here. He wrenches his wrist away, tugging the sleeves off his hoodie over his palms, and glares at Lee Minho like never before in his life.
“Leave me alone,” Jisung hisses through gritted teeth, addressing him with as much ice in his tone as he can muster.
Before he can give himself a chance to take in Minho’s expression, Jisung whips around and rushes down the hallway. He probably looks like a fool to anyone who’s bored enough to pay attention, so close to breaking into a full-on run through the house.
The music coming through the speakers booms around him, fast-paced and anxiety-inducing in its unpredictability, but its loudness can’t even rival the sheer volume of Jisung’s thoughts or his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
Once he thinks he’s out of Minho’s sight, he slumps against the wall and takes a deep breath. It does nothing to calm his soaring heart rate, but it gives Jisung a moment to pick apart his thoughts and find the only coherent one: what the fuck.
There is just no way Minho is back in the country.
No way he’s back now, when Jisung is walking down the road of forgetting him. Walking down slowly, with most of the effort stupidly futile, really—but it’s not like he could ever admit that out loud; in his head, it doesn’t count as admittance. No way that Minho is appearing out of nowhere and throwing that one brick that ruins the wall Jisung worked so hard to build around himself over the past year.
Jisung is more than just pissed about it.
He’s been having quite a fun night with his friends, and Minho had to go and ruin it. He ruined it, but he’s going to go back to having the best time, completely unbothered, because he can, while Jisung will go home and wallow in misery. All the hurt and bitterness he thought he was free of are already beginning to coil heavy in the pit of his stomach.
Stupid, stupid heart, and even more stupid thoughts.
With the loud music booming in his ears and reverberating through his bones, Jisung can almost pretend he can’t hear the absolute mess rushing through his mind.
Why, why, why is one of the things that he can’t muffle.
Just so that he doesn’t slip up and allow himself to entertain any of it, Jisung focuses the entirety of his attention on locating his friends in the living room. They were supposed to go back home after he came from the bathroom, but both Hyunjin and Seungmin disappeared from the couch where he’d left then, and now Jisung can’t find them.
Fuck. As if this night couldn’t get any worse.
He pushes through the sweaty crowd gathered on the makeshift dance floor, looking around more frantically than he would like to appear, and ends up getting elbowed in the ribs more times than he can count before finally making it safely to the kitchen in one piece.
It takes a second for his eyes to land on his friends, a second to process what’s happening between them, and another second to groan in disgust.
“Can you not!” Jisung calls out. The sight of his friends making out on the kitchen island is the last thing he wants to see (maybe after Lee Minho’s face), and it only adds to the nightmare this night is turning out to be.
Someone needs to save him right now.
Hyunjin and Seungmin don’t seem sheepish at all when they finally part, and Seungmin even obscenely swipes his thumb over Hyunjin’s lip with a stupid smirk on his face. Jisung feels like he’s about to hurl.
After that unintended meeting with Minho, Jisung’s thoughts are going haywire. He hates that they are, but he can’t help the sour tug of jealousy deep in his stomach.
That was once him, drunk on something more than cheap beer and colorful drinks, making out with the person he liked the most in more secluded corners of the parties without a single care in the world.
Jisung lets out a shuddering breath and shakes it all off.
It’s profusely stupid how a meeting lasting two seconds has managed to ruin his night to this extent and ruin the progress he had made at forgetting about it all. Everything came crashing down with just a single call of his name, and Jisung can’t believe he’s that weak.
“Come on,” Seungmin says, throwing an arm around Jisung’s shoulders and consequently pulling him out of the jumble of his thoughts.
Jisung has spaced out and he’s feeling a bit fuzzy because of it all, but in this setting, he can at least blame it on the variety of drinks he downed. Even if he’s been here long enough to sober up a bit.
He offers Seungmin a crooked smile and lets himself be led out of the house, hoping and praying they won’t stumble into Minho or even catch sight of him among the crowded bodies.
This once, his prayers are answered—they make it outside without a hitch. They can’t catch a bus at this time of the night, though, so they’re forced to drag themselves down the streets on foot. It takes a bit more effort when it comes to Hyunjin—he’s the one that’s more tipsy than either of them, and he wraps himself around Jisung (after Seungmin teasingly tells him that he stinks and pushes him away) in his usual post-drinking clinginess.
Among all the babbling and gossiping about people that showed up at the party, there’s not a single mention of Minho—even though Jisung feels like they should know he’s back. Especially Hyunjin, given that they’re in the same dance studio. If Minho is back in the country, he’s definitely attending it again. He must have been back for a while, especially that it doesn’t seem probable that he decided to attend a college party the second he ran off the plane.
Jisung needs to know if he’s the last to find out about this, too.
“Did you know Minho was back in town?” he manages to ask eventually, when they’re just a few houses away from their apartment complex. He feels Hyunjin’s body stiffen around him, and—that’s enough of an answer, really. Jisung scoffs when he and Seungmin exchange looks. “Of course you fucking did.”
“We didn’t want to make you upset,” Seungmin is quick to say, and maybe Jisung wouldn’t believe the words if they were coming out of someone else’s mouth, but he has learnt a long time ago that Seungmin is all about good intentions. “We didn’t know he’d show up here.”
“Yeah, I mean, when I saw him at the studio, he didn’t seem like he was in the mood for partying,” Hyunjin adds. Then, a little more quietly, “Or anything, really.”
Seungmin berates him with one look and gives Jisung a pat on the back. “Just because he’s here doesn’t mean you have to talk to him or think about him, though.”
Too late for that.
“Maybe you should,” Hyunjin mumbles.
Jisung considers pushing him under a passing car.
Seungmin, as if he’s sensing his murderous thoughts, wraps an arm around Hyunjin and pulls him away from Jisung—at a safe distance as Jisung moves to punch in the code to the front door of their apartment building.
The topic of Minho dies the moment they get inside their flat—Jisung leaves the two of them in the kitchen and shuffles away to his bedroom—but it doesn’t die on Jisung’s mind.
He didn’t even expect it would.
All the Minho-shaped thoughts resurface when he closes the door and finds himself alone again.
He changes into a hoodie, strips off his pants, and slips under the duvet, foolishly hoping that the picture of that stupid guy will leave the forefront of his brain, but it doesn’t. Jisung lies there, staring at the ceiling, with the quiet sound of footsteps and giggles coming from the other rooms in the apartment to accompany his misery, and thinks.
