Archive of Our Own

It’s still dark when Minho opens his eyes, the cold bite of the night sneaks its way under the blanket, making him hug his body closer. Despite his unrecognizable surroundings, the smell reminds him of where he is. He breathes it in and a feeling of home fills him up until he relaxes again, smiling to himself.

Turning to the left, Minho sees Jisung, illuminated by the blue lights of his screen, airbuds in as he watches some video. The sight is so familiar, almost a part of Minho, something as natural as breathing and blinking to him. “Hey, baby,” he says, voice hoarse and still half asleep, reaching a hand for Jisung’s thigh. “Can’t sleep?”

He sees it when it happens, Jisung’s eyes in an instant flashing from warm to hurt to distant, unblinking as he waits for Minho to withdraw his hand. The night air sends a chill down Minho’s spine as he hears the younger’s voice, cold and nothing like the Jisung he’s known and loved all his life.

“Don’t call me baby.”

🟔 🟔 🟔

The phone rings at 6:32 AM. Two minutes after Minho’s morning alarm because Jisung surely knows. Minho sits up, face scrunched and mouth dry. He clears his throat and answers.

“Jisungie?”

He doesn’t reply. The only thing Minho hears is a shaky exhale. It goes on for another moment. He sniffles and Minho closes his eyes again. The urge to hold him feels like an ache deep inside his chest, tearing at his flesh.

“Breathe, honey.”

Jisung then sobs, the choked-out sound reaching Minho like a pointed dagger piercing his skin. A single, quick blow then withdrawn back immediately, but Minho is already bleeding. He lets him cry it out for a while, keeps his eyes closed to keep his own tears from spilling. Clears his throat again so his voice doesn’t break.

“Tell me what’s wrong, jagi.”

“I went—” Jisung starts, voice weak and wet. “You know how it’s been— it’s been bad and I’ve been anxious,” he mumbles. Minho hears traffic, people talking nearby and realizes Jisung is in a public place. He wants to hold him and shield him from the people and from himself so much it drowns his lungs.

“So I wanted— I wanted to clear my head. Went to the beach to watch the sunset but—“

He sobs again. Minho hugs his knees and rests his head on them, itching to touch Jisung and wipe away his tears. He feels cold in his own bed and misses Jisung’s warmth, his smile.

“But the sun doesn’t set behind the sea when the sea is in the east, hyung.”

The tone lifts in a whine as he cries. Minho shushes him. Tells him to breathe and reminds him not to apologize. How cruel it is, that he’s deprived of the simple joy of comforting Jisung when he needs it. How cruel it is that he can’t voice his frustration because he knows it’ll only add to Jisung’s pain.

It goes on for a while as Minho tries to keep his voice calm enough to count Jisung’s breaths for him until they start coming steady and slow.

“Jisung, honey,” he says when Jisung quiets down, minutes later. “For all your brains, you’re really stupid.”

Jisung lets out a wet chuckle and Minho finally allows himself to breathe, when he hears that sound. “How did you think the sun would set in the east, Sung-ah?”

“I don’t know,” he whines, then chuckles and calls himself a pabo, breathes in deep and Minho hears it. His shoulders relax a little.

They talk until Minho has to get ready to leave for work, then they talk again while he’s walking to the station. Jisung reminds him when to turn the corners, claiming he’s already counted the steps needed until Minho reaches the station, not so surprisingly guessing right. He brags about how much he knows every detail of Minho’s life. Laughs when Minho corrects that it’s because he’s rushed to his lectures countless times from Minho’s house over the past two years. Jisung laughs and talks but it’s not enough. No number of minutes, no amount of words is ever enough. Minho could be drinking up the essence of the very thing that Jisung is and still be thirsty for more of him. The distance only makes it harder to quench.

“I love them. I really do. But it’s too much when it’s the whole family. Too much pretending.” he scoffs, and it’s a weak, unhappy little sound. “And I can’t even enjoy the fact that they’re gathered in a beach house because it’s on the east fucking coast.”

There’s a few more minutes till the train arrives. Morning rush hour at its peak as Minho wears his backpack on his front. “It’s just a few more days, baby,” he says, even though they both know it’s not just a few more days, even though they both know it’s the entirety of Jisung’s life.

Jisung goes quiet for a moment, Minho only hearing the noise of the people around him. When he does speak, Jisung’s voice is low again. “Mom walked in on me texting you last night. Said if I spent less time talking to you and more time trying to find a nice girl she might have more grandchildren soon.”

The pain hits Minho on so many levels, but mostly it’s for Jisung, forced to lie and constantly live under so much pressure he breaks down in public, alone in a foreign country. More than wanting to snap Jisung’s parents into reality, Minho wants to find a way to comfort Jisung , be there for him even if he can’t be there with him.

“I thought they liked me,” Minho says, making sure an exaggerated pout is obvious through his voice and Jisung chuckles again, the sound making a knot of the many in Minho’s chest loosen a little.

“They do, but I think they want grandchildren that don’t have fur and killer claws.”

Minho spews back a threat that his cats’ claws will leave their marks on his face when he returns to Seoul, and Jisung finally, fully laughs, just in time as Minho looks up at the electric announcement board that says the train will soon arrive.

“Jisungie,” he starts, and he hates saying that. But Jisung knows. He always does.

“Yeah, hyung. I’ll try to sleep early and we’ll talk on your way back. I love you.”

The train arrives, the loud in-station announcement making Jisung’s words harder to hear. Minho’s throat feels tight but he reminds himself too that there’s only a few weeks left, that once he’s back and Minho can wrap his arms around him, the world will feel okay again. “I love you too, Sungie.”

🟔 🟔 🟔

He’s lying awake at 3 AM on his second sleepless night when the realization hits Minho: he is miserable.

He's going through the notions, making his way through one day after another. Time heals all wounds as he firmly believes, and he’s giving himself a generous amount of time. Work is going well and he meets his friends when he can. He thinks nobody sees it other than his cats, being extra snuggly and affectionate lately. He's doing okay, but he's miserable.

The problem with sleepless nights is that they remind him too much of Jisung, when he would call him and Jisung would talk to him in his low, calm voice until he slept. When they would spend whole nights together confessing their love in quiet whispers and heated kisses. When he would wake up to texts from Jisung sharing with him the thoughts he had in his mind and the dreams he saw in his sleep. Nighttime was Jisung time in Minho’s dictionary, and even though he’s been slowly teaching himself how to sleep and how to wake up without checking his phone for texts or calls, it still hurts like a kick in the gut when he can’t sleep and his fingers move on their own to find Jisung’s contact.

The real problem, of course, is that everything reminds him of Jisung. The early mornings and the quiet nights, the blooming flowers of spring and their favorite cafe updating their menu and the stupid maroon couch with all the cushions he barely ever uses, and all of Minho's own thoughts. Everything reminds him of Jisung.

He meets Seungmin and Jeongin the next day. They drink and he listens to them ramble about work and it’s nice, fun. For a while he forgets about everything other than the taste of alcohol and the chatter of his friends drowned out by the noise of the bar. He calls a taxi for them when they miss their last train and goes back home walking to clear his head. Then he throws up everything he drank and the bile in his stomach and lies in bed until the morning, sleep evading him once again.

He’s come to terms with it, after months of pain and sleepless nights spent wishing he never sees the light of the next morning. He’s come to terms with it. The pain will never go, and the next morning will always come.

The thing about having a soulmate, is that when you give a piece of your soul to someone, you forget to prepare yourself for the possibility of them taking it and walking away with it.

Time heals all wounds, but time doesn't regrow severed limbs, time doesn't bring back lost pieces of souls. Minho is sure of it, he will never be whole again.

🟔 🟔 🟔

A tiny girl ends her segment barely managing not to stumble on her feet, and a middle-aged man gets up to start clapping like he’s just witnessed a tony-award winning play. This is how Minho gets his idea.

“He’s totally her father,” he whispers, leaning into Jisung’s space to his left. Follows Jisung’s eyes as they flick between the girl and the man before he smiles. A secret, suppressed little thing that makes Minho’s heart flutter.

Minho leans in again to propose in another whisper, “Wanna play a game?”

Jisung’s eyes finally land on him, almost scandalized, wide as if screaming ‘here? ’ and Minho smirks. Continues. “Whoever locates a child’s parents first earns a point.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything, but his hand silently snakes into the space between them to shake Minho’s. They both smile and look ahead.

Minho leads by a mile, because he has quick reflexes while Jisung gets overwhelmed by the crowds easily, and because Jisung’s parents sit to his left and give him a look whenever he chuckles after guessing, and because he’s a little more invested in this, clapping so hard for his little niece when she shows up that he forgets the game and his jaw hangs open when Minho, shamelessly, points at Jisung’s brother and his wife and says, “Eight to three. I say you should just give up.”

So Jisung does, and the rest of the ballet recital goes as smoothly as it can while watching little kids attempting to dance. A dinner with the Han family follows, in a fancy restaurant where ordering anything other than just more water means lifelong debt for Minho. Jisung’s niece, Sooyun, sits in Minho’s lap the whole time, showing him the games she plays on her tablet and only barely looking away when he drops an airplane of food into her mouth.

It’s nice. Minho eats and sips wine and almost forgets the pressure of dining with Jisung’s family. Looks at him across the table and catches his fond smile just before he morphs it into a smirk. “Don’t be so flattered. She only likes you because you look like the protagonist in that show she’s watching.”

Minho smiles back, sweet and innocent. “Are you jealous that she likes me more than you? She just has taste. Don’t you, Sooyunnie?”

Sooyun nods in his lap and he wiggles victorious eyebrows at Jisung who scoffs at him. “You’re annoying.”

“Yet you love me.”

There’s a second that passes, a moment where Minho freezes at the thought of Jisung’s parents’ eyes on them, the expression on Jisung’s face. He morphs that one too, sticking out his tongue at Minho before replying. “No, I don’t.”

Minho didn’t say it as a test, to know if Jisung would say the words back in the presence of his parents, even if only as a joke. It hurts all the same that he failed to do it.

There is enough space in the car if Minho wants to use the privilege of their personal driver after Jisung’s brother leaves in a separate car with his family, but Minho doesn’t feel like being crammed into a tiny space with Jisung’s parents. Doesn’t feel like sharing polite smiles and friendly conversations while his hand stays carefully tucked in his lap and not held by Jisung’s own. He bows and wishes them good night. Pushes one foot in front of the other, willing the image of Jisung’s pained face out of his mind.

He’d be lying if he says he wasn’t predicting it, when Jisung shows up at his doorstep hours later, the same pained look still on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says while kissing Minho’s lips, uncaring to check if Minho’s roommate is home or not, hungry with something more than just desire. “I’m sorry, hyung,” he repeats as Minho shushes him, taking off their clothes piece by piece as they make their way to his bed, lips and tongues and teeth exploring the exposed skin. Minho lays him down and dips to lick what remains of the taste of wine from his mouth, humming at the arousal showing itself through Jisung’s hardening cock beneath him.

“Hyung ,” Jisung hiccups, hips lifting to buck into whatever pressure he could get from Minho’s thigh. “Hyung. Please.”

Desperate hands claw at Minho’s skin, pulling him closer and he goes. Kisses Jisung again. Nips at the skin of his neck just the way he likes it, slow licks after his teeth sink in and it makes him moan out a sound so pretty Minho feels drunk again. “Tell me, jagi.”

“Fu-fuck me, please.”

Minho would never deny him what he wants, but he stops to remind him, to remind them both before desire overcomes logic. “You have that breakfast meeting thing tomorrow morning.”

Jisung whines as his head drops back on the pillow, hair sprawled out. He grabs Minho’s face with both hands and looks at him again, eyes glazed over and full of more than Minho can begin to pick apart. “I don’t care about that. I need you. Want to be yours.”

He feels himself being pulled into another kiss. Deeper. Messier. Jisung’s tongue greedy, barely leaving him any space to voice a reply. “I’ll be gentle,” he finally says, but Jisung shakes his head. Lifts desperate, pleading eyes at him.

“No— no, please. I need you, hyung. Please.”

And Minho is only so strong. His lips don’t untangle from Jisung as he grabs what’s necessary from the bedside stand. He stretches him poorly because he knows Jisung likes it when it hurts a little, when it knocks the air out of his lungs and it does. Minho pushes into his heat and Jisung’s nails dig into his skin, a breathless moan planted into his mouth.

“Feel good, baby?”

Jisung nods, face buried in Minho’s neck. He feels so small like this, a whimper shaking his body beneath Minho’s own. He looks beautiful with his skin flushed and littered with proofs of being Minho’s, even if the splotches of color adorning his shoulders and chest are in the places no one else can see. 

