Chapter Text
There were, like, two years of learning one another before their third year of high school came, and with it came proximity. Sharing the same homeroom meant seeing one another’s faces more often, whether they liked it or not. Which, liking ‘it’ was never the issue, because Jihoon felt comfortable with Mingyu long before their final year rolled through. Even back then, Jihoon remembers Kim Mingyu being the tall, lanky dude that the girls in every grade swooned over; sure, Mingyu wasn’t nearly as fit, tall, or chiseled as he is now — but who is in their teens? The point is that Mingyu was already handsome, despite his jaw not being as cut or his shoulders as broad, and he knew it because the girls never let him forget it.
And Mingyu cycled through girlfriends more often than Jihoon changed clothes. Okay — a little hyperbolic, but Jihoon has always been a bit of a historical revisionist, and his historical revisionist brain remembers Mingyu having, like, a million girlfriends before third year. Then, when third year came around, Mingyu seemed to learn himself, or learned how to play the game smarter — whatever — and stopped dating girls, but kept up the antics.
This is where things changed, but Jihoon can’t pinpoint exactly where or how. He just remembers the summer break before they started school again, when Mingyu would come over and they’d sit in Jihoon’s childhood bedroom and watch Marvel movies and anime and eat the snacks his mom would make for them. It could’ve been before or after this — again, the details are hazy and Jihoon honestly doesn’t like fretting over the past any more than he already does — but, regardless, one day Mingyu was like, can we watch the dubbed version of something-something anime ‘cause I don’t wanna read anymore, and Jihoon was like, no dude that ruins the immersion, and then they were wrestling over the TV remote, and then they were just wrestling because teen boys and testosterone and stuff — and then.
Then, they just… didn’t stop. It was as if this invisible barrier between the two of them was broken, now that they realized physical contact was, like, okay? And while both of them were getting comfortable with touching and holding girls, they never really held another guy more than rough-housing or what was necessary. Jihoon wasn’t big on physical forms of affection (still kinda isn’t), but Mingyu became that exception; they’d drape arms over shoulders, Mingyu would come up behind him and pull him in by his waist, Jihoon would grab or lean onto him when he was laughing so hard tears burned his eyes. And sleepovers meant Mingyu and Jihoon would share the bed, cram themselves together on the tiny twin mattress made for one, make it work for two.
A whole lot of that.
It wasn’t until they applied and matriculated into the same university that they kissed for the first time. For a bet, sure, but it happened again that same night, surely wasn’t a bet then. And now they’ve kissed so many times Jihoon can’t count them all even if he wanted to (and he doesn’t, he really fucking doesn’t). The nights spent at Mingyu’s apartment watching anime, when Mingyu would sneakily try to put the Korean dub on and Jihoon would snatch the remote back and call him an idiot and Mingyu would lean close close close to his face and go, says the friend of an idiot, and then Jihoon would laugh because it’s such a stupid comeback, oh, ha-ha, typical Mingyu and Mingyu would laugh too, all sharp canines and crinkly eyes, and Mingyu would kiss Jihoon’s smiling lips and then it didn’t even matter if the anime was dubbed or subbed because they weren’t paying attention anymore and Mingyu’s hand would be down his sweatpants and Jihoon’s down Mingyu’s jeans and Jihoon would think —
“Mingyu didn’t come with you?” Jihoon’s mom asks.
He’s back home, in Busan, taking his long-awaited break from the madness back at university to return to a sense of normalcy. Whatever left of it that remains in a cesspool of memories about his childhood and high school. They’re in the living room, relaxing on the couch and watching some drama his mom is currently into.
“Nah,” Jihoon says to the TV screen. “He’s in Seoul visiting his girlfriend.” And the only reason he knows that is because of Mingyu’s heavy presence on Instagram and the group chat. They haven’t really spoken to one another after the chat in the car — at least, not directly. All communication has been in said group chat, and honestly it’s usually Mingyu interacting with the other boys, or both of them reacting to whatever picture Minghao sends of China or Soonyoung’s slew of selfies. Or random updates about how their spring breaks are going.
It was never really discussed. More like implied. They need to have a break from one another because things were/are tense, and there’s a whole lot of guilt on both sides. If Jihoon couldn’t look Chaeyeon in the eyes before, wow, it’s gonna be a real challenge now.
Not that he has to for the next two weeks. Instead, he sees her indirectly, like his indirect conversations with Mingyu, on social media. Pictures of them standing side by side, holding hands, in front of pastel pink boutiques or a bed of flowers or a field or whatever. Sometimes Mingyu is smiling down at her like he’s never seen anyone prettier (he probably hasn’t), sometimes they’re both smiling or making silly faces at the camera. Gyu Gyu is here for moral support. Love this oversized puppy~ [dog emoji] [heart emoji], her captions say.
Yes. He follows Chaeyeon. Because they’re kinda sorta friends, and she’s cool people and she followed him first as her attempt at building a friendship. She’s kinda sorta friends with the entire clique now.
But, whatever. More unimportant details. It’s just… Jihoon is trying to enjoy his peace and solitude in Busan with his parents that are the same calm and collected that he is. And his brain that ruminates over things that Don’t Matter sees this as the perfect opportunity to remind him of stupid memories, tell him that he should check Instagram over and over again for any updates on Chaeyeon and her Oversized Puppy.
Jihoon’s bad at telling his brain no. He’s bad at saying no to his desires in general, hence his lapse of judgement at Seungcheol’s house party (plus a hundred other judgement lapses). Also, like, Mingyu’s birthday, right? It coincides with the spring break, and when it rolls around Jihoon wakes up to a million texts in the group chat. And there are soooo many Instagram stories of friends and acquaintances and groupies and old flings alike posting pictures of them with Mingyu, tagging him, waxing poetic about how great of a person he is and that they hope he enjoys his 23rd birthday.
Hǎo Minghao: HBD GYU!!! I’m so sad we can’t celebrate your big day together like we did last year, but sometimes shit doesn’t work out lol. obvs i can’t give you a present, but i cash app’d you some money. get yourself something nice
Jeonghanie: happy birthday mingyu :) even if you get on my nerves sometimes, you’re the goofiest flower boy i ever met. enjoy your day with chaeyeon, you lovebirds
white people call him vernon: mingyu. MINGYU. happy birthday, man. another year that you’ve been stuck with us, and hopefully many more years you’re still stuck with us lmao
Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: i love you mingyu. happy birthday :)
Minggu: Thanks you guys. got me here tearing up. when summer semester comes we gotta do some crazy shit together. love all of you
Wow. Okay. By the time Jihoon gets through his morning routine, eats breakfast with his parents, and goes on a leisure walk through the neighborhood, all the other guys have already sent their happy birthday texts. Leaving Jihoon as the lone soldier. Yikes. Just because they’re not talking talking doesn’t mean he can’t send a quick happy birthday, or something. He has to now, anyways, or he’ll look like a weirdo and also make Mingyu think that they’re not okay/moving on/starting over.
Jihoon sits on the curb with his phone, hoodie over his head, and thinks. Alright. This is what he’ll do. He scrolls through his camera roll for a while, looking for the perfect one — and when he finds it, he opens up Instagram and taps on ‘your story’. Then he types away.
The end result is a picture. A polaroid of the two of them that he thinks Minghao took; they didn’t realize he was taking it until after the flash happened and Minghao was grinning at them, saying something about how candid photos were the best. In it, Mingyu has his hands on Jihoon’s waist, looking down at him as he animatedly tells him something. It’s the profile of their faces — the entire side of their bodies, really — and around them are other students mid-dance or drinking or chatting. A party hosted at Minghao and Soonyoung’s apartment.
Jihoon has his hands crossed in the photo, but he’s laughing at what Mingyu is saying, his eyes crescent moons, mouth wide open. Mingyu’s hair isn’t brown yet, and Jihoon’s ink-black fringe is overgrown as fuck — but it’s the happiest photo of the two of them that he has. Normally Mingyu is the one behind the camera, taking pictures of him. It’s rare to have a picture taken by another person of only them.
He adds his caption — Happy 23rd birthday to this giant doofus. It’s been six years of feeling like a midget next to you, but I’m wiling to deal with it because you’re you. Come home to Busan sometimes before my mom harasses me to death kekekeke — and tags Mingyu before posting it. Mingyu better fucking appreciate this peace offering (can he call whatever this is that if they’re not even fighting?), ‘cause Jihoon seldom if ever posts pictures on his account, let alone stories. This is an isolated event that may not come again in their lifetime. Like a solar eclipse.
Jihoon doesn’t bother saying it in the group chat. That’s kinda redundant, and Jihoon is not a fan of redundancy. Sometimes. Instead, he stands and takes his leisure walk back to his house, grabs an apple on the way up to his room. The sun is falling by this time of day, and his parents are out working, leaving him to entertain himself. He fills the time with a marathon of an old classic: Cowboy Bebop.
His phone buzzes with a notification three episodes in, and he, eyes still glued to the TV screen, blindly picks up his phone and taps the passcode in. When he finally manages to pry his eyes away, he sees that it’s a DM. From Mingyu. Jihoon taps on it.
min9yu_k: I love you Jihoonie. glad i met you.
Okay. They’re not sentimental very often, but this is still what best friends do. They get sentimental. Jihoon feels his chest getting tighter, throat closing up.
11ji_lee: me too
He doesn’t close the app because Mingyu’s already typing, hasn’t even left the conversation.
min9yu_k: miss you.
It’s only been a week, Oversized Puppy.
11ji_lee: me too
Jihoon puts his phone on the bed, face-up, and watches Mingyu type.
min9yu_k: it’s weird not seeing you on my birthday lol. we gotta do something when we’re back on campus
He taps at the screen with his index finger without picking it up.
11ji_lee: you know i’m always down kekeke
Okay. Jihoon’s gotta stop entertaining this conversation now. He still needs time to process and reset and this is having him think about all the things that don’t matter.
Later that night, an hour before midnight, Chaeyeon puts a video up. Jihoon taps on it because he can’t sleep and he’s bored and he’s almost one hundred percent sure it has something to do with a certain someone’s birthday.
And, duh — it does.
From the looks of it, they’re at a fancy Seoul restaurant; the camera is on Mingyu, whose hair is in a side part and slicked back, dressed in a cream-colored dress shirt. A mini cake with a single lit candle is sitting in front of him, and he’s looking at whoever is holding the phone, an expectant smile on his face. “What do you think it is?” Chaeyeon’s saying with a giggle.
“I ‘dunno,” Mingyu says, grin going lopsided, canines out to play. “What is it?”
Chaeyeon’s arm comes into view, extending a velvety jewelry box to Mingyu. Mingyu takes it, eyes still on her, says, “No way. Did you?”
Chaeyeon answers with a laugh. “Open it, Gyu.”
Mingyu very reluctantly opens it, mouth gaping when he sees what’s inside. “You did. Holy sh — cow. Wow.” He pinches the jewelry with his index and thumb finger, lifts it into view. A Cartier bracelet. The one that looks like a long nail bent into a circular shape. Guess that actress money is being put to good use. “Chae. This is incredible. Thank you!”
The video cuts. The caption is a fucking essay recounting their past year and a half with one another, and Jihoon tries to read it. He really, really does — trust. But the more he reads the tighter his chest gets and the harder it gets to breathe. And he can’t read a caption if he can’t breathe, y’know, because he’ll pass out before he can finish? And also his vision is suddenly blurry, which must be because he’s been staring at his phone all day, and that’s not good for your eyes? Especially when you’re reading in the dark?(???)
Yep. Time for bed. Jihoon connects his phone to the charger and puts it face down on his nightstand.
He needs a girlfriend. Probably.
