Chapter Text
i: minho
The first time he met Jisung occurred only hours after Minho had one of the more upsetting physical altercations of his life.
Minho, an honest—if not blunt—twenty-two year old guy, had plenty of experience being upfront and telling people to fuck off. He’d always believed in quality over quantity of friends, but Yonghwa’s quality was hard to dispute at this point.
“You know,” Trinity said on her way out the dressing room door. She had a pair of bobby pins clenched in her teeth as she worked her short hair into a haphazard ponytail. “If I were a shittier friend I’d call the cops.”
It was purely need-based that Trin knew about the bruises. If he hadn’t required a full-coverage foundation to mask the blemish on his ribs, he’d have taken it to the grave, but to protect her more than to protect his boyfriend. It wasn’t as though Yonghwa deserved Minho in his life. Everyone and their mother under the sun knew that, Minho himself included. He didn’t stay with the piece of shit because he wanted to.
“Not calling the cops when you know I got beat makes you an excellent friend, then?” Minho responded sharply, eyeing Trinity with a smirk as he waved a stack of papers at the foundation drying on his belly.
“Jesus, Min, do you want me to call the cops or not?”
“I’m messing with you, darling. No. I don’t.” He blinked slowly to emphasize the nonchalance of the situation. “It’d do more harm than good.”
“I want you to be safe, y’know?”
He just hummed and clipped his shirt up to his collarbone with a barrette so he could free his hands for blending his eyeliner.
Trinity sighed and heaved open the dressing room door, allowing in the flood of thumping club noises. “ Thanks, Trin. No problem, Minho. Love you.”
“Love you!” he sang, making a kissy face at her retreating head.
“We’re still going to the concert with my sister after this, right?”
He’d forgotten, but he nodded anyway. “Yep. Sounds fun.” He’d had a long day, his ribs ached terribly, and he wanted more than anything to collapse into an uninterrupted sleep, but he’d promised Trin he’d go with her to the concert. Her being his boss and the owner of their club added a second layer to his obligation, maybe, but he was the type to keep his promises anyway.
Thankfully, it was a Friday night, which meant instead of wallowing in his physical and mental distress Minho would be distracted, then exhausted, then asleep. His favorite kind of evening.
His muscle memory guided him as he stripped that night. He worked the pole like he had a hundred times before, careful not to rub the foundation off his ribcage, and left the stage with sweat blurring his vision and wads of cash stuffing his leather suspenders.
Once he was back in his street clothes—a pair of light gray joggers and a loose tank top—he found Trin waiting by the back door beside a petite, blond girl with a stylish bob and big brown eyes. The shorter girl smiled brightly when she saw Minho, and he immediately began analyzing whether she was actually friendly or compensating for something.
“Min,” Trinity said. “This is my little sister, Sunny. Sunny, Minho. Our best dancer.”
“Sunny,” Minho said, shaking the girl’s extended hand and choosing not to correct Trinity’s unnecessarily flattering introduction. “Good to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too!” Sunny enthused, and before more could be said, Trinity ushered them out to the parking lot.
Minho’s ribs ached as he climbed into the car, reminding him of the events of the day, though he pulled his mind away from reliving those thoughts before they could manifest again. He wished he’d had a chance to eat something before embarking on another nightclub journey.
“You know Bang Chan, right?” Trin said as she pulled out of the Hub parking lot. The air was crisp and chilly for May, a cold front brought on after several days of persistent rain, and Minho shivered back against his seat.
He couldn’t tell if she was talking to him or Sunny, but he knew Bang Chan, an Australian guy who grew up around Minho, so he responded. “Chan and I went to highschool together. We keep in touch.”
“No way,” Sunny said all of the sudden, peering over the back seat to beam at him. She embodied her own name, Minho realized as her teeth gleamed. She was absolutely sunny. He could see himself feeling squashed under such energy at a rapid rate, so he didn’t smile in return, but she went on without a hitch. “Chan is in the rap group 3RACHA, you know?”
