Archive of Our Own

Jisung welcomes the cold, early-spring air with contentment when he steps out into the street after spending the entire day holed-up in the studio.

The late hour actually, for once, marks a successful day at work—he had been writing well into the early hours of the afternoon, and then spent the rest of the time polishing the recording of one of the songs for his upcoming album. He had woken up and felt ready to act.

He’s learnt not to take those spurts of inspiration for granted, and because of that, he’s used the entirety of his energy for the day. He almost melts into the backseat of the cab when the car pulls up to the curb and he can finally get in. It takes all of his willpower not to fall asleep.

He pulls out his phone. Swipes his thumb across the picture of Minho sitting on the floor of their apartment cradling Soonie’s face in his hands, taps Minho’s birthdate in to unlock the device, and finds their thread of messages in the app. He has to ignore the texts piling up at the top, which makes him feel bad for approximately five seconds. He tells himself he’ll respond tomorrow, when he has enough energy to think—whether he’ll manage to do it is an entirely different thing altogether.

Then, he sends Minho a message. On my way home.

He doesn’t have to wait long for an answer, probably because this is a time of day when Minho usually lounges on the couch enjoying his daily scroll of cat content on Instagram. He responds with a sticker of a penguin with dreamy eyes and flushed cheeks, which might as well be a text saying, Oh, how I’ve missed you, my dear, the love of my life, I await your return home with ardent impatience, glancing out the window and listening in for the front door opening. 

There isn’t much traffic at this hour, so the ride home doesn’t take Jisung long. He rides the elevator up to the fourth floor and then makes his way down the hallway, fixing the strap of his bag on his shoulder before punching in the code to the door. 

He can hear the murmur of the television coming from the living room, the unmistakable sound of Minho shuffling around the kitchen in his bunny-shaped foam slippers. And then that sweet, familiar Jisung-ah? that finally makes his shoulders relax.

“It’s me,” he confirms, the same way he always does. 

But it’s Doongie Jisung sees first. He doesn’t even manage to take off his sneakers before the cat trots over, attempting to jump and head-butt his knee. Even after years of having a family and healing from abandonment, the cat doesn’t like to see them leave and always makes sure to welcome them back home. Unless he has just eaten. Then, it’ll take a siren to wake him up. 

“Hey, baby,” Jisung says, scratching him behind the ear affectionately.

Doongie chirps as if to say, Hi, where have you been all day? By the way, Soonie hyung ate my share of dinner today and Dori was being annoying, hogging the blankets and all. He follows Jisung into the bedroom, where Jisung leaves his bag, not bothering to unpack just yet, and then to the bathroom, where he washes his hands. He doesn’t settle until Jisung picks him up and hikes him up against his shoulder.

Clingy. Just like his dad.

Dads plural, he corrects in his head, because the moment he sees Minho standing there in the kitchen, he lets Doongie down to the floor and strides forward, wrapping his arms around Minho’s waist and plastering himself to his back.

“Hello to you too,” Minho says, but Jisung can physically feel him melt in his arms. 

He presses his mouth against his cheek, stealing a quick peck from him, and then hooks his chin over Minho’s shoulder. “Hey, jagi,” he says, watching his steady hands pour tea into their favorite mugs from the pitcher. “How was your day?” 

It’s Saturday, which means Minho’s plans have been limited to working out and maybe going out for a run.

A part of Jisung wishes he’d stayed home—that they’d gone out, done something fun together—but Changbin was only available to direct his recording session today, so Jisung had to make the difficult decision of choosing work over a lazy day with Minho. 

“Good. I went on a run, grabbed coffee with Jeonginnie and then scrolled through this kitten store for an hour because I got an ad on Instagram,” Minho says, setting the pitcher down and leaning back against Jisung’s chest. “How about you? How did the session go?”

Jisung smiles. “We’ve got another song ready with hyung, and I wrote something solid earlier. It’s not gonna go on the album, too late for that, but I really like it,” he says. “But I’m exhausted. Happy to finally be home with you.”

“Sap,” Minho quips, but he’s smiling. “Did you eat?” 

“Mhm. We ordered bokkeumbap from that restaurant close to the company that we went to once.”

Minho hums. “There’s still duck in the fridge if you’re hungry,” he says, getting a hold of their mugs. “Now move unless you want us both to get second-degree burns.”

Jisung finds it hard to let go of him, as he usually does, but he relents. They make their way over to the living room, where the rest of the family resides. 

“Hi, kiddos,” Jisung says, reaching out to pet Soonie and Dori, who are, of course, cuddled-up on the couch, taking up almost all the existing space.

Not that Jisung minds—he can practically crawl into Minho’s ribcage this way, when they’ve hijacked the sofa. He can nestle between Minho’s legs, with his back pressed against his chest and his feet kicked-up onto the coffee table, and Minho can tangle their legs together in a way that can’t be that comfortable for him but he still does it anyway.

A moment of respite like this is all Jisung needs at the end of the day. 

His hand is buried in Soonie’s thick fur, scratching him mindlessly, as a bad variety show airs on TV. The concept is that celebrities are trying out part-time jobs, and one of the guests is doing home renovations with a bafflingly nonexistent sense of. . . Well, anything. 

Minho jabs his chin into Jisung’s shoulder and says, “They should invite you to one of these when your album comes out.” 

Even though Minho won’t be able to see it, Jisung rolls his eyes. “You’re only saying that because you want to see me flustered and struggling on national television.” 

Minho giggles right into his ear, but he doesn’t deny the accusation. 

Truth be told, even though Jisung’s career has skyrocketed since the release of his last single, the invitations for those kinds of things aren’t really coming in. Of course, it’s understandable—they would rather have the hot-shot big-three idols on rather than a relatively new artist signed to an independent label, despite his viral songs and all. 

Jisung is fine with that. It just means that he needs to work harder to put himself out there.

“There don’t seem to be a lot of actual music-related shows, so they should send you somewhere you can show off your style and dress up in something cute,” Minho muses, his breath warm against the side of Jisung’s face. 

“Right. I need to copy Jeongin and start doing OOTD,” Jisung says, laughing. “Maybe then they’ll notice me.”

Minho’s hold around his waist tightens. “Mhm. Personally, I would love to see that.”

“Of course you would. You’re obsessed with me.”

“Just a little,” Minho argues, but the fondness in his voice tells a completely different story.

Jisung opens his mouth to argue, but Minho knows him too well—he resorts to distraction, which pairs up just right with Jisung’s shitty attention span.

It’s a low blow, but Jisung can’t even bring himself to complain when Minho’s teeth sink into the side of his neck, gentle and teasing and meant to make him whine with complaint. Jisung protests, although half-heartedly, and tries to slip out of Minho’s grip just to mess with him. To no avail. 

Minho holds him close. His mouth finds the hinge of Jisung’s jaw easily, and he presses a big, wet kiss right there, and then another on his cheek when Jisung turns to give him an exaggerated glare of absolute disgust.

His grin is infectious, and the glint in his eyes—that sheer delight that comes from teasing the life out of Jisung—makes him look incredibly adorable. Which is an awful thing, because Jisung can’t even pretend to be annoyed with him. 

Tragic.

That night, they’re lying in bed, each of them doing their own before-sleep thing, when Minho rolls over onto his side, throws a leg over Jisung’s lap, and pushes his own phone into his hands, saying, “Look.” 

Jisung pushes the glasses up the bridge of his nose and grabs the device, his palm cupping Minho’s. What’s on the screen is an Instagram account named soon.doong.dori, and it’s the first time Jisung is seeing it. 

He raises an eyebrow, tapping the first and only post, a picture of the three cats lounging on various levels of the cat tree that takes up half of their living room. 

Hi, Dori here, the caption says. Since I’m GenZ, I decided to become an influencer and profit off my two older brothers, Soonie (the fat one) and Doongie (the one that doesn’t know how to shut his mouth). Follow us! 

Jisung bursts into laughter so vibrant he falls against Minho’s side. 

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” Minho says, sounding excited. “I keep seeing these fun videos everywhere. Cats vlogging their lives visiting markets and coffee shops and doing nothing. I thought the kids could do this too. It’ll be fun, but also maybe they’ll get famous and people will send us free stuff.”

“Lee Minho, I didn’t expect you to partake in the exploitation of children,” Jisung teases, but he finds it beyond adorable. They often send each other cute videos of animals—not just cats—so he’s definitely on board. And thinking that if Minho starts making silly edits with their cats, he might go and ask him for his hand in marriage. 

“We gotta pay the bills somehow,” Minho says. “I’m tired of doing everything for these lazy bums. They have to start contributing to the family budget.”

Jisung laughs, but he pulls a serious face to agree with Minho. “Right. They’re already grown and yet they’re still under our roof, without a degree, a job, or even a hobby other than sleeping all day.”

Minho’s mouth twists in a grin. He sneaks a hand across Jisung’s chest to cup his jaw in his hand, and brings him closer, pressing that sweet, wicked smile of his against Jisung’s skin.

Jisung melts, and then all over again when Minho kisses his cheek properly. He’s a weak, weak man. 

He follows the profile from his official account before rolling over onto his other side and going to sleep. He doesn’t follow a single person, so it’s immediately noticed by his fanbase. Truth be told, he doesn’t even realize what he’s done until Minho tells him in the morning.

When Jisung wakes up grumbling and rolling over to seek the warmth of his body, Minho tosses his phone somewhere between the sheets and slings his arm across Jisung’s waist. Says, “Because of you, the kittens’ account hit over ten thousand followers overnight. You basically bought us followers.”

Jisung chuckles, bumping his nose against Minho’s. He doesn’t care about things like that, but—as long as Minho is happy. “Aren’t I just incredible?” he asks, voice still hoarse from hours of sleep. 

Minho hums. “See, I didn’t even think of it, but now I know we actually need to make use of your brand,” he says.

“You’re only with me for my fame,” Jisung accuses, pouting even though the corners of his mouth are desperately trying to turn upward.

Minho smiles, absolutely devilish in his sweetness. “No,” he says. “I’m also with you for your ass.” He grabs a handful of it, dragging Jisung forward on the bed. He slips a thigh between Jisung’s legs as their hips clash, and gives him a sleazy grin. “And your cock.” 

Jisung swallows hard. “I thought we were just playing around,” he says, pupils blown wide, heart jumping into higher gear. “But now I’m horny.”

Minho can feel him throbbing against his thigh, of course. He gives Jisung a half-hearted shrug, a mean twist of his mouth. “I suppose I could show you my gratitude and appreciation by giving you head,” he says.

“You’re such a weirdo,” Jisung laughs.

Minho grins lazily. “You love it,” he says, and then kisses Jisung hard. And, yes, Jisung loves it. Minho’s weird quips are his favorite thing about him, next to the way he smiles and his kind heart. And his ass, but that’s because Minho works so hard for it at the gym. Jisung is just being appreciative of that.

It takes a little maneuvering, but they get out from under the sheets, smoothing them down until no crease or fold can dig into their flesh in a way that could send them into a fit of unreasonable annoyance. Been there, done that. 

Minho pushes Jisung onto his back, finding home between his legs. He catches Jisung’s mouth in a kiss while his hand travels south, ghosting along his side. His fingers slip under the fabric of Jisung’s boxers, sinking into his ass, making Jisung smile against his mouth. 

He’s so predictable. 

Soon enough, his kisses stray—first to the corner of Jisung’s mouth, his cheek, his jaw, only for Minho to latch onto his neck, feeling Jisung’s pulse skitter under his tongue. He knows just how sensitive Jisung’s neck is, and he uses that knowledge to his advantage. 

Jisung can only gasp and sigh, his fingers tangled in the hair at the back of Minho’s head, tugging harder when Minho sinks his teeth into his shoulder. Jisung’s thighs close around his hips at the feeling. The sting is so good, especially when Minho kisses the spot right after.

He leaves another kiss on his collarbone and then again at the center of the compass tattooed on Jisung’s skin, tongue darting out to trace the ink. He takes his nipple into his mouth, twisting the other between his fingers.

Jisung shifts his hips on the mattress, thrusting up against Minho’s stomach without even meaning to. He’s always been impatient, and Minho knows it damn well. He also knows that despite Jisung’s impatience, what turns him on the most is exactly this: Minho taking him apart piece by piece. 

He trails his kisses down Jisung’s sternum, mapping out every dip and divot of his body with his lips even though he already knows it all. 

“Hyung,” Jisung says, breathless, on the verge of reaching between their bodies and just—touching himself. 

“Let me have my fun,” Minho counters. Simple as that.

But he’s kind. And horny, too. 

His fingers ghost along the ridges of Jisung’s ribs until they find the waistline of his boxers. He hooks his pointers around the elastic and tugs, but he doesn’t get them out of the way, only teasing, and when Jisung tries to lift his hips, Minho just gives him a look.

Well.

Instead of stripping down the only barrier between them, he kisses Jisung’s stomach. His teeth sink into the flesh, so close and yet so far. And then, in his usual Minho fashion, just when Jisung thinks something is bound to happen, Minho starts blowing raspberries on his belly button.

Jisung bursts out laughing, and Minho grins up at him, softer and less devilish. He’s so fucking silly, it’s the sweetest thing in the world.

“Can this be considered edging?” Jisung asks. 

Minho drags his teeth over his bottom lip. “Can this?”