Jihoon spends his final week of spring break giving his parents as much face time as possible. They don’t see him much since he’s been going to university and he feels bad for not calling or texting as often as he should. So he takes his guilt and turns it into something productive: he gets up early to make and eat breakfast with them, waits for them to come home from work so they can eat dinner and digest the food with an evening walk.
And he humors his mom when she asks him a million questions about how his physics classes are going, what he plans to do when he graduates, if he still wants to be an idol or composer or whatever he wants to be, if he’s still minoring in that “useless” music composition degree. They mean well. They do. His parents can be blunt, straight to the point, but Jihoon can, too — that’s where he gets it from. If he can’t take it he can’t dole it out. So he humors her. Them.
Physics classes are going well, he doesn’t know what his plans are after graduation; he just hopes he gets an internship and they hire him, yes he still kinda sorta wants to be an “idol or composer or whatever he wants to be,” yes he’s still minoring in the “useless” music composition degree. He grins and bares it for the whole fucking week, basks in the pleasant moments when they arrive, keeps himself busy busy busy.
Mingyu occasionally texts him throughout the week. Outside of the group chat. Asking what he’s up to, how are the parents, tells him about what he saw and did in Seoul. Sends pictures of the set Chaeyeon is on, of himself posing, of the food he’s eating. Normal friend stuff. It brings Jihoon back down from wherever he went when he saw Chaeyeon’s Instagram caption. This is their reset. This is what best friends do.
Jihoon is happy for him.
When the summer semester is in full swing, Jihoon is better. Refreshed. Revived. Rejuvenated. All of the above and then some. He loves his friends, and his friend group, and his best friend, and he’s going to make good grades, do fun stuff with said friends, and be the cool and collected man he always has been. Yes. He has to cherish what he has before he overthinks and fucks it all up.
The gang reconvenes at the dining hall. Soonyoung and Minghao are already seated at a corner table, sharing a plate of two pizza slices and a side salad (definitely Minghao’s doing), when Jihoon takes a spot across from them with his own plate of food and a bottle of Coke. Hansol and Jeonghan aren’t far behind, Hansol going to sit at the empty seat next to Minghao, Jeonghan taking the spot on Jihoon’s side of the table, at the end so there’s an open spot for Mingyu in the middle.
“How does it feel to be back in Korea?” Hansol asks Minghao, situating his bowl of vegetable soup on top of a folded stack of napkins. Despite it being warm outside, Hansol, committed to his brand, is wearing an orange beanie, tufts of his dark brown hair sticking out underneath.
Minghao has one arm draped over Soonyoung’s shoulders, fingers playing absently with the loose blonde strands by his ear. He waits for Soonyoung to take a bite of the cheese pizza before he takes it from him. “Honestly? Good. I used to get crazy homesick whenever I’d come back from break, but, like, I’ve been living here so long that it feels like a second home.”
“A home away from home,” Soonyoung offers, watches Minghao eat from the slice before grabbing it back from him.
“Right,” Minghao says around his mouthful of food. And he looks pretty refreshed himself, Jihoon thinks while looking at the two of them go right back to their flirtatious behavior; Minghao’s skin has a new glow to it, his eyes sparkling, body relaxed in the seat. Like the China sun brought him back to life.
Jeonghan watches them for a moment, mouth opening like he wants to say something — but it seems like he decides against it, says, “Coming back to campus depresses me. Another semester of cramming for exams and doing projects at the last minute,” instead.
Hansol nods, swallows some of the soup he sucks up. “I feel that, man. My parents drive me batshit insane when I go back home, but I’d let them nag me all day if it means I can get my degree and get the fuck outta here.”
“Dude,” Jihoon says with a frustrated sigh. “My mom brought up my minor being useless again. Every time I go home she says the same fucking thing.”
Jeonghan laughs. “I gotta give it to her,” he says to Jihoon. “She is one stubborn woman. Must be where you get it from.”
“Yeah, well, she can keep stubbornly nagging me about it, and I will stubbornly keep my minor,” Jihoon retorts before cracking open the cap to his Coke bottle and taking a couple of gulps. He’ll keep stubbornly hoping to work in the music business, too, but he decides against saying all of that. It’s not something he wants to get into; Minghao, the ever practical one, always lectures him on making sure he has a day job with his physics degree before risking financial ruin with composing.
And Minghao’s right, of course, he’s always right, but Jihoon likes to dream, and he can’t live in ignorant bliss if he’s always met with well-meaning advice.
“How’s Somi?” Soonyoung asks Hansol. “She stayed with you all break, right?”
Hansol starts on his BLT, slicing it in half with his steak knife. “Only, like, a week. Her spring break started a week before ours, so she couldn’t stay the whole time.”
“If you have children,” Soonyoung continues. “Will the kid be, like… half Korean and half white still? How does that work?”
Minghao’s mouth twists in a way that makes it clear he’s trying to hold back a laugh, shuts himself up with another bite of pizza. Hansol doesn’t even bother to look up from the work he’s making on his sandwich, so accustomed to Soonyoung’s antics by now.
“Yes,” Jeonghan chokes out, fighting his own laughter. “The kid will, indeed, still be half white, Soonyoung.” A smile finally breaks through Hansol’s forced blasé expression.
“Cool,” Soonyoung grins.
Minghao gives the remaining slice of pizza to Soonyoung and moves on to his side salad. “Speaking of girlfriends,” Minghao jumps in. “Mingyu is taking forever. Is her class on the other side of campus or something?”
“Right,” Soonyoung says, shooting up to survey each man’s face. “Did you guys see what she got him for his birthday? Is she really that rich?”
“He’s got half a year’s worth of rent money on his wrist,” Jeonghan deadpans. “Let’s jump him for it when he gets here. My loan disbursement hasn’t come yet.”
Hansol laughs. “We’ve gotta call him a sugar baby from now on,” he tells them. “Bully him out of wearing it in public.”
Jihoon quietly watches them conspire to embarrass Mingyu, tries to ignore the uneasy feeling turning his stomach into knots. ‘Cause that makes it, like, super serious now, right? The relationship? Chaeyeon loves him enough to gift him something way too expensive to be parading around, their two-year anniversary is around the corner, and Jihoon doesn’t know a lot about Christianity, but what he does know is that Christian people get married early. And that people in non-serious relationships don’t gift half a year’s worth of rent money. Not that there are non-serious exclusive relationships — when you decide to be exclusive with somebody that’s serious in and of itself — he just means relationships that haven’t been taken to the next level yet.
You don’t give expensive gifts to somebody that you don’t see a future with. A future that is marriage. But, isn’t there a process for that? For Christians, at least. Like, before getting engaged it’s practically a requirement for the man to meet —
“What’s up, lovers!” Mingyu slides up to the table with a bottle of water and a brownie. His hair is in the same side part Jihoon saw in the Instagram video, except it’s not slicked back; his fringe falls over part of his left eye, and he has to keep flipping his head back to move it from his line of vision. And. Much like Minghao, he looks refreshed, his tan skin shimmering even under the fluorescent lights. Back to his preppy boy concept, he’s wearing a v-neck white blouse tucked into tan slacks, his shoes backless oxfords.
Everyone at the table’s eyes snap straight down to Mingyu’s right wrist, where the bracelet rests, a pristine golden.
“What’s up, rich boy,” Hansol says to the bracelet. “I take it Seoul was everything you wished for and more?”
Mingyu only laughs, straight teeth, charming canines, yadda yadda. The same ‘ol shit, different day, looking handsome and laid-back and oh so taken. Jihoon has to tear his eyes away, starts reading the label on his Coke bottle. 50mg of sodium, wow, that’s crazy.
“Like a fairy tale,” Jeonghan sing-songs as Mingyu walks over to the open seat, sits down and immediately scoots the chair over so it’s pressed against Jihoon’s. “Don’t forget us when you’re living it big in her fancy house in Gangnam.”
Mingyu shakes his head incredulously, but his dopey smile is still on his face. He puts his water bottle down and turns to Jihoon, extending the brownie. “Want half?”
Jihoon lets himself take the brownie, breaks it in half before giving the rest to Mingyu. He wants to look in Mingyu’s face, but the bracelet is right there, and it has it’s own magnetic field or something. He watches it slide up and down Mingyu’s arm as he stuffs a chunk of the brownie into his mouth.
“You have to tell us all about it,” Minghao is saying. “What did you guys do on your big day?”
“Did you stay at her house?” Soonyoung asks. “Were her parents there? Does she have a maid? Did they let you sleep with her in her room?”
Hansol cackles and leans forward to look past Minghao at Soonyoung. “Slow down there, dude. He just got here — let the man eat his brownie first.”
“What I would like to know,” Minghao interjects. “is how the birthday went. The other details can wait.”
And that is precisely what Mingyu goes on to retell. No, they got an AirBnb so that they could have privacy. The day started with breakfast in bed. Then they went shopping together. Then they had lunch at this fancy seafood place. Then they went back to the AirBnb to relax in the house’s jacuzzi and talk and… Mingyu doesn’t say it, but the implication is that they fucked. Then they watched a movie together in bed. Then they got all dressed up and went to have dinner at the restaurant they saw in the Instagram video. And — yes, he met her parents, so stop asking, Soonyoung. They were very nice and very kind and he knows Chaeyeon is gonna be gorgeous when she’s in her fifties because her mom looks fantastic.
When the guys are satisfied with the answers, they finally fucking move on to what Jeonghan did in his own hometown. Jihoon has ripped off the label from his bottle during the course of the story, shredded it into little pieces, anything to busy his hands.
Then Mingyu is turning away from the conversation to consider Jihoon. “Did your mom really keep harassing you about me?” he asks with a pleased smile. Normal, unaffected Mingyu. Jihoon isn’t sure what he’s thinking and it kinda unnerves him.
Regardless, Jihoon knows he needs to stop acting like a weirdo. This is not what the reset was supposed to be; he came back determined to return to what they tried since Mingyu’s been taken — friendly, non-cheating behavior — and that’s what he’s going to do. Cool, collected Jihoon.
Alright.
He forces himself to meet Mingyu’s eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “She’s in love with you, dude. I think she’d divorce my dad for you if you asked for her hand in marriage.”
Mingyu laughs. He’s watching Jihoon’s hands aimlessly play with the shredded pieces of the label when he says, “Hey, your mom’s pretty hot. I’m up for it. Then I can be your step-dad and boss you around.”
Jihoon grimaces at him. “Dude, stop, you’re gonna make me barf up this brownie.” Mingyu laughs again, a hand coming down to grab Jihoon’s mid-thigh through his red track-pants. Jihoon stiffens for a moment, tells himself that this is pre-cheating behavior stop being stupid, jesus, and relaxes into the touch. But it’s the hand with the bracelet, and when it rolls down Mingyu’s arm to sit under the palm, Jihoon’s gaze falls down with it.
Mingyu is still looking at him. Which means he sees what Jihoon sees. And Mingyu knows him better than anybody — probably knows him better than he knows himself — and that’s because he has Lee Jihoon mind-reading abilities that Jihoon usually likes since it means when they go out and he doesn’t wanna talk Mingyu knows what to order him or get for him or say to the customer service people, but. But now that things have changed (and not for the best) Jihoon hates it.
“Pretty cool, right?” Mingyu says. His voice has fallen a decimal, but Jihoon manages to hear him over Soonyoung and Jeonghan screeching about something concerning what Jeonghan did at home. And Jihoon watches as Mingyu slips the bracelet off of his wrist, takes Jihoon’s wrist in his hand, and slides it over Jihoon’s smaller hand. “Gold looks good on your skin.”