“I’ve heard of them.” They’d performed at Buble’s once or twice, which was the music venue in the same building as the Hub, and he’d been shocked by the size of the crowd they brought in. When he’d been a close friend of Chan’s in high school, the elder had sacrificed his rare musical talent in favor of pursuing his athleticism, but Minho supposed they’d all had winding paths since those days. “Is that who we’re going to see tonight, Trin?”
“Yep,” Sunny answered for her, still resting her chin on the edge of her seat so she could look right at Minho with her round eyes and ever-present smile. “My boyfriend is a part of the trio as well. I love seeing him perform, so I’m really excited. But he’s nervous, since this is a pretty big venue. I know he’ll do great.”
Minho swiped open his locked phone and kept his gaze down. “Why are you talking like he can hear you?”
“Helps calm my second hand nerves!” she laughed, seemingly unfazed by Minho’s cold shoulder, which he found himself respecting.
There was absolutely no parking outside the concert hall, so Trinity found a street space a few blocks down and announced they’d be taking the five minute hike. As they walked down the crowded downtown block, a short guy wearing gray skinny jeans and a leather jacket caught Minho’s eye, and for a moment he was convinced it was Yonghwa. His heart leapt into his throat as his thighs tensed to spin around, but it turned out to be a white guy he didn’t know.
“You feeling alright?” Trinity asked him, always skilled at lightly asking heavy questions.
“Mhmm.” He looked her way blankly, though he hoped she knew him well enough to pick up on the glimmer of gratitude in his eyes. “If you want to drink tonight, I can drive you home, Trin. Sober sister and all.”
“Might take you up on that.”
3RACHA’s set started at 10, according to Sunny’s excited babbling, so they were far from early. When they made it into the yellow-lit, buzzing auditorium, Minho and Trin were prepared to settle against the back wall opposite the stage and squint. But Sunny persistently shoved through the crowd dragging her sister in tow, explaining to rows of sweaty people that “my boyfriend is about to perform.” Something about her made every single person step out of her way until they were just a few rows back from the foot of the stage.
“You’re a go-getter,” Minho told her when they found their spot and Trinity veered off to get drinks.
“Thanks.” Sunny held her phone with a recording app open, like a mom prepared to catch her son’s performance on video. A strange juxtaposition to her pastel pink shirt, embroidered blue jeans, and middle schooler-esque stature. “He’s gonna do great, but I’m so nervous.”
“Let him bear the nerves,” Minho suggested. He didn’t really care about Sunny’s babbling and whimpering about being nervous for her boyfriend, but he could tell she needed a little push to realign her perspective. “You just have to sit back and enjoy.”
Sunny just nodded and stared up at the stage with her teeth digging into her lip and her shoulders tense. Minho almost laughed; he couldn’t fathom being so physically, mentally, and emotionally invested in something his boyfriend was about to do. If it was Yonghwa on that stage, Minho would probably exit the building without a word.
Just a few more months, he reminded himself, fanning his tank top away from his chest as the heat of the room settled over him.
Shortly after Trinity returned with drinks, the music shorted out, and the crowd roared. Three dudes jogged out from backstage, one after the other, led by a short, broad-shouldered guy in a tank top and a black beanie. It took Minho a moment to recognize him as Chan. He’d bulked up considerably since high school. He was really hot now, Minho observed in pleasant surprise, as Chan flirted with the crowd in his Australian accent and showed cheeky dimples while introducing the other two guys.
Minho thought Chan called the shortest one SpearB. Whatever the hell that meant. SpearB wore an orange baseball cap and a tank top so deeply cut around his thick arms that the entire world could see his nipples as he moved, but he had a nice body, so Minho could hardly blame him for flaunting it. When the beat started, SpearB kicked off the initial rap, and Minho was floored the moment he started.