He bends Jisung’s leg and attaches his mouth to the side of his knee. The kiss is ardent. His lips wander up, up towards the place where Jisung needs him the most, biting, licking, making Jisung’s breath catch in his throat. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers just before sucking a hickey into Jisung’s thigh, where only the two of them will see. 

Jisung is worked-up. He keens high in his throat when Minho finally touches his cock, even if it’s only over the boxers. Minho kisses the head through the cotton, making the fabric even more wet than it already is. Teasing him, even though Jisung is already so hard it hurts. He whines, just on the precipice of begging, but Minho tells him he sounds so pretty, he just wants to eat him right up, so he holds out. 

When he finally decides to get the boxers off, Jisung’s legs are shaking, he can’t even hold his hips up long enough to do it himself. His cock slaps against his stomach, a sick kind of relief.

Jisung lets out a shuddering breath. 

“Jagi,” Minho says, gentle and sweet. “Grab lube for me, will you?” 

Jisung nods absently, reaching for the nightstand drawer, blindly, unable to tear his eyes away from Minho. But the second he does, when he starts fumbling for where that stupid bottle is, rummaging through charger wires and medications and condoms that they hardly ever even use, Minho takes his cock into his hand.

Jisung’s mouth falls open with a gasp, fingers curling around the lube until the bottle threatens to burst in his grip. He looks down at Minho and feels a surge of warmth travel through his system, lighting his body on fire from the inside out.

How is it possible to be this turned-on?

Minho gives him a slow, languid stroke, using his ambidextrousness to his advantage to pluck the lube out of Jisung’s vice grip and expertly pop it open.

“Show-off,” Jisung says, to which Minho grins.

“Anything to impress you.”

He doesn’t scrimp on the lube; he knows Jisung likes it wet and messy. He spreads it all over his cock, clearly delighting in every soft noise that leaves Jisung’s throat, every groan, every catch of his breath as he slides the thumb across the slit.

Then, finally, he gets comfortable on his elbows, taking Jisung’s cock and tapping the head against his sinful mouth. His eyes flicker with glee when the moan Jisung lets out is much louder.

His tongue darts out, teasing, but there’s no warning before Minho first takes him into his mouth. 

Jisung throws his head back against the pillow with a mewl. His thighs threaten to close around Minho’s head, but Minho’s hand is there, spreading him open.

He likes the way Minho touches him. Caught somewhere between firm and soft, always gentle. Jisung’s head spins every time he uses even the littlest bit of strength on him; when Minho picks him up or pushes him onto the bed or carries him wherever without breaking a sweat.

Absently, Jisung wants him to sink his fingers into the flesh of his thigh a little harder, wants them to leave a mark, too. 

Minho always complains about his jaw aching, so he never takes him deep, but fuck, he knows how to make it feel good all the same. He swipes his tongue across his mouth before closing his lips around the head of Jisung’s cock and sucking hard. 

“Fuck,” Jisung gasps, swept-up in the pleasure. “Oh, fuck, baby.”

He continues to moan as Minho lets his tongue map out the veins on the underside of his cock. His thumb teases the head, spreading the precome and lube all over just so that he can lap it up later. He grins every time Jisung’s hips involuntarily thrust up, more teeth than tongue, dangerous in his sweetness. 

His free hand darts out, fingers ghosting over the reddened skin of Jisung’s chest, inching upward until they find his pectoral. He doesn’t do anything other than cup his hand around it, holding him. 

Minho moans around the head of his cock like this is the peak of pleasure for him, too. The thought alone makes breathing even harder for Jisung.

His hips twitch, hands finding purchase in Minho’s messy hair, and he forces his eyes open, straining his neck to look down at him. Their eyes lock.

Minho’s eyes are glazed-over, mouth slick and red as he pulls off, tapping Jisung’s cock against his lolled-out tongue. He looks so beautiful, Jisung’s dick twitches in his grip. It makes Minho laugh, loud and happy. He hangs his head low, cheek resting against the inside of Jisung’s thigh, and for a moment, they just stare at each other. 

“You’re so pretty,” Jisung says, because he’s never been good at biting his tongue. 

Minho laughs even harder now. “Of course you’d say that when your dick is in my mouth.”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “You know damn well—”

Minho doesn’t let him finish speaking, of course. Before Jisung can remind him of all the instances during the day when he tells him just how pretty he is, Minho is back to sucking him off. With that, Jisung can’t produce any other sound than a moan. 

He can practically taste the orgasm on his tongue. His muscles tense up. He sucks in his stomach against the pressure in his abdomen as Minho sucks at the head of his cock, simultaneously twisting his hand at the base. It’s almost painful, that’s how good it feels. 

Jisung tosses his head back against the pillow with a loud moan, eyes rolling back.

And then, just before he can come, Minho pulls off.

Jisung makes a noise of protest, not beyond begging in this state of mind, but when he forces his eyes open again, Minho is already hovering above him, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. 

“Want you inside me,” he says, panting into Jisung’s mouth. “Come on, make hyung feel good, jagi.” 

Jisung shivers.

He kisses Minho fervently, wasting no time before dragging him into his own lap, Minho’s knees bracketing his thighs, one of his hands braced against the bedframe. He’s still wearing his underwear, which, in the moment, pisses Jisung off. He sneaks a hand between them, touching Minho through the cotton, feeling how hard he is, how wet.

Minho moans at the slightest touch, clearly more affected than he’s been letting on.

Jisung swallows every sound up with a kiss.

“On your back?” he asks, breathless, his thumb swiping at the head of Minho’s cock. “Or do you wanna stay like this?”

He inhales sharply through his teeth when Minho grinds down against his cock, assuming that he wants to stay in his lap and torture him some more. But Minho mouths at his cheek and says, “Are you really gonna make hyung do everything?”

Jisung laughs, his heart growing two sizes too big for his body. He wraps an arm around Minho’s waist and squeezes him tightly. “No. I’m gonna take care of you, lazy baby.”

Minho grins, happy with the turn of events. He rolls off Jisung, falling against the mattress with a huff, and kicks his boxers off, not caring the slightest bit about where they land. 

Jisung pushes past the ache in his muscles and forces himself onto his knees. He wraps a hand around his throbbing cock, tightening the grip as he watches Minho make himself comfortable on the bed. His hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat, his chest is so flushed it resembles the skin of a tomato, and still, he looks like the most beautiful person Jisung has ever laid his eyes on.

He’s so busy staring that Minho has to wrap his legs around his hips and pull him in. Right where he wants him. His arms loop around Jisung’s shoulders, fingers playing with the overgrown hair at his nape. 

“Come on,” he says, mouth twisting into a grin. “Don’t make hyung wait.”

Jisung smashes their lips together. He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Blindly, he feels for the lube, forgotten somewhere between the sheets, and uncaps it. He makes sure to warm it up between his fingers before teasing Minho’s rim. Still, even though all he does is graze, Minho’s nails dig into his shoulder hard enough to break skin. He gasps when Jisung actually pushes a finger in. He’s starved to the point of sensitivity, Jisung notes, watching his expression for any signs of actual discomfort. Minho’s pinched eyebrows relax within a moment, though. 

He’s just desperate. It’s cute.

One thing about Jisung, he knows how to use his fingers. His tongue, too. And his dick. And his—Well, everything, if Minho is to be trusted. He knows Minho’s body, too. He knows exactly where to press, how deep to go, how fast. He knows that Minho loves a torturous pace, loves taking his sweet time. He knows that Minho likes concealing just how needy he feels to tease him, but if Jisung plays his cards right, which he always does, four years into their relationship, Minho will fall apart in his hands.

“Shit,” Minho says as Jisung begins fucking him open with two fingers. Soon enough, he’s adding a third, watching Minho’s cock slap against his abdomen with every jerk of his hips, every desperate thrust up. He wants to touch Minho all over, all at the same time, and it frustrates him that he can’t. He tries to make up for it with his fingers, and it seems to work, because just another moment passes and Minho is moaning, “Fuck, please, Jisungie.”

Jisung is unable to hold back his smirk. “Oh, since you’re asking so nicely, hyung-ah, how could I ever deny you?”

Minho has enough resilience in him to narrow his eyes and glare, but then Jisung’s fingertips brush against his prostate and he snaps his mouth shut. As an act of revenge, though, he lands a knee kick to Jisung’s hip.

Rude.

Jisung pulls his fingers out and pours more lube onto them before giving his cock a few languid strokes. He lines the head with Minho’s rim, but before he does anything, before he moves, he leans in to give Minho’s mouth a soft peck. Minho forgets his feigned animosity and grins, and then he’s pulling Jisung into another kiss, long and passionate.

Their mouths are still locked when Jisung finally pushes inside.

The kiss deepens as he starts grinding into Minho, rolling his hips without pulling all the way out, but it quickly gets hard to breathe. Jisung can’t handle being too far away for too long, and in that moment, a millimeter is too far. He takes Minho’s bottom lip between his teeth and pulls, reveling in the soft whine that escapes Minho’s mouth. It’s angelic. 

He rests his forehead against Minho’s, uncaring about the sweat and hair tickling him in the most infuriating, itchy way, only wanting to see the desire in Minho’s eyes up close. The love. 

Now that his mouth isn’t locked with Minho’s, Jisung starts letting out soft, airy sounds, something between a moan and a grunt, his desperation growing every time his hips move

“You feel so good,” he gasps out with the next thrust, finding that sweet, slow rhythm that tends to turn them both into absolute mush.

Minho nods along mindlessly. He moves, mouthing at the line of Jisung’s jaw, his nose sinking into Jisung’s cheek. “You’re making hyung feel good too,” he whispers right against his skin. His ankles lock at the base of Jisung’s spine, pulling him in even closer. “So good.”  

Jisung’s moans grow louder when Minho says things like that, or when he gets brazen with his words and curses instead, repeating them like it’s the only thing his mind can conjure in that moment. As his orgasm builds up, it’s what he resorts to. Curses and a broken rendition of Jisung’s name, something like a prayer on his sinful mouth.

This is what religion is. Minho’s mouth and his hips and every word that leaves his throat, how hard his heart is beating in his chest, the way his eyes roll back into his skull. Heaven on earth, and Jisung gets to experience it whenever he wants to, because Minho is his, forever.

That kind of devotion and commitment is part of what makes having sex with him so good.

Jisung focuses on Minho’s pleasure, reaching between their bodies to wrap his fingers around his dick, moaning, “God, you’re so pretty, you sound so pretty, my baby,” and feeling the pressure in his abdomen tighten when Minho whimpers back, “Yours, just yours.” 

Jisung fucks him until Minho is gasping out his name, his chest flushed red, his mouth slick with spit. It’s slow and lazy as it usually is when they have sex in the morning. It’s the kind of slowness that comes with an abundance of time to waste, the need to drag out every movement, every touch, every kiss, to enjoy every fraction of a second.

They spend way too much time clinging to each other later, kissing and touching each other for no reason other than want. At one point, though, Jisung finally decides he needs a shower. Minho says he’ll get coffee started, but two minutes later, he’s already bursting into the bathroom and joining Jisung under the stream of water. 

They don’t have plans for the day aside from getting groceries for the week and then having dinner with a couple of friends in the evening, so they both do their own thing during the day. Jisung locks himself up in the bedroom, practicing for a cover to post on Instagram later during the week. When he finally comes out, his fingertips red from the guitar strings, he finds Minho sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop in front of him, his round, thin-rimmed glasses on. 

Dori is, of course, fast asleep in his lap. 

“Whatcha doing?” Jisung asks, coming up to stand behind him. Minho tips his head back against his sternum to look at him as Jisung reads the document displayed on the screen.

“I’m writing the next post for the kittens,” he explains anyway. “Figuring out the schedule, gathering ideas, all that.”

“It’s cute how serious you are about this,” Jisung says, pushing Minho’s bangs out of his face. He leans in to kiss his forehead, and Minho closes his eyes, smiling almost dreamily. 

“You know what else would be cute?” 

“Hm?”

“If you made me coffee,” Minho says, batting his unreasonably long eyelashes at Jisung. Because he knows that Jisung would tell him that he’s sitting in the kitchen, barely two meters away from the coffee maker, Minho pats Dori’s butt and explains, “I’d do it myself, but as you can see, I’m not allowed to move.”

Jisung rolls his eyes, but relents easily. He sets the machine to make him his favorite iced-americano and once that’s out of the way, he grabs his phone to snap a photo of Dori feeling at home in Minho’s lap. He immediately uploads it to their shared folder of cat pictures, which he imagines Minho will now be making even more use of, posting them on Instagram and all. 

He decides to be productive and does laundry, but then they head out to the supermarket to do groceries. It’s a joint task they complete with ease—Minho takes care of the list, and Jisung pushes around the cart. When they come back, they still have some time before they need to start getting ready to go out, so they pull out a box of jigsaw puzzles and battle them as a movie plays in the background. The cats are lying around them on the floor, as they always are, curious as to what their human slaves are entertaining themselves with.

At one point, Jisung slips out to the bathroom, and when he comes back, Minho doesn’t even lift his eyes from his part of the puzzle, or glance over his shoulder to look at Jisung at all, and says, “Doongie took your spot.”

It’s true. Jisung comes closer, peeking over Minho’s shoulder, and finds Doongie sitting at the same spot he was at just a few minutes ago. Worst of all, one of his paws is settled on the little fragment of puzzles Jisung has put together so far.

“Awh,” he coos, eyebrows pitching down and mouth sticking out in an endeared pout. “You’re too cute, Doong-doong-ah.” 

