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The human body, Minho had recently learned, was a traitor. His specifically.
It hadn’t always been this way. He’d had years of practice. He’d perfected the art of looking without staring, of casual touches that didn’t linger too long, of laughing at Jisung’s jokes without letting his gaze drop to his mouth. He had it down to a science. He had built a carefully calibrated system of self-control that had served him well through countless nights sharing hotel rooms and falling asleep to the sound of Jisung’s breathing.
He was fine. He had this completely under control.
And then, one unremarkable Tuesday, his body decided to stage a mutiny.
Jisung was eating a peach.
That was it. That was the whole situation. Han Jisung, sitting cross-legged on the practice room floor during their break, eating a peach like he wasn’t systematically destroying Minho’s entire life.
The juice ran down his chin because Jisung had never learned to eat anything with an ounce of dignity. He caught it with his tongue, licking the corner of his mouth before wiping the rest away with the back of his hand.
He didn’t even look up from his phone.
Minho’s brain short-circuited. His whole body flushed hot, a wave of heat rolling through him so fast it left him dizzy. His mouth went dry.
And then there it was. He felt the unmistakable rush of blood heading south, his dick hardening in his sweatpants like Jisung had just whispered something filthy against his neck instead of eating fruit in public.
No. Absolutely not.
He grabbed the nearest hoodie and yanked it over his lap in one motion, then dropped his forehead to his knee like he was stretching. His heart was racing. His face was burning. His dick was actively trying to ruin his life.
It’s a peach,he told himself, breathing through his nose. He’s eating fruit. This is fruit consumption. There is no reason for this reaction.
But his body had apparently stopped taking orders from his brain.
~
The second time, Jisung was laughing.
Not even at anything particularly funny. Chan had made some terrible dad joke that didn’t deserve acknowledgment, let alone the full-body reaction Jisung gave it. He threw his head back, that ridiculous laugh filling the room.
Minho watched his throat move. Watched the way his whole face lit up. Watched him slap his own thigh repeatedly like the joke was actually killing him.
And then Jisung made this little breathless sound at the end, gasping for air, cheeks flushed from laughing so hard and Minho felt his dick twitch with interest like it had received a personal invitation.
He excused himself to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His cheeks were flushed. His pupils were dilated. He looked wrecked and Jisung had done nothing but laugh.
“Get it together,” he muttered to himself. “He laughs literally every day. Multiple times a day. This is not a valid reason to get hard.”
His reflection offered no helpful advice. Neither did his body, which was taking its sweet time calming down.
~
The third time was the worst.
They were in the studio, just the two of them. Jisung was working on lyrics, hunched over a notebook with a pen tucked behind his ear. He’d been quiet for almost an hour, which was unusual enough on its own.
His brow furrowed slightly and he was chewing on his bottom lip. This mere gesture indicated that he was really focused at the task in hand, occasionally mouthing words to himself to test how they rolled off his tongue.
Minho was supposed to be reviewing choreography notes. Instead, he’d been watching Jisung for the past fifteen minutes like a complete creep.
Jisung reached up to adjust his glasses. He only wore them when his eyes were tired. They were wire-rimmed and slightly too big for his face. He pushed them up his nose with one finger.
The gesture was so small. So mundane. So absolutely innocuous.
Minho felt his blood rush downward with alarming speed.
No, he thought desperately, shifting in his chair and crossing his legs. Absolutely not. He pushed up his glasses. That’s it. That’s nothing. That is not a reason to get a boner.
But apparently his body disagreed because he was half-hard in his sweatpants from watching Han Jisung adjust his glasses.
“Hey,” Jisung said suddenly and Minho nearly jumped out of his skin. “Does this line sound weird to you?”
He looked up, glasses slightly askew now and waited expectantly.
Minho had to clear his throat twice before he could speak. He also had to very carefully not move because his current situation was not appropriate for company. “Read it to me.”
Jisung did. His voice was soft in the quiet studio, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure the words were good enough yet.
“It’s good,” Minho managed. His voice came out rougher than intended. “Really good.”
Jisung’s face split into a grin, pleased and a little shy, the way he always got when someone complimented his writing. “Yeah? You think so?”