It feels heavy and expensive. And warm form being pressed against Mingyu’s arm all day. And. Jihoon sits there dumbly, lifting his arm to look at how much bigger the bracelet looks on his arm versus Mingyu’s, so fucking confused as to why Mingyu would take off half a year’s worth of rent money — the sentimental gift that Chaeyeon got him for his birthday — and put it on Jihoon like it’s no big deal. Like it’s the designer leather jacket he got for cheap at a thrift shop, meaningless when he drapes it over Jihoon’s shoulders.
Jihoon looks up at Mingyu, but Mingyu’s still looking at his wrist.
“She’s gonna be mad you’re letting other people wear this,” Jihoon says, trying for a jokey tone with the remaining air in his lungs. “I’ll snitch.”
Now Mingyu looks at him. “Okay,” he says. “Tell her.”
They stare at one another for a moment. A long moment. At least, a moment that feels long to Jihoon. Again, he can’t tell what Mingyu’s thinking — his expression is unreadable, leaning on playful — and Jihoon keeps feeling unnerved. There was a time when Jihoon could tell, when things weren’t so complicated.
Stop complicating things, Mingyu had said that night. That Night. Jihoon does do that a lot, doesn’t he? Complicate everything like he’s doing right now, placing extra value on a bracelet that Mingyu clearly does not share.
“You’re bluffing,” Jihoon says, cracking a smile. He takes off the bracelet without breaking their stare, grabs Mingyu’s thicker arm and puts it back on him. “Gold looks better on tan skin.”
And then he tunes into the conversation the other guys are having.
The group being back together for another semester means a return to being dumb asses. And dumb asses they became — getting kicked out of the study hall for being too loud (mostly Soonyoung, but hey, if one is acting up they all are); late nights fucking around at somebody’s place and only getting three hours of sleep before morning lectures; skipping class to skateboard in empty parking lots and take pictures with Mingyu’s polaroid camera; going out on the weekend and drinking themselves into a stupor.
And that’s all in the first week.
Sometimes Mingyu is right there with them, acting a fool, sometimes he isn’t — mandatory girlfriend nights. Duh. But that Saturday night Chaeyeon is spending time with her own friends, and that means Mingyu is reunited with the guys, crammed into Jeonghan’s Hyundai in the parking lot of a Wendy’s, passing around a blunt and saying whatever nonsense that comes to mind first.
There are only 5 spots in the car, which means Minghao is sitting on Soonyoung’s lap in the back, Jihoon is in the middle seat, Mingyu is next to him, and Hansol is in the passenger. Jeonghan is in the driver’s seat, of course. “This bring back memories?” Mingyu whispers to Jihoon after taking a hit, smoke curling out of his mouth as he says it.
Jihoon, laughing and shoving Mingyu’s arm, making him laugh too, says, “Shut up,” before taking the tiny blunt from him. It’s pretty much gone by the fourth time around, so Jihoon makes quick work before passing it along to Minghao.
Jeonghan turns around in his seat to look at Soonyoung and Minghao. “Okay,” he says. He turns down the rap song that’s playing. “I’ve been behaving myself all week. But. Can we talk about it now?”
“Talk about it,” Minghao parrots before taking a hit of whatever’s left of the blunt. He crushes it against door and rolls the window down to toss it out.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
Jihoon feels Mingyu snake an arm around his waist, pulling him in as if they aren’t already squeezed together, and Jihoon leans into him. There’s the sandalwood, citrus, mixed with the stench of weed. It feels nice, familiar, after being away from him for several weeks.
“Alright,” Minghao says, sighing like he’s been burdened with a big task. “I like Soonyoung and Soonyoung likes me. There.”
Jeonghan pauses. Stares at Minghao for an uncomfortably long time. Then, “Maybe I’m too high to understand, but it doesn’t sound like you’ve answered anything.”
Hansol snickers, turns to look out the passenger door window.
Minghao sighs again. “Well. That’s all there is to it.”
Jeonghan blinks. Slowly. “So… fuck buddies?”
“No,” Soonyoung answers quickly.
“But not dating.” It’s said like a statement, meant as a question.
“Yeah,” Soonyoung says. Thinks. “Actually. Dating, but not exclusive.”
“Then fuck buddies.”
“No, dude, fuck,” Minghao says, slumping back onto Soonyoung. Hansol starts to snicker again. “Hansol, stop acting like a fucking laugh track and egging this clown on. I’ll fight both of you out in the parking lot. Don’t test me.”
Hansol laughs harder and turns around to look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he bites out between giggles, a fist to his mouth. “This shit is just so funny to me. I ‘dunno. Sorry.”
“What part of this is funny?” Minghao retorts, frowning. “I’m not finding the humor.”
“Jeonghan being all pushy, you guys dodging it, I ‘dunno. I have a weird sense of humor I guess, my bad.” Hansol clears his throat and tries for a more serious face — as serious a face High Hansol can make. “I’m happy for you guys. Whatever it is. You didn’t have to be all secretive about it, though — we’re your friends. You can trust us.”
Jihoon starts to squirm, is stilled by Mingyu tightening his grip around his waist. There are some secrets best kept.
“We can trust Jeonghan?” Mingyu says, starts laughing and begging for mercy when Jeonghan leans over the console to punch his leg. “We can trust Jeonghan, I’m sorry!”
“It wasn’t exactly a secret,” Soonyoung says. He tilts his head to the side to look around Minghao at Hansol. “It’s just hard to explain. Like, what would you say?”
“That you’re seeing one another?” Jeonghan offers. “You’re attracted to one another? Something? ‘Cause with the way you were always moaning over not having a girlfriend led me to believe you were, like. Single and straight.”
“I am single.” Soonyoung pauses. “Maybe not so straight.”
Jeonghan groans, flopping back into the driver’s seat. “I am so confused, dude. How are you single?”
“Can we get off this topic now?” Minghao interjects. “The point is that there was nothing to say. And that we’re not fuck buddies so fuck off with that. New topic, please.”
“Okay, new topic,” Mingyu says. “Jihoon’s mom wants to fuck me.”
Jihoon, who was sitting quietly and minding his own damn business thank you very much, shoots up, cheeks burning. “Dude, I told you to stop!” Everyone in the car starts cackling, which makes Jihoon’s face burn hotter and ears turn red. “I fucking hate you, dude, holy shit. Get off me.”
Jihoon tries to pry Mingyu’s arm off his waist, but Mingyu holds on, moving with him as Jihoon scoots closer to Soonyoung and Minghao. “Wait, you’re warm, don’t go!” Mingyu cries through his laugh.
“You lost touching privileges and you know what you did. Get off!” Jihoon fights harder, knocking into the two men beside him as he and Mingyu wrestle.
“You’re hitting me!” Soonyoung shrieks, shoving back against Jihoon with the hand not holding Minghao’s waist. “Stay over there!”
The asshole knows what he did and how unnecessary it was; he could’ve said anything. Fuck it. Jihoon leans over Mingyu and pulls the door handle, shoves the door open. Mingyu realizes what he’s doing and attempts to bear hug him to keep him in the car, but Jihoon is faster and crawls over Mingyu’s lap and out into safety.
At least, that’s what he believes, until Mingyu is hopping out of the fucking car after him, chases him around the parking lot when Jihoon breaks into a sprint. “Go away, you creep! Stop following me!” They end up making circles around the car, the other men watching, entertained, for a moment until Hansol says something and they focus on him.
And Jihoon’s fast, but Mingyu’s faster (or he’s high and he feels slower than he actually is); his long legs cover twice the ground Jihoon’s do with half the effort. Lucky asshole. He catches up to Jihoon after several evasion tactics of Jihoon running opposite directions around the Hyundai. Then Mingyu’s crouching down to wrap his arms around Jihoon’s waist, hauling him up and off his feet.
Jihoon flails around fruitlessly, his snapback falling off of his head and freeing his bedhead. “Put me down, asshole, stop — ! “ Unfortunately, his strength leaves him because he starts laughing, and Mingyu starts laughing, and Mingyu’s carrying him back to the open car door until his strength also leaves him and he has to let Jihoon down.
An attempt at retribution (yes, only retribution) has Jihoon turn around and shove at Mingyu, biting out more expletives while laughing, and Mingyu tries to grab at his arms to stop him as Jihoon shoves over and over again. Then shove number four is intercepted by Mingyu finally catching Jihoon’s forearm, and he pulls Jihoon in, a tug that has so much untapped power behind it, Mingyu using just enough to get Jihoon closer to him. Jihoon knows even if he didn’t come pliantly — which he does — Mingyu still would’ve managed to bodily move him. And that’s what flashes through Jihoon’s weed-addled mind, setting off something warm and visceral in his lower abdomen, when Mingyu wraps his arms around him, holding him in a hug.
Jihoon leans onto his chest, hugs him back. Mingyu rocks them side to side, says, “Missed you,” in such a gentle tone that it strikes Jihoon right through the heart. His mouth feels too dry to respond. Yeah.
And Jihoon doesn’t know how long they remain that way, but some unknown amount of time passes until Jeonghan’s sticking his head out of the driver’s seat window and shouts, “C’mon, tall and small, before we leave you!”
“Not small,” Jihoon grumbles, unwrapping himself from Mingyu’s embrace.
Alright. Jihoon didn’t lie. This is their reset. Promise. They don’t kiss, they don’t grope — none of it. Because Mingyu is taken, and that would be wrong and not within even their standards for what best friends do. As Jihoon has repeated to himself a million times before, there’s no rulebook for best friendship, but making out and giving one another hand jobs while one of them is in a relationship is not cool. Not cool.
But what is within limits, they do. Straddling the line of decency, perhaps, but Jihoon tries not to dwell on that. When they’re with the boys, watching a movie or studying together or in the car or wherever, Mingyu will massage into Jihoon’s thigh, his fingers snaking around to the inside, squeezing and displacing the muscle found there. And Jihoon will lean into him, palm on his back or nape, playing with the little brown hairs.
Thankfully, the summer semester isn’t as intense as fall and spring’s, which gives Jihoon a little more leg room to slack off. His schedule is full of physics labs that he refused to take with 18 credits already on his plate, along with a scatter of lectures to meet his music comp minor requirements. Mingyu’s schedule is also lighter, a lot lighter, which means that if he isn’t with Chaeyeon, he’s following Jihoon to his classes and sitting with him in the back row. Editing photos while Jihoon studies across from him in the library. Going to the on-campus KFC and braving the long-ass lines in between classes with him.
It’s… comfortable. A routine that they’ve always had. One that was, arguably, way more regular pre-girlfriend.
There’s something else, though. A difference to their dynamic that if Jihoon’s brain wasn’t already so attuned to the slightest of changes (driving him crazy with innocuous details), he wouldn’t have noticed it.
’It’ starts at a “kickback” that Hansol hosts at his apartment for his close friends. Hansol has a lot of friends since he has that cool, popular-guy kinda aura, though, so what’s meant to be a casual little get-together turns into, like, thirty of Hansol’s circle scattered about his two-bed two-bath unit.
The music is loud and has to be bothering his neighbors, the bass making making everything feel like it’s vibrating. And Jihoon feels like he’s vibrating, too, one too many shots fed to him by a pushy, enabling Soonyoung. He starts to feel himself teetering to the level of drunken-ness that flushes his cheeks and belly a deep pink, his body so light and yet so heavy that he goes to ground himself in the kitchen, sitting up on the counters with the assorted chips, sodas, liquor.
Everyone else is back out in the living room and hallway leading to Hansol’s bedrooms, shouting and laughing and playing beer pong, leaving Jihoon to recuperate by himself. Which is exactly what he wants and what he needs, but then Mingyu is walking into the kitchen, and Jihoon thinks that maybe that’s exactly what he wants and needs, too.