Jisung can’t help himself. He pulls out his phone to take a picture. Then, when he settles back down on the floor cross-legged, Doongie climbs into the space between his legs. 

“He’s being so clingy,” Minho says, smiling. “It’s definitely because he knows we’re going out.”

Jisung hums. That’s how Doongie is. While the other two are perfectly fine on their own, especially when they’re together, Doongie hates being without them. He’ll go as far as lie down on their shoes to stop them from leaving, knowing damn well it parts their hearts in two to see it.

“You need to stop listening in on our conversations, kid,” Jisung chastises, but it’s half-hearted. Doongie’s head is lying in his palm, and Jisung’s thumb is caressing the side of his cute little face.

Minho says, “He’s too nosy for that. He takes after you, after all.”

Jisung deadpans. He grabs a puzzle and tosses it at Minho, breaking into a grin when it lands in his hair and sticks. Minho doesn’t even bother taking it out, all to spite Jisung. He just returns to his puzzle. That’s how annoying he is. 

The fact that Jisung has been putting up with him for over four years now is nothing short of a miracle.

He takes another picture of Doongie in his lap (he looks exceptionally adorable like this), and on a whim decides to post both this one and the one where the cat has hijacked his puzzles to his Instagram stories. Of course, he tags the soon.doong.dori account. 

He doesn’t think much of it, but later that night, when he and Minho are brushing their teeth together in the bathroom, Minho is on his phone. He spits the foam out and tells Jisung that the account has gained another few thousand followers. 

It sits at forty thousand now. 

Of course, it’s not just Jisung’s fans. A video of Dori being mischievous that Minho posted a few days ago using a viral audio of Sabrina Carpenter’s Nobody’s Son has gained millions of views and nothing but positive comments. But—still.

The impact of his endorsement is surprising. It’s not like he’s incredibly famous. He got catapulted to a certain stardom of a content creator when his covers started gaining millions of views, and then as an artist when VOLCANO went viral, and then when the same happened with Collision, but it’s not that level of fame where his fanbase is stable, forever obsessed, and ready to buy out his favorite yogurt because they see him eat it once.

One of these days, after filming some visuals for his upcoming music video, he decides to do an Instagram live on his way home, answering questions in the back of his company’s car. He shouldn’t be surprised that everyone wants to know about his cats. Nobody even knew he had them, that’s their biggest complaint. Not just one, but three. 

The questions vary. They go from how old are they? to isn’t it tiring to take care of so many of them on your own? Jisung picks the most normal and interesting ones—and those that won’t reveal that he actually raises them with his boyfriend of four years—and yaps on, because if there’s anything he loves talking about, it’s his babies. 

“They’re actually all rescues!” he says. “If you have the means and a chance to take home a pet, you should definitely look for them in shelters, that’s what I think.”

Jisung is always impressed when he thinks about Minho taking full responsibility of Soonie and Doongie when he was just a kid. Of course, his parents helped at the time, but he was the one who took the most care of them, insisting on paying their vet bills with his pocket money and making sure they had a warm, loving home. They adopted Dori together not long after becoming a couple, because that’s how solid their relationship felt. Like forever.

“We—Uhm, I—I often take them on walks to the park,” he says in response to a comment asking if he has one of those catios people are building to let their cats explore the outside world safely. He swallows hard, hoping nobody has noticed the slip-up. “They’re very well-behaved, but it can be too much to take them out all at once, so we’ve got this rotation system. My friends laugh that they should have their own baby stroller.”

The comments erupt with heart emojis and enamoured sobbing, which makes him laugh. He gets it, though. 

“I’m actually on my way home now. I had to leave early in the morning today and they were all still sleeping, so we didn’t even get to say goodbye,” he says, letting out an exaggerated sob. One of the comments asks if he did something for his upcoming album, so he tells them, “Yeah, I’ve been doing something super secret today.”

He punctuates the response with an awful wink. That’s where the livestream ends, too. They’re approaching Jisung’s apartment building, and he’s getting tired talking to himself. 

It’s late enough that he knows Minho will be asleep, so he’s careful and quiet as he unlocks the front door and walks in, toeing his shoes off and hanging his bag on the coat hanger to take care of tomorrow. He makes his way inside, his sock-clad feet making no noise against the floor.

He can see that Minho has left the under cabinet kitchen lights on for him, just like he always does, and there’s a pitcher of tea, still warm, waiting on the counter. 

Jisung’s heart melts. 

He pours himself a cup and leans back against the cabinets as he drinks. The world seems slow as molasses, quiet and serene at this hour. Now, as work is picking up and he’s always doing something for his album, he needs moments like this even more desperately. The only thing that could make it even more perfect is—

Soonie rounds the corner, emerging from the darkness to appear in the dim light of the kitchen, and startles Jisung out of his thoughts. 

“Oh, hi, baby,” he says, immediately sinking into a crouch to scratch him under the chin. He finds it cute that Soonie came here to check who is up so late. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

Soonie purrs, headbutting his hand like he’s trying to ask him the same thing. Jisung spends another moment petting him before getting back up to his feet. He cleans up the mug, dries his hands, and picks Soonie up, carrying him to the couch, where the cats usually spend the night. Doongie and Dori, as expected, are sleeping peacefully, probably dreaming about catching fish in an overpopulated pond. He lets Soonie down, watching him curl up next to his brother and doze off easily now that every member of the family has been accounted for.

Jisung is too tired to shower. He decides it’s a task for tomorrow. He just washes his face, taking his make-up off, brushes his teeth, and trots over to the bedroom. Minho is asleep, but he stirs when Jisung slips under the covers. He immediately wraps his arms around him, too, manhandling him so that his back is flush against his chest. 

Jisung just laughs quietly. 

“Welcome home, jagi,” Minho says, his voice heavy with sleep, his lips brushing against Jisung’s nape. 

🐈‍⬛

mar @starboyhan 

i’m actually crying at the amount of people finding jisung through his cats and falling in love with him and his music

25 retweets  ·  3 quotes  ·  149 likes

🐈‍⬛

When the Instagram account hits fifty thousand followers, they donate to their local shelter in the cats’ name. They post a screenshot of the donation to encourage people to do the same, and the response is overwhelming, to say the least.

Jisung is in the middle of recording when Minho texts him saying that the shelter has sent them a message thanking for the support they’ve kickstarted. He can barely keep a smile off his face, and he’s pretty sure it’s audible in his voice when he steps back into the booth to finish the song.  

During his next break, he sees that Minho has uploaded a new post on the account. It’s a picture of Dori in Minho’s lap, his hand holding his belly, and there are two ginger tails visible on his either side, reaching for his thighs like tentacles.

Dad is working late these days and we miss him so much, the caption says. But we know he’s making money to buy us treats. And for our friends at the shelter!!! Btw. Thanks for the donations guys!!!

Sadness flares behind Jisung’s ribs. He loves being a musician, he loves what he does, but those months of frantic preparation for the release of his album are torturous. People have high expectations, and the company has put a lot of trust in Jisung to exceed them all. He just wishes it didn’t come at the cost of coming back home at three o’clock in the morning. 

At least he knows Minho doesn’t resent him for it. He hates it just as much as Jisung does, that much is obvious, but he always makes sure Jisung knows how proud he is and how much he supports him. 

You’ll make it up for me with a big, shiny ring when you get rich, he said once, and it was obvious that it had only partially been a joke because his ears immediately reddened and he couldn’t quite look Jisung in the eye. 

That’s one of the things that powers Jisung through hard days: the thought of earning enough money for them to be able to move out of their one-bedroom apartment and into a gorgeous house with a garden and a room that would be for just the cats alone. The thought of putting a ring on Minho’s finger that sparkles like his eyes. The thought of flying him around the world and spoiling the life out of him.

Money isn’t a struggle for them. Minho’s job pays well, and Jisung has always been well-off, with enough savings in his bank account to be able to quit his soul-sucking office job last year and focus on his career. But there’s a difference between living comfortably and being able to splurge on things you can live without but desperately want. 

So Jisung spends his days in the recording booth and in front of the mixing boards and scribbling down lyrics on the off-chance that he becomes the one in the million, skyrocketing to fame and success. But now, it actually feels like something he can reach. 

priya @doolsethan

girl jisung’s hands… i am on the verge of saying things that could get me cancelled

2 retweets  ·  1 quote  ·  37 likes

taytay @hanholic

never in my life have i seen jisung with a smartwatch… and where is the hand mole??? 🤐 

3 retweets  ·  55 quotes  ·  27 likes

han’s lesbian friend @miserable
Replying to @hanholic

friend they are eating you the fuck UP in those qrts but i support you

Jisung has to rummage through his bag for an umbrella on his way home later that night. The night sky was clear when he disappeared in the subway, but within the ten minutes it took him to get to the right station, it had started pouring. 

Rain always makes him think about Minho. 

It was fate, the way they met, that’s what he thinks. 

Jisung was walking back home from work one night when the sky opened with harsh torrential rain. He didn’t have an umbrella or even a jacket to put over his head. The only shelter he had was a bus stop—so he ran. 

There was a man there, just sitting, looking up at the cascading rain. The buses didn’t run at that hour. Not often enough to be waiting, at least. Jisung immediately knew he was here for cover too. 

They locked eyes, and the man grinned at the way Jisung’s hair stuck to his face, the way water dribbled down his cheeks like he’d been crying for hours. He pulled a pack of tissues from the pocket of his coat and handed it over without a word. 

Jisung was struck by that kindness. He sat down beside him and wiped his face. Their hands brushed when he gave the tissues back, and Jisung shivered at the coldness of Minho’s skin. It felt like being struck by lightning. 

Just as he thought it, the sky split open with light, the storm coming down. The thunder came just seconds later, startling him into a jump on the bus stop bench. 

“Isn’t the weather just so nice?” Minho asked, then, his smile reassuring in the desolation of the street. 

Jisung snorted. And the rest was history.

They spent a long time waiting for the rain to subside. The minutes dragged on, so they started talking. Minho, just like Jisung had assumed, didn’t have an umbrella, either. He was sitting there, hoping it would stop for long enough for him to dash home because he didn’t fancy getting sick. 

It was different from those small-talk conversations Jisung tended to have with the elderly in the waiting room at the doctor’s office or in the supermarket. He wasn’t used to talking to strangers with such ease, but there was something alluring about Minho that made it difficult to not talk to him. 

When it finally stopped raining, they were going to part ways—except it turned out they lived in the same area. Same housing estate, different buildings. Jisung’s stomach fluttered at the coincidence, but at the time, that was what he’d brushed it up to. An insignificant coincidence. A chance encounter, nothing more. 

Even with the proximity, Jisung didn’t think he would ever see Minho again. They rushed through their goodbyes since it started drizzling again with the threat of turning into another downpour, and that was it. 

But then he saw Minho come back from a run later that week, and saw the recognition pass over his features. The smile that bloomed on his mouth just seconds later. They said hi, and Jisung started wondering how come he’d never seen Minho before, because after that, he seemed to be everywhere. 

After they’d run into each other yet again, Minho finally asked him for his number. He was visibly nervous, fidgeting with the cord of his earphones, unsure how Jisung would react. But Jisung was immediately charmed, back at the bus stop, and unable to stop thinking about him.

Jisung had spent his early twenties dating girls, being happy with it, and not thinking too much about the way his stomach fluttered when he saw a particularly handsome man, the way his eyes strayed to defined muscles and lingered for a moment too long. And then he met Minho, and everything finally started making sense. Everything finally fell into place.

For their first date, they went out to a bar, played pool and darts (they were terrible at both), and when Jisung dropped Minho off at home later (his building was farther away, so it made sense), Minho asked if he was a first-date-first-kiss kind of guy. 

And then came a time when Jisung couldn’t remember not loving him.  

It’s love, of course, but it’s friendship, too. 

They call each other out on their bullshit, and at the same time, they offer each other unconditional support. They know they can be their true selves when they’re together, no inhibitions or shame. They bicker about everything and nothing and get under each other’s skin just for fun but never argue, not really. And it’s fun, being in love. It doesn’t ever get boring.

They try to go on a date at least once a week even if it involves no going out at all. They make each other playlists and send each other stupid memes and make each other coffee in the morning. They play board games, just the two of them, and they both cheat like crazy, and most often Jisung threatens to divorce Minho even though they’re not even married.

“You can’t divorce me,” Minho always says. “Think about our children!”

Sometimes it feels like they’ve been dating for much longer than just four years. But then Jisung looks back on what his life looked like four years ago and realizes just how long of a period of time that is. How much can change in the span of one day, let alone one thousand four hundred sixty.

He’s hoping, though, that this will never change. That the honeymoon never fades.  

🐈‍⬛

The bedroom door cracks open just as Jisung sits back down on the bed to continue filming. He looks up from his guitar just as Doongie slinks in through the slim opening, immediately rushing to wind around his legs.

Minho sticks his head inside, an apologetic smile on his mouth. “Sorry, he wouldn’t stop scratching at the door,” he says. “Are you still filming?”

Jisung pouts, reaching out to scratch Doongie behind the ear. “My clingy baby,” he coos. “I’m almost done, so he can stay.” He grins at Minho. “You too.”

“Oh, wow, seriously? What an honor,” Minho says, leaning against the doorframe with his shoulder. He’s teasing, but it’s obvious that he’s genuinely happy at the prospect of hearing Jisung sing.