“I think so.”
Jisung beamed at him for another moment, then ducked his head back to his notebook, still smiling.
Minho was going to die. He was going to simply pass away, right here in this studio and the cause of death would be listed as “Han Jisung adjusted his glasses and Lee Minho’s dick did not know how to behave.”
He waited a full ten minutes after Jisung left before he trusted himself to stand up.
~
The problem escalated.
Jisung stretching his arms above his head? Catastrophic. A sliver of stomach visible where his shirt rode up and Minho had to look at the ceiling and think about tax returns and dead fish and anything unsexy enough to counteract his body’s Pavlovian response to Jisung’s bare skin.
Jisung falling asleep on his shoulder during a car ride? Near-fatal. The warm weight of him, the soft sound of his breathing, the way his hand curled loosely around Minho’s arm. Minho didn’t move for two hours. His arm went completely numb. He also spent the entire time in a state of perpetual arousal that he had to very carefully not think about, because getting hard while someone slept on you was creepy, even if that someone was the love of your pathetic life.
Jisung saying his name? Dangerous. Especially in that whiny way he did when he wanted attention, stretching the syllables out: Minhooooo. Every time, Minho felt it like a touch, his body perking up with interest like a dog hearing a treat bag rustle.
It was humiliating. Minho had been attracted to Jisung for years and had managed to function like a normal person with normal physical responses. What had changed? Why was his body suddenly acting like every tiny thing Jisung did was a direct command to get turned on?
He simply accepted that it was the universe’s way of conspiring against him and decided to ignore the existence of the phallic object that existed between his legs. If he forgot about it, there was no way it could bother him. Or at least that's what he thought.
~
“You’re staring again,” Changbin said, dropping onto the couch next to him.
Minho tore his eyes away from where Jisung was across the room, engaged in an animated conversation with Felix that involved a lot of hand gestures. “I wasn’t staring.”
“You were staring. You’ve been staring for like three weeks straight. It’s getting concerning.” Changbin’s eyes dropped to the pillow Minho was holding strategically in his lap. “Also, that’s my pillow. Why are you clutching it like that?”
“No reason.”
Changbin’s expression shifted to understanding, then exasperation. “Oh my god. Seriously?”
“Shut up.”
“He’s literally just talking.”
“I know”
“That’s so weird, Minho.”
“I am aware of how weird it is, thank you.”
Changbin shook his head slowly. “Just tell him.”
“Tell him what? ‘Hey Jisung, I get hard every time you exist near me, want to date?’”
“Maybe not in those exact words.”
Minho hugged the pillow tighter. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Across the room, Jisung laughed at something Felix said and leaned into him, still giggling. His lips were slightly parted. His cheeks were pink. He looked soft and absolutely devastating.
Minho’s body responded predictably.
He looked away and thought very hard about the booger he had accidentally swallowed yesterday.
Changbin sighed. “You’re hopeless.”
“I’m aware.”
~
The breaking point came on a Thursday.
They were cooking together. Or rather, Minho was cooking and Jisung was keeping him company, perched on the counter and swinging his legs while he provided commentary that was more distracting than helpful.
“You’re really good at that,” Jisung said, watching Minho chop vegetables. “The knife thing. It’s impressive.”
“It’s just cutting.”
“Yeah, but you do it so fast. If I tried that, I’d lose a finger.” Jisung held up his hands and wiggled his fingers demonstratively. “Can’t afford to lose these. They’re important for my career.”
Minho made the mistake of looking at Jisung’s hands. Long fingers, slightly callused from guitar strings, currently wiggling in the air like it was the most normal thing in the world.
He turned back to his vegetables very quickly.
“You’ve been weird lately,” Jisung said.
Minho’s hand tightened on the knife. “Weird how?”
“I don’t know. Distant? Like you keep zoning out when I’m talking to you. And you keep leaving rooms right after I enter them.Did I do something wrong?”
The hurt in his voice made Minho’s chest ache. He turned to face Jisung, who was looking at him with those big eyes, brow furrowed in genuine concern.