“You and that leather jacket,” Jihoon says with a loose laugh, words only slightly slurring. “I know you have other shit you can wear.”
Mingyu, raking his fingers through his own hair to get it out of his face, smirks. “I’ll retire this jacket as soon as you stop wearing black sweatshirts and joggers to parties. Deal?” Jihoon watches him make himself a poor man’s screwdriver with the orange juice and vodka sitting next to Jihoon.
“Whatever, man. Black on black is, like, my brand. And there’s no one here to impress, so why not.”
Mingyu takes a sip of his creation from the red solo cup, one eyebrow rising at Jihoon as he does so. When he swallows, he says, mouth wet, “How do you know that? There are some hot chicks out there that could’ve been into you if you put in even a tiny bit of effort.”
Jihoon grabs the drink from Mingyu and takes a sip. More orange juice than vodka. He likes that. Mingyu watches him with his hands pressed to the edge of the counter, one close enough to brush against Jihoon’s thigh.
“Do you wear these kinda outfits when Chaeyeon’s around?” Jihoon asks. It’s the first time he willingly brings her up since Wow That Party Was Crazy, Huh? Version 2, and while sober Jihoon would’ve never even dared or bothered, drunk, pink-cheeked Jihoon doesn’t give a fuck. He keeps going. “I only see you dress like a prep when you’re with her.”
Mingyu considers him for a moment, lets the loud voices and louder music fill the quiet between them. Jihoon considers him, too.
Then Mingyu says, sliding over to Jihoon so he’s slotted between his legs, arms bracketing Jihoon in on the outside of each thigh, “She doesn’t like it when I wear too much black,” in a tone that sounds way too sultry for such a mundane response.
Jihoon watches Mingyu watch his mouth. He can feel his heart start to pulse in his throat. But he’s still sane enough to tame his desires. “You like it, though,” he says back to Mingyu’s mouth.
“I like preppy clothes, too.”
“Do you?”
Mingyu huffs a laugh. “What are you trying to say?”
Now Jihoon looks into his eyes. Soft, encircled by brown eyeshadow, pupils blown wide. “That I like how you look when you’re wearing black,” he finds himself whispering.
Another breathy laugh from Mingyu. One hand comes up to Jihoon’s face, fingers brushing across his jaw, cheek, leaving tingles of heat in its wake. His thumb, big and square, catches on Jihoon’s pink bottom lip, tugs it down only a fraction. “Thought you hated this jacket, though,” Mingyu returns in a similar whisper.
“Doesn’t mean I hate when you wear black.”
And Jihoon’s almost one hundred percent sure that Mingyu is going to kiss him. He won’t stop staring at his mouth, a shadow of a smile on his own, the pad of his thumb caressing Jihoon’s bottom lip. Fuck, Jihoon’s thinking through the haze of alcohol and longing, they’re gonna fuck everything up again. Why do they keep going to parties together when it’s clear this is their trigger to do stupid shit? Why do they keep isolating themselves during said parties, creating perfect opportunities to fuck everything up?
What ever happened to starting over?
Then Mingyu’s hand drops off Jihoon’s face at the perfect time, because Minghao is stumbling into the kitchen with an empty cup, and he pauses at the threshold when he sees them so close together. So intimate.
“Oh,” Minghao says. “‘Sup.”
“‘Sup,” Mingyu returns, very casual and very unlike the way Jihoon’s heart is thumping so hard he swears it’s going to leap right out of his mouth. He slowly slides away from Jihoon and to Minghao, drapes an arm around his thin shoulders and tugs him in. “You want a screwdriver? I know you like fruity stuff.”
“Yeah, sure,” Minghao says, and they step to the drinks to do just that, Jihoon watching dumbly from his spot on the counter.
Another bad situation avoided, Minghao being the saving grace — but Jihoon doesn’t stop thinking about it. ‘It’, amongst several other ‘it’ moments over the course of the next few weeks, stack up in his head until everything is too crowded, makes it difficult for him to pay attention during labs, lectures, while studying.
There’s the night Jeonghan uncharacteristically drank way too much, and during their walk to find a cheaper spot for the uber to pick them up, he rushed behind a dumpster and barfed. Everyone was laughing, even as Minghao ran up to console him — and Tipsy Mingyu was holding Tipsy Jihoon from behind, bent over to rest his chin on his shoulder, giggling and squeezing him until Jihoon was squirming and giggling, too.
And of course he can’t forget about the movie night they arranged on a Thursday because Mingyu was going to go on a weekend getaway with Chaeyeon, when the couch was already claimed by Mingyu, Soonyoung, and Hansol, leaving Jihoon and Jeonghan to find a place on the floor. And Jihoon was about to situate himself and his beautiful bowl of buttery popcorn onto the floor in front of Soonyoung, but Mingyu shot forward and grabbed him by the waist, pulling him back to sit in between Mingyu’s legs.
Maybe Jihoon should’ve fought it and moved to sit on the rug in support of the other couch refugee, Jeonghan, but… okay, fine, he didn’t. He didn’t, and it ended up being a two hour endeavor of Mingyu pressing his fingers into his sides to make him startle, stealing popcorn from his hands before he can get it into his mouth, whispering jokes in his ear about the actors in the action movie Jihoon was actually trying to watch and making him bite back giggles. Very dumb and very blatantly straddling the line that separated Okay from Not Okay.
The worst part is that it wasn’t only Mingyu. Jihoon would jam his fingers between Mingyu’s ribs when he least expected it, and Mingyu would yelp and go okay, that’s it, you’re dead, before returning the finger-jabs. Sometimes it was with the other guys, sometimes it wasn’t, and sometimes they’d only stop when Jeonghan would yell at them to stop acting like a discount Minghao and Soonyoung. (Minghao and Soonyoung didn’t like that.)
Soon the line is straddled so frequently that it starts to fade, and that means that Jihoon becomes unsure of what’s crossing it or not. He should know what’s crossing it, considering he’s a grown fucking man with a (-n almost) fully functioning prefrontal cortex, but how do you decipher that when the majority of their friendship has always been straddling said line?
Then.
Then one weekend Mingyu goes to hang out with Chaeyeon and her friends and her friends’ boyfriends. Like a quadruple date. And Jihoon’s in the library on an early Saturday afternoon trying to get three lab reports typed up and ready to submit for Monday’s due date. Hansol’s with him because he also has lab reports to write for his mechanical engineering labs, but only physically; he has noise-canceling headphones on, fully absorbed in what he’s typing on the Google document.
Normal student behavior. That’s the scene Jihoon’s trying to set here.
So, Jihoon’s hyper-focused on the table he’s creating on his word document when a text pops up on his computer screen. From Minggu. Not in the group chat. He gets at least the skeleton of the table done before he lets himself check it out.
Minggu: dude im trying to be a good sport but i hate this lmao
Minggu: her friends boyfriends are all kinda weird and i think chae can tell im not a big fan so she’s trying to include me in her convos with her friends
Jihoon snickers, starts to type.
Jihoon: where are you guys?
Minggu: some country club. you’d fucking hate it. one of their dads is celebrating some business thingy so we’re playing golf and drinking champagne
Minggu: you’re also gonna hate this lol
Minggu: [Photo attachment]
Spoiler alert: Jihoon doesn’t hate it. It’s a mirror selfie of Mingyu in what appears to be the bathroom of the country club. He’s wearing a stark white button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his fit arms. The top few buttons are undone, revealing the tan skin of his chest, where his pecs just start to come in. His hair is in a very slight side-part, fringe in waves that flow off his face. It’s glowing that slight orange color under the bathroom’s chandelier lights.
His head is turned at an angle, eyebrows straight, jaw clenched. And, the cherry on top, the gold bracelet is hanging off his right wrist.
OK. Okay. Alright. Woah. Jihoon’s idiot brain types and sends the first thing that comes to mind. This time — and this is where the first mistake comes in — he doesn’t stop himself.
Jihoon: you look good.
Jihoon: really good.
Right after it delivers, the typing bubble pops up on the left side of the message box.
Minggu: you think so?
Minggu: thought you’d hate it since i’m back to the preppy look lol
Don’t do it. Don’t do it, dude. Let it go and tell Mingyu it sucks that her friends’ boyfriends are braindead and that he hopes Chaeyeon and her friends-that-Mingyu-likes saves him. Tell him golfing is the worst, yeah. Make a joke about how they should be doing something fancier like Polo. Lee Jihoon.
Jihoon: nah you look really fucking good
Jihoon: 122K you’re the hottest guy there
Lee Jihoon. Idiot. He is the biggest idiot on the planet, and regret should be hitting him right now — regret and a lot of shame, ‘cause he’s shameful and shameless all at once, and yet. Yet he isn’t. He’s sitting there, lab reports abandoned, watching as Mingyu types back, breath held and skin tingling with nervous sweat.
Minggu: yeah?
Then —
Minggu: you think i’m hot?
He’s on autopilot now.
Jihoon: doesn’t everyone?
Minggu: but do you?
Jihoon: you know the answer to that question
The next response is not as fast as the others. The extra seconds of waiting has his armpits tingle with more nervous sweat.
Minggu: no, i don’t
Minggu: answer it
Jihoon: yes, mingyu.
Jihoon: thought that was obvious
Another delayed response. Mingyu is gonna give him a fucking heart attack. Just as he’s about to go back to being responsible and stop acting like a horny weirdo in a study room in the library, Mingyu’s text pops up.
Minggu: no actually it wasn’t
Minggu: think youre hot too
Minggu: i keep thinking about that night
Oh, fuck. What night, Mingyu? There have been way too many nights. All of which Jihoon will never forget.
Jihoon: which one
Minggu: you were using my leg to get off. your moans were so fucking sexy
Minggu: wanted you to beg me to take you back to mine
Minggu: would’ve carried you right out of there
Is this man still in the country club bathroom? Is he texting (sexting?) in the middle of the golf course? Is Jihoon getting hard in the study room of the library with Hansol sitting across from him? Will his lab report(s) get done today?
He sits there, staring at the screen for probably five minutes, reading Mingyu’s texts over and over again as if he read them wrong. As if he’s hallucinating and when he blinks the words will morph into something friend-appropriate. Like, thanks for thinking i look good bro see you monday! Or, you’re hot too im sure you’ll find a girlfriend as soon as you stop wearing black sweats to parties lol.
But nope. This is where they’re at now. Not kissing or groping or giving one another handies, yeah, but not exactly adhering to boundaries either. Fuck it.
Jihoon: carried me to yours to do what?
Despite Jihoon taking much longer to get his fingers to press the keys, Mingyu’s response is fast.
Minggu: do what i did to kat
Yeah. Jihoon’s officially hard in a study room in the library. Cool. Go ahead and add this to the highlight reel of Lee Jihoon’s Worst Decisions.
Jihoon: we gotta stop. im in public.
Minggu: you’re turned on? you want that too? your shirt in your mouth while i fuck you?
Stop, Lee Jihoon.
Jihoon: yes
And, again,
Jihoon: yes
Fuck. He’s gonna combust. His face is burning hot, knows that means he’s turning red.
Mingyu’s text bubble keeps popping up and going away. Popping up and going way. Finally —
Minggu: youre right
Minggu: we gotta stop
Minggu: getting hard while watching them play golf
Minggu: see you tomorrow
Jihoon slams his computer shut, startling Hansol, and gets up to go wash his face with cold water in the bathroom.
On Sunday, Jihoon and Hansol are back in their reserved study room to get the reports done. As expected, neither finished their work yesterday (for different reasons), so they promised one another it’d get done today. Before nighttime. It has to.