What Jisung is trying to film is a video of him playing Sunshine, one of the new songs off his upcoming album, on the guitar. It’s supposed to be a casual teaser, but he’s so nervous he has managed to record at least ten different versions, unsure which one’s best.

The video is already rolling, so he gets a grip on the guitar, clears his throat, and starts singing from the top. He doesn’t even make it to the third line before Doongie jumps onto the bed beside him with a yowl that must come from the depths of his soul. 

Jisung raises his eyebrows, but even though he stops singing, he continues strumming the guitar. Doongie likes that, too, because he chirps again, headbutting Jisung’s elbow. Cute, Jisung thinks, directing his gaze back at Minho, who looks like he’s about to pee his pants. When they lock eyes, he snorts, and finally, they burst into simultaneous laughter. 

Jisung falls back against the mattress, clutching his guitar to his chest. Unable to keep himself upright either, Minho bends in half laughing, his palm smacking against his thigh. Doongie looks between the two of them like they’re insane. 

“Oh, baby,” Jisung says, once they calm down, breathless and amused still. He reaches out to pet the softness of Doongie’s belly. “I think you need a few more singing lessons.” 

Minho’s grin prevents him from appearing as stern as he tries to be when he says, “Stop ruining our kid’s dreams, you jerk.” He comes up to the bed, gathering Doongie in his arms and hiking him up against his shoulder comfortably. “Come on, let’s let dad work,” he adds, puckering his lips to give the cat a kiss on the head. “I’ll sing with you instead since he’s being so mean.”

Jisung props himself up on his elbow and calls out, “Hey! Stop turning our children against me!” but the need to laugh washes over him all over again, and he collapses onto the bed. 

Minho, although clearly barely holding it together, has enough self-control to just stick his tongue out at Jisung before he leaves, cradling Doongie to his chest protectively. 

Jisung isn’t sure how long he lies there after the bedroom door closes again, but he can’t quite sing when his face threatens to split in two with the force of his smile, so he gives himself a break. It motivates him, the thought of Minho and their cats and the laughter they share because of silly mundane happenings, so when he films the next teaser, it comes out the best out of them all. 

But then he watches the video with Doongie and thinks it’s too cute to waste away in his gallery, only for him and Minho and friends to see. So he posts it on his Instagram stories later that night, muted to hide Minho’s laughter. This was attempt number I-don’t-know-what, he writes. As expected, people go crazy. 

taytay @hanholic

the way jisung looks at doongie and then beyond the camera… at someone… someone was watching him sing that song at home… in his bedroom… with his cat… [walter white falling down gif]

12 retweets  ·  105 quotes  ·  79 likes

🐈‍⬛

Soon enough, various brands start reaching out to the soon.doong.dori account for promotion. Minho is incredibly serious about only promoting ethical small businesses that actually care about animals, so he stalks every single one of them and then decides which one they should team up with. 

Jisung is currently lying on top of him, half-asleep, while Minho has his arms stretched above them, and he’s scrolling through the propositions. Laziness is what defines their days now. They’re both swamped with work, so when they finally get a moment of respite, neither of them has the energy or willingness to move. They went out on Saturday, ticking the cinema, a restaurant meal, and an hour at the noraebang off their list, and they both fell asleep within two seconds of their heads touching the pillow.

Staying in bed cuddling is ideal. 

“Oh, look, this one’s selling handmade plushies,” Minho says. “Every single one is cutely unique. And they donate ten percent of their monthly sales to their local shelter.” 

“We have so many plushes you trip over them every morning and threaten to toss them out the window,” Jisung reminds him sleepily. 

“Well, yeah, but we don’t have any fish.” 

Jisung smiles into the crook of Minho’s neck. “Find some food offers. ‘S expensive.”

“But I want the plushies,” Minho insists, smacking Jisung’s butt for denying him something so indispensable. He can act like a baby sometimes. Jisung’s big baby. 

“No more plushies.” 

erin @hanlino

other famous people become brand ambassadors for luxury clothes and accessories, but han is promoting PLUSHIES FOR CATS

2 retweets  ·  1 quote  ·  37 likes

han’s lesbian friend @miserable
Replying to @hanlino

the fact that it’s actually promoting him better than any other ambassadorship would is sending me… the hit tweets are crazy everyone’s in love with him

🐈‍⬛

The night before Jisung’s album comes out, Minho takes him out for dinner. Jisung is always restless with nerves when it comes to letting the world hear his music, and distracting him with food is the easiest way to soothe him. At this point, it’s already a tradition.

That, and the mindblowing sex that follows—something to take Jisung’s mind off all the expectations and put it on Minho, substituting the anxious thoughts for musings about how lovely he is, how caring. It’s magic how easily Minho is capable of flipping that switch in him.

But that’s later.

Now, they stroll through the riverside park in the dark of the night, and Jisung is clinging to Minho’s arm, his head on his shoulder, the position more comfortable than one could assume.

“What song do you think people will like the most?” asks Minho.

He heard the album before anyone else, of course. Jisung played it for him when they went on a road trip to the beach last month. Like a madman, he threatened to drive the car off a cliff when he liked a track in particular, and when Bounce Back came on, he killed the radio and they had to drive in silence until they got to a gas station. If Jisung hadn’t known him so well, he would’ve thought Minho hated it. But he could read the tension in his jaw and the look in his eyes, and most importantly, he could see the outline of his dick straining against his pants, getting hard. Finally, he stopped the car, turned to Jisung, and said, You’re think you’re being hilarious, turning me on like this, hm?

At that moment Jisung decided that the next time he would play Minho his new songs, they would have to be at home. Preferably, in the vicinity of a bed. Or at least a couch. 

Now, he sends Minho a silly grin and says, “Something’s telling me Bounce Back is gonna become a fan favorite.”

He knows Minho immediately thinks back to the moment he first heard the song because his hand shoots out to touch the reddening shell of his ear. He’s still embarrassed by his own reaction to Jisung’s voice and cockiness, which is stupid, because Jisung thought it was the hottest thing in the world. Hardly anything comes close to the knowledge of how attractive Minho finds him. It’s power like no other.

“That I don’t doubt,” Minho tells him. “But I was thinking about Hold my hand. I think that one’s gonna be a hit.”

Jisung smiles when Minho squeezes their interlocked fingers. “Well, I hope so, since it’s the title track and all,” he says, nudging him in the side playfully. “And since it’s about you.”

“Ew,” Minho says immediately, but he can’t quite hold back the smile fighting its way to his face. “But it’s true. People seem to be really into the lovey-dovey lyrics you write about me.”

“Because they come from the depth of my heart,” Jisung tells him, pressing a palm against the center of his chest solemnly. He’s joking now, but it’s true. The songs he writes about Minho are always raw. Stripped bare to their most vulnerable state. 

Minho pulls his arm out of Jisung’s hold to wrap it around his shoulders instead, dragging him against his side. There’s no one around, so they’re allowed the luxury of being themselves out in the open, even if for their eyes only. 

Jisung has long forgotten his nervousness, but when Minho plants a wet, cherry-chapstick kiss to his cheek, it feels like all the remnants disappear for good. At that moment, nothing and no one matters. Just Jisung and his art, just Minho and the love and respect he holds for it. His number one supporter, always and forever. 

Jisung has released an EP with the agency before, his first project that was more than just files thrown out into the world, but this is his first album after becoming somewhat known. Everyone has high expectations because songs like VOLCANO, Alien, or Collision have set the bar high. 

But Jisung knows it’s a good record. He’s proud of it, no matter what people might say. Sure, he wants it to do well, but it won’t be the end of the world if it doesn’t live up to what everyone imagined. He will cry for a few days, probably start looking for a new job, but then he’ll go back to the studio and vow to make something better. 

But Cosmic is solid. The lyrics are one of his best, and the production is top-tier. And, well it’s full of the little things he loves about the person he loves the most. Minho’s laugh hidden in the intro of a song. Something sillier—the syllables of his name making the first lines of the bridge. The countless references to fire for the one person who always runs cold and yet makes him feel like he’s burning inside. Easter eggs only understandable to Jisung.

On top of all that, they even managed to shoot a beautiful music video for Hold my hand with their limited budget. Jisung is trying his best not to let nerves mess with his excitement. 

They stop clinging to each other once they leave the park and step out onto the street, but they’re back to being glued at the hip the second they enter their building. They make silly faces at each other in the elevator mirror, and then stumble through the door of their apartment laughing and shushing each other, because the kids are asleep. 

“We need to be super quiet,” Jisung says solemnly. “They’ve got school tomorrow.”

“Oh, really?” Minho asks. His hands find Jisung’s hips, and he backs Jisung up against the wall like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Mhm.”

Their noses touch as Jisung nods, winding his arms around Minho’s neck. He can’t help but grin before their mouths collide, because when they kiss, it’s deep and intense. His abdomen immediately bursts into flames. The ashes that they leave in their wake spell out Minho’s name.

Jisung has to leave early in the morning to film his first ever music show. He’s never sung live in front of an audience bigger than twenty people, so it’s at once exhilarating and terrifying. It will be the first time anyone other than his team and Minho hears Hold my hand, too. 

Minho wakes up to make him coffee while he washes up and wish him good luck, that’s how lovely he is. “I don’t know if I can catch it as it airs, but I know you’ll do great, jagi,” he says. “I’m keeping my fingers crossed, alright.”

Jisung can’t quite speak over the lump in his throat, so he just nods and lets himself be kissed. 

Minho makes sure Jisung eats a banana so that he’s not performing on a completely empty stomach and then goes back to bed, because he still has another hour or two of sleep before he has to go to work.

“Good luck kiss,” Jisung tells him before Minho goes. 

Minho grins and kisses him in a way that makes Jisung’s knees feel weak. “Good luck, jagiya.” 

When the bedroom door slips shut behind him, Jisung still has a few minutes left, so he spends it with the kittens, kneeling on the living room carpet while they lounge on the sofa, still deep asleep. He rubs their bellies, using them as an anxiety reliever, until his manager texts him that she’s waiting.

Jisung grabs his bag, his guitar case, and he’s out the door. 

For the entirety of the morning, he feels like he’s just holding his breath. As they make their way inside the building, as he sits in the chair, getting his make-up done, even when he actually steps on the stage.

It’s a surreal experience.

Everyone in the audience has applied to be there specifically for him, so their cheers mean even more. He hangs around, asking everyone if they’ve eaten and if they’re excited for the album, and then gives the performance his all. 

He slips into that on-stage persona, this confident rockstar, and feels himself emerge only at the end. It’s like snapping back to reality after an out-of-body episode, but not terrifying as much as simply unbelievable.

They’re loving it is what he thinks when he plays the last note. He tears up, looking at these people’s faces. Singing these incredibly personal lyrics back to him when the chorus comes back around, as if they’ve known them all their lives.

It’ll be a few hours before his performance is even broadcast, and in the meantime, he has two radio shows scheduled. On his way to the first one, before his manager briefs him on what to expect, he texts Minho: It was so crazy, I almost cried. Everyone seemed to love it, so I’m relieved. Let me know how it looks on TV!!!

Then, he’s once again inside an unfamiliar building, stepping into the shoes of HAN, easy-going and charming and funny beyond weird jokes. He greets the interviewer, Kim Seungmin, and he’s immediately relieved when Seungmin asks if they speak comfortably since they’re the same age. 

The conversation on air is easy, too. Seungmin asks him about the cats, because that’s what everyone wants to know about. They play Jisung’s song, talk about the inspiration behind it, and then backtrack to his viral Instagram covers and subsequent success of his original songs. No surprises. All approved questions, all things he can talk about for hours.

He has a break before the next show, so he takes his manager out for lunch. “My treat!” he tells her, laughing when she says that from now on, since he’s getting so famous, it’s always gonna be his treat.

They get along well, so Jisung doesn’t feel uncomfortable talking about how nervous he is about everything that’s happening. The album hasn’t been released on streaming yet, but it has already sold over fifteen thousand copies, and it’s trending in all kinds of searches. 

“It’s going to be even more of a success than we expected,” she says. “You need to prepare yourself for that.”

The atmosphere of the next radio show is a bit more on the formal side, but he still enjoys it. It’s good to have a range of experiences, especially as it’s something he has never done before in his entire life.

The album comes out just as he’s finishing up. By then, his manager tells him they’ve sold almost fifty thousand copies and they’re charting at least in the top ten everywhere. Jisung is—unable to get a word out, really.

He can’t believe a single word he’s hearing, either. Charts and sales and trends and searches, it’s all so bizarre and incomprehensible, and he’s happy, but overwhelmed, too. He needs a moment to himself, so he locks himself in the car all alone and just. . . cries. 

He wishes he could have Minho with him right now, because Minho would poke fun at him for being a crybaby but also pull him into a hug so tight Jisung’s ribs would bruise. 

Once he calms down, he looks at his phone and sees a lot of messages from friends and family. Even Minho’s parents have reached out. But the message he’s looking for is from big baby. At first, it’s a response to Jisung’s previous messages—laughter (of course), and Of course everyone loved it. It’s your song. And then, after a few hours, Minho said, I finally watched it during my break. Then came the sticker of a drooling hamster. You’re the coolest, Han-nim. 

Jisung laughs to himself. He records a voice message. “I love you, hyung. I’m gonna be on my way home soon. I’m. . . really happy. I think I’m coming down from the adrenaline high, though, because tiredness is catching up to me. Wait for me in bed. Let’s sleep early tonight.” 