Don’t look at his mouth, Minho told himself. Don’t look at his hands. Don’t look at anything.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Minho said.
“Then what is it? Because it feels like you’re avoiding me.”
“I’m not avoiding you.”
“You literally left the room three times today when I walked in.”
Okay. That was fair. That had happened. In Minho’s defense, one of those times Jisung had been wearing a tank top and Minho’s body had reacted so fast he’d had to flee before anyone noticed.
“It’s not… ” Minho started, then stopped. How was he supposed to explain this? ‘Sorry, but you existing is too much for me to handle lately. You eating fruit gives me a hard-on. Your laugh makes me want to pin you against a wall. You pushing up your glasses makes me forget how to breathe and also makes my dick think it’s go-time’
“It’s not about you,” he tried again. “It’s about me.”
Jisung’s frown deepened. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know.”
“Minho.” He hopped off the counter and stepped closer. “Just tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, we can sort it out.”
He put his hand on Minho’s arm.
It was a simple touch. Friendly. Comforting. The kind of touch Jisung gave out freely because he was made of warmth and casual affection.
Minho’s body did not interpret it as friendly.
He stepped back so fast he almost knocked over the cutting board. “Don’t.”
Jisung’s face fell. “Don’t what? Don’t touch you?”
“No! That's not…” Minho dragged a hand through his hair. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
Jisung blinked. “What?”
“You just.. you sit there, and you exist and I can’t..” He gestured vaguely at his own body, hoping Jisung would somehow understand without him having to say the mortifying words out loud. “You ate a peach three weeks ago and I had to leave the room because I got hard, Jisung. From watching you eat a fruit.”
Jisung’s mouth dropped open.
“You adjusted your glasses in the studio and I couldn’t stand up for ten minutes because my body decided that was the sexiest thing it had ever witnessed.”
“Woah dude….”
“You fell asleep on my shoulder and I spent two hours trying not to think about how turned on I was, which is creepy, and I know that, but I couldn’t help it because you were right there and you smelled good and your hand was on my arm and—”
“Minho.”
“I’ve been attracted to you for years but lately my body has just given up on subtlety. You laugh and I get hard. You stretch and I get hard. You say my name in that whiny voice and I get hard. Everything you do makes me react like you just whispered something filthy in my ear, except you didn’t, you’re just existing and it’s driving me insane”
“Minhoooooo.”
Minho stopped talking.
Jisung was staring at him. His cheeks were flushed a deep red, eyes wide behind those wire-rimmed glasses that had added fuel to this whole disaster in the first place.
“You,” Jisung said slowly, “have been getting boners. Because of me. Doing normal things.”
“…Yes.”
“Like eating.”
“Yes.”
“And laughing.”
“Yes.”
“And adjusting my glasses?”
Minho wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “Yes.”
Jisung was quiet for a long moment. His flush had spread down his neck, disappearing under the collar of his shirt.
“That’s so hot.”
Minho’s brain stalled. “What?”
“That’s…” Jisung laughed, a little breathless. “You’ve been walking around half-hard because of me for three weeks and you didn’t tell me?”
“It’s not exactly casual conversation material!”
“Minho.” Jisung stepped closer, and this time Minho didn’t step back. “I literally thought you hated me. I’ve been losing my mind trying to figure out what I did wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. That’s the problem. You don’t do anything wrong, you’re just you and apparently that’s enough to make my body completely malfunction.”
Jisung’s eyes were bright, his smile growing. “So right now, if I…” He reached out and touched Minho’s arm again, deliberately this time. “This does something for you?”
Minho’s breath caught. “Jisung.”
“What about this?” Jisung stepped even closer, close enough that Minho could smell his shampoo. “Does this…?”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“A little bit.” Jisung’s smile was impossibly fond. “Can you blame me? You just told me you’ve been getting hard from watching me exist. That’s the best compliment anyone’s ever given me.”
“It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. It was meant to be an explanation for why I’ve been avoiding you.”
“Well, I’m taking it as a compliment.” Jisung’s hand slid up Minho’s arm to his shoulder. “For the record, I’ve been attracted to you for years too. I just didn’t know you felt the same way because you were too busy hiding boners to actually tell me.”