He can hardly believe that they met again in such circumstances—a little too close to how they’d seen each other for the last time. He’s not surprised that they met again at all, considering that he knew Minho would have to come back sooner or later and keep attending the same university as Jisung.
They were bound to meet again. He just didn’t think it would happen so soon. He thought he would have more time to prepare.
He bitterly concludes that this must be Minho’s thing: appearing out of the blue, and leaving just as abruptly.
Even though it’s hard to recall most of that party a year ago, that’s what he remembers most vividly. Starting from the intense heat in his chest when he and Minho had stumbled through the streets in eager rush to get to Jisung’s apartment, through the feeling of Minho’s cold hand slipping beneath the fabric of Jisung’s sweater, to the haste with which Minho had drunk every whine and plea off of his lips.
Jisung remembers every single thing that had happened when they finally reached his apartment—the breathless kisses and hands roaming all over each other’s bodies, bumping into walls on their way to the bedroom because they just couldn’t bear to pull away; laughter—so much laughter—and wandering touches full of emotion. Jisung remembers Minho spread out beneath him, his glimmering eyes, the I’m in love with you Jisung whispered in the high, and the fervent kiss Minho captured his lips in right after.
And he remembers waking up, dazed and confused, to Minho gathering his clothes off the floor in a rush.
Jisung had whined then, his eyes still half-closed as he asked Minho to stay for five more minutes and cuddle.
Minho ran a hand through his blond hair as he frantically pulled his pants on. “I can’t. I need to catch my flight.”
Like he had just been hit by a sudden wave of consciousness, Jisung sat right up. “What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’?”
Jisung drew his eyebrows together, trying to wave off the last curtain of sleepiness in order to understand what the hell had been going on. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”
Minho paused. Blinked at him. Opened his mouth and closed it and opened it again. “Are you serious?”
Jisung swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pulled a hoodie over his head, and stood in front of Minho, confused and suddenly nervous. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he admitted quietly, his heart already beating a hundred pulses per second.
Minho let out a shuddering breath. “Jisung,” he started, “I. . . I thought you knew I’m leaving for the exchange programme in Japan.”
Before Jisung’s mind could even register the movement, his body had already been taking a step back. “What?” he whispers, voice high with disbelief. “What do you mean you’re leaving.” He stared at Minho with shock, his throat tightening up. “What about—”
Us?
“I thought you knew,” Minho said, frantic, breathy. His eyes darted all over the room, all over Jisung, as he tugged at the strands of his hair. “I thought you knew.”
“Well, I didn’t!” Jisung’s heart stuttered pathetically as sheer fear started building up in his chest. What did that mean for them? What did that mean for him?
“I told you months ago that I was going to Japan next term, Jisung.”
Months ago they hadn’t been harboring feelings for each other. Months ago, Jisung though they had all the time in the world.
Minho looked like he was about to lose his mind, eyes wide, glazed-over, scared just like Jisung’s; his lips parted, chapped and red, curling around words that didn’t fall. “Fuck,” was all he could muster. “Fucking shit.”
The pain pooling in Jisung’s stomach was making him nauseous, and standing in front of Minho with the knowledge that he was leaving was downright excruciating.
“How long will you be gone?” he asked.
Jisung had heard about it. He knew it was a year long programme, but it didn’t stop him from hoping that maybe—
“A year.” Minho’s voice broke.
The remainder of Jisung’s hopes, the pieces of his foolish heart were lying shattered on the floor in the space left between them, and neither of them seemed prepared to take the step across it.
Jisung crossed his arms over his chest in the last attempt at defending his pride.
“Wow,” he spat out. “You should’ve probably mentioned that before you decided to sleep with me. Before I told you I—”
Jisung’s voice cracked and his eyes watered, making him feel even more stupid. He felt stupid, stupid, so fucking stupid.
Minho took a step forward at the sight of him falling apart, hands leaping forward to gather him in his arms, but Jisung reeled back until his back hit the swivel chair.
“You should go,” he said, for he didn’t know what else to say. His voice sounded unfamiliar even to his own ears, uncharacteristically devoid of emotion, empty like the space Minho had left in his chest after he’d ripped his heart out.
“Jisung-ah—”
Jisung shook his head and cut him off. “Please, just—” A deep breath—a wheeze. “Just go.”
Minho swallowed audibly and nodded. “I’ll text you later. I’ll call you. And I’ll explain everything,” he said, even though it clearly took a lot of effort to just speak with how choked-up he sounded. “I just—I’m really sorry.”
Jisung wrapped his arms around himself and turned away the second he felt those foolish tears pricking at his eyes. He kept it together, able to tell that Minho was hesitating before his footsteps actually began receding and the lock of the bedroom door clicked shut.
Then, a sob ripped out of Jisung’s chest, too loud and too raw. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the tears just wouldn’t stop falling and his chest was tightening up as he struggled to catch his breath, wounded and left behind.
Minho called. He texted. Sent essays with explanations and apologies that Jisung couldn’t get through without crying a river. He texted until Jisung told him, “I don’t want to talk to you.” Minho actually listened.
Jisung couldn’t tell if he was relieved that he respected his wish or upset that it was so easy for Minho to cut him off.
Minho never said it back that night, when Jisung opened his heart before him and told him he had been in love with him. Considering how much time has passed, perhaps it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.
And yet he can’t help but wonder: was that the reason why he couldn’t reply? Because he was leaving? Or maybe he just didn’t feel the same way?
Jisung buries his face in the pillow to muffle the scream that rips out of his throat.
With an ugly feeling coiling in his stomach, the pain of all the feeling he’s been harboring for a year subdued and yet still prominent, he wants nothing more than to fall into the sweet oblivion of sleep, but the thoughts keep him up until early hours of the morning.
When daylight begins slipping through the blinds he hadn’t closed well enough last night, Jisung drags himself out of bed, takes a shower to get rid of the tingling feeling all over his skin, and stomps out to the kitchen.
He wishes his friends had told him about Minho coming back. It would save him a sleepless night and (as it seems) a day of overthinking, and if they hadn’t met at the party, Jisung would’ve actually gotten the time to mentally prepare himself for the possibility of stumbling into the guy that ran away after Jisung had told him he loved him.
No big deal.