Minho reads the message almost immediately and sends one back. All he says in the audio is “Mhm,” and it’s the most Minho thing in the world. Jisung loves him so much. 

He opens Instagram to post a few selfies he took backstage and to thank the fans for supporting and loving the album and the song. The first thing he sees though, is a new post from soon.doong.dori. He blinks in surprise. It’s a picture of the cats lying around his album, and then another of Dori snuggling up against it, and one of them all in front of the television, staring at the music video playing on the screen. Dad released a new album, the caption says, and the songs are amazing!!!! Make sure to listen!!!! We love him so much!!!!! Soooooo much!!!!! 

Fuck.

He’s tearing up again.

He holds out, he really does, even when he comes back home, Minho welcomes him with a bouquet of flowers and a cake. He doesn’t cry then, even though his eyes sting and he can’t quite get a word out. But then Minho looks at him and Jisung just—can’t do it anymore.

“You know what’s funny,” Minho says, clearly trying to distract him, his arms wrapped around Jisung securely. “Two of my coworkers went on a break and came back with your album. They unpacked it in the kitchen while making coffee and I wanted to laugh, because—Wow, none of you know he’s actually my boyfriend and you’re talking about how handsome he is in front of me, isn’t that just so funny?” And then— “I’m jealous, though. I don’t know how I feel about so many people having your pretty photocards at home.”

Jisung laughs. “They can have the photocads. Only you can have me,” he says cheesily, winking. 

Minho is so into it, even though they’re just joking. He kisses Jisung deep, hands gripping his hips and then straying to his butt, slipping into the back pocket of his jeans. “I was so proud of you when I saw it,” he says. “And I wanted to tell them, Guys, his music is good, he’s so handsome, but do you know how lovely he is? How kind?” 

“Shut up,” Jisung says, but he’s blushing.

Minho grins, because this was exactly what he wanted. “Never.”

erin @hanlino

*written in invisible ink* that insta profile doesn’t look like it’s being managed by jisung. the posts don’t look like they’re written by him at all

22 retweets  ·  70 quotes  ·  289 likes

aterg @jisungshine
Replying to @hanlino

that’s what i was thinking too but i didn’t wanna say anything…

🌸🩷 @alienhan
Replying to @hanlino

do we think it’s his parents?? 

                dolly HMH OUT NOW @hansnoona
                Replying to @alienhan

                more like his girlfriend

🐈‍⬛

Even though they’re both busy with work, Minho always makes sure to check in with Jisung during the day. He sends him anything and everything. Pictures of a bug that landed on the window of his office, what he’s eating for lunch, the advertisement of Jisung’s album in the subway station, or a screenshot of Jisung making a weird face in one of his new music videos, captioned Mhm so handsome. 

In turn, he enjoys the backstage life Jisung tells him about: the shitty vending machine in the KBS building that doesn’t want to work, the polished idols he meets, and even the floor he sleeps on because he prefers a yoga mat over the uncomfortable leather couch in the waiting room.

Jisung has a lot of stories to share when he gets home at the end of the day, but he’s always waiting for Minho’s office gossip, too. A lot of his co-workers are secretly and unsubtly involved, and since Jisung is nosy and overly interested in other people’s messy love lives, he always begs him to eavesdrop and observe. 

He’s lucky that Minho is allergic to denying him things, because they can curl up on the couch in the evening and exchange information, and it’s like watching another season of Love Exchange while he waits for the real one to come out.

Jisung cherishes those moments now more than ever. 

He likes being home alone with Minho, where nobody can see or judge him. Where he can rest, far away from comments and speculation.

The reception of his album has been great, from sales through streams to reviews, but although he’s trying to avoid getting inside fan spaces—it’s the one place he does not belong—sometimes, those things pop up on his feed without him wanting to. Sometimes, people bring things up in his Instagram comments. Sometimes, they’re so sensational that they get articles written about them, too.

So, Jisung knows everyone is speculating who his lyrics are about.

Most of the album is filled with love songs, so it’s natural to assume they’re based on real-life experiences. Not all of them are. He often writes angry break-up songs that have nothing to do with the state of his own relationship. He writes about running out of love or yearning to get back with someone he’s lost with his feet kicked up into Minho’s lap, happier than he has ever been. 

Minho inspires him the most, though. 

What Jisung feels for him is one of a kind. Overconsuming in the best way. Steady and strong and doubtless. He can write about that—the fire Minho pulls him into, the fire he lights inside his chest. But he can also write about the fun things they do together, encapsulate all the cheesiness reminiscent of any of their dates in a few verses. Rollercoaster rides, rom-coms, flowers. An upbeat instrumental and Jisung’s heart laid bare. 

It’s also the little things Minho does—post-it notes stuck to the mirror or the fridge with silly jokes they make, cooking food that Jisung likes even though Minho might not be particularly obsessed with it, the lingering touches and kisses that leave Jisung feeling warm all over; how he’ll pick Jisung up from the studio in the middle of the night without a word if Jisung just asks, and how he’ll know exactly when to pull Jisung into his arms and when he needs to give him his space.

Even just thinking about it, Jisung can already feel his fingertips tingle with the need to write. 

About the stars in his eyes and the rose garden of his lips, the sound of his voice, sweet like honey, and the fondness that underlines his words whenever he speaks to Jisung. He wants to write about how much easier it is to handle the world when Minho is right by his side, and about how he wants to put the whole universe in his hands. He wants to be cheesy and awfully romantic and watch Minho squirm flustered as he listens for the first time, when it’s just Jisung and his guitar in the living room. 

Even doing something as mundane as putting together a new cat tree is so fun that Jisung knows he’s going to write a thousand songs about it.

It’s late at night, but it came in the mail earlier today and everyone—everyone—was too excited to wait until tomorrow. The cats pawed at the box like they knew what was inside, so it’s not like the two of them even had a choice. 

They went to a concert earlier and had lots of fun, so now Jisung can piss Minho off by saying, “Hyung, isn’t this even more fun?” knowing that all he’s doing to help is hand him the right screws and shooing the cats away while they try to hijack the tower before it’s constructed and safe. 

Minho glares at him, but it only makes Jisung want to laugh harder. He’s way too cute, this guy.

He makes documenting the process with pictures his task. Pictures of the cats trying to bite the swinging ball of fluff. Pictures of Minho getting frustrated because the instruction is just so fucking idiotic. Pictures of himself eating popcorn. It is more fun than the concert.

Once the tower begins looking solid and Jisung starts making himself more useful holding parts while Minho screws them in, Minho loses his frustration and starts singing along to the music streaming from the speakers.

Jisung holds his breath for a second there. 

He doesn’t say anything, he can’t, because every time he compliments Minho’s voice, Minho gets all shy and stubborn and stops singing just to spite him. He says he’s not a singer, but then he grabs a microphone when they’re doing noraebang and steals the damn show. 

Jisung has been begging Minho to sing harmonies in one of his songs for ages, but Minho is yet to cave. He thinks Jisung is crazy, and—well, he’s not that far off, considering Jisung got drunk once and cried over Minho’s voice, how mellow and romantic and beautiful it was.

It’s that serious.

So he enjoys the private concert, smiling to himself, until the cat tower is finally brought to life in all its glory. There’s a small hiding spot at the bottom, a swinging ball for them to rip off in a few days, two scratching posts with a cozy hammock for lounging and the star of the show: a flower-shaped bed on top. 

“This is way too cute,” Jisung says, watching Dori circle the tower with equal amounts of curiosity and caution. The inspection is a success, because a second later, his claws are already sinking into the scratching post. 

“Good job, Dori-yah,” Minho praises, reaching out to run his hand along the cat’s spine, making him purr.

He’s the only one who doesn’t need a push—Soonie and Doongie need to be coaxed into trying it out. Jisung guides Soonie with a gentle hand, patting the hammock with the other, and grins at Minho when the cat actually follows the suggestion. 

“Look at you, cat whisperer,” Minho teases, laughing. 

Jisung smacks him on the shoulder, but he gets easily distracted by their kids. While Dori goes for the top of the nook to paw at Soonie, annoying him, Doongie shakes his butt on the floor and then leaps up, aiming for the flower bed. His paws sink into the plush as he tries it out for a moment before curling up into a ball, content to try it out sleeping.

“Aren’t you glad I went for the cat tower instead of the free food?” Minho asks, leaning in to bite Jisung’s earlobe, that madman. “Look how happy they are.” 

Jisung squirms, laughing, and wraps his arms around Minho to pull him down to the floor on top of himself. “I’m happy, too,” he says. 

giorgia @mewsvng

who’s gonna tell jisung that he didn’t trim the video right and we can hear a voice in the background… once again i am connecting the dots…

19 retweets  ·  51 quotes  ·  328 likes

;;; @914XXHAN
Replying to @mewsvng

what dots? that’s a man’s voice lol he’s allowed to have friends

🐈‍⬛

On Sunday, they make the trip to Gimpo to eat dinner with Minho’s parents. It’s been a while since they saw each other off the screen, so when his mom starts fussing over Jisung, asking if he’s been eating well even before he manages to take his shoes off, Minho starts sulking.

“I’m here too, if you haven’t noticed,” he says, pretending to be heartbroken by the momentary lack of attention. His pout is astronomical, and the way he hangs his head low makes him look ridiculous, but Jisung still finds it cute, so it must say something about him.

“You big baby,” he teases, smacking him on the shoulder and trying desperately not to give away that the corners of his mouth are begging him. 

Minho gives up the act when his mom finally hugs him. She purposefully repeats the same question she directed at Jisung, asking, “Have you been eating well, aegi-yah?” and patting his cheeks when he says that he has, of course.

They follow her further inside the house. 

“Where’s dad?” Minho asks.

“He stepped out to grab more lettuce. He should be back soon.”

He gives her a look. “You could’ve called. We would’ve just picked it up on our way.”

She waves him off dismissively and says, “He’s not as old as you think he is. A walk will do him good.”

Minho’s dad is already back by the time the two of them emerge from the bathroom after washing their hands. He hugs them both, and then when he pulls away, he holds Jisung by the shoulders, leaning back to look at him, and says, “You’re even more handsome than the last time I saw you, Jisung-ah. Even more handsome than on TV.”

Jisung laughs, resisting the urge to hide his face in his hands as his cheeks burn. 

It gets even worse, because Minho steps in to say, “He gets more handsome every day, so that checks out.”

He has the decency to wait until his father isn’t looking to grab a handful of Jisung’s ass, but even though Jisung glares at him, a sleazy grin remains glued to his face, doubtlessly altering everyone who knows him of his nefarious shenanigans. 

They both follow his father into the living room, and both pause in their step. 

“Wait, did you remodel?” Jisung asks, undoubtedly thinking the same thing as Minho, who looks around a little confused. “The couch used to be on the other side of the room.”

“Ah, yeah, imagine this,” Minho’s dad says. “I came back home from work one day and Hyemin had pushed around everything. It was like walking into a stranger’s house.”

Obviously, she hears him all the way from the kitchen and tells him not to exaggerate. “You said you liked what I did!”

They bicker a little, Minho’s dad trying to appease his wife with a few sweet words, which Jisung finds adorable. He has always enjoyed that everlasting high-school-sweethearts magic they’ve got going on. Their house is always alive with humor and love alike—welcoming like no other place on earth. 

Jisung takes the room in, looking for any other makeovers. His eyes slide across the familiar picture frames—mostly of Minho, the apple of his parents’ eye—and land on. . . his album. Four copies stacked on the shelf. 

He chokes up. 

Minho makes a noise of confusion and follows his gaze. “Mom’s gonna have you sign these for her friends before we leave, I’m sure,” he jokes, but he looks surprised, too. He didn’t put them up to this, clearly.

Jisung has the chance to find out just how much Minho’s parents love his album when they sit down to eat dinner—roasted duck with five million side dishes—because the first thing his mom says is that she heard this interview with him on the radio at work. 

“The album is so beautiful,” she says. “You always write about our Minho so prettily, too.”

Jisung blushes, his throat feeling tight with emotion. 

Minho’s hand finds his thigh under the table. He gives it a squeeze, and because he can tell Jisung can barely let a word out, he preens and says, “That’s because I’m the best partner in the world. Look how well you’ve raised me.”

It’s meant as comic relief, and he gets a disapproving look from his father for being so vain and overconfident, but Jisung looks at him and thinks, Yes, you are. You are everything. 

They talk about the Instagram account Minho set up for the cats, too. Minho’s parents don’t use social media so they had only seen what Minho sent them, but they still think the videos are hilarious.

Then come the general updates—health and work and random neighborhood gossip—and before they know it, their plates are already licked clean. 

“Jisungie and I will clean up,” Minho says when he sees his dad start stacking up empty dishes.

Of course, the two of them have to practically fight his parents over it, because they’re guests and they should just sit down and enjoy themselves. When Minho’s mom says this, Jisung goes for blood. He makes a sad little face, cranks up the sad voice to maximum, and tells her, “I thought I was family, not a guest.”

Her jaw drops. “Jisung-ah! How can you say this?”

“He got you there.” Minho laughs. “How could you break his heart like that, Mom?”

In the end, thanks to Jisung’s evil manipulations, they’re allowed to take over the kitchen while Minho’s parents settle down in front of the television to watch the news. The two of them play rock, paper, scissors to decide who has to wash and who gets the easier task of wiping the plates dry, just like they do at home.