Minho’s heart was pounding. “You…really?”
“Really.” Jisung’s other hand came up to rest on Minho’s chest. “So maybe instead of avoiding me every time your body reacts to me doing something mundane, you could just… let me help with that?”
Minho swallowed hard. “Help with that.”
“Mm-hmm.” Jisung’s smile turned slightly wicked. “Unless you’d rather keep running away every time I eat a peach.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. You get hard when I laugh. That’s basically the opposite of hate.”
Minho kissed him.
He didn’t mean to. Or maybe he did, maybe he’d been meaning to for years. But one second Jisung was smirking at him and the next Minho’s hands were in his hair and their mouths were pressed together and Jisung made this soft, surprised sound that Minho felt all the way down to his toes.
When they finally broke apart, Jisung’s glasses were askew and his eyes were slightly dazed.
“Okay,” Jisung breathed. “Yeah. We should have done that way sooner.”
“I was trying to be normal about this.”
“You failed so badly.” Jisung grinned. “Three weeks of emergency boners. That’s not normal at all.”
“I’m aware. You don’t need to remind me.”
Jisung kissed him again, still smiling against his mouth. “I’m going to remind you constantly. Forever. You’re never going to live this down.”
Minho should have probably been annoyed about that. Instead, he just pulled Jisung closer and decided that being teased for the rest of his life was a small price to pay.
Behind them, the vegetables burned.
Neither of them noticed.
~
A month later
“You’re doing it on purpose now,” Minho said flatly.
Jisung looked up from his peach being the perfect picture of innocence. Juice was running down his chin. His eyes were wide and guileless. “Doing what?”
“You know what.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jisung took another bite, deliberately messy. “I’m just eating fruit, Minho. It’s healthy.”
Across the practice room, Seungmin made a gagging sound. “I can’t believe I have to witness this. Get a room.”
“We have a room,” Jisung said cheerfully. “But it’s more fun to make Minho suffer in public.”
Minho watched Jisung’s tongue dart out to catch a drop of juice at the corner of his mouth. Slow. Deliberate. His eyes never left Minho’s face.
That was it.
Minho crossed the room in three strides, grabbed Jisung by the wrist and hauled him toward the door.
“Whoa, hey…” Jisung stumbled after him, laughing. “Minho, I wasn’t done with my..”
“You’re done.”
“The peach.”
“I don’t care about the peach.”
He pulled Jisung into the hallway, barely registering Changbin’s exasperated “finally” behind them and pressed him against the wall the moment the door swung shut. Jisung’s breath hitched, the peach falling forgotten to the floor.
“You think you’re so funny,” Minho said, low and rough.
Jisung’s eyes were dark, his chest rising and falling rapidly. That teasing smile was still on his face, but it was wobbling now, his composure cracking. “I think I’m hilarious, actually.”
Minho leaned in close, close enough that his lips brushed the shell of Jisung’s ear. “You’ve been winding me up all day.”
“Maybe.” Jisung’s voice came out breathier than intended. His hands found Minho’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Is it working?”
Minho pressed his hips forward, letting Jisung feel exactly how well it was working.
Jisung made a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a whimper. His head tipped back against the wall, exposing the line of his throat. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Minho murmured against his neck. “Oh.”
“Okay.” Jisung swallowed hard, his grip tightening on Minho’s shirt. “Point taken. Message received.”
“Good.” Minho pulled back just enough to look at him. Jisung was flushed and breathless, lips parted, looking completely wrecked and they hadn’t even done anything yet. “Now. You’re going to come to my room with me and I’m going to make you regret every single piece of fruit you’ve ever eaten in front of me.”
Jisung’s pupils blew wide. “That’s… that’s a lot of fruit.”
“Better clear your schedule then.”
Minho kissed him, hard and hungry, swallowing the moan that spilled out of Jisung’s mouth. When he pulled away, Jisung chased after him in a daze.
“You’re the worst,” Jisung managed to blurt out.
Minho smiled, sharp and satisfied, and laced their fingers together. “You love it.”
The worst part was, he really did.