“Hyung,” he moans again and again, prettier with every thrust, higher in his throat until they become nothing but a string of ah's exhaled into Minho’s skin. A shudder of his body as he comes with his eyes squeezed shut, begging Minho to continue and trembling with oversensitivity until the condom is filled, chasing Minho’s lips with little kisses that don’t stop until he falls asleep.

Minho will wake him up in time for the meeting.

🟔 🟔 🟔

Seungmin’s voice when he picks up is enough to tell Minho that he knows why he's called, but Minho still asks him how his day is going like the good friend that he is, ignoring Seungmin’s unamused scoff.

“I’m okay. You can ask me the question you actually called to ask.”

Minho swallows. It feels like it’ll become too real when he says it. There’s a heavy weight on his chest and he doesn’t know if he’ll find a way to lift some of it off. All his options seem to be losing ones. Finally, he only asks, “Have you heard?”

A moment later, Seungmin replies, solemn. “I have.”

He means to ask Seungmin’s opinion. He’s called to ask about it. But when Minho opens his mouth, what comes out is nothing but a proof that his mind was already made up, and what he truly wants is Seungmin stopping him if it’s a bad idea, because he doesn’t have it in him to stop himself.

“I think I’m going.”

Seungmin hums, and it’s another proof. “I knew you would.”

They go quiet for a while. Minho feels like he’s on the verge of tears so he clenches his jaw. Waits a little more. Then, Seungmin speaks.

“I think you should.”

🟔 🟔 🟔

“Hyung, what would I do without you?”

Minho is cutting the meat and grilling it, the sizzle of the fatty pieces over the fire fills the air with mouthwatering smells. Jisung looks cozy in a hoodie and beanie, eyes sparkling with the same fiery red as the flames between them. He looks like the personification of what home feels like, Minho will never feel out of place with him by his side.

“For one, you'd have to cook your own meat.”

Jisung laughs, but his eyes are serious. He slips back into the same topic as they eat away their meal. Gentle touches on Minho’s hand whenever he drops more meat on his plate as a thanks. Eyes blinking and wandering and Minho waits for him to start again.

“I just don’t want— to take you for granted. There’s a lot that comes easily for me and it’s easy to take it for granted. My parents’ money. I don’t want to do the same with you.”

“What brought this up all of a sudden, Jisung-ah?”

Jisung chuckles, shy eyes looking away. He shrugs before continuing. “I guess I suddenly thought. I would be content to leave everything and spend the rest of my life out here,” he says, looking around the campsite then finally finding Minho’s eyes. As the elder’s heart swells with fondness. ”With you.”

Minho, always feeling breathless in the face of such sincerity, huffs out a laugh that makes the younger blink. “Out here isn’t so bad. We have wifi and a flat-screen. You’re really spoiled if you think this is roughing it out.”

Echoing Minho’s laugh, Jisung resumes stuffing his cheeks with more food, carefully keeping the conversation light until the end of their evening, and Minho senses it, wraps his arm around him while they lay later that night with Jisung’s back against his chest, kisses the side of his neck and hears him humming, pleased.

“Just so we’re clear, jagi. I’d be more than content to spend the rest of my life with you. Here. Anywhere, really. All I need is you, and Soonie, Doongie and Dori.”

Jisung’s middle constricts under Minho’s arm as he laughs. The sound so pretty, trickles into the spaces between Minho’s ribs to settle close to his heart.

“Though if you do decide to abandon modern civilization, I need at least two months’ notice to figure out how we’ll survive because you’re pretty much useless.”

Jisung nudges him with his elbow and Minho fake-wails, earning another chuckle that sends more warmth all over his body. Hearing compliments is not something Minho enjoys, but he knows Jisung sometimes needs to express himself lest it bottles up inside him. And he knows sometimes Jisung needs a little nudge to get him to speak it out. So he whispers again, “You can tell me what you appreciate about me.”

It’s a while before Jisung starts again. Minho waits as he arranges the thoughts in his mind like he does when he’s considering things. His voice comes low in the quiet space coated by the darkness of the cool early spring night.

“A lot of who I am now is thanks to you. For one, you were my gay awakening.”

Jisung has mentioned it before, how he caught himself thinking another man was beautiful for the first time about him, how he caught himself wanting another man for the first time with him. He’s whispered it in shy, drunken confessions and moaned it prettily in the privacy of a room quiet save for the sounds of their bodies. And it has always left Minho feeling feverish with adoration and speechless for a reply, resorting to expressing his love in ways other than words.

Minho kisses his skin again. Closes his eyes and breathes him in. There’s no sound around them other than Jisung’s voice and their synced heartbeats. If time were to stop at any moment, Minho wishes it were now.

“You were also my moral ambiguity awakening,” Jisung continues, more teasing now and Minho chuckles. “Who would’ve thought I’d be lying to my parents and sneaking around using their money to be with you.”

Minho’s heart drops, their beats falling out of sync. He knows it’s only a joke. He knows Jisung makes his own choices and doesn’t regret this one. He reminds himself of these facts to dampen the echo of Jisung’s words repeating in his mind until his grip around Jisung’s waist loosens.

“They know you’re here with me, though.”

“They do. But they don’t know you just sucked my soul out of my body then fucked my brains out.”

Minho allows himself to laugh. Pulls Jisung closer again and their legs tangle. “No," he whines Not your precious brain and soul.”

He pushes all other thoughts from his mind and settles back into a peaceful quiet at the sound of Jisung’s laughter. Kisses him again and lets his warmth overtake him.

🟔 🟔 🟔

“Seriously, hyung. He’s totally checking you out.”

Minho’s eyes follow Jeongin’s to land on a guy sitting on a stool by the bar, not so discreetly smiling at him. Most men are more subtle trying to pick up other men in places other than gay bars or matching apps. Minho laughs off the sudden—frankly unwanted—interest.

“Come on, he’s cute!”

Seungmin chuckles at Jeongin’s words, amused. Minho unhurriedly takes another sip. “He is. But I’m here drinking with you.”

“And I’d be happy to call it a night so you can go get some right now.”

Minho quirks an eyebrow. “Do you wanna get rid of me so badly?”

“No!” Jeongin replies quickly. He sounds almost scandalized. Minho chuckles and sips more of his drink. Feels the burn of alcohol down his throat.

“Thanks for caring about your hyung, Jeongin-ah.”

Jeongin later gets hammered, dropping all his weight on Seungmin as they exit the bar. Seungmin, after refraining from commenting on the matter all night long, speaks while on their way to the train station, and the question he starts with isn’t one Minho has prepared himself to answer.

“Are you expecting to get back together after he returns?”

Minho freezes for a second, but then quickly answers, “No.” He doesn’t think it’s possible, after something broke so badly it’s near impossible to glue the pieces back together. How cruel it is, that the thing that once made Minho feel whole now makes him feel shattered. 

Seungmin hums. “Rebounds aside, I know it’s too early, but hyung—“

He turns to face him now, as if he wants the full impact of his words to settle within Minho.

“The idea of you being with someone other than Jisung shouldn’t be unthinkable. You know I’m not downplaying the pain you feel right now, or how special your bond used to be, but you broke up, hyung-ah.”

Setting a nearly blacked-out Jeongin on the bench in the station, Minho looks ahead at the distant lights of the approaching train as Seungmin continues. “Breakups hurt but you’ll move on. You’ll move on and allow yourself to love and be loved again. I just want you to do what you can not to stretch this period of pain beyond what it needs to be.”

In the quietness of Minho’s apartment, he wishes his cats woke up at the sound of his footsteps like they usually do when he walks in to demand food or nuzzle their heads at his legs. But maybe they sensed it, that he needs to be alone and look himself in the mirror as his surroundings still swim in a haze of alcohol, and remind himself of the words that are as true now as they were every single day he was with Jisung.

They may have broken up, they may move on and be with someone else, but if every person has a capacity of how much they can love, how much they can be loved, and how happy they can be, then Minho has used it all on Jisung. And if he can go back in time, despite knowing the pain that splits his heart in half now, Minho would do it again and again. 

🟔 🟔 🟔

“Happy anniversary, hyung!”

Minho has seen enough Jisung smiles to categorize them in neat little folders in his mind. There’s his excited smile, when their food gets delivered or their plans to watch a movie work out. There’s his shy, flustered smile, when Minho teases him or playfully flirts with him or when he says something funny and Minho laughs a lot. There’s his absent-minded smile, when he’s watching something on his phone or when they’re exchanging secret texts across the room while other people talk around them.

Then there’s this smile, Minho’s favorite out of all of them: the hopeful smile, when he says or does something and waits to see Minho’s reaction, when he hands him a big present and his eyes keep flickering to it as Minho puts it down on the floor, waiting for him to open it.

“Anniversary?”

Jisung nods. “We met one year ago today,” he says. Tilts his head and continues. “Although— what maybe counts as our first meeting is a couple of weeks after that day? We weren’t fully introduced at the time but remember, the party, when we—”

“When the song came on,” Minho finishes for him, and Jisung’s smile grows wider, prettier.

“Yeah! I didn’t think anybody else knew that song. Certainly nobody else at the party did.”

It makes sense that Minho is addicted to Jisung’s smiles and laughter. Their first ever encounter was punctuated with a wide grin on Jisung’s face, when their eyes met in a room between a sea of people and they both mouthed ‘I love that song’ and Jisung giggled before looking away when someone demanded his attention. They never spoke about it after they were properly introduced, but Minho always remembered.

“How did you even know the date?”

Jisung laughs. “I went through my chat history to figure out the date of the party. Wasn’t easy because I text a lot.”

Minho knows, of course. Jisung texts the way he talks, words full of life and love, voice notes and emojis and endless laughter. Minho loves it. He laughs too.

“Anyway. Open it.”

It is, frankly, a big box. A part of Minho worries how he’ll take it back to his dorm room, where he’ll even fit it. He watches the anticipation on Jisung’s face as he tears the wrapping and opens the box, heart skipping over a beat when he sees what’s inside. The parts are not assembled but the picture of the final product is attached. Minho stares at it for a moment.

“It’s…a cat tower.”

“Yeah!” The enthusiasm on Jisung’s face is contagious. Minho smiles back.

“I don’t even have cats.”

“Yet!” Jisung interrupts, “You will, though, when you graduate in a few months and look for an apartment of your own! It’s only a matter of time before you have cats. And I want them to know who their favorite uncle who likes to spoil them is from the first moment.”

There’s an eruption of fondness in Minho’s chest. Something that words, and maybe even smiles, can’t really express. Minho doesn’t prefer fancy gifts, he doesn’t prefer big gestures, but he does love the earnestness in Jisung’s eyes, the wide grin on his face. Minho hugs Jisung and he startles, letting out a chuckle that Minho automatically categorizes as one of his favorites, before his arms wrap around Minho too.

“Happy anniversary,” Minho says, hiding his own grin behind Jisung’s back, “But you still don’t get to pick their names.”

🟔 🟔 🟔

It rains that morning, for the symbolism of it, surely. Minho holds the umbrella and scans the people littered around with his eyes. It’s quiet for a long while, unnervingly so, like everyone standing here doesn’t fully believe what happened, like if they blink it will turn out to be a dream. Minho, for one, feels that way.

His eyes land on Sooyun first, hugging her mother’s leg without a single word, as her mother wipes silent tears that don’t stop. Heart thumping in his chest, Minho’s eyes flint to the person standing next to her, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other holds an umbrella for the three of them. His face is neutral, jaw clenched but eyes cold and distant. Maybe it’s because Minho’s mind has placed him in another continent for the past few months, but it feels like he’s someone Minho is seeing for the first time, the only thing reminding Minho of the person he knew and loved is the way his hair gets all frizzy because of the humidity, waves falling across the face that’s kept composed. Minho’s throat feels tight.

“Was he sick?” he asks Changbin when he sees him.

Changbin shakes his head, eyes puffy with tears he stubbornly refuses to shed. “No sign at all. They even— they had a picnic planned for the weekend to celebrate Sooyun’s birthday.” Changbin’s voice breaks and he goes quiet. 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Minho tears his eyes away from the misery unfolding before him. “How’s Jisung?”

“Do you want the honest answer?”

Minho nods though he’s afraid, so afraid of what he might hear.

“I don’t really know. He’s shut us off completely. Ever since he left he only talks to Chan hyung during the online meetings and treats him like he’s a stranger. Doesn’t return any of my calls. We went over when we heard to see if we could help with anything and he… he’d gotten back on such short notice but had already organized everything. His parents completely broke down and he seemed annoyed with them. Didn’t cry a single tear. Like signing his own brother’s death certificate was just some regular paperwork he had to do. It was very unsettling.”