Jisung wins. He lets out a shout of victory, laughing, while Minho rolls his eyes, only a little annoyed. Still, he smiles when Jisung loops an arm around his neck and kisses him to sweeten the loss. It works. Minho can’t even pretend to be angry at him. 

Ha. Loser. 

Later, while Minho’s dad makes them all tea, Minho and Jisung step out the back of the house. There’s a stray cat that comes by for dinner almost every evening, and they’re dying to see him. Minho’s mom warns them that the cat might not show, so they keep their expectations low. The plan is to leave him some food, first and foremost. 

After a few minutes of hanging around, waiting, the bushes rustle and a cat dark as night comes out. He’s scared at first, that much is obvious, coming up and then skittering away when either of them reaches out, but when he realizes they brought food, he actually lets himself be pet. 

“We have cute friends like you at home,” Jisung tells him, crouched down, running his hand gently along the kitten’s spine. “You can’t tell them but they’re not as cute as you.”

“Rude,” Minho says. “I’ll tell them.”

At one point, he pulls his phone out and, in his usual fashion, takes a million pictures of Jisung. They’re incredibly unflattering in this shitty light and with Jisung being in the middle of baby-talking the cat in all of them, but Minho still tells him he looks pretty. 

“Come on, they’re just for me,” he says. “I’m not sharing your cuteness with anyone else.”

Jisung rolls his eyes at the exaggerated buttering-up, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel all warm and mushy inside. Four years in, and he still gets those stupid butterflies. 

“You know,” he says later, when they’re already in the car on their way back home, with leftovers and food packed in the backseat, “I really appreciate your parents’ support.”

They’ve been lovely to him from the start, not just accepting him as some guy Minho might have been serious about, but welcoming him as someone who meant a lot to him. Minho’s mom once told him that she knew Jisung was special because he was the first guy Minho brought home even though he’d dated plenty. You make him really happy, she said. 

It means even more to Jisung, because his own parents still aren’t convinced that he knows what he’s doing. They would never say it to his face, but they don’t like that he’s with Minho. That he’s with a man at all. They make attempts at inviting them over now that they finally understand this is not just a phase, but after years of not extending the invitation to Minho, it feels disingenuous. Jisung would rather die than put Minho through the discomfort of a meal with them. 

It makes him sad, because it’s hard for him to imagine people not being completely enamoured with Minho, let alone when it’s his own family. At least his brother genuinely likes Minho and wants to hang out with him even without Jisung present. It doesn’t make up for the visceral pain of their parents’ disapproval, but it definitely eases the sting.

And Minho’s parents—their fondness and acceptance ease it, too.

“Well, yeah,” Minho says. “They love you. But that can’t be surprising. What’s there not to love?”

He gives him an awful wink before his eyes return to the road.

Jisung laughs, reaching out to rest his hand on Minho’s thigh, caressing it, up and down, up and down, before settling on his knee. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “They’ve always been so supportive of me, of us, and—I don’t know. I’m just really happy.”

Minho smiles. He takes Jisung’s hand in his, and then brings it up to his mouth, pressing a tender kiss against his knuckles. 

🐈‍⬛

They’re in the dairy aisle, getting groceries on a random Tuesday, when Jisung comes up with the idea.

“Hyung,” he says. “We’re working on the tour merchandise now, no? So I was thinking. What if we made it so that some of the proceeds go to a charity for animals? Like, a bracelet or a T-shirt with, I don’t know, drawings of SoonDoongDo?”

Minho blinks at him, yogurt momentarily abandoned. “That would actually be super cute,” he says after a second. “Do you think the company’s gonna be on board?”

“I’m sure. That’s definitely gonna sell,” he says. Because even with his good intentions, the only thing that matters, especially when you’re an independent label, is the profit that can keep you afloat for the future. He kicks at one of the shopping cart wheels. “Would you like to design them with me?”

“With you?”

He grins. “Of course.”

“You do remember that I don’t know how to draw, right?” Minho asks, as if Jisung doesn’t absolutely adore all the doodles Minho leaves for him—in the condensation on the mirror, on a post-it note glued to his forehead while he sleeps. Sure, he pokes fun at him, but fondly. 

Jisung reaches out, taking Minho’s hand in his own and squeezing it for just a moment, because he can’t kiss him and he really, really wants to. “I think that’s gonna give them a unique charm,” he says. 

He calls his manager when they come back home, and she agrees that it’s a good idea, but tells him they have to hurry with the design, because they need to get everything to the manufacturer on time. So, that evening, they turn their kitchen table into an arts station—Minho draws the cats to put on a crewneck, and Jisung designs a gemstone chain bracelet with a metal charm in the shape of a paw.

It takes a while to make the merchandise, but Jisung gets the first, prototype batch, and he’s immediately obsessed. The sweatshirt is more comfortable than anything else he owns, and the bracelet has turned out so pretty that he vows to never take it off. 

The same day he picks the package up from the company headquarters, the tour is officially announced by his team. It’s his first tour, so he was supposed to do a few shows in the Olympic Hall—an upgrade from tiny venues he used to play on his own, but still pretty tame. But with the album sales, with the charts, with the general reception of the album, they’ve worked to move the shows to the Inspire Arena.

Jisung’s heart almost gives out when the news goes live. He’s in the middle of practice at that point, has been for hours, and he loses all his focus. He wants to know what people are saying, what they’re expecting, if they’re going to come to the show or if they end up deciding he’s not worth seeing in person.

In the end, he has to cut the rehearsal short and just go home. There’s no use.

Minho is even more excited for the merchandise than Jisung is. Instead of the usual hi, jagi, how’s your day been, he kicks his shoes off in the entryway and asks, “Did you get it?” 

Just to tease him, Jisung debates lying—saying that the delivery got delayed, or that he forgot the package at the company. But Minho’s eyes are sparkling, so he just rolls onto his stomach where he’s sprawled on the couch, puckers his lips, and says, “Give me a kiss and I’ll tell you.”

Minho rolls his eyes, but the fondness tears through and exposes him. He strides up to the sofa, braces his hand against the armrest, and leans in, kissing Jisung in a way that makes the blood in his veins turn into liquid fire.

“That enough?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know that Jisung is greedy and insatiable and always suffering from kiss deficiency. 

“Mhm, no. Give me another.”

Minho complies easily, of course. When their lips lock, as if made to fit together perfectly like two puzzle pieces, he smiles into it. It’s one of those things he does, smiling into their kisses, and every time he does, Jisung can practically hear the wedding bells. 

“Can I get my merch now, please?” Minho asks. “Or do you need some more convincing?” 

Jisung grins sleazily and rolls over onto his back to look up at Minho, hovering over him, looking all gorgeous in his office attire. Even from this angle. “No more convincing,” he says, “but later, after you see it, you should thank me appropriately for coming up with the idea and all that.”

Minho shakes his head like he can’t believe him, although the way his teeth sink into his lower lip like he’s already dying to get a taste.

🐈‍⬛

Jisung knows he shouldn’t. He tells himself it’ll be just this once, though. He’ll just take a peek at what people are saying about the tour, sate his curiosity, and go back to rehearsal. What he stumbles upon online instead, though, has nothing to do with the tour. 

Yesterday, when Minho put on the crewneck for the first time, he decided he was never going to take it off. He wanted to brag about it to his parents, so he asked Jisung to take pictures of him showing it off. In a few of them, he ended up holding Dori—Jisung liked those in particular the most. So, on a stupid whim, he decided to post it on Instagram. More of a cute teaser of the merch rather than anything else. Minho’s face was cropped out, and the only thing you could really see was the sweatshirt, Dori, and his silhouette. 

Jisung didn’t think much of it. 

But now he sees the comments, people confidently saying, This is not Jisung, and he begins wondering if he hasn’t been toeing a very steep edge of a cliff.

He doesn’t get to worry too long—his manager urges him to do a livestream for the fans to talk about the tour, what he’s got up his sleeve, what people can expect. There’s an overwhelming amount of comments asking about the sweatshirt, especially that he’s wearing it at the moment, too. 

He looks at the manager, unsure, and asks, “Can I talk about this?”

When she gives him the green light, he answers all about whether it’s his cats, if he had it customized, revealing that it’s part of the new merchandise that will be released soon, all in participation with this national charity focusing on animal welfare and focus.

That’s when the comments flood in. 

Who was that in the picture you posted yesterday? is one of the mildest ones. Jisung’s heart outright stops when he sees the word boyfriend in the others. Do you manage that account with your boyfriend? Do you really have a boyfriend? Han-ah, is it true that you co-parent the cats with your boyfriend?

Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend.

His throat tightens. 

He doesn’t read any of the questions out loud, but the fact that they’re there for everyone to see, leaves him jittery with anxiety.

He could always say he’s just doing it with a friend, a friend he lives with, but even the thought of outright lying about the nature of his relationship with Minho makes his heart hurt. There’s nothing he wants more than to be able to mention him openly, but he’s terrified. Not only does he not want to expose Minho to people who might hurt him, but his career has also just begun taking off. And even though people like him now, he knows that coming out would make them see him differently. 

The tension that has seized him and refuses to let go is apparent when he comes back home. He tries not to let it show, but it’s hard. Minho can read him like an open book, of course.

Jisung has never been good at keeping things from him. He never wants to worry Minho, but Minho is home. He’s the person Jisung feels safest with, and because of that, sooner or later, he always ends up telling him all about what’s wrong.

This time is no different. 

Jisung disappears in the bathroom to take a shower right after greeting him and the cats, which is enough of a tell that something’s up. He should be talking Minho’s ear off about how the rehearsals had gone, but he knows that if he sticks around any moment longer, he’ll break down right there in the kitchen, and he really, really doesn’t want to. 

He flees because he needs to think before he speaks. His anxiety makes it feel like the end of the world, but it’s not, and deep down, Jisung knows it. There’s no use worrying Minho more than necessary.

But then, when he walks into their bedroom, Minho is already sitting on the edge of the mattress. That one look they share is enough to make Jisung’s face crumble. 

“Oh, jagi,” Minho whispers, opening his arms for Jisung to sink into.

No other invitation is needed. Jisung climbs into his lap without a word and lets Minho pull him down onto the mattress so that he’s lying on top of him. Minho still smells like his daily perfume, vanilla and spice, and Jisung breathes him in, nose buried in the crook of Minho’s neck. 

Minho throws one arm across Jisung’s waist and starts rubbing his back with the other hand, slow and gentle. For a long moment, neither of them speaks. Minho leaves room for when Jisung wants to talk, just like he always does. No pushing, unless something is obviously very, very wrong. 

And when Jisung finally tells him what made him feel like this, Minho’s whole body seizes up beneath him. It’s involuntary, and it clearly takes a lot of effort for him to relax again. 

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says. “I shouldn’t have launched that account. If I’d been more careful—”

“It’s not about that,” Jisung says, pushing himself up onto his elbows to look Minho in the eye. He seems dejected but, worst of all, he also seems guilty. “That account’s the best thing you could’ve come up with,” he reassures. “It’s about the fact that I want to write songs about you and I want to talk about what we do together and I want you to be a part of what I do out in the open. I don’t want to hide. I don’t want to lie. But I’m scared of what it would do. To you, to my career. Everything’s been going so well. I don’t—”

His voice breaks. 

Minho pulls him right back down onto his chest, holding him a little bit closer, a little bit tighter. His mouth finds Jisung’s temple, his cheek. He kisses him, and every single one of those kisses is a silent I’m here, and I love you. 

Jisung squeezes his eyes shut.

“It’s so new and weird, and I don’t know how I feel. I want to do all of these things, but at the same time, I don’t want people to speculate. All I know is that it’s making me anxious, and it’s exhausting,” he says, barely able to get a word out when his heart is in his throat. “A part of me thinks that my career will be over the moment I even imply I’m into guys and that you will get harassed and hurt and that would kill me. But the other part of me thinks that people are so fucking homophobic they will probably find any explanation and excuse for whatever I say or do with you, so it doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t know how to help you,” Minho admits, sounding like it physically pains him. “I don’t want you to do something that might put you in an uncomfortable situation, but seeing how much it hurts you not to be open about us is awful, too. I’m with you, okay? I don’t care either way. Whatever you decide is fine. I’ll be fine. I just want you to be safe.”

“But I don’t know what to decide,” Jisung says. He feels the fear in his chest. “Everything feels so fragile now, and I don’t want to make the wrong choice.”

Minho’s hold around him tightens. “Let’s wait, then. Let’s wait until you figure it out, or until you feel like your career is stable enough to risk it. You don’t have to say anything for now. You can ignore the comments entirely, or you can drop small hints to see how you feel about the response. Whatever you want.”

Jisung turns his head, brushing his nose against Minho’s cheek. “Can’t you just decide for me?”

“I can’t,” Minho says, letting out a sad, breathy laugh through his nose. “I’m just sorry that you have to do this at all. I wish the world was different.”

Jisung swallows hard. “Me too,” he says. “I mean, I love you. How’s that anyone else’s business? What does that change? None of these people knew me before I loved you. I’m the same I always was. Just. . . happier.”

He can physically feel Minho’s heart crash against his ribs, the way its rate soars and doesn’t settle down. Then, his arms tighten around Jisung, stealing his breath and all his thoughts.