The kid could rap. His voice was gravelly, aggressive, and deep, and syllables flowed out of him like he didn’t have to think about them.
“God damn,” Minho said to Trinity. “They’re sexy.”
Trinity cupped her hands around her mouth and whooped to cheer them on, and Minho couldn’t help the grin that curved his lips. The music worked its way into his muscles, and he bobbed along to SpearB’s rap, itching to freestyle. Somehow the kid accelerated his flow until he was rapping so fast Minho could no longer understand what he was saying, and his rap ended too soon, making room for Chan to step in and sing the chorus.
“Changbin is so talented,” Sunny whimpered, a hand over her mouth as she recorded.
“That your boyfriend?” Minho asked. They were compatible heights, after all.
“No, Jisungie is,” she said, her cheeks flaming as her eyes followed the third guy. J.One, Minho remembered. He’d been hyping up the crowd since the start, making high-pitched sound effects into the mic and jogging across the stage with his hair flopping all around, but he hadn’t rapped yet.
Until now.
When he started, Sunny made a strangled noise beside Minho.
J.One— Jisungie —leaned forward before his first bar, a snarky, confident smirk pulling up half his mouth. His voice was deeper than anticipated, since Minho deduced he looked like an eighteen-to-twenty year old. He had thick, shiny black hair that fell parted over his forehead, and he wore an oversized white t-shirt that warmed his honey skin to a smooth tan. His expression when he rapped took a dozen turns in a matter of seconds. He bared his teeth, winked, leaned back and pointed his finger at the stage as he danced on light feet. He narrowed his eyes and then smirked again, hardly taking a breath as his rap heated up, but then the aggressive cut of his teeth softened into a gummy smile, one that made Minho’s heart do something funny in his chest.
Shit, he thought. He’s cute.
His girlfriend, Minho reminded himself, was standing right next to him.
“Wow,” Minho started to compliment Sunny on her boyfriend’s talent, but his words froze in his throat when J.One’s voice changed, amping up from low and deliberate to high and energetic. “How is he doing that?”
The young rapper jogged around the stage like he owned it, gesturing at the crowd and grinning when they roared at the impressive cadence of his rap. Minho envied him. He envied the spring in his step, the brightness radiating from his facial expression, the sheer charisma he oozed. This guy loved the stage, and Minho had struggled for years with capturing that extra layer of presence when he danced.
It didn’t take much longer than five minutes of being in the same room as Jisung for Minho to decide the guy was a born superstar.
All three of them were talented, of course. Chan was a brilliant vocalist and an eye-catching, confident force on stage. SpearB was high-energy, striking, and technically flawless. But there was something about J.One. He was magnetic. He was having the time of his life up there, and Minho wanted more of him. To talk to him, to feed off that radiance that filled the room like a mist. He wanted to know him.
When the performance ended, Sunny dragged Minho and Trinity backstage to meet the boys, and Minho loathed himself for being nervous. Normally meeting new people didn’t bother him, since he tended to give a handsome-yet-icy first impression and that was exactly how he wanted people to see him, but these guys were different. They were like...celebrities, or something. Not that Minho ever had time to give a shit about what celebrities were doing.
The three boys stood in a circle in a cramped hallway, all smiles, batting at each other’s shoulders and nursing bottles of water. Chan was the first to look up when they approached, and his eyes fluttered when he noticed Minho.
“Lee Minho?” he said, an incredulous, dimpled grin lighting up his face. “You actually came!”
“Trinity managed to drag me away from my cats for a night,” Minho teased, thumping Chan’s back when he was pulled in for a hug. “Been a while.”
“Too long,” Chan agreed. “You met my boys? Binnie, c’mere.”
SpearB—or Changbin, Minho remembered—threw up an overly casual peace sign when he walked up and said, “What’s up.”
“Hi,” Minho said. “You rap fast.”
Changbin snorted out a laugh. “Thanks. Who are you? What do you do?”