No big deal, but Jisung is upset about it—maybe a bit mad. He can sulk until he finds a solution to all his Minho-related problems. Or until his friends pay for his food as an apology.
For now, as Hyunjin and Seungmin are still asleep down the hallway, he settles on fixing himself the loudest bowl of cereal anyone in the history of creation has ever made, banging cupboards as he looks through them, clattering dishes just because, rummaging through the drawer of cutlery to find that one perfect spoon—Hyunjin’s favorite spoon. The one with cute flowery ornaments on the handle, a family heirloom or something like that. After angrily shoving chocolate cereal into his mouth, he leaves the goddamn spoon in the sink, and thinks, Take that!
It does make him feel a little better, if only for a moment.
He sprawls himself over the couch for the entire day just to be annoying, and puts on some true crime documentaries to warn Hyunjin off joining him after Seungmin leaves.
Hyunjin clearly takes the sulking into account, and he pouts for a minute or two—and then he notices the spoon in the sink and threatens to shove it down Jisung’s throat.
Too caught up in all the Minho-drama, he forgot that they invited Changbin (and Seungmin, but Jisung would argue that at this point he practically lives here and should start paying the rent) for a movie night to spend the night before the start of the semester having fun.
Changbin is perceptive. It takes approximately three minutes and the look on his face already tells Jisung that he knows there’s something wrong.
Even though he ignores the pointed looks at first, when Hyunjin goes to the bathroom and Seungmin heads to the kitchen to get snacks, and the two of them are left alone, Jisung feels very cornered. Like it’s all just a scheme made up to get him to talk.
Changbin does this; steers you somewhere you can’t run from, and makes you look him in the face and tell him what’s wrong, why you’ve been acting like an asshole to everyone and yourself.
“Minho is back,” Jisung says.
He expects Changbin to say something at that point, but his friend remains silent, watching Jisung almost expectantly from the seat opposite of him. And what is Jisung supposed to say? That he thought he was getting over him and everything has fallen apart just because he saw his face for a split second in a dimly lit hallway at a stupid college party?
Jisung has already embarrassed himself enough.
“And all of it—” he gestures stupidly in front of his own chest, “—has come back just because of that.”
Changbin frowns. “You saw him?”
Nodding, Jisung says, “At the party. I was in the bathroom and he was standing in the hallway when I came out. He didn’t—He didn’t seem to know I was in there, but—” He shrugs.
He hasn’t felt this dejected in a while. There hasn’t been a moment since he came back home from the party when he wasn’t thinking about Minho; watching his documents, eating his cereal, scrolling through his phone. Somehow his brain thought it was a good idea to self-sabotage and make him spiral.
“I keep thinking about him,” he admits. Because it’s Changbin, who doesn’t judge, even if Jisung is still caught up in his ex that left him a year ago to pursue his passion and didn’t mutter a word about it while they were together. “And how stupid is it? I saw him for two seconds and I already feel like I’m losing my mind. What if I run into him again?”
Changbin takes the blanket slipping off Jisung’s shoulder and fixes it for him, wrapping it tighter around his frame. “You’re bound to run into him if he’s back, Jisung,” he says quietly. “Your paths have always crossed, and I’m afraid it won’t be any different now.”
“I know,” Jisung whines. “I know, and it’s what makes it all worse. Because I wouldn’t feel this way if I got a clean break—I wouldn’t feel this way if he didn’t just leave, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to take it if I see him doing all fine and dandy.”
“You don’t know if he’s doing fine and dandy,” Changbin points out reasonably, but Jisung is too bitter to listen.
“It’s been a year,” he spits out. “He has definitely moved on.”
Changbin gives him a pointed look, but Jisung is dead set on ignoring it just like he had been when his friend tried to intervene a year ago. But Jisung isn’t doing that bad—he’s just having a worse time, but. . .
But.
“I’m just thinking once again: why didn’t he fucking talk to me? And it’s—” Jisung lets out a shuddering breath. “It’s tiring, and it hurts.”
Changbin reaches out to pat the crown of Jisung’s head. He seems to ponder something for a moment, seems to hesitate. And then he clicks his tongue and decides to go with what’s on his mind, caring in his bluntness, just like always.
“Don’t you think you should talk to him, though? Now that he’s here?” Changbin proposes. “I don’t mean it, like, you should start seeing each other. Just. . . talk to him, even if it’s only once. Hear him out.” He gives it more thought and adds, “Maybe try to become friends again. You were good once, and you got pulled away from one another by something stronger than either of you. Maybe it’ll be worth it to give him a second chance, even if that chance only means to give you closure.”
Jisung isn’t sure if they have anything to talk about. The hurt he felt the morning Minho left has come back; not as strong, but still there. And yet something about closure, about finding out why it was so easy for Minho to leave him after Jisung had bared his heart and soul in front of him, sparks. . . curiosity.
Seungmin saves him from answering by appearing from the kitchen. “Have you losers chosen a movie already?”
Changbin only pats him on the head again and says, “Think about it,” before turning to Seungmin and telling him Jisung is the most indecisive guy this world has ever seen.
♡
The fall semester begins.
Jisung sometimes comes across Minho on campus, especially around Chan and Jeongin and Felix, but even when Minho catches his eye, Jisung pretends he doesn’t actually see him.
Despite all the time that has passed, Minho still frequents the same café they used to go to every Thursday. There’s this one time when Jisung is sitting at his usual table and Minho comes in. He notices Jisung, but even though he looks like he wants to approach him, he must decide against it and only nods with a grim expression painted across his features.
Jisung looks away. His stomach aches, and his heart does, too, and ever since then, he longs for his mind and heart to settle on what he actually feels and should do.
He throws himself into the whirlwind of work, and consequently stays in the campus studio for too long one day. When he finally realizes what time it is and leaves in a hurry, the clock is about to strike eleven o’clock.
It’s dark outside, the rain is pouring, and Jisung hadn’t checked the forecast in the morning so he didn’t bring an umbrella. Fuck.
With no other way out, he pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and rushes in the direction of his apartment building, cursing his own name for letting the weather catch him off-guard.
He manages to make it through two streets even though he’s soaking wet and he has walked in too many puddles trying to keep the rain from falling right into his face. The passing cars give zero fucks about him and rush down the road, splashing water all over him, so it comes off as surprising when one car actually slows down.