“It’s no one’s business,” Minho agrees. “But they don’t understand that. They don’t understand that just because you don’t want to hide, that doesn’t give them the right to pry. People who love you and your music will love you regardless, and people who leave because you’re dating me and not a woman weren’t worth having around in the first place. You know that.”

Jisung echoes, “I know that.” 

It was one of the conversations they had when Jisung’s parents reacted the way they’d had to the news of him being bisexual. Unfortunately, as someone who knew he was gay from a young age, Minho had to let a lot of people go. Trash taking itself out. That’s what he’d called it. It didn’t make it hurt any less, but helped rationalize that the blame wasn’t his to bear.

“It’s just getting to me because everything’s happening so fast,” Jisung says, sighing. “But I’m just gonna have to wait and see.”

“And for the time being, you should stop going online. I mean it. It’s not good for you,” Minho says, patting his butt. “You should post what you want to post and log out. Even staying in touch with fans is not worth making you feel so anxious.”

Jisung hums. As always, even if there’s no singular risk-free solution, a conversation with Minho always helps. He has this remarkable ability to ease Jisung’s nerves, catching him right when the ground falls from under his feet. 

He holds Jisung and suddenly all the burdens in the world feel a little lighter. It’s all about that reminder that he’s not supposed to carry any of it alone. That he has this life partner, the love of his life, who’s ready to take that challenge on with him. It’s a solace like no other.

Minho rolls them over so that they’re on their sides, facing each other, his hand finding home on the side of Jisung’s neck, his thumb ghosting along the line of his jaw, caressing him gently.

Jisung slings one leg across Minho’s hip, scooting over even closer, until their noses are practically touching, until their breaths have mingled into one. 

“What can I do to make you feel better?” Minho asks. 

Jisung hums, considering it for a moment. But the answer is easy. “Bring me a cat,” he says. “And something sweet. And then come back here and cuddle me.”

“Should I put on Love Exchange?”

Jisung’s heart soars. He’s well aware that Minho would do anything for him, and that watching a dating show is pretty low-stakes compared to the top of the list of possibilities, but he also knows just how much Minho dislikes straight romance, so it means a lot to him that he’s willing to watch the show with him. To make him happy.

He nods before capturing Minho’s mouth in a kiss, and by the time they pull apart, he’s already smiling. 

🐈‍⬛

Minho takes Jisung out for a celebratory dinner, because both of his concerts actually sell out. 

When Jisung hears about it, he freaks out.

He’d been worried, of course. Even with the obvious demand, growing followers and album sales exceeding expectations, selling thousands of seats isn’t a guarantee. The tickets for both dates are gone within an hour, though, and Jisung is left gawking with absolute shock after the phone call with his manager. 

Once the realization that it’s not a joke settles in, he starts screaming. He jumps into Minho’s arms, wrapping his legs around Minho’s hips, and lets himself be twirled around until the world blurs in front of his eyes. 

“We’re going out,” Minho decides. His voice shakes like he’s about to cry, and Jisung wants to tease the hell out of him for being such a sap, but he wants to cry, too. “Hyung’s gonna treat you, hm?”

They end up in one of their favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurants and have the best time eating a hearty meal with their legs intertwined under the table where nobody can see it. Minho asks Jisung about all the props and visuals they’re implementing into the shows, and as Jisung talks his ear off, he looks at him with such unabashed pride and happiness. It’s exhilarating.

Once they’ve eaten, they take the long way home, venturing off to the park to sit on a bench and look at the cityscape, content to just be together. 

Jisung zones out watching the lights glimmer across the surface of the river, so he’s startled when he suddenly hears, “Oh, excuse me, are you by chance Han Jisung?” 

He sits up straighter, head whipping to the side, where a girl younger than him by a few years is staring at him with eyes wide. A little thrown-off, he glances at Minho, who in turn raises his eyebrows at him as if to say, Do whatever feels right. So much for help. 

It’s a split-second decision. Jisung gets to his feet as his heart leaps to his throat, and smiles. “Hi, yes, that’s me. Do you listen to my music?”

“I love your music,” she corrects. “I’m sorry to bother you on your time off, but I’m so shocked. . . I don’t think I’ll ever have a chance like this again. That’s all I really wanted to do. Say that I really love your music. Your lyrics really mean the world to me.”

“Um. No worries!” Jisung says, feeling something pleasantly warm spread through his chest. There’s a difference between numbers on a screen and seeing real, living and breathing people who listen to his songs. “Would you, uhm, would you like an autograph?”

Her eyes widen. “If that’s not a problem!”

When she starts digging through her bag in search of a pen, Jisung looks at Minho again, sharing a smile—nervous on Jisung’s end, encouraging on Minho’s. He’s watching the exchange silently, but as Jisung focuses on making his penmanship cute as he writes down her name, Minho asks, “Are you coming to the concert?”

The girl smiles from ear to ear. “I managed to buy tickets for both days,” she says. “I’m taking my dad to the second show but I’m alone on the first day, so I’m a little nervous.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make a friend,” Jisung says. “Don’t worry about it.”

She repeats once again that she’s sorry for interrupting, and then— “Say hi to your cats from me,” she adds. “They gave me lots of strength before my exams and I got a high score, so they’re magic. I love them.” 

Jisung laughs, and Minho does, too. 

“Get home safe,” Jisung tells her.

She scurries away after that, going on her merry way, a certain spring in her step. 

He, on the other hand, practically collapses onto the bench. His legs feel weak. 

“This can’t be the first time someone’s approached you,” Minho says, even though he knows, he must know, that Jisung would never shut up about it if it’d happened. 

“It is,” Jisung says. He often sees people look at him in public, but he’s never sure if it’s because they recognize him, or they just think he’s handsome. “You’re just crazy and you think I’m more famous than I actually am.” 

Minho laughs. “Yeah, because I recognize your potential to be the nation’s superstar.” He reaches out to hold Jisung’s hand and intertwines their fingers. With an overly dramatic flair, hand-on-his-heart-style, he says, “And you already are my superstar.”

“Ew,” Jisung says, sticking his tongue out and pretending he’s retching, but he can’t quite help the way a giant smile makes its way to his face.

In moments like this, he would love nothing more than to sling an arm around Minho’s neck and pull him into a kiss, and in moments like this, it hurts more than ever that he can’t without his stomach aching with anxiety.

♡ @dxxlset

i met han today!! he was kind enough to give me an autograph… i was hesitant to come up and ask because he was with a friend but they were both really nice and asked me about the concert… they must be really good friends!! he’s so handsome too, i thought he had to be an idol or an actor but i don’t know him…

401 retweets  ·  92 quotes  ·  1,053 likes

giorgia @mewsvng

jisung seen out on a date with a handsome friend… likely place for him to be…

12 retweets  ·  14 quotes  ·  228 likes

🐈‍⬛

Jisung is constantly in rehearsal now.

Sometimes, Minho comes to hang out with him after work or during the weekends, but Jisung wants to keep most of the show a secret from him, too. He wants there to be a lot of surprises—from the setlist to the stage set-up. No matter how convincing Minho gets with that sweet mouth of his, Jisung vows silence after revealing the tiniest details. 

“Look up,” he says, watching Minho through the LCD screen of his camera. He’s been filming backstage diaries, snippets of all kinds of tour preparations, from technical stuff to actual rehearsals, and moments like this: doing nothing sprawled on the leather couch in the studio.

This footage isn’t going to be published anywhere, of course, but when Minho makes a funny face—that flirting smile he’s been obsessed with—Jisung feels overcome with love. He has to put the camera down and push him down onto the couch, kissing him senseless.

“You should get back to practice,” Minho murmurs against his mouth. “I wanna hear twilight.” 

Jisung sighs. “I should divorce you for telling me to go back to work in the middle of a kiss.”

“I want to listen to your beautiful voice,” Minho argues. “How’s that grounds for divorce?”

After practice is over, they get to go home together. It’s Jisung’s favorite part of the day, coming home to Minho and the cats. Whether he can walk through the door with him or call out, Honey, I’m home, and hear him say something silly, like, Good, I was beginning to think you got abducted by aliens, it’s always what he looks forward to the most. 

And then—eating dinner, playing with the cats, and curling up on the couch with their limbs entwined. Most of the time there are still small things to do—laundry or the dishes or a general mess to clean up—but they’ve settled into the era of sweet after-work laziness.

Jisung would love to go out, but with the rehearsals and the stress of everything that’s happening surrounding the tour, he never has the energy anymore. He prefers being at home, where he can give in to the need of kissing Minho anytime he wants or drag him closer and do something even more fun. 

He’s collecting moments like this, especially that his team is going to announce the international tour dates soon. First in Asia, Australia, and Europe, and then in other parts of the world if the demand is there. Smaller venues, but still—a world tour. Jisung can’t quite wrap his head around it, the fact that people from all over the planet are listening to the lyrics he writes.

He wishes he could pack Minho and the cats into a suitcase and take them with him. That is the most disappointing and nerve-wracking part of it all. Being away from everything that makes his home.

They need to make plans. Maybe Minho could come see him in Sydney or Warsaw or Osaka. Japan is as far as they’ve travelled together before, and Jisung wants to see the world with him, so anything would be perfect. 

“Jagiya,” he says, digging his chin into Minho’s shoulder. “I wanna take you on tour with me.” 

Minho laughs, the sound sending Jisung’s pulse skittering the same way it had when he’d first heard it. The effects Minho has on him are everlasting. He’s ruined.

“You should work diligently and make enough money for me to quit my job and go with you.”

“Hyung,” Jisung whines. “I’m serious. We’ve never been apart for that long. I don’t know how I’m gonna do it all alone. I’m gonna miss you so much.”

Minho’s expression softens. His hand comes up to play with Jisung’s hair, fingers tangling themselves in the strands as he drags his blunt nails against Jisung’s scalp, making an inconspicuous attempt at distracting him from the overpowering heartache.

“Me too,” he says. “What am I gonna do, not seeing your face first thing in the morning? How am I gonna power through the day?” He grins, but it’s obvious the sentiment is true; it’s not just a joke to make Jisung feel better. “But you’re not gonna be alone, and it’s gonna be a great experience, a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing. Your first tour. And, well, you’re gonna come back home after every show when you’re in Asia, and then we’ll call every day when you’re in Europe. And I’ll send you a million pics of the kids.”

Jisung smiles, but it wavers. His eyes prick, the sting sharp and sudden. “I’m gonna be so homesick, fuck,” he whispers.

“Shh. It’s gonna be okay,” Minho says, pulling him against his side. “I’ll come and see you. I have sick days saved up. We’ll figure it out.”

Jisung nods, nuzzling his cheek against Minho’s shoulder. It’s nothing he didn’t know before, but somehow, the confirmation coming from Minho’s mouth eases his nerves, even if just a little. And when Minho kisses his temple, it’s like he’s erasing his worries altogether.

🐈‍⬛

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soon.doong.dori today dad kicks off his first tour !!!! congratulations !!!! we are all super proud of you !!!! it’s awful we can’t see the shows in person but we’ll be there in spirit. (don’t) break a leg ♡ WE LOVE YOUU !!!! 

🐈‍⬛

On the day of the concert, Jisung is at the venue from the early hours of the morning. He warms up, completes a more chilled-out rehearsal, and then tries to distract himself with all sorts of things. 

By the time Minho joins him, Jisung is already wearing his first show outfit—a grey Diesel top and a pair of baggy jeans with a torn-up black skirt hanging off his waist. He almost drops the bag when he sees him, which means he likes the clothes quite a lot.

“You’re so pretty,” he says at least fifteen times within three minutes of his arrival. Then, he proceeds to stick his fingers into the hole in the center of the top, touching Jisung’s chest with reckless abandon. Like he doesn’t see him naked every day. 

He’s brought Jisung homemade food—chicken katsu with kimchi, a salad, and rice—which might be the most romantic and caring thing in the world. In his usual fashion, he also stuck a post-it note to the lid of the container. You’re a star! it says. There’s also an endearing doodle of what Jisung thinks must be Soonie, Doongie, and Dori. It’s beyond cute.

“I know I can’t trust you to eat when you’re nervous,” Minho says, “and we have to make sure you have enough energy to be on stage for hours.”

They eat together, on the leather sofa in the corner, surrounded by people from Jisung’s team, also enjoying what’s probably their last meal before the grand show. While Jisung prefers to just listen, Minho stays engaged in the conversation. Everyone’s really accepting of him—of them—and it’s the most important thing to Jisung. One of the reasons why he accepted the offer to join this particular agency rather than any other was because he knew, by the insider word of mouth, that most of the people working here were queer. 

So it’s a given that Minho fits right in.

He spends time with Jisung before the concert, massaging his shoulders and letting him bounce his nervousness off of him. Jisung holds onto his hand and refuses to let go even when it’s time for Minho to take his assigned seat in the audience. 

“You’ll do great,” Minho tells him. “I know you will. You’ve performed for people before, and you’ve worked so hard for this. To be here. And you are. So you need to get out there and not think about anything other than enjoying it.”

Jisung takes a deep breath. He glances down at their hands, the bracelet he designed glimmering on either of their wrists, and feels a surge of confidence rush through him. He’s here to deliver a good show and have fun, and he has his partner and his cats to support him. Friends and family and fans. Everyone that matters is here.

“I can do it,” he says, his own warcry. 

Minho laughs. “Yes, you can,” he agrees, solemn and elated at once. He lets go of Jisung’s hand just to cradle his face in his palms, looking at him for a moment, staring with unabashed love and adoration. And then kisses him with such emotion Jisung feels it in every nerve ending in his body. “Good luck, jagiya.” 