The wake is at the Han family house. People arrive in dozens and Minho still doesn’t manage to look away from Jisung’s parents, dressed in black and barely able to stand up to greet the people. It’s so obvious, the tragedy of losing a son, the pain on their faces. It cuts him to pieces and he wishes it doesn’t. He wishes he can give up the part of his humanity that makes him feel empathy towards them, the source of his very misery. But then he looks at Jisung, and he has given up a part of his own humanity, to continue living the nightmare that is his life.

Suddenly a break up feels small and irrelevant. Suddenly Minho’s heart aches with something other than the separation. Minho moves towards him like he’s being pulled by gravity. Picking up his scent while his back is still turned to him and Minho swallows. Holds his breath for a moment and lets it out as he speaks.

“Jisung, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

When Jisung turns around to face him, Minho sees it, a single flicker of the stars that always occupied his round eyes, the same vulnerability Minho knows and loves, the furrowed brows and raw expression on his face. It’s there for a second. Then Jisung blinks and it’s gone, a sheen of distance covering the gleam of his eyes, stabbing Minho in the heart.

“Thank you,” he only says, calculated and robotic, then he’s gone before Minho can open his mouth again.

Jisung disappears after a while and Minho looks for him. Possessed as he searches the rooms occupied by people paying respects and scans their faces for the familiar round cheeks to no avail. It’s almost automatic when his feet lead him to the upstairs bathroom, the one they both know nobody uses, not guests nor family. Minho finds him in the back corner, figure slumped with his hands gripping the marble basin.

“Jisung.”

His voice cracks, and he has no idea what to say, how to continue. He doesn’t even want to say anything. Only wants to hold him, gather him in his arms and allow him to cry. Jisung turns and his face drips with even more hostility than before and it makes Minho almost cry. He didn’t know what to expect seeing Jisung for the first time after months of distance and silence. He didn’t know what to expect meeting him at his brother’s wake, but he wasn’t expecting this.

“Why did you come here?”

Through the tightness of his throat, Minho whispers, “Wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

Jisung scoffs, like he’s just heard a silly joke. Minho takes a step closer and he doesn’t move, standing firm as he holds his gaze. “Oh, you did?”

Another step. Minho’s hands lift, suspended in the air while he considers whether it would be okay to touch, then landing on the soft skin of Jisung’s cheek. It’s a single sucked-in breath before Jisung’s eyes are dead and cold again, but he doesn’t push Minho away, doesn’t move away either. His jaw is clenched and his voice carefully composed, but his skin is as warm as ever under Minho’s fingertips.

“We broke up months ago.”

“And I still—“ love you, he doesn’t say. A moment passes and then he continues, “—want you to be okay.” 

It’s incriminating. It still sounds a lot like an I love you. So Minho stops himself there.

“I’m still angry at you, Minho.”

Minho swallows, hands still on either side of Jisung’s face. “I know.”

Jisung’s eyes remain unblinking. Minho sees something flash in them before he opens his mouth to speak, something he can’t name until Jisung says, “What if I wanted to take my anger out on you?”

It’s instinct to say yes, anything you want. Instinct for Minho to fall to his knees while Jisung unbuckles his belt. They understand each other. Know each other inside out. Even if the current Jisung looks like a stranger and looks at him like he’s a stranger. It’s instinct to know what Jisung means and wants. A habit formed through years of living and growing and loving together. 

In the haze of Minho’s mind, he knows that right now, he’s loving Jisung, he’s loving his Jisung. Even if the one in front of him is anything but. Even if he’s choking within a minute, gagging with the way Jisung shoves his cock in his mouth while his hand keeps him in place. He’s dizzy with it, the taste and the force and the familiar voice as Jisung keeps talking.

“Look at you, Minho-yah. Got on your knees so quickly for me.”

Minho’s jaw burns. Spit drools down his chin and tears spring from his eyes. His knees hurt and he’s achingly hard in his pants, and every sound he makes is muffled as Jisung fucks his mouth ruthlessly. It’s the most alive he’s felt in months. His nerve endings are like a live wire under the surface of his skin. 

The younger’s grip tightens in his hair and Minho in turn grips the sides of his hips to keep himself close, eyes squeezed shut and air only reaching his lungs in the few seconds Jisung gives him to breathe before he feeds him his cock again.

Jisung’s breaths speed up, and it’s instinct that Minho opens his eyes and their gaze immediately locks as he comes down his throat. If the mask of hostility and distance can lay thick over Jisung’s eyes all the time, it dissipates in this moment. The moment he’s most vulnerable. The moment he reaches his climax and his eyes turn soft again and this—

This is why Minho fell to his knees in the first place.

“Get up,” Jisung commands, tucking himself back in and Minho’s knees almost give out when he does. Jisung’s hand wraps around him in a swift motion, frees his length and he moans, drops his head on Jisung’s shoulder, careful not to smudge the mess of his face on Jisung’s clothes.

“Keep quiet.”

He’s going insane. The touch burns and the bathroom twirls with every tug of Jisung’s hand, the easy glide with how wet he is, how needy. It’s so embarrassing, he’s in a bathroom with his ex stroking him after fucking his throat, after his brother’s funeral. There’s nothing of the usual whispered praises and littered kisses they shared even during the hurried secret hookups away from the eyes of Jisung’s parents in this very bathroom. There’s nothing but the fire under Minho’s skin and the hitching of his breath, quicker and quicker with the slide of Jisung’s hand around him.

“I bet if I kept calling you over to fuck you, you’d let me every time, wouldn’t you?”

Another moan. Minho’s hands crease the fabric of Jisung’s tuxedo where he’s fisting it. His voice is hoarse with how abused his throat is. “Jisungie.”

“I said keep quiet.”

Tighter grip and faster strokes. Minho’s edge is nearing. “Ah,” he warns, “I’m— I’m close.”

Jisung pulls away, grabs a tissue for Minho to come into. The waves of his orgasm feel cold as they rake down his body. While his vision is still dotted black, Minho hears Jisung say, “I better get back out.” And when Minho blinks his eyes into focus again, the bathroom is empty.

Minho goes home and cries until sleep overtakes him.

🟔 🟔 🟔

“This is Chan hyung. My mentor and dear friend,” Jisung says, joy spilling from the wide grin on his face. His hand squeezes Minho’s in its hold and Minho smiles wider, too.

“Channie hyung, this is Minho hyung, my boyfriend.”

Minho picks up the subtle shyness in Jisung’s voice as he says it, the anticipation in his eyes. And suddenly he realizes it’s the first time Jisung refers to him as his boyfriend , in front of someone from his family’s side, at least.

Chan smiles, bows and shakes Minho’s hand. “I’ve heard so much about you,” he says, plain and simple. Minho smiles back, noticing the sigh of relief Jisung lets out at Chan’s immediate acceptance.

Chan is only a year older than Minho, but he looks like he’s been to hell and back. Jisung has told Minho a lot about him, too; only son of millionaire parents. Raised in the same mold under the same expectations as Jisung. His life planned for him and his passions and comforts refused and denied. Minho wonders at which point one starts trading larger and larger pieces of their and their loved ones’ freedom for more and more money, at which point one starts happily placing their children in the cookie cutter and ignoring their agony as their ends are trimmed off.

They spend an evening out having dinner, tucked away in a corner of a less than fancy restaurant, surrounded by the chatter of the customers and clicking cutlery. Jisung’s shoulders are relaxed in a way Minho never sees when they’re with his parents. His laughter echoes unrestrained, and the casual conversations drift between all too many topics. Chan is nice. He has a lot in common with Jisung; they both talk with the same enthusiasm about the things they care about, they both clap their hands or tap their thighs when they laugh—

They’re both forced to hide parts of who they are and hope the shell they cover these parts with doesn’t crack under pressure.

It makes sense that they’re drawn to each other. Chan looks at Jisung like he’s his precious baby brother. He looks at Minho like he can give Jisung the happiness Chan himself wasn’t able to get. It aches Minho but he feels at ease knowing Chan is the person Jisung spends all his time in the company with, especially knowing how Jisung hates being forced to go there so often.

When they’re back in Minho’s dorm room, tangled with each other on the bed under thin covers, Jisung whispers into his chest, voice sweet like honey.

“Maybe I can introduce you to Changbin hyung next. We could go bowling or you could come with us to the gym. Or maybe just hang out. Whatever you’d like, they’re really cool people.”

His skin feels warm against Minho. There’s lightness, easiness to his words and breaths, something Minho only now realizes he’s been missing for a while since he was forced to start the internship at the company. Minho faces him with a teasing smile, the ease trickling into his own skin.

“In what world do you think I’ll go to the gym with you and your two bros, Jisung-ah?”

Jisung whines out a pretty little sound, nuzzles into him in a way that reminds him of little cats. “I just mean— we always hang out with Seungmin and Jeongin. They’re great, don’t get me wrong! But I just— I’d really like this, too.”

Minho knows, of course. He laughs again and kisses the top of Jisung’s head. Welcomes the nice change as it happens.

“I guess we could go bowling.”

🟔 🟔 🟔

When Minho’s phone lights up with Jisung’s name, he nearly chokes mid-presentation. It takes him another half-hour to be able to reply after the meeting is over, and when he does, Jisung calls almost immediately.

“Are you busy?”

A while later Minho goes down to the parking lot to find Jisung’s black Audi. He gets in and the click of the door shutting rings loud enough he startles himself. Looking at Jisung’s side profile as the younger stares ahead, Minho gathers enough breath to speak.

“Hey, Jisung-ah. Are you feeling better?”

Not that he doesn’t know the answer; it’s only been a few days. The sleeplessness leaves its tell-tale mark under Jisung’s eyes and Minho thinks he knows the thoughts that keep him up at night. Wishes he can silence them. Wishes he can hold him until he sleeps.

“You know why I called,” Jisung says, ignoring Minho’s question, keeping his hands tight around the wheel even though the car is parked. He doesn’t look in Minho’s direction. Hasn’t looked since he got in and Minho knows why.

“Yeah, I do.”

It’s then that Jisung turns to face him, eyebrows slightly furrowed and gaze heavy. Minho swallows, heart skipping over its beats.

“So?”

Minho doesn’t answer. He leans closer until his lips land on the warm skin of Jisung’s neck. above his collar. over his pulse point. He doesn’t move away, a hand cupping the other side of Jisung’s face as his lips press more kisses that surely communicate the words he can’t bring himself to say, on Jisung’s neck, jaw, cheek.

When he’s close to his lips, Jisung pulls back, taking Minho’s hand away from his face and letting it fall in the space between them. Minho opens his eyes to search Jisung’s, but their gaze doesn’t meet. Jisung is moving as he speaks, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Back seat.”

The next thing Minho knows is he’s bouncing on Jisung’s cock. The tinted windows protect their faces from being exposed but the sounds he’s making surely echo all around the parking lot. Jisung doesn’t keep away from him like he’s radioactive this time. He nearly pops the buttons of his shirt to reveal his skin and dig into it with his teeth, angry and hungry and Minho moans louder.

“You’ll always crawl back whenever I call, won’t you? Like the slut you are,” Jisung says, tugging Minho’s hair until a whine is knocked from his lungs, skin burning in all the places Jisung touches.

“How many people have you fucked, Minho-yah?”

There’s hate attached to his name when Jisung says it, hate in his lips and teeth when he spews more insults or sucks on his skin like he wants it to be bruised and ruined.

“How many people have you let use you like this?”

Jisung’s hand lets go but the pain isn’t just physical. Minho steadies himself on Jisung’s shoulders and busies himself grinding down on his cock. He keeps his eyes closed, unable to look at this Jisung. Maybe if he can focus on the sound of his voice rather than the words, maybe if he can focus on the memory of the Jisung he knows and loves, it will hurt less.

“Your silence is enough of an answer, you know.”

Minho wishes he had it in him to tell him it’s none of his business. Wishes he can convince himself it wouldn’t hurt if Jisung told him he’d been with someone else. He hears the pain in his own voice when he speaks, bruised and ruined like every inch of his skin, broken like his silly little heart.

“No one. Ah. No one.”

Jisung stills, his hands keeping Minho in place. Minho still doesn’t open his eyes, his head dropping back with a moan when Jisung starts lifting his hips up to pound into him, quick and hard and hitting his prostate with every thrust. Like he knows Minho’s body inside out and knows how to make it unravel, even when he’s blinded by hate and rage.

“Since when do you lie to me, Minho?”

Tears roll down his face. He’s so close but he doesn’t want to come yet, not when it means Jisung will untangle from him and drive his car away and Minho will be left in the wreckage alone. “I’m not— never,” he stutters, as his body is being rocked with the movement of Jisung’s hips. “I swear— no one else.”