“Oh, I’m Minho. I’m a stripper.”
Changbin blinked, his square jaw twitching as he clamped his mouth shut, and Minho resisted a cackle. He loved throwing that wrench into people’s trains of thought. “Right. You work for Trin?”
“Yeah, she’s my lesbian mother,” Minho said with a nod. “How do you all know Trin?”
“Ah,” Chan said, and gestured towards their third member. “We met when Jisung started dating Sunny a few months back.”
Minho had intentionally been postponing looking at Jisung, since he had minimal shame (and/or self control) and Jisung was a cute guy but also a straight guy who was in a relationship, but now he didn’t have much of a choice.
Sunny was wrapped around him, her wrists locked behind his neck as she pressed little kisses to his cheeks, but he abruptly looked their way at the sound of his name. He had huge eyes, Minho observed immediately, and his cheeks were a bit puffy, two traits which made Minho question how old he was again.
Jisung shuffled forward, his cheeks lifting as he mustered a bashful little smile, and he took Sunny’s hand to lead her forward alongside him. Minho could hardly believe this was the same guy who’d been such a stick of dynamite onstage. He was...timid, and careful, and kind of adorable. Minho felt the urge to step back a few paces to give him some space.
“Hi,” Minho said again, and Jisung’s eyes fell on him tentatively, widening even more. He looked paralyzed, either from the presence of a stranger or from the presence of a handsome queer-looking blue-and-black-haired stripper. Jisung moistened his lips, and Minho’s gaze followed his tongue.
Minho, who had always been pretty sharp at picking up when someone thought he was cute, didn’t bother to contain his giggle when Jisung’s mouth slipped open and then slammed shut, potentially in a fruitless search for words. “I’m Minho,” he added.
“Minho,” Jisung echoed. The honey skin of his jaw and neck gleamed with sweat, and his voice was back to that surprisingly soft, low rumble. “I’m, uh, Jisung.”
“Nice to meet you.” Minho quirked an eyebrow as Jisung’s cheeks flushed red. He was so shy. Still, whether it was because Minho was a stranger or because Minho was Minho, he couldn’t tell. “You’re really talented. I could tell you were born to be on the stage.”
“Really?” Jisung broke into an eye-crinkling gummy smile, and Minho noticed his front teeth were crooked. He dropped Sunny’s hand so he could flatten his hair. “Thanks.”
Chan assumed control of the conversation then, wrapping his arm around Minho’s shoulders and suggesting they go get some drinks. Minho agreed to accompany but politely declined participation by accrediting his sobriety to being the designated driver. Changbin and Chan started making fun of each other for being short, Trinity and Minho started making fun of each other for being gay, and the strange tension that’d found its way into their hallway seemed to dissipate. Minho kept an eye on Jisung, who stood in silence, his arms at his sides and his fingers loosely linked with his girlfriend’s. Sunny periodically glanced up at him with an expectant sparkle in her eyes, and Jisung looked back down at her every few seconds, offering her a smile that didn’t quite reach past the nervousness in his eyes.
Minho bit his tongue to refrain from chuckling. He could pick up on a complex dynamic quicker than most, and this, this was the seed of some popcorn-warranting tension.
They made their way to the bar upstairs, where Minho found himself seated on a barstool beside Jisung. Everyone else got up to dance, Sunny and Trinity hand-in-hand while Chan and Changbin made a show of shaking their butts at each other.
Minho laughed fondly, watching as Chan had to take a phone call and Changbin started dancing between both women with a whiskey sour raised above his head. He liked Changbin a lot already, for having met him just tonight.
“You can drink if you want,” Jisung said.
Minho swung his head around slowly to look his way. “What?”
Jisung flushed under the stare and twiddled his fingers, picking at the hem of his shirt. “Um, I heard you saying you’re sober tonight so you can drive, but you can drink if you want. I could drive us. I’m on—I’m, uh, not drinking. I don’t drink. Uh, health type of thing.”