What starts as Jihoon and Hansol ends up with Jihoon, Hansol, Soonyoung, Mingyu, and Chaeyeon all in the study room, taking up every seat but one at the table. Soonyoung had asked where everyone was in the group chat because he has some reading and worksheets he has to do for his economics class; Mingyu, coincidentally, also has some photo editing he needs to complete, and Chaeyeon has to finish a script for one of her acting electives.
So. Yeah. Jihoon is sitting on one side, by the wall, with Hansol and Soonyoung, and Mingyu and Chaeyeon are on the other side. Chaeyeon, mini-celebrity Jung Chaeyeon, her hair in a purposely messy ponytail, strands of hair framing her white face like a halo. Jung Chaeyeon, wearing a denim skirt that rides up when she sits and a shoulderless white blouse. Smelling like roses and looking like a dream.
“Hi,” Chaeyeon says to them, waving as she gets settled into her seat. Her voice is the same, soft flutter. “Thanks for letting me study with you guys.”
“Hi, Angel,” Soonyoung says, beaming. “C’mon — you’re always welcome to study with us. We’re friends.”
“For sure,” Hansol pulls one noise-canceling earphone from his ear to say to her before putting it back in and getting straight back to work.
Chaeyeon smiles shyly. Then, she picks up her pastel violet backpack and produces some tupperware packed with grapes, strawberries, and blueberries. “I brought some snacks in case someone gets hungry. Help yourselves.” She makes room for it at the center of the table before pulling out her laptop and opening it.
“Thanks,” Jihoon tries. She’s so sweet and he really wishes she weren’t, because maybe the guilt wouldn’t hurt so bad.
Mingyu pulls her in by her waist and presses his mouth to her temple, whispers, “You’re so good,” and okay, yeah, it’s time for Jihoon to put his headphones in and finish these lab reports.
And that’s exactly what he does. Except he’s chronically nosy, so despite the fact that the earbuds are in his ears, he doesn’t turn on any music. Yet. ‘Cause Soonyoung is asking her something and he wants to hear it just incase it’s something else his brain can drive him crazy over.
“So. I heard Mingyu met the parents,” Soonyoung is saying to her. “How was that?”
“Really, really good,” Chaeyeon cheers. “They love him. Not that they’re difficult to please, but… they can be picky.” Mingyu is watching her glossy mouth as she speaks with a smile.
“Everyone loves Mingyu,” Soonyoung says. “He’s a good catch.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Chaeyeon, making her laugh. Mingyu makes a kissy face at Soonyoung.
“Actually,” Chaeyeon starts, shy smile back. She makes eye contact with Mingyu for a second before looking at Soonyoung again. “I met his parents, too.”
This makes Jihoon look up.
“Really?” Soonyoung says. “You didn’t tell us that part,” he looks at Mingyu.
Now Mingyu is looking a little shy. “Over spring break they came to Seoul. It wasn’t, like, an official meeting or anything. They happened to be visiting my uncle and came by to wish me a happy birthday.” He tightens his grip around Chaeyeon’s waist. “I want the real meeting to be over dinner, or something. Y’know. Something more meaningful.”
Mingyu meets Jihoon’s eyes, and every inch of Jihoon’s skin feels so hot, like there’s a furnace inside of his chest that’s melting him from the inside out. Like he’s going to melt into a puddle of embarrassment and shame and — and not the same puddle of shame the night Mingyu told him about Kat and saw his erection making a tent in his boxers. A puddle of shame without the arousal, only with the guilt and. And he’s burning so hot that it hurts. Physically hurts.
And he knows Mingyu can see it. Mingyu knows him too well.
“Shit’s getting serious, huh?” Jihoon rasps. “That’s great.”
Chaeyeon turns her sweet smile to him. “Crazy, right?”
Mingyu says nothing.
“Crazy,” Jihoon says to Mingyu. “Yeah.” He looks away. He picks up his phone, turns the volume to max, and plays the first song he sees.
There was no doubt in Mingyu’s mind that after graduation they’d move to the same city. “I didn’t come all the fuckin’ way over here,” Mingyu told him their first year of university, sitting on Jihoon’s queen-sized mattress and watching Yu Yu Hakusho (subs, thank you very much). “For you to go to, I ‘dunno, Seoul and become a hotshot music composer and for me to go back to Busan and rot.”
“Stop,” Jihoon laughed, nudging his shin with his toes. “Watch — you’re going to get a modeling contract or become a hotshot photographer and move to Seoul, and I’m gonna go back to Busan because I’m broke and every entertainment company rejected me.”
Mingyu nudged him back. “Your mom is wrong,” he said, resolute, like he had a crystal ball and could see the future. “You’re definitely gonna make it big and prove her wrong. Watch.”
And Jihoon wanted to believe that were true, but a part of him, in the very back of his mind, told him that his mom had a point. Less than 0.5% of those who want to make a career in the music industry actually see enough success to sustain themselves. It was what spurred him to make physics his major and music composition his minor. A back up plan. Because without back up plans, he was setting himself up for financial ruin.
There was another thing, too. Much like becoming a successful music composer, that same part of his brain told him that he and Mingyu weren’t going to end up in the same city after graduation. Neither wanted to move back to Busan — but how often do things go exactly the way you want them to? Four years of university is a long-ass time, and so much could change in four years.
It hadn’t even been one year of university and things changed. Mingyu’s lips on his, their hands experimentally roaming one another’s bodies, slowly growing accustomed to the parts of each other they’d never seen before. The fiery look in Mingyu’s eye when he looked at him. The way all of Jihoon tingled, down to his soul, when they lied in bed and talked about the future. Their future. Things changed in a single semester.
That’s how fast plans can be disrupted, shifted, abandoned. So Jihoon wants very badly to believe Mingyu the same way Mingyu believes in him, but he can never get himself to. Not all of himself, at least. And as much as he wants to file his post-graduation fears, pile it away with the other fears that he tells himself don’t matter — this one does.
It does matter. Perhaps they all do.
Jihoon follows Mingyu’s advice. ‘Cause he’s right. If Jihoon puts even a tad bit more effort into himself, he can pull girls. So when the boys say that they want to go out that night, and Mingyu says he can’t go at the time they want to but he may catch them later, Jihoon texts, i’m so down. let’s see if chan wants to come.
They make another group chat and add Chan to it.
heartthrob chan: YES.
heartthrob chan: i know a bar we can go that has ₩2400 shots
Jeonghanie: PLEASE not the social venue or any other shithole that lets people smoke indoors
heartthrob chan: not a shithole and no indoor smoking lmao.
heartthrob chan: only cheap drinks and hot girls
Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: you had me at hot girls
Jeonghanie: ???????????
Jeonghanie: nevermind. nothing.
white people call him vernon: LMAO
Hǎo Minghao disliked Jeonghanie’s text.
Hǎo Minghao disliked white people call him vernon’s text.
It’s 10 p.m. when the entire crew gets to the bar Chan insisted wasn’t shoddy. And, thankfully, it isn’t; it’s a dark bar, the colorful neon lights hanging from the roof basking the restaurant in their glow. The wooding is a dark oak, the bar stretches down an entire wall, and, as promised, the shots are 2400 won. Jeonghan approves.
Jihoon shows up in a fitted, white tee shirt that says anti social social club in the top left corner and on the back, black skinny jeans with gaping holes at the knees, and a black pair of Vans. It’s more effort than usual, alright, and that’s the best they’re gonna get.
‘They’ being the girls.
Chan, dressed in another all black ensemble and dark eyeshadow, buys the first round of shots when they go up to the bar, and everyone clinks their glasses together before backing it and sucking on their lime wedges.
“Y’know,” Hansol says, face twisting as he stares into his empty shot glass. “I hate the act of drinking, but I love being drunk.”
“That makes the two of us,” Soonyoung removes his lime wedge from his mouth to say, grimacing.
Jeonghan laughs, puts his shot glass back on the bar counter. “Pussies.”
Chan eyes a petite, long-haired girl that’s sitting up at the bar and flagging the bartender down. “You’re right,” he says, patting Jeonghan’s shoulder as he slips by. “Pussy.” And he’s gone.
Minghao giggles while watching him scurry off. “That kid is something else. I bet he’s gonna tell her he’s in a band.”
All the men twist their heads around to observe, and, sure enough, her face lights up at something he says. Just like that, she’s hooked. They burst into laughter, Soonyoung and Hansol giving Minghao congratulatory shoves. “Told you,” Minghao cheers.
Well. Chan’s got the right idea. Jihoon also breaks away from Hansol, Minghao, Jeonghan, and Soonyoung to slide between two barstools, one empty and the other holding a girl with dyed blonde hair. She looks to have her friends on the other side of her, but they’re talking to one another while she sips her martini and listens.
“Anyone sitting here?” Jihoon asks her, loud enough that he can be heard over the trance music blasting over the bar. She turns her head to acknowledge him, and he points to the empty barstool.
She smiles, her lips painted red. “Now someone is.”
Cute.
Jihoon hops up onto the barstool. He points at her half-full martini glass, asks, “What is that? Is it good?”
She glances at her own drink, then looks at him again. “It’s a peach martini. I like it, but it’s way too expensive for how much gin they give you.”
He nods and pouts his lips like he’s considering it. “It does look pretty small.” Then he looks back into her eyes. “Lee Jihoon, by the way.”
“Cho Yewon,” she returns. Her hair sits at her shoulders, framing her face in gentle waves. And she’s wearing a backless black silk dress that stops a quarter-way down her thighs. She’s definitely cute; thin and petite, Jihoon’s type.
“Want something else?” Jihoon asks as he takes his wallet out of his back pocket with one hand and flags the bartender down with the other. The bartender meets his eyes and makes his way down.
Yewon watches him take his debit card out. “What are you getting?”
“Rum and Coke. I’m a simple man.”
“A rum and Coke, then,” Yewon says. She shifts her knees over so that she’s facing him more than she is her chatting friends. Hook, line, and sinker. “Wanna try it?” She slides her peach martini closer to him.
Jihoon tells the bartender what he wants — “Two rum and Cokes, please,” — says that he doesn’t want to open a tab when he asks, and then tunes back into Yewon. “Sure. I like fruity drinks.” He picks it up and takes a sip from the part of the rim that doesn’t have her red lipstick smudged on it. He smacks his lips. “It is good. How much was it?”
Yewon cringes. “You don’t wanna know.”
“I think I do.”
“Seventeen hundred,” she says while still grimacing.
Yikes. “Big spender,” Jihoon teases.
“I really like peach drinks, okay?” She pretends to be offended for two seconds until she giggles, flashing straight, white teeth.
It’s not too often that Jihoon tries to pick up girls, but — and not to toot his own horn — he’s pretty damn good at it. The shorter you are as a man, the more confidence you have to exude to pull; it’s, like, a fact of life. And Jihoon’s had 10 years to cycle through the 5 stages of grief when he stopped growing in junior high. He likes to think he’s over it now, but sometimes he gets a horrible reminder when he goes out with his tall friends (i.e. Mingyu and Minghao) and is treated like he’s invisible the entire night. That sucks. Big time.
The lesson he learned is that he has to separate himself from his taller friends as soon as they get to the bar or the club to give himself a fighting chance. And to not approach any girl that has to look down at him, heels or not.
Their drinks arrive, Jihoon pays, and then he falls into easy conversation with her. She’s a 21 year old nursing student that goes to the same university he does; she lives off campus with her sister that’s 2 years her senior and also goes to his university; she doesn’t like going to clubs or bars, but it’s one of the few chances she gets to hang out with her friends since they enjoy nightlife.
“They don’t ever wanna do something else? Like movie nights or whatever?” Jihoon asks.