Jisung’s body goes rigid, letting out a single deep moan as he fills the condom. Minho doesn’t manage to peel his eyes open to see it, draped over Jisung’s shoulders with his hands grabbing the headrest as the younger starts fisting his cock messily, punching out more whines that get muffled by the fabric. His release is collected into a tissue again, crumbled and tossed away with the condom when Jisung pulls out. Minho is out of the car before his breaths are steady again.

When he showers at home later and sees the marks on his chest and neck, Minho traces them with his fingers and they sting, blotches of angry colors and marks of a hungry, hateful mouth. His vision gets blurry and he tears his eyes away, turning the water on and stepping in the shower. This is all that’s left of Jisung for him, the pain.

🟔 🟔 🟔

Jisung nuzzles his face into Minho’s neck, seemingly unbothered by the stickiness of their joined bodies as he snuggles even closer while the breeze coming in from the open window does barely anything to lessen the heat.

“Hyung,” Jisung sing-songs, voice light and buried into Minho’s skin. Minho loves him like this, content and tucked into him, like nothing exists outside of the little bubble of cozy comfort wrapping them.

“You know how it’s less hot in the forest?”

The question is so out of left field, yet this is nothing new considering Jisung’s train of thought runs faster than the world’s quickest bullet train. Minho only laughs before answering. “Without all the concrete and cars? Yes, Jisungie, it’s much cooler. Why are you asking?”

Jisung hums, voice low, a little teasing. “Consider this my two months’ notice.” 

Minho laughs and Jisung lightly smacks his arm. “Didn’t you say you need to be prepared before we run away together?”

“It’s the weather that finally convinced you, Jisung-ah? Global warming affects forests too, you know. We could die of a wildfire.”

The younger whines, straight into Minho’s chest where his face remains hidden. It’s easy to forget the heat, easy to forget everything other than Jisung’s voice and his little laugh, his scent that feels a lot like home.

“Or is it not the weather? Are you fed up with modern society? The declining state of capitalism? Have we finally reached the fuck the rich phase?”

Jisung lets out a joyful little giggle, one of the best sounds to ever reach Minho’s ears. “You’re already doing that, hyung.”

He keeps on laughing, even when Minho smacks him back and tells him he’s a shameless brat, even when Minho tilts his head to kiss him, even when their bodies stick to each other from the heat and sweat beading on their skin.

“I’m serious. We could take Soonie, Doongie and Dori. Live on our own, away from everything. And—” He trails off. Minho hums and waits until he continues, a little shy. “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“Mm. If it’s something laughable.” And when Jisung only chuckles again, Minho continues. “Tell me, jagi.”

It’s another while before Jisung speaks. His voice comes low, a little unsure. Minho tries to soothe the edge of nervousness with his thumb, drawing small circles on his skin. 

“I think— I want children. Since we’ll already be breaking rules, we could kidnap one or two and raise them.”

He giggles again when Minho laughs. Then he continues more surely, calmly. “I love children. I think I want one. Is it weird that I think about that?”

“It’s not,” Minho replies, hoping it’s quick enough not to leave any room for doubt. “It’s human nature. And you’re great with kids. Though you do spoil Sooyunnie too much.”

Minho likes children, too. But he doesn’t allow himself to think too much about wanting one, nor about Jisung wanting one, even though he knew it before Jisung admitted it. He especially doesn’t allow himself to think about how Jisung maybe wants to be a good father for his children in the way his own father couldn’t be. It’s another thing that could easily keep him up at night, another thing that can add to the uncertainty that lurks in the dark corners of their life. 

Jisung grins at him and Minho thinks It’s easy, to forget the darkness when Jisung’s light shines bright enough to fight it off, to fall asleep and wake up to the rhythm of his steady breathing and the sound of his sweet voice. 

“Seriously, hyung. I know it’s not scientifically possible, but imagine how cute our children would be. I want them to have your eyes so bad.”

“Yah!” Minho interrupts, “I will not accept any Jisungie eyes slander in this house!”

Jisung giggles again, and Minho kisses him, never getting enough of the taste of his lips, the sound of his laugh as it’s breathed out into Minho’s mouth. He laughs again, and Minho relaxes as the lurking darkness completely dissipates.

🟔 🟔 🟔

The extra shoes by the door are such a familiar sight that Minho’s brain remains unalarmed until he sees the bundle of human and cat on the maroon couch in the living room between all the cushions. Puffing out a laugh, Minho takes out his phone and snaps a picture before Jisung stirs when he notices him. Doongie yawns in his lap, lazily stretching then beginning to lick himself.

“One wouldn’t think you live in one of the fanciest houses in Seoul, Jisung-ah. Don’t you have couches to lay on?”

Jisung smiles, sheepish, still curled up on himself and it is so tempting, for Minho to just nestle there and tangle their limbs for an hour or two.

“The couches at the Han household are good for cocktail parties and business meetings, not for—” he gestures at Doongie and himself, snorting, “—this.”

Doongie meows, snuggles back closer to Jisung and the warm fuzzy feeling in Minho’s chest isn’t new at all, but it never wears off, like the sacred fire of vesta; never dwindling, eternally there. 

Jisung picks Doongie up, giving him light kisses and Doongie doesn’t push him away. Minho gasps because the traitor pushes him away many of the times, but he gets it, Minho thinks, Jisung’s kisses are irresistible. 

“I’m sorry, Doongie,” Jisung says, giving Doongie chin scratches. “I’m gonna have to put you down, because your parents are about to fuck.”

“Yah! Don’t talk like that in front of him, he's a baby!”

“Hyung! He’s two and a half, that’s almost 23 in human age!”

Minho can’t help the giggle that escapes him. Watches as Jisung puts Doongie down. “Did you seriously calculate his human age?”

Jisung chuckles as well, sitting up and letting his feet dangle to the floor. “I can’t believe I just gave you this information for free.”

Minho walks closer as Jisung stretches his arms and his shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of skin that catches Minho’s eyes immediately. “Mmm, I would have paid a great deal for it.”  

He sits in Jisung’s lap, the younger’s arm immediately wrapping around him as he smiles. “Yeah? Like, how much?”

Whispering his answer as he leans in, Minho says, “More kisses than you can count,” and kisses Jisung’s lips. It’s sickeningly sweet, Jisung tastes so sweet. Minho hums as his tongue licks up the saccharine of his mouth, hands on either side of his face as Jisung’s own roam his body, eager and hungry. It’s sickeningly sweet, until Jisung whispers I want you and the three words hold enough power to knock any air left in Minho’s lungs. He says it with so much intensity. He says it like he knows it knocks the air from Minho’s lungs. He says it and Minho always crumbles. Always.

“I’m yours, jagi. I’m yours.” 

When Jisung’s head rests against his chest, the aftermath of sweat and moans and love linking their bodies, he asks him what’s truly wrong, and Jisung tells him his father wants him to start working at the company— unofficially, of course, since he hasn’t graduated yet. But not any less demanding or exhausting than an official job, and this is just to have someone show him the ropes.

“Did you fight?”

“No,” comes Jisung’s answer, quick and yet so low, so defeated. Minho sometimes wishes the answer would be yes, in small moments that are followed by the immense guilt that comes from wishing someone you love suffers through going against his all too powerful parents. Maybe you get used to it, he thinks, to agree to more and more things you don’t want to agree to, when you’ve been raised to think not agreeing is never an acceptable answer. 

But still— this agreeing has led to Jisung gradually losing more things he loves to make room in his life for things his parents love; his hobbies that were deemed a waste of time, his major in university that he was forced to change when the endless social obligations left him no way to keep his grades up and thus no way to defend himself when his parents said we told you biology wasn’t your thing, you should switch to business management and follow the lead of your father and your brother .

Minho sometimes wishes Jisung would tell his parents no, then it is always followed by the guilt of knowing that part of the reason for it is because he wishes Jisung wouldn’t have to hide and lie to be with him. He wishes and wishes and it only turns into a bitter taste in his mouth, whenever he has to greet Jisung’s parents with a smile, whenever he has to talk to him like a friend in front of them.

“My brother said he’ll do everything he can to make it bearable.”

Minho almost wants to scoff at the notion. He loves Jisung’s brother, he and Sooyun are the only thing that make spending time with Jisung’s family anywhere near tolerable. Sometimes he wonders, how Jisung and his brother grew up to be such good people despite living in such a dysfunctional environment.

He moves his hand in slow circles on Jisung’s back. “Jagiya, your brother already has to deal with parents who push him too far and a wife who doesn’t even love him. I’m sure he’ll help you a lot, and you know I’m not saying you shouldn’t come to him for help, but maybe try not to add too much to the huge load he already carries.”

For a few moments, Jisung doesn’t answer, then his voice comes low. “You think she doesn’t love him?”

Maybe you also get used to it, people looking at you that way, to the point where you stop questioning whether the love is real or not and convince yourself it is because it makes it easier to sleep at night.

Minho hums. “She thinks of it as an investment, marrying into your family. And your parents think of her as an investment too. That’s why they’re always telling her they want a son. That’s all they want from her, someone to keep the family name.”

He knows Jisung doesn’t like talking about these things, but Minho isn’t interested in entertaining the illusion of family and love, except in the amount necessary to keep Jisung going. 

Jisung suddenly chuckles, pulling him from his thoughts. “You must think of me as an investment too then. Since you can’t keep your hands off me.”

Minho feels himself tense, his hand stopping its movements, and Jisung’s chuckles dies out because he senses it too. 

“I don’t want you to ever say something like this, Jisungie. Not even as a joke. I don’t want us to have to do anything with your parents or their business or money.”

The younger goes quiet, probably considering, probably realizing now how important this is to Minho. He nods and Minho relaxes again, giving him a kiss on the top of his head.

“I love you for you , Jisung. And I don’t keep my hands off you because you’re mine.”

Minho stresses his words with a squeeze to Jisung’s butt, which makes the younger giggle and writhe in his arms. The sound is so beautiful, sends so much warmth all over Minho’s body he has to stop and consider whether there’s anything in the world that Jisung’s laugh wouldn’t heal, then he reminds himself of how lucky he is, that he gets to hear it and call it his own.

🟔 🟔 🟔

Minho’s knees dig into the leather of the back seat of Jisung’s car. It’s a familiar feeling, something that he’s gotten used to with the many times this has happened over the years. It’s the same car, same leather and same person, yet it couldn’t be any more different. Minho closes his eyes and tries to lose himself in the feeling. He almost forgets everything other than having Jisung in his mouth, the weight of him on his tongue as his mouth is fucked ruthlessly and his spit drools down his chin and Jisung’s groin. Minho almost forgets, until Jisung lifts him up by the hair, eyes dark and glazed over, distant like the night skies.

“You look so pretty with your face fucked up like this, Minho-yah.”

Minho whimpers, jaw aching and throat sore. He’s guided back down onto Jisung’s cock. Bobs his head and his scalp tingles with the pull of Jisung’s fingers. He’s raised back up and he gasps, coughs a little.

“What if I wanted more, huh? What if I wanted to slap you around?”

Minho’s dick twitches in the confinement of his pants. He nods his head quickly, desperately. 

“Want me to ruin you even more?”

He nods again, heart pounding and tears rolling down his cheeks, skin on fire from head to toe. Jsiung’s fingers land on his cheek with a sudden smack while his other hand stays in his hair. And he barely has time to register the tinge of pain before he’s pushed back down again, his cries muffled by Jisung’s cock before he’s pulled back up.

“Ah , Ji—”

The second slap is harder, but Minho’s head is swimming, lost in a haze of white and he barely notices how he’s jolted into opening his eyes, met by Jisung’s wide ones, round and almost mortified. And Minho realizes Jisung can probably see the pain in his eyes, the hurt clouding the want. He squeezes them shut again.

A single touch to his burning cheek, but Minho doesn’t allow it to last for more than a second. He doesn’t want the gentleness driven by guilt. He doesn’t want the regret. Minho sinks back down on Jisung’s length himself, swallows him whole and swallows around him, frantic when he hears the moans and the warnings that he’ll come any second now. Minho sucks harder and digs his hands into his small waist, and Jisung’s come pulses out in waves down his throat, nearly suffocating Minho while his low moans echo in his ears. 

He’s spent, breathless and teary-eyed still when Jisung lifts him up, turns him to sit with his back against the younger’s chest and reaches to unzip his pants. Minho almost wants to stop him, almost wants to sink into the leather and disappear, but when Jisung’s hand wraps around him the air is knocked from his lungs in a breathy moan. His head swims again with the glide of Jisung’s fingers, slick and easy with his beading precum. He keeps him still with his other arm as he squirms in his hold. Within minutes his chest is heaving and his edge is approaching as he moans to tell Jisung,

“I’m— ah. I’m close. Jisung, get— get a tissue.”