“I don’t drink either,” Minho said easily, grinning. “Used to way too much type of thing.”
“Oh.” Jisung bit his lower lip and gnawed, clearly wondering if he’d pushed too hard, but Minho just chuckled and reached out to ruffle his hair, which was silky beneath his fingers.
“It’s okay, Jisungie,” he said. “Glad we have each other to sober it together.”
“Right.” Jisung’s slim shoulders visibly relaxed beneath his tee. “I like...I like the blue in your hair.”
“You like it?” Minho hummed, crossing his legs and curling a lock of the fading blue around his index finger. He knew he was (mostly unintentionally) putting on exactly the show he put on around someone he was trying to sleep with, and Jisung was very much in a relationship, but he couldn’t help himself. The kid was just too cute when he was flustered.
Oh, and Minho was in a relationship too. Right.
“Yeah. I used to have a lot of fun colors in my hair too, but then I got my day job and sadly, fun is frowned upon in this capitalist world.”
Minho laughed out loud, surprised by his candid humor, and uncrossed his legs to lean back against the bar. The force of his laugh had reminded him of his aching ribs. “You’re right about that. What do you do?”
“I sell electronics.” Jisung cringed after he said it, and Minho had to bite his lip to keep from laughing again at his facial expression. “Which I’m completely underqualified for since I can barely work my own iPhone.”
“Mm, but selling is about being able to work people, not iPhones.”
“I can barely figure out what I’m thinking.” Jisung gave an awkward giggle. “Much less anyone else.”
“Ah, bullshit.”
Jisung blinked, his lips parted. Minho noticed his lower lip was a bit fuller than his upper, making him look pouty. “What?”
“I said, bullshit. Your lyrics were philosophical as hell. You probably understand people way better than you give yourself credit for.”
Jisung’s ears flamed red at that, but he punched Minho’s arm lightly, grumbling, “How d’you even know I wrote those lyrics?”
“Could just tell by the way you performed.” Minho shrugged to cover up his delight at Jisung’s increasing ease around him and took a sip of ice water. “But don’t worry, most people aren’t as observant as me.”
“So it seems,” Jisung said with a good-natured chuckle. Minho was relieved he hadn’t been too off-putting with his analysis; he could be abrasively honest now and then. But Jisung didn’t seem to mind. “What about you, what do you do?”
“I dance. I dance at Trin’s club, I’m on a dance team, I teach dance.”
“Oh shit, really?”
Minho smiled as he nodded, biting down on his drinking straw. Jisung’s eyes, sparkling under the bar’s colorful lights, traced the shape of Minho’s mouth as he went on, “I also have a minor role selling drugs and transporting them for a local gang.”
Jisung’s brow crinkled, his upper lip tensing into a bewildered frown, just as Minho chimed out a giggle and said, “Just kidding.”
“Not sure I believe you,” Jisung responded, his laugh too loud.
“Mmm.” Minho watched as Jisung’s eyes followed Sunny, who was getting another round of drinks for her, Trin, Changbin, and the recently-returned Chan. Jisung rested his face on his palm as he watched her, his cheek smushing against his hand adorably, and Minho decided they were cute together. “You and Sunny make a good couple.”
“Thanks,” Jisung said, crossing his ankles and kicking them up and down. “Yeah she’s an awesome girl.”
“How long has that been going on?”
“About two months now. Or, three?” He pouted, eyes on the ceiling, did some math with long, tan fingers, then huffed out an embarrassed laugh when he failed. “We met at college, earlier in the spring semester. We uh, both study music.”
“Music? What’s the goal?”
“Producing,” he admitted, scratching a flaming ear. “I-I know I’m not nearly good enough to get anywhere, at least not yet, but I really love making music. And writing lyrics. Luckily I met the hyungs my freshman year, and we’ve taken off a lot more than I expected us to.”
“You guys definitely have something special.”