A bit startled, Jisung continues walking—with an uncomfortable feeling crawling up his neck, one that grows into slight panic when he recognizes the model of the vehicle. The window on the passenger side rolls down when Jisung picks up the pace, and sure enough, Minho’s voice sounds from inside.
“Jisung? Do you want me to give you a ride?”
Jisung clenches his jaw.
Why does he always appear out of nowhere? Why does he always have to show his face around when Jisung is far from ready to see him?
“No,” he spits out through gritted teeth, not quite sure Minho can even hear him with the sound of rain swishing, but not caring about it either. “I’m good.”
He continues walking, and Minho continues driving the car at a snail pace, right next to him, ever so insistent.
“It’s pouring,” he points out.
“Trust me, I can see,” Jisung says, feeling stupid as he wraps his arms tighter around himself.
“Come on, Jisung. I don’t want you to get sick.”
Jisung doesn’t want to get into his car or go anywhere with him. Maybe he’s exaggerating, considering that a part of him actually does crave to be close to him, but right now he doesn’t want to look at Minho, doesn’t want to be around him—all out of fear that the dam around his mind he’s been trying so hard to keep in one piece lately will break and he’ll be left reminiscing more than he already does about everything that happened between them. Everything Minho tossed into trash.
He and Minho have nothing to talk about now, really. What’s done is done, and all that. Jisung is one hell of a stubborn person, too, so unless he makes up his mind and decides that he’s ready, he isn’t going to degrade himself to beg for closure, even if he needs it.
“Jisung.”
Minho’s voice comes out begging.
Jisung whips around, sees the pleading look on his face, and he knows he’s done for. He grabs the handle and opens the goddamn door. “Your whole car will be dirty,” he warns.
“That’s okay,” Minho says quietly and rolls up the window. “It’s just a car.”
When the door closes and the thundering rain is sealed outside, the click of Jisung’s seatbelt is deafening, and the silence within the car becomes all too pronounced.
Minho clears his throat. “Do you still, uh, live in—”
“Yes,” Jisung answers curtly, pulling the hood off his head and risking a glance to the side.
Minho’s hair is dark brown again, a stark change to the blonde he had sported a year ago. It has grown out a bit too, giving him a more mature look, a bit more mysterious, maybe, as it falls over his face. The only thing that remains the same are the glasses he occasionally wore whenever he was too lazy to put contacts on. Today must be one of those days.
God.
Jisung honestly thought he was okay. That with some time apart, he has managed to push Minho off the number one spot in his heart. Yes, it’s been a hard few weeks that proved Minho still reigns over a part of him, but Jisung really thought he could be over him if he tried some more.
But it proves to be the complete opposite; one look at Minho, and Jisung is reminded of how it felt. How he used to sit in this same seat, belting out the lyrics of their favorite songs and urging Minho to join right in; how he used to slip into the car and lean over the gearbox to kiss Minho before they took off; the drive-in cinema night spent on making out in the backseat and that one time the car broke down when they were coming back from the beach and they were forced to wait for help until the very morning.
He looks at Minho and thinks of being chased down the hallway after teasing him too much, of dancing in the kitchen and accompanying Minho while he cooked, of going to the gym together and napping cuddled together later.
It’s crazy, he thinks, how much happened between them over those two years they’ve known each other, especially the few months they were dating. Being Minho’s boyfriend aside, Jisung can admit that what he missed the most over that year was the steady presence of someone who understood him unconditionally, someone he could share his silence with and laugh until his belly ached.
Jisung missed Minho, that’s simply the truth he can’t deny. Now, Minho is right here next to him, and Jisung still misses him. His heart is longing to be close to him again, while his mind reasons all the hurt Jisung went through because of him. He can’t decide on what he wants and that is also putting him through pain.
Only when Minho pulls up at the parking spot closest to the entrance of the apartment building does Jisung realize they’ve arrived without exchanging more than a few words during the drive.
He blinks, snapping himself out of the daze, and glances to the side, only to find Minho already staring. And, hell, if people could burn under the weight of someone’s gaze, Jisung would be left in ashes now.
He swallows audibly and lets the silence hang around for a moment longer, just long enough to gather his thoughts.
Then, he asks, “How did you know it was me walking?”
“I recognized your shoes.” Minho shrugs with a soft smile.
Jisung looks down. He’s wearing those Boston shoes Minho used to find cute when paired up with white socks that have a red heart over the ankle. They’re dirty from the rain now, just like all of him. His clothes are starting to feel uncomfortable against his skin, and Jisung really just wants to lie down in his bed right now.
Minho clears his throat when he sees Jisung reaching for the door handle. “Take a hot shower, okay?” he says. “I don’t want you to get sick.”
What is it to you? Jisung wants to ask. What is it to you if I get sick or not?
“Thanks for the ride,” he says instead.
And then he leaves the car without even glancing back. He has to jog through the rain to get to the front door, but it’s still better than being forced to walk back in this weather all the way from the campus.
Keys jangling in his hand and knocking against his phone, Jisung takes the stairs up to the third floor. Down the hall from the stairwell, he unlocks the door to his apartment and quietly steps inside, not sure if Hyunjin is already asleep. Sniffling and stumbling, he toes off his sneakers, tosses his keys onto the entryway table, and locks the door behind himself.
His head is already beginning to pound and if it gets any worse than the ache in his temples, he might have to say goodbye to a good night’s sleep.
“Yo, Jisung,” a voice calls to him from the living room.
“Yeah,” he calls back, padding across the floor, past the kitchen and around the corner. His hair is damp, but not more than it would have been if he hadn’t taken up Minho on the offer. Maybe it was a good choice.
Hyunjin is watching television in the living room; it must be one of the most interesting scenes of the drama because he doesn’t even take his eyes off the screen as he says, “I ordered some Chinese if you’re hungry.”
“I love you,” Jisung says, earning himself a chuckle before Hyunjin’s attention snaps back to the show. “I’m gonna go take a shower first.”
It takes a lot of effort for Jisung to drag himself to his bedroom and then to the bathroom, but once he has changed into comfy and—most importantly—dry clothes, he admittedly feels much better.
After a quick trip to the kitchen, he plops down on the couch next to Hyunjin, joining him in watching an episode of some drama he doesn’t know anything about as he eats a bowl of noodles.
Hyunjin’s hand lands in his hair to untangle the stray strand of hair. “Did you get caught up in the rain?”