Hand picking up its speed, Jisung speaks into his neck, voice still low, addicting. “It’s okay. You’ll lick them off, won’t you?”

Nothing but another pathetic moan making it past his lips, Minho’s back arches and his head drops back against Jisung’s shoulder as he comes. In his daze of pleasure, Minho almost thinks Jisung keeps his head buried in his neck, almost feels him breathing him in, almost senses his lips on his skin. Then Minho’s breaths steady again, and Jisung is back to feeling like he’s oceans and deserts away, and the back of the driver’s seat is stained ropes of white.

🟔 🟔 🟔

Jisung knocks on his door late at night. Late enough that it can only be him. Late enough that it can only be after his parents are asleep. Late enough that it can only mean something is wrong.

“They moved the date of the fundraiser to Sunday.”

He’s hugging his knees to his chest with his gaze lowered, avoiding Minho’s eyes. While all Minho wants is to look at him, to see any kind of reassurance.

“But that’s our anniversary.”

“I know,” he only says, finally looking up. The defeat painted on his face is enough to tell Minho; it’s already settled.

“So you’re canceling our plans to sit through what you described as five hours of hell.”

His eyebrows furrowed, Jisung replies quickly, “You know I have to!”

It’s frustrating. So frustrating. They usually handle it well; the pressure and the hiding and the lingering fear. They handle it well. But it’s frustrating, when what they have is already so little, and it gets taken from them anyway.  

“But you’re going for your internship next week. This was our only chance to spend some time together.”

Jisung blinks and tears start rolling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, hyung.”

It’s so frustrating, when Minho thinks Jisung doesn’t even want to give them a fighting chance, when he thinks Jisung accepts this so easily— too easily.

It dawns on Minho how much it has always frustrated him, and how much he’s never allowed himself to admit it. Frustration turns into anger when he realizes this might be the last time he sees Jisung before he has to travel next week. Their dinner plans on Sunday were their only chance. It dawns on Minho that it is slowly, but surely happening— Jisung giving them up to make space in his life for his parents’ wishes and commands. Perhaps Minho was naïve to think they were immune to this, to think this is where Jisung would draw the line and fight to protect it.

A scoff escapes Minho before he speaks. He can feel the poison dripping from every word but he’s helpless to stop it— it’s been building up for so long, longer than Minho has realized.

“Jisung, do you realize what you’re doing? You’re throwing away our only private time, on our anniversary, to go to the event we both know your parents only organized to find you a wife.” 

Jisung’s reply comes quickly. “Minho, don’t be like this. You know I have no choice!” He’s always mirrored Minho perfectly, always soaked up his emotions like a sponge. His voice rises to match Minho’s, and it only rubs salt in the wounds, it only makes Minho even more furious. He can’t even see it, Jisung can’t even see what he’s doing to seem, too blinded by the need to do the right thing as his parents want, too blinded by the fake comfort it brings him not to anger them by fighting for what he wants.

“You do have a choice. You just choose to be a coward.”

Minho sees the flash of hurt in Jisung’s eyes for a second before it’s covered again by a sheen of anger. “So that’s what you think of me, huh?”

The thing about knowing someone inside and out, is that on a good day, it keeps you in perfect harmony, but on a bad day, it means you know just where to press your knife to hurt the most.

Minho’s hands tremble but he’s holding the knife. He’s holding it and he sees where Jisung’s pulse throbs under his fragile skin. He sees where it would hurt the most.

“What I think is that you’re throwing away what you described as the best thing to ever happen to you so you can please people who don’t even love you!”

Jisung flinches, maybe at Minho’s loud voice, maybe at his words. Then the anger is back to his eyes in an endless pool of darkness. “You’re desperate enough to feel like you’re the only good thing in my life that you convince yourself my own parents don’t love me?”

“They don’t!” Minho snaps. He knows Jisung thinks about it. Worries about it. Lets guilt and self-hatred eat him up about it. “They love the lie you feed them. You’ll keep lying to them until they marry you off to someone. And then you’ll keep lying to your wife and to your children and they’ll grow up to lie and live a miserable life just like you!”

Jisung’s breath is quick and shallow. His face is all scrunched up and he keeps curling his fists and loosening them. Minho knows the knife is lodged deep in his chest. He can almost smell the nauseating scent of blood. The damage can’t be undone. The knife holds his fingerprints and they can’t be wiped away with apologies.

“So my parents are nice when their money buys you the fancy cooking equipment and first class tickets even if it’s in secret but they’re bad when an event they organized clashes with your plans?”

Minho’s blood boils. It boils and spills out of him in angry pulses, and he’s helpless to stop them if he presses his hands at the wounds. Jisung knows him inside and out too. He knows where to stab to hurt the most, too. 

“Get out,” he says, not loud, slow and deliberate. “Take your precious stuff and get out of my house.”

Jisung’s eyes are wide and hurt, in a way that Minho has maybe only seen them once or twice before. Both times they were looking at him searching for comfort. This time they’re looking at him because he’s the cause of the pain. 

When the door slams shut behind Jisung, angry and empty handed, Minho is sure of it; this type of hurt can only be caused by someone who holds the knife so close because they live inside your ribcage. This type of pain can only be caused by a piece of your soul being torn away.

🟔 🟔 🟔

It’s the last time he sees Jisung in months. 

The breakup isn’t really a breakup. It’s hurtful words that scar for life and pained eyes that will haunt Minho’s nightmares for years. It’s knowing he added to Jisung’s misery and knowing he no longer has a place to alleviate it. 

The breakup isn’t a breakup, yet Minho and Jisung part ways that night. Jisung leaves for his internship without a goodbye, and Minho knows it’s because they’re only used to saying see you when I get back.

🟔 🟔 🟔

Seungmin sits down with his cup of coffee and waits like he knows Minho has something to say. Minho sees no point dancing around the topic. He keeps his eyes on his own cup as he starts.

“Jisung and I have been… hooking up.”

Seungmin hums, like it’s to be expected. Minho doesn’t know what to do with that fact.

“Are you back together?”

Minho wants to kick himself for the way his voice cracks when he answers in a single syllable, low and defeated. 

“No.”

“I trust that you also know this is a bad idea.”

“I do. I just see him and go weak. Lose control over myself. Like I’m unable to say no.”

Another hum, Seungmin is considering this time. Minho thinks he’s prepared himself enough for what he might hear, but Seungmin always digs a little deeper than Minho predicts, a little closer to the truth than he allows himself to admit.

“You’re not weak, Minho hyung. It’s just that you’ve already prepared a list of excuses in your mind for why you think you should do it. You blame yourself for the breakup, even though you shouldn’t. You blame yourself for his condition. And you think, what? This is a way to make up for it?”

Minho takes another sip to swallow the tightness in his throat. “It’s not just the breakup. He’s— he’s miserable, Seungmin-ah. We broke up, then he lost his brother. He’s completely shut down on himself, I can’t— I can’t imagine the hell he’s going through.”

Seungmin only nods, and Minho gets the sudden urge to shut him up and walk away before he hears what he has to say next. Wishes he’d asked Jeongin instead because he wouldn’t reply to him with all the logic of how what he’s doing is nothing but a big mistake.

“I’m sure it is, and I feel sorry he has to go through all of that. He’s a nice guy, you know we used to get along well. But to me now, he’s only your ex. You’re my friend, Minho hyung. When I think about this or give you advice, it’s not from an objective point of view, not that that exists. But what I care about is you not getting hurt, not him. And you clearly are.”

The conversation ends there, because Minho doesn’t know how to tell Seungmin that he knows he’s getting hurt, he knows it’s a mistake, yet he still can’t get himself to stop. He doesn’t know how to tell Seungmin that seeing Jisung’s eyes going from malicious and cold to glazed over with pleasure for those few minutes is the only thing that soothes the pain. The conversation ends there, and Seungmin leaves without knowing all his logic will fail to do anything in the face of the pain in Minho’s heart, the pain that would only be shaken if Jisung calls his name in a loving way again, calls him darling and tells him he loves him and holds him until all of it is squeezed out of his heart.

🟔 🟔 🟔

The last box drops to the ground with a heavy thump. Jisung sighs even though he maybe did only 20 percent of the work, too distracted by cracking jokes and humming along to songs and dancing around Minho as he takes the boxes from the moving truck up to his new apartment, which Minho thinks amounts to more than the remaining 80 percent of the work, so he forgives him.

“Hyungie.”

Jisung is using his high-pitched, whiny voice. The one he resorts to when making requests. Minho laughs as he washes his hand with the soap he just fished out of one of the boxes. 

“What do you want?”

Draping himself on Minho’s back, Jisung looks at him through the bathroom mirror, a toothy grin on his face. “What time did you say the furniture will arrive?”

“It’s in the 7 to 9 timeslot, but they said to be there an hour before that just in case.”

Jisung hums. Attaches his lips to Minho’s neck with quick, light, heart-shaped kisses along the column of it that soon turn open mouthed and hungry. Minho knows where this is going, of course. “Jisung-ah,” he only says, warning, but Jisung doesn’t stop.

“Want you,” he murmurs.

Minho turns his head to kiss his lips, feeling him melt into it. His wet hands cup Jisung’s face and he shivers, then he kisses him again, the younger’s arms wrapping around him to pull him closer.  

“You always want me,” Minho teases when they pull apart. Jisung smiles, smug. A stretch of his red, raw lips that makes it even harder for Minho to look away.

“Not my fault you’re literally the sexiest person on earth. And hyung, you were going up the stairs ahead of me. Surely you know what giving me such a view of your thighs and ass does to me.”

“Who would believe you’re the same Jisung who used to stutter when he said my clothes looked nice.”

Jisung giggles into his neck. Stays there and starts kissing him again, all messy and wet, tongue hungry and hands roaming Minho’s body. Jisung’s voice is sultry when he speaks, the low rumble of it making Minho’s skin prickle with want. “Want you, baby. Wanna eat you out.”

Half-naked in the bathroom of his still empty new apartment because he doesn’t have curtains yet and doesn’t want to give his neighbors a show on the very first day, Minho watches as Jisung sinks to his knees behind him, brings his hands and then his lips to Minho’s thighs and ass with hungry licks and he hums like he’s enjoying a five star meal. Pulls his asscheeks apart to lick a long, slow stripe, tongue teasing the sensitive skin and Minho shudders, covers it with a laugh.

“You seem to enjoy this even more than I do.”

Another lick, hungrier, wetter. Minho moans. “You have no idea, hyung.”

Jisung eats him out like it’s for him, like it’s for his own pleasure. He bends him further and Minho’s upper body is pushed against the wall. The same wall he was just thinking about scrubbing clean before he deems it safe to touch. Minho loses the ability to think of anything but Jisung’s mouth on him, wet and hot and addicting. He lets out another quiet moan and feels Jisung’s huffed out laugh hitting the heated skin.

Jisung keeps his cheeks apart, spits at his hole and teases it with a finger, the intrusion finally knocking the air out of Minho’s lungs. But it doesn’t last long, soon replaced by Jisung’s tongue dipping past the muscle, a hum as he punches out another moan from Minho.

He remembers how eager Jisung was the first time he suggested it. Or, to be accurate, it was Minho who brought it up the first time. Mentioned how he loves Jisung’s ass and wanted to eat him out while they were fucking and Jisung came with lightning speed at the mere mention of it. Minho teased him about it once after and Jisung admitted in a low voice: I’d love any variation of this, hyung. I could spend hours worshiping your ass.

And here Jisung is, digging his fingers into Minho’s skin while fucking his tongue inside his asshole, the sloppy sounds of it making Minho’s head spin. The glide of his finger inside is easy, with how relaxed and wet Minho is. He breathes out a moan as the finger explores his hole, while Jisung keeps licking and sucking the skin.

“Hyung, how do you taste so good?”

It’s mumbled against his ass, Jisung barely stopping to speak more filth that sends Minho closer to his edge. “I would eat you out instead of my three meals in a day—“ His fingers brush against Minho’s prostate and he squirms. “—Or I’d eat my meals off your ass.”

“Ah — fuck .” It comes out hitched and needy, and then it’s Jisung who moans, when Minho continues in a whine, “Touch me, honey. ‘M close— Ah, please , Jisung.”

It only takes a few pumps as Jisung’s face is still buried in his ass. Minho’s body convulses as he comes, dizzy with moans until Jisung metalizes in front of him again, skin red and wet, wide grin on his face.

“I’d lick them clean,” Minho barely manages to tear his eyes away from the younger’s wrecked face to see the ropes of white on the wall and the floor. “But I know you’d kill me on the spot.”

Minho loves him. He loves him so much.

“You’re insane,” he tells him, cupping his cheeks and kissing him again and again. Cleaning can wait a little more.