Yewon shakes her head, fringe bouncing across her forehead. “Nope, not really. This is usually what we do for fun.”
“Doesn’t sound like you get much out of it,” Jihoon says. “How good is a friendship if you guys never do something everyone enjoys?”
She doesn’t respond right away. She looks at him for a moment, then somewhere off over his shoulder, thinking. “I,” she says. “I ‘dunno. I guess…” She pauses. “I guess ‘cause I’ve been friends with them for a long time. Since high school. It wasn’t always this way.”
“Can’t go to bars or clubs in high school,” Jihoon quips, and she laughs. “Now’s your chance to find like-minded friends, though. You’re, like a second year?”
“Second, yeah,” Yewon says.
“You have the next, like, three years to branch out.” Jihoon takes a sip of his drink while shrugging. “Just an idea. So you’re not spending the next three years of your college life doing shit you don’t wanna do in your free time.”
Yewon considers this, eyes raising to the roof, and then it seems like she decides on something and nods very slowly. “Didn’t really think of it like that. Three years of no fun.”
He and Yewon get through three drinks in the next hour they chat, scooting closer and closer to one another until she lets him place a hand on her upper thigh, fingertips right under the frayed edge of her dress. When he says something she finds funny she pushes him, only to wrap a hand on the back of his neck and pull him back in; he loses track of how many times she does that, but on the Xth time he takes his chance to nuzzle his nose into her cheek when she pulls him back in.
A breathless giggle escapes her, her hand still on his nape, and he brushes her hair back over her shoulder, exposing the long, thin line of her neck. “You look incredible in that dress,” he slowly moves along her cheek to press his mouth against her ear and say. She giggles again, almost instinctively tilting her head to give him better access to her throat.
Jihoon takes the chance to trail wet kisses on her jaw, behind her ear, down to her throat, his hand on her thigh slowly shifting further up under her dress, massaging down and to the inside of her leg. She’s gasping, letting him do what he wants, and Jihoon’s mind automatically goes into hyperdrive, trying to figure out the best way to ask her to come back to his place without scaring her away. Any wrong move and he can turn her off and have her turning back to her friends; he’s made several wrong moves in the past.
But — a god or gods or higher power must be looking down on him, because Yewon whispers, “Do you live close by?” when his mind leads him down a dead end.
Yes. Fuck yes. This is what he’s needed for a hot minute. To get laid so he doesn’t have to get off on sexting best friends, doesn’t have to fight against his sick desires when best friends slot themselves between his legs. With it out of his system, he can go back to being cool, collected Jihoon, the Jihoon he knows he can be if he wasn’t so sexually frustrated. Wasn’t so sexually frustrated and getting into his feelings over male best friends planning a future with their girlfriends.
Jihoon’s going to get a girlfriend, too. Trust. And this emotionally draining part of his life will come to its logical conclusion. Him, a girl under his arms, with a degree and a career lined up. The idea makes him vibrate with excitement — or that could be the alcohol and the anticipation for what he’s going to do with Yewon tonight, but those tiny details don’t matter.
“I do,” he whispers right against her ear, giving her thigh another squeeze, and she squirms beneath his palm. “I can call an uber.”
He has to send a quick message to his friends that he’s bouncing. It’s only fair, so they don’t think he’s dead in a ditch somewhere. Jihoon pries himself off of her and turns around to look for everyone else under the neon lights and the dark.
He catches Chan standing up near a table with the girl he first spoke to, his tongue down her throat, hand on her ass; Minghao and Soonyoung are in a random corner wrapped around one another, and from Jihoon’s vantage point he can see Soonyoung staring at Minghao’s mouth as he speaks; and.
And he sees Hansol and Jeonghan a few seats down, both of them sitting with their backs to the bar because they’re talking to someone. A tall brunette man in a short-sleeved black tee that clings to every dip and roll of his muscle, his blue jeans looking like they’re painted to his legs, Chelsea boots making him look impossibly taller.
Kim Mingyu.
Hansol and Jeonghan are looking at Mingyu, but Mingyu’s looking at Jihoon.
Fuck.
Jihoon whips back around to face Yewon. He’ll just text them later and say he’s off getting his dick wet; he doesn’t need to go over there. What he needs to do is get the fuck out of here, and fast. “I’ll get the uber,” he says, tries to sound as calm as he was earlier.
Yewon smiles and nods at him. “I need to tell my friends,” she says.
Of course. He has the luxury of disappearing without a trace, but it’s important for her to let someone know exactly where she’s going and what she’s doing. Safety first.
But — fuck. Yewon slides out of her seat to go up to her friends that moved from the bar to a table. Leaving Jihoon alone. Phone in hand. Allegedly getting the uber.
Jihoon taps on the app, doesn’t even have to turn around and look to know that Mingyu is walking up and standing behind him. “Kinda busy here,” Jihoon shouts over the music without turning around.
Mingyu, the persistent fucker that he is, grabs Jihoon’s knee and rotates him around to face him. Jihoon fixes him with an annoyed glare. “I said I’m busy, dude, please take a hint.”
“Are you mad at me?” Mingyu asks. Looking stern and handsome with his fringe falling into his soft eyes. Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off.
It’s not something Jihoon expects him to ask, but, regardless, he’s already decided on his retort before Mingyu spoke. “Weren’t you with Chaeyeon?” he asks. “Why are you here?”
“I said I’d probably meet up with you guys later on,” Mingyu deadpans.
“She doesn’t like it when you go out and drink,” Jihoon says. He can’t help himself. “Does she know where you are?”
“You’re mad.”
Jihoon throws his arms up, mad at the accusation that he’s mad. “Yes, I’m mad, dude. Because I’m trying to get laid and you’re cock-blocking right now. Don’t make me call Chaeyeon and tell her what you’re up to. She’s not gonna like it,” he sing-songs.
Look. He’s being an asshole, he knows. The thing is that he’s sobering up, barely even tipsy in the first place, and picking up girls at bars is a very sensitive science. If he so much as breathes wrong, there goes his golden ticket. And Mingyu has his girlfriend already — he fucks her on a regular basis, he’s certain of that — yet he’s here fucking shit up for him. Looking stern and tall and handsome and Jihoon hates him.
“Jihoon.”
Stern and tall and handsome under the neon lights, each color splaying across his face and making a muddied mess. Red on his nose, green on his forehead, yellow and blue everywhere else. Jaw sharper with how he’s clenching it.
“I’m going home,” Jihoon tells him.
“Let me come with,” Mingyu says. His hand is still on Jihoon’s knee. Yewon has definitely been scared off by now. “I wanna talk to you.”
Jihoon flicks the uber app away without breaking eye contact.
Surprise, surprise: not much talking happens.
What really happens is that they get to Jihoon’s apartment, kick off their shoes, and Mingyu follows him to his room. And Mingyu sits on the bed and watches Jihoon as he aimlessly tidies up, putting forgotten clothes into the hamper, stacking textbooks and old binders up on his study desk. Then he turns around and looks at Mingyu, who’s still watching him.
“I fucked up again,” Mingyu says. His voice sounds so loud in the silence. “With those texts.”
“I started it this time,” Jihoon says.
“Whoever started it doesn’t matter.”
A pause.
“I’m not mad,” Jihoon says. “Really.”
Mingyu keeps staring. Jihoon is terrified of what his eyes are saying. Mingyu knows what to look for when he wants to.
“Why are you so far away then?”
Jihoon shifts his weight from one foot to another. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears. He swallows hard. “Because I know what’ll happen if I go over there.”
Mingyu sits very still, gaze unfaltering.
Then, “What’ll happen?”
Jihoon’s mouth is so dry. There’s nothing left to swallow, but he tries again. Mingyu has to be able to hear his heartbeat now.
“We’re not good at this,” Jihoon tries.
A pause.
“Nothing’s going to happen if you don’t want it to,” Mingyu says, voice lowering, and fuck, don’t do that. Don’t do that. Don’t do that. Jihoon can feel the resolve leaving his body, leaking out of his pores along with a fresh batch of nervous sweat.
There’s another few-second stare off until Jihoon conjures up enough air to speak. “What are we doing?”
“Talking.”
“No, we’re not.”
One of Mingyu’s eyebrows twitch up. “We’re not talking right now?”
Jihoon takes a shaky inhale, lets it out through his nose. “If I go over there we’re not gonna talk. Let’s be serious.”
Mingyu closes his mouth. His hair has that orange glow under the dim light of Jihoon’s bedroom lamp. And when he leans forward, elbows resting on his legs, he looks at Jihoon through his lashes, instantly short-circuiting the useful parts of Jihoon’s brain. Short-circuiting the parts of his brain that tells him this was the worst fucking idea, bringing him here; not only on Chaeyeon’s behalf, but his own, too. He should’ve fought harder. He should’ve snatched his knee away and chased after Yewon. He should’ve called the fucking uber.
Should’ve, should’ve.
It’s funny, really. Not in a ha-ha kind of way, but in that dry rhetorical way, like when he saw Soonyoung miserable over Minghao leaving for two weeks. Funny that their friendship has progressed to the point that they can’t even be alone with one another anymore; that the sole act of finding a private place feels illicit, like a betrayal. That as soon as they’re out of watchful eyes every cell in Jihoon’s body screams at him to put his hands in Mingyu’s hair, get his mouth anywhere he can on his skin. He can feel his fingers twitching even now, straining against the strength of his desires.
Relax , Lee Jihoon.
“Let’s forget it,” Jihoon says. “We made a mistake.” He doesn’t sound convincing, he knows, but at least he’s trying . Trying, trying, trying to be good.
But Mingyu’s got that maddening, soul-searching gaze, the one that tells Jihoon he can see straight through him. It leaves Jihoon feeling terrifyingly vulnerable; as if he’s standing stark naked on a stage, and everyone’s dissecting him with their eyes. Vulnerable in the same way he felt when Mingyu told everyone in the study room that he met Chaeyeon’s parents and she met his — looking at Jihoon the entire fucking time. Watching, dissecting, telling Jihoon that he knows and he’s always known.
Mingyu gets up off of the bed. And for a moment Jihoon thinks he’s going to walk over to him; but instead Mingyu says, “Okay. Cool,” in the very same tone he said ‘sup when Minghao stood at the threshold of the kitchen and watched them. Unaffected, casual.
And then he’s leaving Jihoon’s bedroom.
Jihoon’s feet carry him to the door, where he can look out at Mingyu crossing the living room. “You drove to my place just to turn around and leave?”
Mingyu slows at the foyer, glancing over his shoulder. “You said there’s nothing to talk about.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You told me to forget it,” Mingyu retorts. “I’m forgetting it.”
“ You’re mad now?” Jihoon asks, almost incredulous.
Mingyu turns halfway towards Jihoon to regard him. Jihoon can see his jaw clench and unclench. “I’m not mad,” he says. “You told me to forget it. I’m doing what you want.”
“Is that what you want?” Jihoon asks, and he feels so fucking pathetic as he asks it, but he can’t fucking stop himself. His brain is fried, leaving only his most primitive desires. “Did you really come here to talk?”
Nothing is said for what feels like an eternity. But Jihoon keeps his stance, keeps his stare, and waits. He needs Mingyu to talk. To say something. Not to dodge the question like he always does; he’s been dodging questions for years. How is sex with Chaeyeon? She’s a good Christian girl . Do you get off on being watched? Was it worth 0 hours of sleep? Was it to you? Chaeyeon. Is she asking what you’re up to right now? It can be annoying sometimes, but it’s cool. Do you really [like preppy clothes]? What are you trying to say? Avoiding, ducking, demanding answers but never supplying any himself.
So now he needs to speak.
“Mingyu,” Jihoon says, tone both exasperated and a bit desperate. “I need an answer.”