Jisung hums. “Yeah, it was raining when I left the studio.”
“How’d you get here in one piece from campus at this hour without an umbrella?” Hyunjin muses. “You should’ve called Changbin hyung. I’m sure he would’ve given you a ride.”
Jisung debates what to say, using the excuse of eating his noodles to prolong the awaited answer. And then, after he swallows, there’s nothing left to do but answer. So he says, “Minho hyung drove me.”
Hyunjin sits up straighter. “What?”
“He saw me walking down the street and picked me up,” Jisung explains. “I didn’t want to go with him, but—”
He feels stupid.
“It’s okay,” Hyunjin tells him. “It’s just a car ride. It was raining. You made a good choice.”
Jisung grimaces. It’s just a car ride. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “We didn’t talk or anything.”
Hyunjin hums, running his fingers through Jisung’s damp hair. A moment passes. The mother of the male lead in the drama gushes over the female lead. Jisung sets his empty bowl on the coffee table and leans back against the couch.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk things through with him, though?”
Jisung’s shoulders slump as he pulls his knees to his chest. He curses himself for being transparent—or his friends for knowing him too well; he can no longer pretend that he hasn’t missed Minho this past year, not even with them.
“I want to,” he says truthfully. “I want to, but I’m not ready.”
“I get that,” Hyunjin tells him, pulling Jisung’s head to rest on his shoulder. “But, you know, sometimes you just gotta take your overthinking brain by surprise. Say fuck it, and make yourself ready.”
It seems easier in theory, but Jisung understands where Hyunjin is coming from and it makes a bit of sense. A bit. Jisung’s overactive mind will never let him just make himself ready for a conversation that will cost him the remainder of dignity he has left.
It’s been a whole year and Jisung still has feelings for Minho. And that is a terrible thing to admit. He hates Minho for how he left him, but loves him for all the happiness and comfort he brought him.
The good outweighs the bad. Jisung never learns.
Minho’s programme stretched for too long—and yet not long enough. Not long enough for him to leave Jisung’s heart, to let him move on.
But that’s how it is on his part. The tricky question remains: has Minho ever been on the same page?
♡
Taking into account his luck lately, Jisung should have expected to run into Minho in the convenience store late at night. But he’s still surprised—rightfully so, because Minho doesn’t live close enough to this shop to just be here, in the iced-drinks aisle, grabbing a can of tea.
Recognizing the look on his face when their eyes lock, Minho defensively tells him, “I was just coming back home from the studio and I wanted a drink.”
Right. How many times has he crashed at Jisung’s place after practice because his own seemed too far away to walk to?
“I’m not forbidding you from shopping wherever you want,” is all he says, trying not to seem bothered at yet another reminder of the past, when he clearly is very bothered.
Minho remains standing there for a moment longer as Jisung reaches for a can of Chilsung Cider, like he’s pondering something or waiting. In the end, he walks away. It’s only when they meet again in the aisle with ramyeon that he asks Jisung, “Hey, uh—since we’re heading in the same direction, I thought that maybe we could go together?”
Jisung doesn’t remember ever seeing Minho so shy and downright unsure of what to do or say, how to approach the subject. Sharp-witted, assured about what he wants, straight-forward and always so confident, it’s a stark contrast to what Jisung has never been prepared to be a witness of.
Things must be taking a toll on him, weighing on him and tiring him out until he doesn’t have the energy to put up a collected façade anymore. Jisung knows it’s a dangerous thought—to want to gather Minho in his arms and take the burden off of his heart—so, muscles seizing up, he swallows and decides against toying with the idea.
“That night you drove me home didn’t change anything,” he says.
Hurt flashes across Minho’s features, prominent in the harsh lighting of the store. Jisung shouldn’t feel guilty—after all Minho has caused him much more hurt than this—but he does. After all this time, despite everything, he hates seeing Minho so. . . disheartened. Disappointed. He especially hates knowing that he put the hurt there.
All that while Minho has been nothing but kind to Jisung each time they saw each other. Trying to make things right.
Despite Minho’s best efforts to not let the disappointment slip through, it shows in the way he nods dejectedly and avoids Jisung’s gaze.
“I just wish you could see that I actually regret it. That I’m sorry,” he says.
Minho turns on his heel and walks away.
Jisung stares at his back with parted lips and cheeks dusted with red. His heart aches in the same way it did the very morning when he let Minho leave his life for a whole year. It’s been empty, no matter how much Jisung tried to fill out that place Minho had once occupied.
The realization makes his breath hitch, that he’s letting Minho walk away again, and he breaks into a stupid and pathetic jog down the store aisle to grab Minho’s wrist before he can leave for good.
Jisung is making himself ready.
“Wait,” he says. “Just. . . wait.”
Minho is slow at shifting his body to face Jisung, and when their eyes finally lock, he doesn’t look happy or anything close to that. But relief has replaced the disappointment, and that’s what Jisung focuses on. Over the past year, he has become a little rusty in reading him, but the familiar glimmer in Minho’s eyes, the astonishment, can’t be mistaken for anything else.
Feeling embarrassed with the entirety of Minho’s unabashed attention on him, Jisung grabs another packet of ramen off the shelf and says, “We can head to the register if you’re done.”
“I’m done.”
The tired college student working the graveyard shift barely pays them any mind as they scan their products, and barely five minutes later, Jisung is holding the door open for Minho as he cracks open his can of iced-tea and they’re walking out of the store.
Together.
Maybe Jisung’s heart is thundering in his chest and all those feelings he has kept hidden away are pressing against his ribcage in the most painful way possible, but he has just taken the first step in the right direction.
They make their way down the sidewalk in silence. It’s tense, definitely loaded with everything they haven’t said to each other yet, and. . . it’s never been this way with them. Jisung doesn’t really know what to do with himself although his body is aching with the need to move.
There’s distance between them, but it’s almost like they naturally gravitate towards each other—Jisung tries to evade a passerby and steps closer to Minho, but he doesn’t take a step back to the side; he only does when their hands brush and he remembers that immediately jumping back into it isn’t good.
Stupid, stupid heart.
Jisung shoves his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie, lest he does something even dumber, and curses himself for being weak. He hates himself for missing Minho so much, and there’s nothing he wants more than to be able to control his whirlwind of emotions, but he can’t.
He’s always been prone to getting swept away by his feelings, but only now does it prove to be an actual issue that he doesn’t know how to deal with.