Jisung smiles, brushing his mouth against Minho’s once again, this time softer, more unhurried. “Now I’m definitely gonna ace it.”

“Exactly,” Minho says. “And if you get nervous, you know where to find me.”

Soon after that, one of the staff comes to escort him to his seat, and the panic threatens to rise in Jisung all over again. But he holds out. Minho smiles, tells him to fix his lip gloss, and then pats his butt as the last gesture of good luck.

Jisung watches him leave, eyes glued to Minho’s back, until the very moment he disappears around the corner and he can’t see him anymore.

The concert starts with I GOT IT, and even though the residue of nervousness sticks to his skin like a layer of sweat, by the time he gets to the chorus, Jisung feels like the stage is his home. People scream every word back at him, and when the lights hit the audience just right, he can see every face, every head nodding along to the beat. There’s something magical about it, something ineffable in its power. 

Jisung can’t quite chase away the tears in his eyes.

He performs three more songs before he gets a break, a moment to down half a bottle of water and then to welcome all the people who have decided to spend this Saturday night with him. He imagines them saying back to him, There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, and hopes that it’s what they’re going to feel at the end of the night. That it will be a concert to remember.

“In my head,” he says before diving into the next song, “I call this segment of the show The Trials and Tribulations of Han Jisung: an Imaginary Tragedy in Four Acts. Enjoy!” 

He goes through CHILL, HaPpY, Miserable, and MESS, projecting an almost theatrical heartache and sadness, before finally running backstage to change. He can barely peel off his clothes because of sweat, and his chest physically hurts with the effort it takes to breathe. But—

“You’re doing great!” his manager says, a smile threatening to split her face in two.

Then, a guitar is thrust into his hands, and Jisung is off to sing again. They’re maintaining the slow, acoustic ambiance of the last song. Jisung stands in the darkness in the middle of the stage, waiting for the blinding light to shine upon him. 

One last shuddering breath. Jisung swallows hard, and thinks, with thousands of eyes on his silhouette, that Minho is going to kill him when they see each other again. This performance—this unreleased song—is one of the things he’s been keeping a secret from him. What I’m Made Of is, doubtlessly, a song born out of pure love and commitment. Something so deeply personal he wasn’t sure what to do with it until he was building this setlist.

Minho is going to know, and when he gets his hands on Jisung, he’s going to kill him. Kiss him senseless, and then kill him. That’s for sure. 

He sees it in his face later, when he gets up on a moon-shaped prop that floats above the crowd to sing twilight and just a little—yet another one of his surprises, something to combat his fear of heights. Minho is right there, between his parents and Jisung’s brother. He shakes his head, and the light hits his face just right enough to show the dried tear streaks on his cheeks. 

Jisung, honest to god, almost forgets the next line. 

But even with the obvious murderous urges, Minho is looking up at him with so much love in his eyes—Jisung can see it from above. He can also see the anxious way in which Minho glances at the safety belt tied around his waist and the wires connecting the moon to the ceiling.

He’s probably going to get an earful about that, too.

Other venues he has booked aren’t big enough for a prop like this, so the moment his feet touch the ground, he thanks the universe that he’s only doing this once more. It was his idea and it’s an incredible experience, but, fuck. It’s also super scary.

His legs are still shaking when he performs Sunshine, but by the time he gets to Wish You Back, his confidence is once again unshaken. He jokes about it during the ment, laughing about how he’s glad he’s not wearing higher heels for this one because he’d be on the floor. 

There are more songs to come. Secret Secret, Holiday, Slump, and the beloved Alien, a melancholic segment that makes his heart hurt in the best way now that he’s standing in front of all these people who sing the words back at him. The energy is electrifying, and Jisung chokes on his emotions when he disappears backstage to change for the final part of the concert. 

After taking the time to talk to the audience and getting overly emotional about the experience in general, it’s finally time for the songs everyone’s been waiting for: Collision and VOLCANO. He’s never heard anything so loud, he has to take his in-ears out and just listen. 

Jisung thanks everyone for coming to see him, and then performs Hold my hand as the penultimate song. People are going to think whatever is easier for them to accept, he tells himself right before he runs through the rainbow confetti exploding along the catwalk. People who matter will know. And maybe because of it, they will feel less alone. 

“Thank you,” he says again, his heart pounding so hard it feels like he’s on the verge of a cardiac event. “Thank you for the unforgettable night. I’ll see you tomorrow!” 

Bounce Back is an energetic conclusion to the concert, but Jisung stares at the colorful confetti adorning the floor as he performs, and he can’t help the burn of tears in the back of his throat. Once the song ends, the instrumental starts off again, and Jisung runs all over the stage, waving at people.

Finally, he finishes the show off with a deep bow of gratitude. 

He can barely stand when he finds himself backstage, his knees weak. There’s a rush of people around him, his crew patting his shoulders, wiping sweat off his face, shoving water into his hands. But all Jisung cares about is Minho. 

He appears just as Jisung sets out to find him, out of breath, clearly having run all the way from his seat to see Jisung the second the concert is over. 

Jisung dashes towards him, jumping into his arms, legs wrapped around Minho’s hips and fingers digging into his shoulder blades, pulling him in. He doesn’t care if anyone who shouldn’t see is going to see. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks. 

He feels nauseous on the comedown from the adrenaline, like he’s going to begin falling apart piece by piece. But Minho holds him together.

“You missed your favorite song,” he says, because he’s not sure how to say everything else he wants to say. I thought of you every second. Every word I sang was for you. I love you so much. I love you more than anything in this world.

Maybe later, when they’re alone instead of surrounded by people who are only pretending not to see them.

Minho grins. “Impossible,” he says. “Every single song was my favorite.”

It’s sappy and cheesy and overly romantic, and it’s what makes tears spring to Jisung’s eyes again. Because he knows Minho isn’t kidding. Because Jisung could sing fucking Baby Shark for three hours and Minho would genuinely have fun.

“Did you like it?” he asks, anyway.

Minho laughs like it’s the most ridiculous question he’s heard in his entire life, pressing the sound against Jisung’s neck. “I loved it. Every second. I didn’t even film anything, I was just sitting there watching every minute with my jaw on the floor,” he says. “Thank god there’s another show tomorrow.”

Jisung chuckles. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Minho says, kissing the side of his face. “You were amazing.” And then— “But I will kill you for singing a song I’ve never even heard before and not giving me a warning. And the gay confetti? God, Jisung. You’re gonna kill me one day.”

Of course, Jisung thinks. He didn’t expect anything less.

“I wish someone recorded your reaction.”

“Oh, don’t worry, my dad’s got it all on tape,” Minho says. Even though his voice sounds mildly annoyed, Jisung knows it’s all a pretense. He can feel Minho’s smile against his skin, after all. “I need to steal his phone and delete it forever.”

Jisung laughs. 

With that, finally, Minho lets him down, and the world rushes back to life. He’s ushered to change again, to take pictures with people who came. Various celebrities he’s only seen on television before. Friends. He sees his parents, too, and his brother. Minho’s parents have decided to hit the road to beat traffic, promising to stay behind tomorrow instead. That’s what Minho tells him when Jisung returns to the green room, a little starstruck and a lot exhausted. 

Jisung juts his bottom lip out in a pout. “But they liked the show, right?”

“Are you kidding?” Minho scoffs, opening his arms for Jisung to sink into. “One song in, and my mom was yelling at me, If you don’t marry that boy, I swear to god, Lee Minho!” 

Jisung laughs against his shoulder, his cheeks flaming. “Well, jagi, you should be a good son and listen to your mother.”

He can’t quite ignore the way Minho’s heartbeat seems to grow stronger, strong enough for Jisung to feel it in his own chest. He wants to laugh, because Minho has been getting positively more flustered any time marriage is mentioned now, and Jisung wonders if he might already have a ring stashed somewhere in the apartment just like Jisung does. 

He’s a master of distraction, though, so he immediately changes the topic and asks, “What are you feeling for dinner?”

“Mhm. I don’t know,” Jisung says, but he’s thinking— “Burgers? With fries.” 

Minho smiles. “Consider it done.”

After Jisung changes into his own clothes again, he grabs his things from the green room, thanks all the staff for their hard work, and finally takes the elevator down to the underground parking lot with Minho. He practically sinks into the passenger seat of the car. He’s so tired that he could fall asleep easily, but he holds out. 

“Did you have fun?” Minho asks as he follows the navigation out of the venue. He reaches out to lower the volume of the radio and glances at Jisung with a soft smile on his face when Jisung scoffs.

“Obviously,” he says. “It was. . . I don’t know. Impossible to put into words. All these people being there for me. Singing the words I wrote. Absolutely surreal.”

“And to think it was just the first show of many,” Minho says, grinning. “You will do incredible things, Jisung-ah.” He reaches out to take Jisung’s hand and brings it to his mouth, pressing a kiss against his knuckles. “And,” he goes on, “that performance of Hold my hand. . . It was very brave of you.”

Heat rises to Jisung’s cheeks. He’s not sure about bravery, but it did take a lot of courage for him to convince himself he could do it.

“It’s what we talked about,” he says. “People who are meant to see it will see it. People who don’t want to see it will convince themselves it’s nothing more than a coincidence. It’s a small thing, but it meant a lot to me.” 

“It meant a lot to me, too,” Minho says, sending him a smile before directing his eyes back to the road ahead. “I’m so proud of you.”

Jisung grins, but his throat feels tight with emotion. “Okay, stop with the sentimentality before I cry.”

“Hmph. I’m gonna give you a break,” Minho says, “but I’m not done.”

The first thing Jisung does when they get home is run to the bathroom to piss. He drank three bottles of water during the concert, but he sweated it all out, and in the moment he was too focused on performing for his body to register things like bodily needs. 

Minho is supposed to be making tea, but when Jisung comes out of the bathroom, he’s fussing over the cats instead. He must hear his footsteps, because he looks over his shoulders and says, “No, wait, don’t come in—”

Jisung raises his eyebrows. “Excuse me?” 

Those few seconds of distraction are enough for Dori to escape Minho’s care and dash between his legs to get to Jisung. Jisung bends down to gather him in his arms, only to realize that Dori is wearing a T-shirt he’s never seen before. One that says, We. 

He looks over at Minho, confused, only to find him with his arms akimbo, sulking. 

“Surprise,” Minho says over a pout that should frankly be illegal. “These demons can’t handle being alone for a few hours so now they don’t want to cooperate and sit in the right order.”

He moves to the side, revealing Doongie and Soonie on the sofa, wearing matching T-shirts, with the words you and love printed on them respectively. 

And Jisung—

Jisung bursts into tears.

For a second, Minho looks torn, like he doesn’t know what to do. And then he’s gathering Jisung in his arms, saying, “Oh, come here,” in that tender tone of his that’s reserved only for Jisung. 

If it was anyone else, Jisung would be profoundly embarrassed. But this is Minho, his partner for life, the person who has seen him at his absolute worst, the only person in the world he can lay himself bare in front of without shame or judgement. 

“Fuck,” he says, burying his face in the crook of Minho’s shoulder. “It’s just. All these emotions have been swelling up inside me. The stress of people talking and the concert and the tiredness and the emotionality of the show and all that love and you—Fuck. Minho.”

Minho just laughs, and it’s so sweet. His arms tighten around Jisung, squeezing him until he can barely breathe. One of his hands sneaks under the fabric of his hoodie and settles on the bare skin, rubbing circles into the aching muscle. 

“I get it,” he says. “I wanted to do something cute for you. I mean, on top of the flowers and all that.”

Jisung lifts his head off Minho’s shoulder in the blink of an eye. “Flowers?” 

Minho hums, nodding in the direction of the kitchen. There, on the peninsula, is a beautiful bouquet. Bigger than anything Jisung has ever seen. Fuck.

A sob rises in his chest, and although he doesn’t let it out, tears still cascade down his cheeks. “I love flowers,” he says uselessly.

“I know,” Minho tells him, laughing, because of course he knows. Every time they go out in the spring, he practically has to drag Jisung away from any and all flowers in their way. “

He brings a hand to Jisung’s face, wiping the tears off. 

“I’ve been such a crybaby lately,” Jisung mumbles.

“Not just lately,” Minho teases, poking Jisung side with his finger to make him laugh. It works, of course. He’s got him all figured out. “I’m used to it. I think it’s adorable. I’m just like. Hm, you’re so cute. What do I do with you? I want to put you through a blender and eat you up like soup.” 

Jisung melts, which he probably shouldn’t do considering his partner is expressing his cannibalistic desires towards him. He’s so into it, though. And worst of all, he understands it all too well.

Still—“Weirdo,” he says, just before sinking into Minho’s hug again.

“You love it.”

“The most in the world.”

They’re on the couch, arm to arm, surrounded by cats from all sides—Dori between them, Doongie in Jisung’s lap, and Soonie in Minho’s—and Jisung can’t help but take a thousand pictures. 

He picks one, cropping their heads out, and posts it on Instagram Stories. Thank you for the incredible show tonight, he writes. You made that stage feel like home. Now I’m gonna rest with my babies and I’ll see you for another show tomorrow with even more energy! Look forward to it.

mar @starboyhan 

the pride flag confetti and the gay songs and the man beside him on the couch oh my jisungie i see you and i love you even if everybody else refuses to

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