“Aish,” Jisung said, drinking some water and hiding half his face behind the glass. “Stop stroking my ego.”
“I’d never,” Minho said smoothly. “I just tell it like it is.”
Their conversation devolved from there, taking a series of bizarre turns until they were arguing about whether having a cat as a child makes for a cat-like adult. Minho’s argument was no, since he had a dog as a kid and his personality was quite the opposite of energetic and affectionate, and Jisung argued he’d had a cat household and it made him into the skittish homebody he was today. The word homebody led them to talk about Peabodies, which led them to talk about Portal 2, a video game they’d both wasted many hours playing the solo op of, and Jisung suggested Minho come over some time to play Portal 2 with him and the hyungs.
Minho was making a friend. It’d been a while since he’d done such a thing with enthusiasm. Normally, he enjoyed the tininess of his inner circle, but he supposed Jisung was connected to Trin, so his circle wasn’t breaking. Just growing a little bit.
Jisung was downright animated by the time they’d finished their waters. He was a noisy kid, actually; he broke into spontaneous song several times throughout their conversation, each time making Minho jump and then start laughing, and he spoke faster and louder the more comfortable he grew. Normally excessive noise and babbling bothered Minho, but Jisung never said an uninteresting thing, and his tangents were unpredictable enough that Minho was forced to stay on his toes, prepared to dive into the swing of banter alongside him.
“Lyrics can be interesting no matter what they’re about,” Jisung was saying, “so long as it’s explored from a creative or original angle.”
“So you could write interesting lyrics about anything?”
Jisung seemed flustered by the pointed framing of the question, the way it forced him to brag about himself. “Let’s try. Give me a topic.”
“Eggnog.”
“Eggnog? Easy. Eggnog is the nectar of the Christmas season,” he started to rap, and then turned bright red halfway through, bursting into a fit of laughter and smacking Minho’s arm. “Stop looking at me like that!”
“I’ll turn around and you’d better spit a fire rap about eggnog to the back of my head.”
“Fuck off, Lee Minho.”
Minho turned around and stuck his tongue out at Jisung over his shoulder.
The eggnog rap actually was pretty fire.
Minho was just glad Jisung seemed to be feeling relaxed, and he was much more recognizable as the beam of light he’d been on stage. That same magnetic, radiant energy that was impossible to ignore while he was performing applied to his personality too, Minho supposed.
“Guess,” Jisung was laughing, pulling his lips back over his teeth and twiddling his fingers in front of his cheeks.
“Pufferfish.”
“Minho!”
“Spider.”
“Gross.”
“Beetle?”
“You’re insulting me, asshole!”
“Gandalf.”
“Minho,” Jisung cackled, smacking his shoulder and nearly falling off his barstool. “None of those things are cute.”
“Gandalf is very cute, how dare you disrespect my religion?”
“Yes, but not as cute as me.”
Minho rolled his eyes, thought, true, and said, “Sea urchin.”
“I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”
Minho laughed evilly, knowing exactly what he was supposed to say from the beginning, and humored the ridiculous boy across from him. “Squirrel?”
“Yes! Jeez, you’re terrible at this game.”
Sunny came over then, drunk and swinging her legs this way and that, falling into Jisung’s arms with a terribly loud giggle. “Jisungie!” she sang, plopping a kiss right on his lips. Minho laughed at his flustered expression. “Dance with me!”
Jisung glanced up at the dancefloor with his lips parted and his eyes round, and Minho immediately picked up on his nervousness. Doesn’t drink, almost admitted to being on meds of some kind, fiddles with his fingers a lot...anxiety. Doesn’t like crowds. Minho watched Sunny, unimpressed, as she failed to observe her boyfriend’s clear discomfort.
“Ah,” Jisung said, trying to smile at her. “I would love to, baby, but…”
The word baby in Jisung’s soft, hesitant voice made Minho’s stomach flutter, but he locked that feeling thoroughly in a box and chucked the key into a pit of lava. “Sunny,” Minho cut in, smiling at her sweetly when she whirled around. “I’ll dance with you, darling.”