It doesn’t help that Minho suddenly asks, “How are you?”
Jisung looks at him with raised eyebrows, feeling awfully and unreasonably amused by the fact that Minho— Minho of all people—wants to go for small talk with him. “Are you really asking me that?”
Minho looks so flabbergasted that Jisung cracks up and dodges the flustered shove from Minho coming his way by jumping off to the side.
“I’m sorry—” Minho laughs, his eyes crinkling in the corners, the sound pulling at Jisung’s heartstrings. “I just want to know how you’re doing!”
Jisung bites the inner side of his cheek, trying to settle his raging heart. “Today, or. . . in general?”
Minho says, “Whatever you want to tell me.”
“Well,” Jisung says, “I’ve been really tired after classes today since I had a block of boring History, and after taking a nap at home when I got back, I just couldn’t fall asleep again at a normal hour of the night,” Jisung says, explaining what he’s doing shopping in the middle of the night. “So, not the greatest day.” He sighs, waits until Minho has taken a sip of his iced-tea, and asks, “And what about you?”
The corners of Minho’s mouth upturn in a soft smile. “Had boring afternoon classes, so I went to the studio to move a little before heading to sleep.”
“Oh, instead of going for a walk?”
Jisung remembers that: Minho going out for nightly walks, calling him late, asking if Jisung wants to tag along or house him for the night when he’s going to be coming back that way.
If Jisung felt too lazy to move, he waited for Minho’s call half-asleep and then relished in a whole night of having him close. If he felt like getting some fresh air, they walked around the area with their arms linked and bodies pressed together.
It’s dangerous to remember all these good things, but Jisung is hopeless. He isn’t capable of erasing all his precious memories of Minho and all things associated with him just because the ending was bad. He wishes it were possible; being able to only remember the bad parts would save him pain and tears. It would be easier to move on.
Minho hums. “Too many thoughts to be left alone with them, I guess,” he says, quiet—sounding a bit distant, like he’s talking more to himself than to Jisung. Then, after meeting Jisung’s eyes for a brief moment, Minho lifts the corner of his mouth in a smile and says, “Anyway, I’m so tired after dancing that I feel like I’ll fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow.”
Jisung kicks a stray pebble. His building is right around the corner, and his feet instinctively almost slow down to prolong parting ways. The realization leaves an uncomfortable lump in his throat. He’s a fool. If there existed a competition to determine the most foolish person in the world, everyone else would drop out at the sight of Jisung.
“Do you have any morning classes?” he asks, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as strained to Minho as it does to his own ears; if the frown that appears on his face is any indication, it does.
Minho looks almost concerned. Why does he care? Why does he care?
Out of the corner of his eye, Jisung can see him staring—can see him opening his mouth while his eyebrows are still furrowed, and then his features ease into something more gentle. “At noon,” he ends up saying.
Jisung sends him a smile. “You’ll get to sleep longer, then. That’s nice.”
They come to a stop at the end of the pathway leading up to the entrance of Jisung’s apartment building. Jisung doesn’t know why they’re standing there—why Minho isn’t leaving—but he doesn’t make a move to walk away, either.
It’s not that bad, being around Minho. Even with the bitterness clawing up his throat, Jisung still feels that magnetic pull, the mutual understanding that makes it so much easier to be comfortable around him.
In that storm of emotions raging inside him, Jisung almost forgets himself. Almost wraps his arms around Minho in a hug all too familiar, almost kisses him on the cheek as a goodbye, almost waits for Minho to pull him into a proper one on the lips. Almost.
He catches himself right before he can reach out. His arm falls uselessly by his side, his expression dims, and all those times they stood in front of his building come rushing back to Jisung, vivid as if they’re all happening right now.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
It’s not Minho who’s tossing his heart to the ground and stomping all over it. Jisung is the one doing it to himself.
“I—” he starts, only to cut himself off. “I’ll see you around the campus.”
Minho smiles. “Goodnight, Jisung-ah.”
“Yeah, goodnight.”
Jisung’s feet feel heavy like stones; he can barely move them as he nods one last time and turns on his heel to walk away. He can hear that Minho isn’t moving, can feel his eyes on his back, but he doesn’t turn around to make sure he isn’t just going crazy. It would be a nail to the coffin, really.
Jisung just punches in the code, opens the door, and makes his way up to the third floor all while going through the motions. The door is unlocked. He calls out a greeting to Hyunjin and Seungmin, hears their voices coming from the living room along with the noise of the television as they call back.
It’s all so familiar. Things don’t change if you don’t try hard enough to change them.
Jisung sets his tote bag down on the entryway table and lets out a sigh. His phone starts buzzing with notifications in his pocket after it connects to the home internet, and he idly takes it out to put it on silent.
He’s kicking off his shoes when the doorbell rings. Frowning, Jisung reaches for the handle, only to take a surprised step back once he pulls the door open.
Minho is standing on the other side. “Hi,” he breathes out.
Alerted by the doorbell at the late night hour, Seungmin shouts from the living room, “Who is it?” before Jisung can come up with anything to say.
He splutters. “Uh—Erm—”
“Jisung?” Hyunjin’s voice sounds a tad bit concerned.
“I’m okay! It’s fine.” He whips back around to Minho, lowering his voice. It almost gets drowned in the intensity of Jisung’s erratic heartbeat ringing in his ears. “What are you doing here?”
Minho takes a deep breath. “I can’t do this anymore,” he says, still sounding choked-up, as if there’s something lodged in his throat. “I really can’t stand the fact that I never apologized to you face to face.”
Jisung stares at him in absolute quiet for a moment too long.
He thought he would get a whole night of thinking about what he could do. What he could say. Because there’s certainly a lot to speak about between them, and they have to get it out of the way. But Minho is standing on his doorstep right now, and Jisung’s head is completely blank.
His silence tells Minho enough.
“If you tell me to leave, then I will. Right now,” he tries. “I promise.”
Jisung opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, so he snaps it shut. He doesn’t want Minho to leave again. He’s afraid that if Minho walks away, he won’t ever come back this time; that he’ll stay in the same city, but he won’t be Jisung’s anymore.
Jisung is terrified.
He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get another chance to speak with him about it—and at nighttime, the world feels a little less real, heavy conversations seem a little lighter.