The furniture company’s delivery men arrive and start bringing in the items Minho ordered. He’s only bought the basics for now; a bed and mattress, a couch and a coffee table. He bought the few electronics he needs from a second-hand shop, while the rest will come little by little as he organizes his budget. Minho looks anywhere but at Jisung as the room starts filling up around them, because he knows he’ll crack if he sees his face. The furniture was all chosen by him, after all, even though he didn’t know it at the time, helping Minho browse page after page of couches and beds and tables of different styles and colors, giving small remarks that he didn’t know Minho was categorizing in his mind for later use.

When the delivery men leave, Jisung is still almost gaping, blinking as Minho chuckles and moves closer to him to wrap him in his arms. “Hyung,” he only says, like a sigh. Hugs him back and he’s so warm. Minho is so content.

“It just made sense. You have better taste and know your color palette, while I only care about things being comfortable. Plus, you’ll spend more time lazing around here than I ever will.”

Jisung pulls his arms tighter around him and kisses his cheek. “I love you so much, god, I can’t believe it.” He laughs then, the sound trickling into Minho’s skin like it always does. “And you’re so fucking me on the couch.”

🟔 🟔 🟔

Minho stares at the text in his phone, brief and to the point, devoid of all the emojis Jisung used to overuse and the life and love he used to pour into every word.

‘Are you free?’

A feverish body means it’s harder for Minho to hold back the tears. He craves Jisung’s presence so much it makes him feel sicker than the illness does. ‘Sorry. I’m too sick to come over.’

When his phone rings, Minho is tempted to throw it out the window and bury himself in the mountain of blankets on his bed. A shiver travels down his spine and he’s sick. He’s sick and his body feels hot and feeble and—

“Hello?” he finally answers, his voice stuffy and low. He waits for a reply from the other line.

“Can you get the door when I arrive? I need 20 minutes to get there. I’ll bring you the stuff you need.”

Minho doesn’t refuse the offer, doesn’t say that there’s no need. Because it does feel like a need. Because the weakness of his body overpowers the logic that screams at him that this is a bad idea. Because wouldn’t it be nice, to forget the pain and forget the fever and feel nothing but Jisung, physically close even if his heart is miles away?

“Yeah. Thanks.”

It’s less than 20 minutes when the doorbell rings. Minho opens the door, dragging his feet with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a tissue stuck up his runny left nostril. Jisung blinks by the door at the sight of him, frozen for a moment before he huffs out a laugh.

“You look terrible.”

It’s the best thing he’s said to Minho since they met at the funeral.

He shuffles back into his bedroom. Doesn’t bother to give instructions because it would be stupid to pretend Jisung doesn’t know his way around the house just as Minho does. He lays on the bed, still wrapped in his blanket. Waits and hopes that Jisung appearing in his apartment wasn’t just an illusion created by his feverish brain.

“It’s not homemade, but it’s not convenience-store-bought either. I recently found this place that prepares lunch boxes. Ordered some chicken soup and a few other meals you can reheat when you want to. I left them in the fridge.”

It’s the longest sentence Jisung has spoken to him that isn’t a string of profanities. Minho’s eyes feel watery so he accepts the bowl of soup with a low-spoken ‘thanks’ and Jisung sits at the edge of the bed, watching as Minho swallows spoonfuls of soup without another word.

They both startle when they hear a sudden sound. Doongie hops on the bed between them, and Jisung’s eyes open wide as they follow the cat’s movement until he sits in his lap, sniffing him. Doongie lifts his two front paws to Jisung’s chest to bring his face closer to him. Jisung remains frozen as Doongie nuzzles his face into him and Jisung finally holds him in his arms. Starts petting his back and scratching his chin. The nuzzling becomes more enthusiastic as the petting continues. He purrs loud, content. It’s the only sound in the room for a while, and Minho watches, speechless and on the verge of tears. 

Their eyes don’t meet. Minho stares at him as Jisung keeps his own closed, eyebrows pinched and a little wobbly as he continues petting Doongie, holding him closer. Then, Jisung whispers, 

“I missed you too, baby.”

Minho stops eating, his throat feeling too tight to allow him to swallow. The moment seems fragile, stretching thin as they both don’t say anything, until Doongie gets up to groom himself in a corner. 

Suddenly clearing his throat and standing up, Jisung’s voice still wavers when he says, 

“Get well soon. I’ll see myself out.”

🟔 🟔 🟔

It’s a little unfair, how he’s completely naked while Jisung is fully clothed. How his mind has completely convinced him that even in this state, it’s off limits to ask for more than what Jisung decides he will give him. How Jisung knows him well enough to know that denying him the pleasure of worshiping his body adds to the cruelty of how their hookups go.

It’s unfair, how Minho told himself he’ll tell Jisung no the next time he asks him to come over, because he’s afraid he’ll rip their wounds open, he’s afraid he’ll slowly start hating him. He’s really afraid, of the pain and hate Jisung inflicts on his skin replacing the tenderness and love of how he remembers him, how he remembers them.

So Minho told himself he’ll say no, but it’s a little unfair, that Jisung only had to show up near Minho’s work in his tinted car, look at him and whisper I want you with a force that crumbled all of Minho’s resolve, and Minho was instead holding himself back from replying I’m yours, I’ll always be yours.

He was taken to Jisung’s apartment that was gifted to him by his parents. It was a silent car ride. Minho is used to silence with Jisung. He used to like silence with Jisung. But now it weighs heavy and feels cruel. Now it’s suffocating. 

The apartment looked new, smelled new. Fully furnished and Minho knew immediately that Jisung wasn’t the one to choose the furniture. Minho remembered talking about it. Remembered how excited Jisung was about finally getting his own place. He walked into the apartment and instantly decided he hated it, because he could almost feel Jisung’s disappointment when he learned he wouldn’t have the freedom to make it how he wanted it.

It’s unfair, that Minho hates this apartment—despite barely seeing anything of it before being manhandled by Jisung, and quickly moved to the bed to be dropped on it. It’s unfair that everything is foreign and hostile and yet Jisung’s touch is familiar and makes him fall apart all the same. It’s quick and messy and all Minho can do is squirm in Jisung’s hold while he has his fingers inside him. He reaches for the sleeve of his shirt as a whine is punched out of him.

“Come on, Jisung. You’ve stretched me wider than the door of my dormmate’s room when he jerked himself off.”

Jisung stops and he— laughs. Jisung actually laughs. Not a smirk like when he calls Minho names and rejoices in his body’s reactions to them. Not like the lifeless thing he sometimes wears on his face. He full-on laughs, the sound echoing like the sweetest melody. And Minho comes untouched. Just like that.

Surely baffled by the suddenness of it, Jisung only stares, jaw slack, before he withdraws and starts cleaning him up. While his breaths are still on their way to a steady rhythm, Minho reaches for Jisung’s hand again, a panicked edge to his voice as he speaks.

“No— please. We can still—“

Met with Jisung’s wide, round eyes, a plea rolls out of Minho’s mouth before he can catch it to swallow back into the hollow of his chest. Because this is all he has. Even if it hurts and even if it breaks him. Even if Jisung’s touch burns and pains him for days. He still needs it. He’s nothing but a moth and Jisung is the light and Minho welcomes his impending doom.

“Fuck me, Jisung. Please.”

Breathing out, Jisung nods. His thumbs caress Minho’s stomach as it rises and falls with his again hurried breaths. For the first time, the touch doesn’t burn. For the first time, it’s gentle.

Minho strokes Jisung into full hardness. Because he needs to touch him too, in the ways Jisung allows him to. He keeps his eyes on the curve of Jisung’s cock because looking up means telling Jisung all the things he doesn’t say with his words, showing him all the hurt and the pain and the love the pools endlessly in every cell of his body. Swallowing, Minho closes his eyes.

It’s different this time. Jisung doesn’t call him a needy whore and doesn’t pull his hair until his scalp burns. Jisung doesn’t push inside him with his jaw clenched and his eyes angry. He fucks him slow and deep. Lets his own moans echo in the charged air between them instead of holding back. He still doesn’t allow their eyes to meet, but this time, Minho thinks the reason is different. The Jisung he knows and loves is peering behind all the sadness and rage, crawling his way back up to the surface. Minho is again gripped by a—perhaps childish—hope, to see this Jisung once again.

🟔 🟔 🟔

Minho sets the final plate on the table and waits. Jisung was supposed to come at five. It’s now 30 minutes past that, but it’s not like Minho wasn’t expecting this. Jisung jokes about it all the time . It’s in my DNA to be late, he says, my mother was in labor for 16 hours before I decided to show up.

He’s sexiled his roommate. Too embarrassed to admit that the real reason he needs the dorm room to himself is to cook a birthday dinner for his friend— whom he’s kind of helplessly in love with. And then he made all of Jisung’s favorites, and bought him a cheesecake because they don’t have an oven to bake it himself.

“Fuck me,” is the first thing Jisung says when he sees the table, eyes wide and sparkly and Minho chuckles. Then Jisung goes quiet for the rest of the meal, eyebrows furrowed as he swallows bite after bite under Minho’s watchful eyes. He doesn’t say much, replying to Minho’s questions briefly and cutting their conversations short. Doubt starts crawling under Minho’s skin, about whether he should’ve done something else for his present.

“Was it okay, Jisungie? I know it’s technically cheating to use the sous-vide gear you got me but I thought maybe—“

“Hyung!” Jisung whines, and Minho can’t tell if his face is anguished or scandalized or disappointed. “Why didn’t you get me a normal present? Why did you have to do all of this ?” He points at all the empty dishes and Minho’s eyes follow.

Minho searches and searches for what to say, and in the end all he can manage in a low, unsure voice is, “I thought you liked that I did weird, unpredictable stuff.”

“I do! I love that you’re weird!”

Jisung stops then, like he’s caught himself saying too much. Then he swallows and Minho thinks he knows the words he’s stopping himself from saying. He thinks he’s known it for a while. Just like he thinks Jisung knows the same about him. There have been unspoken confessions in the gentleness of their touches and the lingering of their eyes on each other. There has been dancing around the subject and flirting discreetly and blatantly. There have been a million alternative ways to say I love you except those three words. But Minho decides he wants to hear them now.

“What else do you love about me?”

Jisung startles at the question, then he swallows again and answers with determined eyes. Never backing away from a challenge, just like Minho has always known him.

“I love your cooking. I love watching you cook and I love when you think you sneakily watch my reaction to what you make even though you should be sure by now that I’ll love it no matter what.”

Minho takes a step closer, a smile on his face now. “Mmm. What else?”

His heart picks up speed when Jisung smirks at him, standing his ground. “I never took you for the type to fish for compliments, hyung.”

Minho huffs out a laugh. Takes another step. “Don’t worry, I’m going to return them.”

They’re only inches apart now. Jisung blinks and his breaths are a little hurried, just as the beating of Minho’s heart, flapping away like a bird in a cage waiting to be set free. Minho’s eyes flit to Jisung’s lips, bitten raw from the nervousness that he’s trying his best to hide. It would be so easy, to lean in those last few inches and kiss the nervousness away. It would be so nice, after waiting for so long.

“I love your lips,” Minho whispers, feeling Jisung’s exhale on his skin, shaky and warm. “I think about them a lot.” Minho’s hand rests on Jisung’s cheek, cupping it and caressing with the thumb, gently. “How they would taste like.”

Jisung breathes out through his nose, slowly like it’s calculated. His eyes are lidded and unfocused from the closeness. His voice low. 

“Kiss me, hyung.”

Minho smiles as he presses his lips on Jisung. A slow drag of lips, soft and barely there. It’s a statement, another unspoken confession, a nudge to get Jisung to say the words, maybe. And it’s electrifying. It’s all the moments Minho thought about doing it, all the times he wished he could feel Jisung’s lips on his own— and they feel perfect , soft and sure as they slot with his, the way a soulmate’s lips should feel. Minho would spend his whole life kissing them.

Jisung keeps his eyes closed when they pull apart, chases Minho’s lips like it’s a subconscious thing, like it’s second nature. But Minho moves a little further back, drunk on the feeling and the taste and the tenderness of the moment, drunk on the exposed look in Jisung’s eyes when they shoot wide open after Minho pulls away. 

Smiling, Minho whispers, “Tell me the words, jagi.”

Jisung exhales like his breath has been held for years. Speaks like the words were lodged in his throat and waiting to be spilled out since the moment he was born. He says them in a whisper. A small thing for the small space between them. Breathy and low but sure . More perfect than Minho’s biggest fantasies.

“I love you, Minho hyung.”