“Will you?” She beamed; she was just a drunk gal who wanted to dance, and Minho was a good dance partner. “Let’s go, Minhooo!”
Jisung caught his eye over Sunny’s shoulder, mouthing a sheepish thank you.
Minho waved the words aside with a flick of his wrist and a wink.
It was nearly two o’clock when it was time for Minho to transport everyone home. They stood outside of Trinity’s car, which had five seats for six people, so a shitfaced Chan declared he wanted to walk home, claiming it “helped him process the night” after drinking.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Minho said.
“I love drunk walks,” Chan whined, hopping up and down slightly and looking much more like an indignant toddler than a drunk twenty-three year old man.
“Jisung how long’s the walk to Chan’s apartment?” Minho turned on the only other sober person.
“Uh, he lives with me,” Jisung said. Sunny was wrapped around his arm like a koala. “So, twenty minutes or so.”
Minho couldn’t believe he and Jisung had talked for almost two hours and it hadn’t once come up that he lived with Chan—he supposed they’d found a way of talking about everything and absolutely nothing at the same time—but he covered up his surprise by turning on Chan again. “Just let me give you a lift. I’m dropping off Jisung there anyways.”
“And Changbin!” Changbin screamed, far louder than necessary, his torso thrust backwards to accommodate the force of his yell.
“And Changbin,” Minho echoed, pursing his lips to conceal his smile. These idiots. “Get in the car, hyung.”
“I can sit on Sungie’s lap,” Sunny offered. “We’ll be fine with six.”
Jisung looked at Minho suddenly. His eyes really were huge, dark, and round, and all his emotions beamed through them so blatantly Minho almost felt like he was intruding as he looked back. “Are you good to drive?”
“Mhmm.” Minho smiled. “Unless you want to, then I can sit on Trinity’s lap.”
Sunny pouted, which Jisung quickly observed and pulled her into a hug, saying Minho could drive without meeting his eyes.
Minho dropped off the girls first. After dropping Sunny at her parents’ and Trin at her condo, he drove towards the boys’ apartment, chuckling as he caught sight of the three of them packed elbow-to-elbow in the back seat. Minho felt a smidge of delight at escorting home 3RACHA, an incredibly talented rap trio, but his exhaustion was beginning to weigh on his capacity for joy.
They sang so loudly Minho wished he had the function to turn them down with a knob. An onlooker would’ve guessed Jisung was just as shitfaced as the other two, based on the volume of his animated belting. When they arrived outside their apartment complex, which was a squat, modest unit a few miles from the edge of town, the three of them scurried out of the car in a flurry of “thanks Minho!”’s and “don’t fucking touch me, hyung”’s. When they’d disappeared into the complex, Minho moved to put Trin’s car in drive, but he noticed the glow of a phone in the backseat.
He unbuckled so he could reach what turned out to be an iPhone, with a squirrel sticker under the camera.
He sighed, but a certain warmth pulled at his chest. He kind of wanted an excuse to see Jisung one more time, anyway. He fiddled with the iPhone till he found the emergency contacts, smiling when he noticed Jisung’s lock screen was an endearing photo of him kissing Sunny’s cheek, and clicked Channie hyung ’s contact.
“Jisung?” Chan answered. “Aren’t you taking a shit?”
Minho shrieked out a laugh. “Chan, it’s Minho. He left his phone in the car.”
“Ohhhhh.” Chan gave a slow, drunk sigh. “I’ll go tell him.”
Minho hung up.
Less than five minutes later, Jisung came bursting from the building once more, his eyes huge and his mouth pulled into a straight, tense line. Minho climbed out of the car and strolled up to him, not bothering to cut the engine, and laughed at Jisung’s apologetic expression.
“Sorry,” Jisung panted, reaching for his phone. “And thank you.”