And maybe Jisung relents much easier than he should, but there’s something so familiar about Minho standing on his doorstep at god-knows-what-time-it-is o’clock, so familiar about the sight of him, and Jisung only further proves to himself that Minho hasn’t stopped being his weak spot.
Perhaps he never will.
Right here and now, Jisung is twenty-two all over again. The world is rushing past him like a raging river, and he feels himself getting swept up in the current once more.
He opens the door wider and locks it as Minho toes his shoes off. His heart begins to race as they make their way down the foyer. He thinks of what he will say when they get to the living room, when they have to pass it to get to Jisung’s bedroom, but comes up empty. Hyunjin and Seungmin have their heads turned towards the entrance already, and. . . no words are needed, really.
“We’ll be in my room,” is all Jisung says, and then he overtakes Minho and rushes down to the door.
Thankfully, his room isn’t an embarrassing mess. In all this anxiety he’s been feeling, he stress-cleaned it a few times over the week. Not that Minho would care; he’s seen this place in a state of all kinds of disasters.
He closes the door after following in behind Jisung and, receiving an affirmative nod at the quiet question of whether he can sit on the bed, he takes a seat at the edge of the mattress. Just like that, he’s right there, and for a moment it feels like he had never left.
Silence stretches on for a little longer. Jisung slings his bag on the back of his chair, flicks on the fairy lights, and waits. Since Minho is the one who came here, he wants him to talk first—he can be patient, he can give Minho time to gather his thoughts since running here after Jisung seems to have been a spontaneous decision.
Besides, Jisung doesn’t know where to go from here on his own. He doesn’t, but this feels like a start. And starting, he has learnt, is always the hardest part.
Jisung realizes it’s starting when Minho takes a deep breath.
“I’m sorry for leaving without an explanation,” he says finally. “I’m sorry for not sitting down with you to talk. About the exchange and about what it would mean for us.” Something tightens in his jaw. “You have all the right to be angry with me, and I can’t blame you for not wanting to talk to me then, but you deserve an apology, so I’m just. . . I’m very sorry.”
Jisung’s throat is already tightening up. He’s never been good at pretending, especially not in front of Minho, but he conjures all his energy to put on an expression that doesn’t betray the hurt he still feels.
What a sickening pendulum of emotions he’s swinging on: between the overwhelming longing to have Minho back in his life and the urge to push him as far away as possible so that he can continue to try to get over him.
“I’m not mad at you for going on your dream programme,” Jisung says truthfully. “I’m mad because you lead me on. I’m mad because it felt like you played with me. I’m mad because I told you I was in love with you and you allowed me to say that.” He takes a sharp inhale, almost choking up. “You allowed me to say that even though you knew—you knew you would be leaving in the morning.”
Jisung grimaces at the sound of his voice cracking among all the faux composure he’s summoning and looks away from Minho’s face—his wide eyes and parted lips, flushed cheeks, and the dark hair that looks really pretty on him swept by the wind.
His stomach coils. Minho remains silent, and once again Jisung feels the tingling need to fill it; it’s his chance to say what has been echoing in his head and desperately trying to crawl out of his mouth—he doesn’t intend to keep carrying all this pain inside anymore.
“After all those dates and kisses and all this fucking time we spent together, I thought you felt the same. And it took me so long to figure my feelings out just so I could tell you while being completely sure,” Jisung continues, voice devoid of anger despite the negative energy coursing through his veins. “If I had known you were leaving, I wouldn’t have said anything.”
Minho clenches his jaw, but it’s not from anger, either. “I really thought you knew,” he says. “I thought you were saying that because you knew that I was leaving and you wanted me to know.”
“I didn’t know you would be leaving without a word!” Jisung doesn’t mean to raise his voice. He falters immediately, shrinking in on himself, but the echo of his words remains closed in the space between them, a wicked echo. “How could you do that to me? How could you not think of sitting down with your boyfriend to fucking talk?” he asks, the irritation refusing to go away. “Do you even realize how that felt? Like all of this time we spent together meant nothing. Like I was just a plaything to entertain you before you left.”
Minho’s mouth falls open in shock. “Jisung—”
“What?” he snaps. “Is that surprising for you? That you fucking hurt me? I just—” Jisung scoffs. “You didn’t even consider us staying together, did you?”
Minho looks like he’s trying to gather his thoughts after everything Jisung just told him, and Jisung finds himself wishing he could read him better than this. To understand the emotions storming across his features before they slip away, irrevocable. Even now, when Minho is clearly baring himself—or at least trying to—Jisung still can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“I wanted to ask you what would happen to us,” Minho finally says, “but it felt so unfair to expect you to wait for me or—or make us both suffer over distance and video calls and bad reception and not being together.”
“So you just ignored the issue and left,” Jisung concludes. “You made the decision for the two of us.”
“No, I—really wanted to talk to you, especially that night, but then we went back to your place and—” Minho clenches his jaw and looks away. “I was a coward. I was worried about us. What if we can’t handle a year apart? What if that breaks our friendship?”
“Well,” Jisung scoffs bitterly. “I think the deed is done.”
Minho draws in a sharp breath, his mouth lingering open as if he wants to say something more. But over this year, Jisung’s lack of courage to speak out what he wanted has partially left him, and if Minho is hesitating, Jisung won’t.
He wants to know now. Or, at least a part of him does. The other part of him remains terrified of the answer, making his heartbeat speed up again, a torturous pace that feels like it’s about to break his ribs and leave his heart leaping out onto the floor.
“Why was it so easy for you to just walk out?” Jisung asks, voice quiet as he’s afraid all his pain will seep through. “Did all of that mean nothing to you?”
He’s surprising himself. Does he really want to know the answer?
Minho reels back, looking like he has just been punched in the gut. “That’s what you think? That it was easy? That you mean nothing to me?”
Jisung shrugs. Sniffles. Dabs at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t know what to think,” he says, but it sounds whiny and pathetic and he wants to turn around and hide again.
Minho stands up, though, surges forward, stopping when he’s right in front of Jisung, having backed him up against the desk. He hesitates with his hands outstretched, but in the end he asks, “Can I hug you?”
Jisung finds himself nodding before the question even registers in his brain. His heart decides before his reasoning can.
Minho sweeps him into his arms just like a million times before. Jisung bunches his hands in the back of his jacket and hides his face in the crook of Minho’s neck, squeezing his eyes shut. The familiar scent of his shampoo and his vanilla body wash make him feel like he has just returned home after a long time away from the place he feels the safest in.