And then he dives in again. Kisses Minho’s lips like he wants to lick the answer directly from them. In the back of Minho’s mind, he’s reminded that this is Jisung’s first kiss. This is Jisung’s first confession. And he can’t help but think that Jisung said the words like he doesn’t expect anything in return, but also like not a doubt crosses him about Minho’s answer. 

Pulling away again, Minho caresses Jisung’s cheek, gaze lingering on his kiss-swollen lips before looking up to meet his eyes, round and honest. Whispering, Minho gives him his reply.

“I love you too, Jisung.”

🟔 🟔 🟔

Jisung’s new apartment still feels unfamiliar, despite being there more times than he can count on his hand. It’s unfamiliar because he’s always only led towards the bedroom, his clothes removed and then put on as he’s asked to leave before his eyes can get used to his surroundings. It’s for the better, he supposes. He knows this is why they don’t hook up at his apartment. Why Jisung avoids it like the plague. It holds so much of them, so much of their memories scattered around in every corner, so much of their love imprinted on every surface. Minho wishes Jisung’s apartment could be left smudge-free from his fingertips.

Jisung’s phone rings as soon as he opens the door, and Minho watches as he talks business deals and numbers for the next ten minutes, standing in a corner with an impatient look in his eyes. When he hangs up, Minho walks up to him, immediately attaching his lips to his neck as he works on unbuttoning his shirt. Jisung’s hands travel up to his back to tangle in his hair and it’s these little things, these little touches that tell Minho he's enjoying it, enjoying him .

“How do you want me?” Minho mumbles into his skin. It’s another way to get one of these little moments, to revel in Jisung telling him he wants him some way or the other. Minho will give him whatever he wants.

“On the couch,” he answers, his voice all low the way Minho loves it. Minho feels his erection through his pants with the non-existing space between their bodies. He smiles as he pulls away, peeling Jisung’s shirt off to drop to the floor.

Minho takes a moment to study his body, never exposed with the hurriedness of their meetups and the rushed angry sex. He takes in his bare chest, his shoulders, his honey skin toned with muscles. Almost whispers out how much he’s missed this. But then his eyes travel down to Jisung’s forearms and he sees them, just above his wrists. Thin, red lines on both his arms, and Minho’s heart stops beating.

His knees give out, a breath punched out of him as he drops to the ground, holding Jisung’s two wrists in his hands near his eye-level. His vision gets blurry as he observes the scars on Jisung’s skin. The younger doesn’t withdraw his hands; the damage is already done. Minho should’ve known he was hiding them behind the fabric of his shirts that he never took off. He should’ve known.  

A sob breaks out of him like something guttural, like something from the cracks deep within Minho’s heart. Jisung’s name cried out as tears roll down his cheeks, Jisung’s arms shaking with the trembling of Minho’s own.

He presses his lips on the scars of Jisung’s left arm, sobs his name again as he moves to his right. More kisses on the skin wet with his tears. It never felt like this, throughout the months of misery while they were apart. It never felt like Minho’s body was breaking down with the pain of it, like his lungs were willingly giving up the right to breathe in air.

Jisung silently lifts him up and Minho immediately wraps his arms around him. sobs into the crook of his neck as Jisung’s hands rub his back in slow circles. “I’m sorry,” he cries, wet and broken and not enough. Never enough. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Jisung.”

Jisung whispers his first words into Minho’s ears, voice also wavering. “It’s okay, hyung. I’m okay.”

Minho’s tears don’t stop. He’s afraid they never will. He’s afraid he’ll cry until there’s nothing left of him but tears and sorrow. He shakes his head and sobs again, his voice hoarse and foreign to his own ears, letting out more broken I’m sorry’ s as the sight of the red lines crawls behind his squeezed lids. The sight of Jisung’s skin— Jisung whom he’s promised to love and protect for all his life, scarred because of him.  

“Minho hyung.”

It’s the first time he calls his name like that, not like an insult. The first time his voice comes soft and his caress on Minho’s skin is gentle. Minho still cries, still whispers endless shaky apologies. But Jisung draws himself back to look at him and for the first time in months, Minho sees Jisung, the love of his life and his soulmate. Sees his round soft eyes wet with tears.

“It’s okay,” he repeats in another whisper. Minho only stares as Jisung leans in again, slowly until his lips land on Minho’s and it’s immediate, how a rush of fresh air floods Minho’s lungs. It’s a small press of lips. A soft little thing as Minho’s lips wobble before Jisung pulls away again, his hands on either side of Minho’s face. Minho turns his head to kiss both his wrists again, trembling as he rests his forehead on Jisung’s and closes his eyes.

“I’m okay now, Minho hyung.”

Minho exhales before he joins their lips again. Shivers when Jisung kisses back. Tastes the saltiness of their mingled tears and tastes the saccharine of Jisung’s lips. When they pull apart, Jisung keeps his eyes closed. In the small space between their faces, no words are spoken to disrupt the silence. They continue to breathe in and breathe out the same air.

🟔 🟔 🟔

Things begin to change, in subtle ways.

Jisung touches him more now. kisses him sometimes. Moans out his name when he comes. And one night, after the room drowns in the smells and sounds of their bodies and hurried breaths, after the tight spring snaps and spills in waves of pleasure, Jisung doesn’t ask him to leave, and Minho gets to hold him until he sleeps.

🟔 🟔 🟔

“Sorry about today.”

Jisung’s voice is low, full of guilt. Minho knows it’s not because he makes him feel guilty. Knows Jisung needs to apologize so his brain eases on him but still, in the dimly lit room after they’d closed the curtains, Minho itches to make him feel better.

“Jagiya. There’s no need. We can go to that restaurant whenever you feel better. It’s me who should apologize because now you’ll have to settle for my cooking instead of a three-star meal.”

Jisung chuckles, buried into Minho’s skin. He always does that. Hides his face when he’s anxious or embarrassed. Disappears into Minho like he’s a part of him. All Minho wants is to keep him there forever.

“I just— I made that reservation a long time ago, and it’s our anniversary and—“ he keeps stuttering. Minho fears he will spiral out again, so he rubs his back slowly. Reminds him to breathe. “You know I prefer your cooking over anything but I just thought— the restaurant looks nice and it has a pretty view of the sunset and—“

He trails off. Minho pulls away to look at him, equal parts fond and sad that he went through all this trouble, only for an argument with his father earlier today to cause him a panic attack and a cancelation of their plans. “Jisungie, is this what it’s all about? You want to see the sunset?”

Jisung’s cheeks are red. Minho doesn’t know if he’s blushing or still feeling worked up, or if it’s simply because he rubbed his face on Minho’s shirt too much. He smiles and Minho leans in to kiss his cheek anyway. A light peck before he continues.

“We can see the sunset, baby. If you’re feeling better.”

“Hyung,” Jisung whines.

“I’m serious! Anywhere you want. Hell, I’ll take you to Gimpo to watch the sun set behind the sea if you want. We still have time.”

Jisung’s eyes light up, glimmer in the murky shadows of the room and he nods. “Yeah! Let’s go to Gimpo to see the sunset, hyung!”

Minho drives Jisung’s car, while the younger provides background music and stares out the window during the relatively short trip. He seems better now. Minho is glad he can give him at least this, because their anniversary falls on a day where the days are still long and they have time to make it to Gimpo. 

Minho is glad they celebrate the anniversary of the day they met instead of other cliché dates. The day they both recognized a song nobody else seemed to know and locked eyes in the middle of a party to share a moment of their own. It’s because I fell for you from the very first moment , Jisung tells him. But it happened slowly and easily, naturally as parts of themselves and their lives blended perfectly until they became interchangeable and inseparable. Perhaps Jisung is right, perhaps it did start from that very first moment.

They get kimbap from the small shop owned by the same old man Minho remembers from his childhood. And they make it to the shore just in time to watch the sun go down, snuggled into each other. It’s warm and nice. Minho thinks he could stay like this forever.

“Hyung,”

The food is long gone now, and the sun is no longer in the sky, but the scenery is still painted beautiful oranges and purples. Jisung’s voice is a sweet thing that fills Minho’s lungs with syrup and he just hums, pulls him closer so it vibrates against his skin when he speaks.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t think I can ever be happier, or more comfortable, or more in love.”

🟔 🟔 🟔

They’ve just left the gym, Minho can tell even if Jisung hasn’t told him. He can see it in their washed out hair and fresh scent of shower gel. And in the whines Jisung lets out when he merely moves a muscle and Changbin scoffs, half annoyed and half proud.

“Who told you to skip the gym for months, Jisung-ah?”

It’s surreal, that a joke about the worst time of Jisung and Minho’s lives can be just thrown onto the table and they could just— laugh. Like the gates of hell are not still wide open and staring at them, like the pain is not still eating away at their skin. They laugh and Minho wonders, how much of it is them searching for any semblance of normality, how much of it is them behaving on autopilot because laughing together is second nature to them.

The offer came out of nowhere a few hours earlier. Jisung asked to meet up after they finish work and Minho agreed. And a few minutes later Minho got another text. ‘Shit. I forgot I was supposed to meet Chan hyung and Changbin hyung at the gym and then have dinner together.’

Minho stared at the notification, hesitant to click on it because it meant telling Jisung it was okay, he could meet his friends and they could hook up another time. And then he would have to spend the rest of his day with a bitter feeling of longing and loss that he knew shouldn’t even be there in the first place.

The thoughts spiraling out of his control were halted when his phone vibrated again, Jisung sending him another text that replaced the bitterness with nervousness and something else beginning to bloom in his chest. Something like…exhilaration.

‘Do you want to join us?’  

So here Minho is, sitting next to Chan facing Jisung and Changbin, laughing as more jokes are shared and more glimpses of happier times further dent the wall of heartache in Minho’s chest. How surreal it is, that the mere sight of Jisung’s lips stretched into the heart shape of a smile around his pearly white teeth can erase the months of sleepless nights and pain, and how absolutely cruel it is that he’s been denied seeing it for so long.

He sneaks away with the excuse of going to the bathroom so he can pay before the meals are done, but Chan catches him there, near the register hidden from their table with a big fake tree. He pulls the don’t argue with your elders card and Minho obliges, accepts Chan’s courtesy and bows his thanks. 

“It’s me who should thank you. I don’t know if you’ve worked it out, but it’s been ages since I've seen Jisung this…happy.”

The words ring in Minho’s ear, bounce around the walls in the hollow of his chest and he can’t muster a single syllable in reply. Not even a nod. They sit back at the table and Minho resumes watching Jisung, bickering with Changbin about their workout playlist and laughing when Changbin kicks off into an impromptu performance of some girl group song in a high-pitched voice.

There’s a heavy weight on Minho’s chest but he welcomes it. Lets it weigh him down and anchor him. They haven’t worked anything out. He hasn’t even managed to tell Jisung a single one of the things he promised himself he’d say.  Buf if the weight on his chest is one that’s lifted off Jisung’s shoulders. If the pain he’s had to endure is the price to make Jisung happy then—

Minho’s phone rings in his pocket. A text from Jisung reads, ‘do you have any plans after this?’

A spike of adrenaline rushes through Minho’s veins. He looks up to see Jisung discreetly gauging his reaction. He mouths a no, and receives another, secret little nod.

It should be alarming, how easily they go through saying good night to Chan and Changbin and slipping into their separate cars only to meet again near Jisung’s house. It’s a well practiced series of actions developed through years of sneaking around behind Jisung’s parents’ backs. Minho doesn’t know why it’s a secret that should be kept from Jisung’s closest friends now, but he ignores the rabbiting of his heart as he drives and parks under Jisung’s apartment.

It is alarming, when Minho waits and waits and Jisung still doesn’t make it out of his own car. Heart in his throat, Minho approaches his black Audi. Knocks on his window and the door simply unlocks. He gets in to find Jisung hunched over the wheel, his breaths audible and hurried. Minho’s hand finds his back quickly and lands to rub down on it gently, and when he doesn’t jolt or shake it away, Minho whispers,

“What’s wrong, Jisung?”

Jisung straightens and turns to face him, his eyes blood red and shot wide open. Minho’s heart sinks to the ground but he still pats his back, tries to soothe him before he even speaks.

“What is wrong with me, hyung?” 

A sharp inhale. Jisung blinks and tears roll down his cheeks. “My brother is dead. He’s dead and his funeral wasn’t even a couple of months ago. What kind of person am I? If I’m able to laugh and live my life like nothing happened. What kind of monster?”

It’s not the same impassive anger on his face anymore, not even just pain. Jisung’s face completely crumbles, tears falling faster than Minho’s ability to wipe them, body convulsing with sobs and fists curled in his lap.

“I keep having these nightmares,” he sobs, broken and barely comprehensible. “I keep killing him. In my dreams, I keep killing him. And my parents. And you.”