Mingyu runs both hands through his hair several times, fringe falling perfectly back into place with each rake. “It was to talk,” he starts, reluctant. “Partly.”
“What’s the other part, then.” Said like a statement but meant as a question.
Mingyu’s still reluctant. His lips are parted on unspoken words, one hand continuing to brush his hair back. Jihoon’s heart is going so fast he’s convinced the heart attack is right around the corner. He will go into cardiac arrest and it will be Mingyu’s fault. Death by Unanswered Questions. That, or he’s gonna stop breathing for so long that the respiratory arrest happens first. Or he’ll drown on his own spit. He’s thinking about stupid shit because at least it’s filling the silence inside his head, only to him, as he stands at the entrance to his door and Mingyu at the foyer, the apartment so quiet they can hear the wheels of cars rolling over gravel outside his window.
“I’m sorry about the texts,” Mingyu’s returning voice shocks Jihoon a little, his shoulders startling. “I went too far. I’m sorry I sent them…” He lets out a breath, his chest falling. “But I meant it. What I said.”
Oh. Then — oh. Oh . It’s so fucking pathetic how fast the blood rushes from Jihoon’s brain and straight to his dick. Not like he’s been using his brain much, anyway. If he were, he would’ve left Mingyu back in the bar. But when has he ever been good at impulse control? The highlight reel of Lee Jihoon’s Worst Decisions exists for a reason: because his peanut brain conjures up an idea that will definitely hurt him in the long run, but since the instant gratification is too tempting he listens to what Peanut Brain convinces him to do. And then he panics later. And then his brain keeps reminding him of it — for years. How Jihoon has lived this long, he doesn’t know. His IQ has to be room temperature —
“Your turn,” Mingyu says, knocks Jihoon back into reality. “If you were so sure we weren’t gonna talk, then why did you ride back here with me?”
Right. Jihoon isn’t sure how he didn’t see this coming. Mingyu isn’t an idiot, and Mingyu is also scarily good at reading his mind. Jihoon’s room temperature IQ theory may have some merit here.
“I,” he starts. Stops. How honest can he be? Mingyu was pretty honest with him. More so than as of recent. “I guess. Um…”
Fuck. The heart attack is impending. Death by Unanswered Questions has been avoided by the skin of his teeth, but turns out he hasn’t escaped passing out in the middle of his apartment and having to have Mingyu call the ambulance.
His armpits are tingling with sweat.
Jihoon has to look anywhere than at Mingyu’s face to say this — so he settles for Mingyu’s feet, which are wearing white socks, and uses the oxygen he has left. “The stupid part of me… it wanted an excuse.”
“An excuse?” His voice is thin, low.
Jihoon shrugs a shoulder up. “If you made the first move. Then I’d have an excuse.”
Thank the moon and the stars, Mingyu doesn’t push for more. The silence that follows is proof enough that he understands Jihoon’s disjointed mess of an explanation. Where they go from here, he has no idea.
A soft laugh escapes Mingyu, and Jihoon looks up from his feet to regard him. Mingyu’s kinda smiling, but not in a particularly happy way. “Why would you need the excuse?”
Jihoon lets the question rattle around in the empty space his peanut brain left behind. Thinks, thinks, then the little hairs on his arms stand up when he realizes what Mingyu’s trying to convey.
The only one single here is Jihoon. No excuse necessary. Ah.
“Ah,” Jihoon says.
Well. No excuse needed where relationships are concerned, but that’s not the reason Jihoon needs it. Yeah, because he’s thinking about Mingyu’s taken status and how Chaeyeon would be absolutely heartbroken if she knew, but — and it is selfish, Jihoon will not pretend that it isn’t — he’s afraid of what this means about him. Afraid that he’ll fuck his best friend, and then tomorrow he’ll have to watch best friend tell his girlfriend how much he loves her. And he remembers the way he ached, so deep in his chest, when said best friend discussed the logistics of a perfect way to ‘officially’ ‘properly’ meet his parents with his girlfriend. And he ruminates over what this will say about their status as friends, if this will permanently disrupt their dynamic, the dynamic of the entire friend group.
What will this say about him? What will he say to himself in the morning? When has he ever been good at delaying gratification? Impulse control?
“Okay,” Jihoon whispers. Mingyu is watching him, unmoving. “Okay.”
Jihoon crosses the living room, Mingyu’s eyes following, and — morning grief and regret be damned — he reaches up with both hands, grabs Mingyu by the back of his neck, and drags his head down to lick into his mouth.
Mingyu is still at first, most likely surprised at the force to Jihoon’s pull — but then he stirs, starts to kiss back, hands coming up to hold Jihoon by his waist; his palms so warm through the thin material of Jihoon’s tee shirt. It makes Jihoon shiver beneath them.
Mingyu folds himself down a little bit more, changing the angle of the kiss, and hums, satisfied, into Jihoon’s mouth. He pulls Jihoon’s body closer to him; close that Jihoon’s feet stumble onto Mingyu’s, their chests pressed together as best they can be. As they find a rhythm, the kiss becomes filthy, open mouthed and desperate, Mingyu’s hums falling into a groan.
And Jihoon was already half-mast at the confession, but he’s fully hard now, every groan that Mingyu breathes into his mouth rippling heat right down, low low low in his belly, between his legs. He wants to hear more. He wants to hear Mingyu come undone. He wants to know that Mingyu’s been just as desperate for this, that he’s not the only one.
Jihoon achieves this when he grabs two fistfuls of Mingyu’s stupidly perfect hair, tight enough to elicit a gasp from Mingyu, then another groan — lower, prolonged. He holds Mingyu there, in the kiss, stealing every noise and trying to leave no ground uncovered before they have to separate. And it’s so fucking good while it lasts; the warmth deep in Jihoon’s abdomen spreads out out out, heating his skin, relaxing his limbs.
When Jihoon breaks away, he loosens the fists in Mingyu’s hair and catches his eye. Then they’re staring at one another, flushed red and panting from a single kiss. Mingyu’s eyes are dark, glazed, and he flickers down to Jihoon’s lips and back up into his eyes a couple of times before he says, breathless, “That was my excuse?”
Jihoon pants a laugh. “Not convincing enough for you?”
A smile touches Mingyu’s lips, seductive, slow. “No. I need more.”
Several ideas scurry through Jihoon’s mind, none of which are fast enough for his tastes; too many gaps and lulls between Jihoon’s hands on Mingyu, mouth against his, their bodies flush together, leaves space for Jihoon to talk himself out of it. To second guess and panic and ruin this for him — something that should be ruined, of course, but Jihoon’s not thinking about that right now. Doesn’t want to think about that right now.
Mingyu chooses for him. One hand wrapped around Jihoon’s forearm, he guides them into the kitchen, presses Jihoon’s back against the counter, and — oh . There’s that saying, ‘life imitates art’ again, maybe, because now they’re in the kitchen and Kat was in the kitchen and what Mingyu told him in bed over a year ago and also those texts , and. But. No. Life is imitating life. Sure, it was a story told from Mingyu’s lips and used as fodder once more through texts, but it happened. Mingyu actually fucked Kat in the kitchen. Her shirt in her mouth. Jihoon’s shirt in his mouth? Up on the counter? Legs spread, with Mingyu slotted between them?
Jihoon doesn’t know why he’s acting so shellshocked about it; Mingyu just told him the texts were his actual desires. It wasn’t just a fantasy remixed, with Jihoon subbed in for Kat so they could both get off. It’s real. This is real. That’s what’s rattling around inside of Jihoon, making his brain foggy with a sudden burst of arousal, when Mingyu is hurriedly undoing Jihoon’s jeans. And the overwhelming wave of emotion distorted with his racing thoughts stuns Jihoon, has him unable to move or be in the moment.
Then his jeans and briefs are being shoved down, freeing his hard, already leaking cock — and the cold air that hits the newly-unveiled patch of skin drags Jihoon back to reality, to the fact that this is very, very real, and Mingyu wasn’t kidding . He blinks up at Mingyu and opens his mouth to say something — he doesn’t even know what, his body is on autopilot at this point because he’s still kinda reeling — until Mingyu is sinking down.
Mingyu is sinking down.
Jihoon’s not looking at Mingyu anymore because he’s gone from Jihoon’s line of vision. Sinking down . Onto his knees . Leaving Jihoon no chance to recover from his first epiphany before Mingyu’s mouth is on his cock . Holy fuck, holy fuck . Jihoon hears himself whimper, feels his knees buckle, watches his hands come down to touch the crown of Mingyu’s head in their confusion. He has no fucking control over his body anymore; his brain is lagging ten seconds behind, and Mingyu isn’t giving him a fucking chance to catch up to what’s happening — because he’s on his fucking knees .
Kim Mingyu is kneeling on the tiles of his kitchen floor, one big hand wrapped around the base of Jihoon’s cock, mouth on his leaking cockhead. Mingyu, brown hair messy from when Jihoon tugged at it, eyes fluttering closed, gives the slit an experimental lick. Another whimper rips from between Jihoon’s lips, and this time a hand musses Mingyu’s hair up again when he grabs a hold of where it’s longer on the back of his head, but not tight enough to prevent Mingyu from moving freely. Just there. Confused .
And Jihoon’s beginning to recognize that what’s occurring before his eyes isn’t an extremely, extremely, (extremely) vivid dream, that he isn’t in a simulation catered to the desires that have been trapped deep in his subconscious. That this definitely isn’t what he did to Kat. Mingyu is taking him further into his mouth, down the thick length of him. His tongue flattens on the underside of Jihoon’s cock as he sinks further — and Jihoon’s much thicker than he is long, so it doesn’t take a concentrated amount of effort for his cockhead to reach Mingyu’s throat.
“Holy,” Jihoon finally gathers enough brain power to remember that he has a voice. “Mingyu, fuck .” Mingyu hums around him, and Jihoon’s hips grow a mind of their own, reflexively rutting deeper into the heat of Mingyu’s mouth, into his throat . He feels Mingyu flutter around him, eliciting another whimper, one that blends into a prolonged moan. Jihoon is gonna pass out. He’s gonna pass out and crumple over Mingyu’s body and the ambulance will have to be called after all.
Mingyu pulls back to halfway down Jihoon’s length, visibly fighting his gag reflex; but it’s already so messy, spit on his chin, around his mouth, on Jihoon’s cock . New dilemma: Jihoon feels his soul leaving his body. Once Mingyu recovers and begins bobbing his head again, this time using both hands to pin Jihoon’s hips against the counter, Jihoon feels disembodied. Like he’s watching himself get a blowjob from Kim Mingyu in his apartment kitchen, and it’s not him anymore, only his body, but he can still feel the wet, hot hold of Mingyu on him, the way he stops at his head to tongue the slit (and Mingyu is tasting his precum. He has to be. There’s no way to avoid it. Jesus fucking christ.), how he starts moaning , the vibrations making Jihoon’s knees buckle and his entire body shake with waves of pleasure.
“You’re so — “ Jihoon stutters, then stops. So good . It’s the most inappropriate time to think about it, but when has Jihoon ever thought about the appropriate things at the appropriate times? He thinks of how he and Mingyu never talked about other men they’ve been with. Jihoon assumed that Mingyu’s never touched another man like how he touches Jihoon, ‘cause of course. Mingyu loves women, talks about women all the time, tells Jihoon all his fantasies centered around women. Never men.
But there’s no way this is Mingyu’s first time giving a blow job. He didn’t hesitate to get to his knees. No falter, no uncertain pull of his eyebrows, simply — bam — one second Jihoon’s looking at him and the next second he’s got Jihoon’s dick down his throat. Speaking of down his throat — Mingyu seems to have worked back up the courage, because after a sharp inhale through his nose, he sinks back down, down, down, his throat opening up and sucking Jihoon’s cock in.