“Jisung-ah,” Minho says softly, one arm hooked over Jisung’s waist while his other hand is caressing his back. “I almost gave up on that exchange and I was looking for something here so that I wouldn’t have to leave,” he confesses, but when Jisung tries to pull back and look at him, Minho tightens his hold around him. “It wasn’t easy to be there knowing that I left you, but I. . . I can’t say I regret it. I just—” He sighs. “I don’t know. It was a great experience, but I can’t stand the fact that we were the price I paid for it. And I regret being a coward. If I had another chance, I would’ve talked to you and made things right.”
He’s not used to this: to seeing Minho so open and honest about this kind of thing. His words make Jisung’s own crawl up his throat and escape from where he’d kept them locked away in his heart for a whole year, away from prying eyes, away from himself.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t let you resign just because of me,” Jisung tells him, whispering lest his voice breaks again. “It wouldn’t be the same, but at least we would’ve talked to each other,” he adds. “But even though things would change, it didn’t mean they had to end completely.” Sniffling, he lets the snug scent of Minho’s vanilla perfume provide a grounding sense of peace. “I mean, would a lot change, really? I haven’t seen you for a whole year and I still—”
Jisung’s breath hitches. He buries his face in the junction of Minho’s neck and his shoulder, gripping his shoulders so that Minho doesn’t get a chance to pull back and look at him—to see every single emotion Jisung feels written on his face.
Minho falls quiet, but Jisung can feel the thundering beat of his heart against his own chest, the force of it as his heart crashes against his ribcage. And then Minho fixes his hold around him, pulls him so close that it feels like they might melt into one person. This is the kind of hug that used to purge every negative thought out of Jisung, and it works now, too.
“A whole year of being away, huh.”
Jisung sighs. “It felt like fucking forever.”
Minho seems cautious when he whispers, “You could have gotten over me.”
“Don’t think I didn’t try,” Jisung tells him, a sharp edge to his voice. “I was on the right path but then you appeared out of nowhere and I’m back to square one.”
“Well, do you—” Minho clears his throat. “Is getting over me something you want? To move on? Is that—”
He cuts himself off. His shoulders tense. Somehow Jisung can tell he’s grimacing even when he can’t see his face.
And, well. . . Is that something Jisung wants?
Up until a few days ago, maybe it was. When he first saw Minho at the party, his first thought was No, go away. But the way his body melts into Minho and his rushing thoughts calm down at the sound of his voice tell a different story.
Jisung thought getting over Minho would be the best option—the option that would hurt less. However, now that Minho is right here in his arms, and—hopefully—he isn’t going anywhere, Jisung’s view on the matter has changed.
“I still haven’t forgiven you for how you hurt me,” Jisung says. “But you’re important to me, and I want to give us a proper second chance. If you want that, too. If you promise you won’t just avoid talking to me.”
“I still want you,” Minho says. “I want to be with you and I will do anything to make things right again.” Jisung nods against his shoulder. “I’m really sorry.”
Jisung pulls back to finally look at him, and lifts one hand to cup the side of Minho’s face, sweeping his thumb over the apple of his cheek. “I missed you.”
Minho smiles. The sight alone sparks joy in Jisung, makes his skin tingle with warmth and a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth.
How is it that easy?
Jisung doesn’t know. He doesn’t think anything that happened over the past few weeks was easy. He doesn’t think that the following weeks will be easy.
But he knows that he never liked fighting with Minho; he never liked the angry tension between them, and he knows Minho didn’t like it, either. That’s why they always made up right away after fighting—because being apart, divided by frustrations and misunderstandings felt wrong.
“I missed you.”
It’s nice to be holding Minho after so many days apart, to have his hands smoothing out the jagged edges of Jisung’s heart, but Jisung would rather have him close a) in a more comfortable setting than the middle of his room and the edge of his desk digging into the small of his back, b) for much longer than a few minutes.
“Erm—” Jisung starts, “do you wanna stay the night?”
Minho moves his hand to the top of Jisung’s head to run his fingers through his hair, watching him with a fond smile. God, how much Jisung has missed that look on his face, the unabashed affection in his eyes.
“If you want me to,” he says. “I’ll stay.”
“Stay.” Jisung smiles, gently pushing Minho backwards, in the direction of the bed, and makes him sit down on the mattress. “I’ll give you something to change into.”
He rummages through the closet to find a big t-shirt for Minho to wear and grabs another one for himself. After they change, Minho inhales deeply and grins when he meets Jisung’s confused eyes, but he doesn’t explain—just slips under the duvet and opens his arms for Jisung to fall right into them.
Jisung’s heart hurts. He has missed this so much: has missed Minho and all the warmth that comes along with being in his presence, and he frankly can’t believe he could ever not miss him—not want to be around him again.
The pain is still there, like a needle stuck in Jisung’s heart, annoying and pricking, but with enough care and time, he’ll be able to pull it out. A scar will be left behind, there’s no doubt, but this time Minho will be there to kiss it better.
“I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to make things right again, but—” Minho sighs, his hand roaming over Jisung’s back, “—but let me know if there is, alright?”
Jisung presses himself closer against Minho, until their bodies are flush together and legs are tangled, and cups the side of his face.
“Just be with me,” he says quietly. “Like before.”
“Small steps?”
Jisung nods. “And kiss it better where it hurts,” he says, concealing his overwhelming happiness with a mask of seriousness.
“Where does it hurt?” Minho asks.
Everywhere is what Jisung intends to say first, but he finds that it’s not the case anymore. So he shuffles even closer and points at his own forehead. “My head hurts,” he complains.
“We can’t have that,” Minho tells him, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leans in and presses the softest kiss to the center of Jisung’s forehead, leaving behind a tingling feeling of warmth. “It’s because you started crying. Crybaby.”
Jisung rolls his eyes, but the fondness audible in Minho’s voice makes his stomach flip in the best way possible. “I’m not a crybaby.”
Minho hums. “My baby,” he concludes, and wraps his arms around Jisung to hold him properly again, make him tuck his face into the crook of his neck.
Jisung’s heartbeat skips: because of the petname and because of the proximity of their bodies—both things he thought he would never experience again. He relishes in the feeling of that ugly fear slowly leaving him as he whispers, “Yours.”