Every crack in his voice breaks Minho’s heart further down. Every tear he spills drowns Minho’s lungs until he can’t breathe. “I’m a monster,” Jisung cries out, sniffles and repeats those words, again and again. 

“You’re not. Jisung, you’re not.” 

Minho tries to keep his voice steady. Tries to have it reach beyond the wet sobs. “These are just dreams. They’re nightmares. It’s not your fault.”

Jisung shakes his head. “I’m so angry. I’m angry at him. At my parents because it’s them and their pressure and their perfect life plan that killed him. I’m angry at him for dying and leaving me by myself under all their pressure now. I’m angry at you. I’m so fucking angry.”

Jisung weeps and Minho pulls him in, head in his chest as he keeps crying, fingers digging deep enough to hurt, deep enough to reach for Minho’s heart and pry it out of his chest. “I’m so angry at you for leaving me when you knew you’re all I had.”

In the dark car, Jisung’s voice echoes, full of pain. He hiccups through more words, slurred and muffled by Minho’s chest. “Why did you leave me, Minho hyung?”

Minho wraps his arms tighter around him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, tear filled, low and shameful. He would never have left him. He would never have lived for months plagued by regret and let Jisung live torn apart by the pain. “I’m so sorry,” he repeats through more tears, but it’s not enough. It doesn’t undo the hurt and doesn’t bring back the lost time. Nothing ever will, but he continues, for him, for both of them. 

“I’m here now.”

Jisung’s fingers curl even deeper. And they stay like that for a while, in a tight embrace as Minho rubs Jisung’s back in soothing circles until it stops trembling with sobs, whispers in his ear until both their tears stop. When Jisung pulls away, he leaves a hole in his shape in Minho’s heart, a void that can only be filled when he nestles back into Minho’s side. When he pulls away, his eyes are teary and red, but the anger has trickled out of them, and the pain is draining away.

Minho tucks strands of hair away from his eyes. “Do you want me to come up with you?”

Jisung shakes his head. “I think I need to be alone now.”

There’s nothing Minho wants more than to cradle Jisung to sleep. Soak up his pain and mend his scars with kisses. But he nods anyway, because Jisung has already given him so much. The tears he shed didn’t drown Minho’s lungs; they watered the withered flower in his chest. He nods because Jisung didn’t apologize for crying, didn’t apologize for needing Minho or for needing to be alone, because Jisung knows him like second nature. And Minho nods and caresses his cheeks.

“Try to get some sleep. And call me if you have another nightmare.”

Jisung chuckles, a wet puffed out little thing that still manages to send warmth all across Minho’s body. A magic spell that never, ever fails to work. “You’d be long asleep, hyung.”

Minho smiles back. “It’s okay. Call me anyway.”

🟔 🟔 🟔

They’re in public, so Minho schools his expression into normalcy. They sit down for lunch and it’s mostly silent, until Seungmin speaks and Minho misses the quietness interrupted only by clicking cutlery.

“How’s Jisung?”

“Not good,” Minho answers, but for the first time in a long while, he knows enough to add, “But he’s getting better.”

Seungmin doesn’t say anything, only stares until Minho scoffs at him and says, “Don’t look at me like you’re disappointed.”

“I thought you were going to stop seeing him.”

“I can’t,” he says, and it’s the truth. Minho can’t. “I can’t live without him.”

“You did! You broke up and for months you did live without him!” 

There it is again, the force of Seungmin’s logic and persistence. Except it does nothing, it changes nothing. It doesn’t answer how two people can share pieces of a soul, and it doesn’t answer why they can’t live without them. 

“I was miserable. I was half-dead, going through life like it’s a punishment I have to suffer through until I die. And he was the same. We were both miserable, Seungmin-ah.”

Minho’s heart beats louder than the clicking cutlery, louder than Seungmin’s words, louder than logic and persistence. And maybe this time, Seungmin hears it too. Maybe this time he knows his logic and persistence have failed.

“So now what?”

Now, Minho has a life purpose again; to make Jisung smile, to make him laugh and ease his pain. If that’s all there is to it, if that’s all he’ll get in return, then Minho is content. He really is.

“I don’t know.”

“Well you should know, because to me it sounds like you’re okay going back to being Jisung’s dirty little secret.”

It crosses Minho’s mind, that he is okay with it, if it means also going back to being the love of Jisung’s life. He could counter Seungmin’s words with his own logical reasons. He could tell him that gay couples have existed and lived in secret throughout history. He could tell him it wouldn’t change anything since they can’t get married anyway. But Minho doesn’t say any of that.

“Maybe something will change. Maybe his parents will realize it’ll cost them their second and only son.”

“Hyung, are you seriously placing your hope in their hands?”

“No,” Minho replies quickly, and that’s the thing, “I’m not hoping for anything.”

The food is all eaten by now. It’s awfully quiet. The look on Seungmin’s face isn’t one of disappointment anymore, not even one of pity. It’s one of acceptance, of understanding.

“I just want you to be happy, hyung.”

Minho exhales out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I am,” he says, “With him, I am.”

🟔 🟔 🟔

It happens again the following week. Minho has Jisung’s dick deep inside him when his phone starts ringing. He knows that Jisung keeps his phone on do not disturb mode when they’re together, and that the only calls that get through are the ones from his family. Jisung answers with a panicked edge to his voice and Minho’s heart aches for him, thinking about what he might be expecting— fearing, when he gets such sudden calls. Minho soothes the skin of his waist slowly as Jisung keeps talking, easier and more relaxed now, before he hangs up and says with a faint chuckle, “It’s Sooyun. Her mother is busy and she’s asking me if I can pick her up from school and keep her with me until she’s free.”

Faced with the reality of going back home, alone and missing Jisung’s presence, Minho offers,

“Can I come along?”

Sooyun’s eyes shoot wide when she sees Minho and he squats down in time as she runs to hug him near the car in front of her school. His heart aches as he pets her hair and tells her he missed her and hears how she missed him too. She attaches herself to his leg the whole time, refuses to let go so they take her out for ice cream.

Then they go to watch a movie in the cinema, something animated that none of them focus on, because Sooyun asks too many questions while she’s watching and Jisung whispers answers to her and Minho follows their conversations instead of the movie. It hits him in the dark theater, the reason he loves Sooyun so much— she reminds him of Jisung. Same curiosity and contagious energy, same beautiful heart-shaped smile. Minho’s throat feels tight for the rest of the movie. He watches in silence as they leave the hall and Jisung points at the poster for the upcoming spider-man movie, wide grin on his face.

“Hyung! We should come watch this next month!”

Heart in his throat, Minho only nods. It feels like a lifetime ago, when they watched previous installments and argued about the best adaptation, when they talked about superheroes and superpowers and a million other little things, when every discussion ended with their lips on each other’s, silent and content.

“I wanna watch too!” Sooyun cuts in and Minho blinks back to the present. Follows her and Jisung until the car and then silently gets in the passenger seat, head in a haze as they drop her off home and Jisung stops with his hands on the wheel, hesitant.

“Do you want to— go back to mine? We could finish what we started.” He chuckles, eyes flitting across the road ahead of them. “Or we could just. Order in. Or something.”

While they eat away their take-out noodles, Minho can’t stop thinking about Sooyun, about her with Jisung, about Jisung’s smile. It slips out of him as they wash cutlery in the kitchen, close enough to each other that Minho can smell his addicting scent. It slips out of him and Minho has no doubt that he means it, even if it’s spoken out of the broken and bloodied pieces of his heart.

“Jisung-ah. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to have a family and kids of your own. You’d be a great father, Jisung.”

Jisung looks at him like the words have shattered his heart into broken and bloodied pieces. Swallows before speaking and Minho can’t look away, trapped in the pool of hurt in his eyes.

“And you deserve someone who’ll make you the center of their life. Who won’t have to hide to be with you.”

His voice trails off, low and weak and Minho still doesn’t look away. The silence between them is tense, palpable until it ends with their lips on each other in a searing kiss, wet hands on skin and tongues licking at everything they can reach. It’s hunger and desperation. It’s pain and acceptance of the pain. It’s knowing you deserve better but not wanting it. Not wanting it . Not wanting anything else. It’s Jisung’s lips on his and the surge of electricity that always, always ignites every nerve in Minho’s body, and knowing without a single doubt that his lips on Jisung’s do the same to him.

“Fuck me,” Jisung pants into his mouth, breaths sucked in harsh and fingers curling around Minho’s neck. “Please.” It’s dizzying and addicting and the edge of neediness in his voice pierces Minho’s chest until deep inside his heart, sends a jolt through it that leaves him gasping.

“You already prepped me earlier, I don’t—“

“No, hyung.” Jisung’s voice is whiny now, chest heaving and brows pinched and Minho only stares. It’s not like he would ever deny Jisung what he wants, but it seemed like an unspoken rule, that Minho doesn’t fuck him, because Jisung’s vulnerability has been hiding behind a fragile veil of hate sex at first, and casual hookups that steer clear from anything meaningful they hold for each other since then. Minho sees it now in the brown of his eyes, glimmering with something Minho hasn’t seen in them for months and months. 

“I need you,” he says. Repeats again. ”I need you, Minho hyung.”

And how is Minho ever supposed to say no?

It’s different now, because Jisung might try to hide his vulnerability, but Minho can never hide his adoration, his enchantment with every little part of Jisung. On the bed, he removes his clothes piece by piece and sucks on his skin in the places that would be covered by Jisung’s usual attire. Tastes the honey of it and coats it with saliva and praises. Soaks in Jisung’s needy sounds that he knows like second nature. “Hyung,” he breathes, with two of Minho’s fingers inside him, “Please, hyung.” And Minho is taken back in time to when Jisung was young and in love, whispering his pleas and putting all his trust in Minho’s hands. He looks at him now and he thinks it’s the same Jisung, despite the distance, despite the pain, despite everything.

“I’ve got you, Jisungie.”

From then it’s easy, how it’s always been. Because Jisung clings to him and breathes him in and allows his vulnerability to be on full display. In the little whimpers and muffled moans. In the heat of his skin and the drag of his nails on Minho’s back. In the pleading tone of his voice when he keens harder, hyung and Minho pushes into him until his mouth hangs open with a soundless moan. Because he’s always liked it that way, when it hurts a little and leaves him breathless. Because Minho has always known him like second nature.

It’s how it’s always been. Because their eyes meet and it’s like they were never apart, like they never separated and never hurt each other. Their eyes meet and Minho sees it written all over his face, open and raw and everything Minho has always loved.

“Tell me the words,” Minho breathes, pulled closer by Jisung’s legs wrapped around his waist. He pets Jisung’s bangs away from his eyes, wipes beads of sweat off his face as he rolls his hips again. Minho kisses the scars on Jisung’s arms, a tender press of his lips as Jisung moans. He leans closer to connect their lips, swallows his muffled sounds and feels the heat of his ragged breaths, whispers in his ear.

“Please, Jisungie. I need to hear them.”

Jisung’s head drops back, sucking in hurried breaths, letting them out in the shape of Minho’s name. He opens his eyes and there are tears rolling down his cheeks, whimpers shaking his body beneath Minho’s as he repeats again and again,

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Minho’s breath hitches. They come seconds apart with their bodies moving in sync. A tangled mess of tears and skin and pain and love . Until the room stops spinning and Minho’s vision comes into focus again to see the love of his life and his soulmate. Minho takes a breath and kisses him again. 

“Thank you, jagi. I love you too. You know that, right?. I love you too, Jisung.”

🟔 🟔 🟔

Jisung's hand is soft and warm on the side of his face. His scent reaches Minho and a sense of home fills his lungs. It always does. Always.

"Sometimes I think,"

Jisung stops, voice wobbly, and Minho thinks he sees a tear in the eye that isn't squished against the pillow. It’s still dark in the room, the early rays of the morning sun barely making it beneath the curtains to illuminate Jisung’s face, scrunched up and raw as his eyes don’t leave Minho’s.

"Even if years pass, even if my parents force us to part or force me to marry someone else, I might wake up one day and decide that it all means nothing if I don’t have you. We could leave this place, live in a little house in the forest like we always said we would. Grow our food and raise our cats."

He starts crying, unhurried and pained, his expression crumbling with the force of everything that’s been pulling them apart. Minho wipes away the wetness on his cheek. Swallows his own tears down his throat.   

"I'm sorry I'm not brave enough to make this decision now."

His sobs get muffled by Minho’s chest when he pulls him close. He shushes him and rubs his back. Kisses the top of his head again and again. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

Jisung sobs again, hugging him back and crying out more apologies. But it is okay. What Minho needs right now, isn’t a grand decision or a happy ever after. What he needs now, in this early hour of the morning, isn’t much. It is only to hold Jisung, and be held by Jisung.

Minho does just that, and he breathes.