Oh. Holy shit . It’s a good thing Mingyu had the foresight to press Jihoon to the counter, because he’s lost full function of his legs, leans his weight onto it as he practically sobs . Jihoon can’t shut himself up anymore (never tried, really), blurts, “Mingyu, oh my god ,” his hips fighting Mingyu’s grip to no avail. Then Mingyu’s pulling back to suck at Jihoon’s sensitive head and breathe — before he’s sliding back down again .
Jihoon is officially convinced his soul is never going to come back. He’s gone, 99% chance he’ll end up in hell with the shit he’s done, and it’s Mingyu’s fault. It’s so wet , so noisy, Mingyu’s subdued moans, the filthy sounds when Jihoon hits the back of Mingyu’s throat, the way Mingyu sucks his spit up when he returns to Jihoon’s head. And when Jihoon dares himself to look, he knows he’s gonna come in, like, five seconds; Mingyu’s chin is filthy with his saliva and precum, his lips a deep red, and it’s fucking pornographic how Mingyu looks with his eyes closed, legs spread as he sits back on his haunches, hair a nest from Jihoon’s abuse. Only then does he realize that Mingyu’s removed one hand from Jihoon’s left hip to free his own hard cock and jack himself off.
That’s why Mingyu’s moaning. Wow. Okay. Jihoon’s orgasm is just about here, and he has the mind to warn Mingyu, cries, “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come — gyu .” This spurs Mingyu to pull off of his cock with an obscene pop, Jihoon whimpering both from the sudden loss of warmth and at the chance to come; Mingyu’s getting up from his knees, and he stops fisting himself to grab Jihoon’s legs and haul him up onto the counters.
Jihoon goes pliantly, dazed as Mingyu is pulling off Jihoon’s jeans and briefs so quickly it’s like it’s on fire, then slides himself between his bare legs. “Fuck, Jihoon,” Mingyu’s voice is hoarse — Jihoon could fucking come untouched at the realization that he’s the cause for that — when he speaks, and he presses their cocks together, wraps his left hand around both of them as best he can, starts pumping erratically.
Jihoon registers how cold the granite countertops are against his skin for only a millisecond before he’s burning hot all over, trying to hump up as Mingyu’s fist twists down their lengths. “Good, good, good,” Jihoon’s gasping, clutching onto the edge of the counter with both hands for dear life. Mingyu has one grip under one of Jihoon’s thighs, holding it up and out; Jihoon’s other leg hangs uselessly off. “S’good, so fucking — “ He knocks his head back against the cabinets, doesn’t register the sharp pain in his arousal.
Mingyu has his wet mouth pressed to the side of Jihoon’s head, into his hair. “Your moans drive me up the fucking wall,” he’s groaning, tightens his hold around their cocks and has them both moan in tandem. “Wanted this forever, wanted you so bad.”
He can feel his orgasm building up again, can’t get the image of Mingyu jerking himself off while sucking him out of his head, can only think about Mingyu on his knees in his fucking kitchen. Jihoon presses a palm to the back of Mingyu’s neck, curls his fingers and holds Mingyu there, right there, where he can hear the way he’s coming undone from the filthy slide of their dicks. “Wanted my cock in your mouth?” Jihoon pants on an exhale — and he’s there, oh fuck he’s gonna come, the muscles in his abdomen are jumping, all his toes curling in. “Y’wanted me to fuck your throat?”
Mingyu whimpers, his pumps losing their rhythm in a threat of Mingyu’s own climax reaching him. “Yes, god, yes, wanted that for years, Hoon — oh ,” his words cut short, and Jihoon can feel Mingyu’s body tense between his legs, his hot breath hitching. Then he’s coming, spurts hitting Jihoon’s stomach, where his shirt rode up, spilling onto his own hands and their cocks. It only takes Mingyu twisting his fist around the head of their cocks once more for Jihoon to come next; he shuts his eyes tightly, his mouth falling open on a silent gasp, his entire body going still.
Jihoon slumps against the cabinets. It’s not very comfortable, but his nerve endings have yet to return from the dead. He can hear their chorus of pants; his legs flop, listless, when Mingyu is no longer holding one up, no longer between them.
Wow. Wow . Despite the fog hanging thick inside his mind, Jihoon returns to the same questions he had earlier: has Mingyu done that before? Where the fuck did that come from? Jihoon isn’t the only man he’s messed around with? Is he in an alternate dimension? In a deep sleep? A coma?
He confirms that this is very real when he pries his eyes open, recovered enough to regard Mingyu as he uses the paper towel in the kitchen to wipe his hands and face off. Then Mingyu’s walking over to Jihoon, quietly wipes Jihoon’s stomach and everywhere else their come reached. Jihoon watches him clean, says, “Where did you learn to do that?”
The corner of Mingyu’s mouth quirks up. He looks at Jihoon while wiping his skin clean. “One or two… experiences at parties.” He pauses. “Before I… sometime first year.”
Before Chaeyeon.
“Oh.” Jihoon doesn’t know what to say. He wants to ask more, because this is, like, kinda a huge revelation and something Mingyu never thought to tell him, his supposed best friend, but… there’s nothing else to ask. That’s it. Mingyu’s given blowjobs before. “Okay.”
Mingyu picks up Jihoon’s forgotten jeans and briefs. “Do you mind if I sleep here tonight? Kinda too tired to drive home.”
“Y’don’t have to ask that question, dude,” Jihoon says.
Mingyu lets out a clipped laugh, uncertain. “Thanks.”
The next hour is a blur of them each taking a shower, Mingyu putting on the sleepwear he leaves at Jihoon’s place, and brushing their teeth side by side. It’s an awkward silence, one that turns somewhat comfortable when they’re in Jihoon’s bed and Mingyu tucks Jihoon under his arm, Mingyu’s head turned to breathe into Jihoon’s damp hair.
Jihoon is tugging at a random string on Mingyu’s white sleep shirt, unable to sleep with so many… questions swimming in his head. This means Mingyu’s bisexual, right? Like, confirmed bisexual? No doubt about it? Which Jihoon knows is a stupid thing to ask, considering the fact that they’ve acted not very straight with one another since third year of high school. But, there’s a Kinsey scale or whatever, right? Originally, Jihoon thought Mingyu was a 1 or 2 or something, leaning far enough towards straight to be straight. What would be the dick sucking quota to move a point closer to 3? Two dicks? Three dicks? How far has Mingyu gone with other men? If he sucked dick “once or twice,” is that sufficient enough to be a 3? Then, where does Jihoon lie? Is he a 3 if the mere thought of Mingyu on his knees has his arousal stirring again? Is he a 3 if he kinda, sorta, maybe, is in —
“I meant it, by the way,” Mingyu says, soft but not a whisper.
Jihoon blinks in the dark, leans his head further down the arm tucked under him to look at Mingyu’s profile. “Meant what?”
He’s close enough to see that Mingyu’s eyes are open. But he’s not looking in Jihoon’s direction; he’s looking up at the ceiling.
“That I wanted to do that. For years.”
Mingyu has to be trying to make Jihoon hard again; there’s no other explanation. But Jihoon contains himself as best he can. Jihoon. Relax .
“To me?”
Jihoon’s head jostles when Mingyu breathes a laugh. “Yeah, to you, dumbass.”
Right. Jihoon doesn’t know why he asked that. The answer was obvious.
But — something that isn’t so obvious:
“What does this mean?” Jihoon’s voice falls to a whisper, weak, scared . Something he’s wanted to ask for awhile now, more so at different times in their friendship. When they kissed for the first time, but not for the dare. All the times they kissed. Every time they curled in on one another in bed. Every time they gave each other hand jobs. More and more often the question sat at his lips until it was constant, pervasive. Driving him crazy. Keeping the Don’t Matter thoughts floating around, because it had yet to be answered.
They’re here. Being honest. So he wants to know.
Mingyu turns his head to look into Jihoon’s eyes. Then they’re staring at one another. Jihoon has no idea what face he’s wearing right now, probably doesn’t want to know.
Mingyu leans in, stops when their lips are centimeters apart. Still looking at Jihoon as Jihoon looks at him.
Then he’s kissing him. So, so gently that Jihoon feels his heart throb in his chest. They’re slow, careful presses that he repeats several times — and Jihoon lies still, lets Mingyu kiss him in a way that’s wholly unfamiliar to them. No desperation, not rushed. Just soft little kisses without tongue, Mingyu increasing the time their lips are together each one.
Jihoon doesn’t know how many times they do that. His racing mind doesn’t find that detail important to remember. But, after so many cycles, Mingyu does a much longer, firm kiss, carefully rolling on his side towards Jihoon as he does so. Jihoon moves with Mingyu until he’s on his back and Mingyu’s halfway over him. He lets his eyes flutter closed when the kiss turns more sensual, Jihoon now cupping Mingyu’s jaw with one hand, Mingyu using the hand of the arm not holding himself up to thread fingers through Jihoon’s damp hair.
And. God . Jihoon’s heartbeat is thrumming hard and fast in his throat — but it’s not like when he knew they were about to break their promise. Or when they made out and groped one another at Seungcheol’s party. It’s one that hurts in a very different way, that has his body warm up and feel light, floaty, weightless. Mingyu keeps sliding over him, one leg tossing over to bracket Jihoon’s body in between; and Jihoon slowly moves both arms up and around Mingyu’s shoulders, resting.
They continue to kiss. Over and over. For what feels like forever. Jihoon wants it to be forever. And Mingyu smells like Jihoon’s body wash, Jihoon’s laundry detergent, Jihoon’s lotion. Mingyu’s mouth tastes like Jihoon’s toothpaste. Mingyu. Jihoon’s.
This is it. What Jihoon keeps telling himself doesn’t matter, because it’s fruitless and silly and too complicated for him to wrap his mind around or accept. Too real . Because everything with Mingyu is supposed to be easy. Everything with Mingyu has been easy; they’re best friends, have been friends for many years now. Before Jeonghan, Hansol, Soonyoung, Minghao. Chaeyeon. So even as the terms of their friendship becomes more and more complicated, Jihoon’s been desperate to ignore it, to push it away and label it Doesn’t Matter with all the other fears and worries.
Except this one matters. All of it matters. He can pretend like it doesn’t, but it fucking does , and it’ll catch up to him like the rest: his fears of not becoming a music producer; his fears of where he’ll go and what he’ll be post-graduation; his fears of where and who Mingyu will be when this moment of their life passes.
But.
No. Not will catch up to him; it has caught up to him. Jihoon’s holding Mingyu tighter — like he’ll fall if he lets go — and their lips and tongues slide against one another, deep and passionate, as if they’re going to be worlds away in the morning. The kiss before the goodbye, a promise that they’ll be back together soon.
Mingyu knew. Knows. He can see it on every inch of Jihoon’s body, he always knew, maybe, because Jihoon wears his every emotion, in subtle ways that only Mingyu can pick up on because they’re best friends and Mingyu’s a Lee Jihoon mind-reader, and, fuck, Mingyu can feel it against his mouth, around his shoulders, saw it all along, the phantom words spoken in how Jihoon is kissing him — the I love you . I love you. I love you.
I love you.
Mingyu pulls back. They blink in the dark of Jihoon’s bedroom, staring, silent.
I love you.
Jihoon’s mouth pulls into a ghost of a smile. Then, in a whisper so low it’s easy to miss, “That’s what this is?”
Handsome; damp hair hanging down around his face like a halo; stare boring into Jihoon’s eyes, Mingyu returns the smile. “Yeah.”