“No problem.”
They stood there for a moment, Jisung’s fingers dancing over his phone case while he chewed his lower lip, his shapely throat bobbing. Minho fiddled around as well, shifting his weight from side to side, trying to remember how to platonically ask for someone’s number.
“I feel like you and I should be friends,” he settled on.
Jisung nodded maybe a bit too fervently and laughed, his lip popping from between his teeth. It was red, a bit swollen from biting, and Minho tried not to stare. “Yeah, tonight was weirdly fun, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. Could I maybe...get your number? Or snapchat, or whatever you youths do these days?”
Jisung grinned, averting his eyes and unlocking his phone. Minho noticed his fingers trembled against the glow of the screen. “I’m only two years younger than you,” he argued. “I don’t really like snapchat ‘cuz I’m not big on pictures of myself, but, uh, yeah. What’s your number? Or, uh, do you want mine?”
“If you’ve got it up, I’ll give you mine.”
When Jisung was done, he sent Minho a text, which he could feel via a vibration against his ass. Then Jisung smiled again and took a hesitant step back, running his fingers through his hair. “I’ll see you around, Minho. Thanks for the ride. And for my phone. And…” he squinted a little as he thought over his words. “And for being so cool to talk to.”
“No problem,” Minho said, waving a hand. “No need for thanks. I’ll see you soon.”
Then they parted, and Minho checked his phone when he was settled back behind the wheel to see the text: This is Jisungiiiie!
He smiled dumbly to himself and set off for Trinity’s.
The walk from Trinity’s driveway to Yonghwa’s apartment was about ten minutes, and that was ten minutes longer than Minho felt like venturing at two o’clock in the morning, but he didn’t want to bother his boyfriend by asking for a ride. So he made the trek with his switchblade open in his hand, concealed by the pocket of his joggers, and his keys curled in his opposite fist.
The cloud of happiness from an evening well-spent began to subside as Minho approached the apartment. Tension built up in his shoulders with each step, and the ache in his ribs reminded him of what he was going back to.
He didn’t announce he was home when he stepped through the door into Yonghwa’s sparkling clean kitchen. It’d been months since he’d come home in that manner. Still, Yonghwa was up when he got home, sprawled on the couch with his slim, lanky legs swung up onto the footstool and a cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Hey,” Minho said, stepping from his shoes.
“You were out late,” Yonghwa said, not looking away from the wall-mounted flatscreen.
“How very observant of you.”
Yonghwa’s lip curled. He slid a narrow glare Minho’s way.
“I’m going to bed,” Minho said.
“Tell me where you were, Min.” His voice was softer now, and he plucked the cigarette from his mouth. The smell of chemical smoke made Minho’s nose wrinkle. “I was worried.”
“You could’ve texted me.”
“You never answer my texts anyways.”
“Oh.” Minho frowned, tapping a single finger to his jutted bottom lip. “Maybe that’s because you regularly beat the shit out of me and wonder why I don’t fucking enjoy being around you anymore.”
“Watch your mouth, Minho. You’re lucky you have a place in my bed. You know exactly where you’d be without me.”
“I was at the club with some friends.” He raised his eyebrows. “Happy?”
Yonghwa sighed and heaved himself into a seated position, planting his feet on the floor. He was a handsome guy—pretty face, shapely jaw, long legs—but now he just looked exhausted, and Minho could hardly find signs of his simmering, sporadic anger in those puffy, tired eyes. “I’m sorry about today,” Yonghwa said.
Here we go. “You always say that.”
“I just get so angry...when you say stuff like that. It feels like you don’t love me anymore. It’s hard.”
Minho, rattled by the admission, blinked at Yonghwa slowly until his thoughts fell into a coherent pattern. “I do love you,” he said, and it was only half a lie. “But if I didn’t, that’s not an excuse to lay a finger on someone, and you know it.”
“I know it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do it again,” Minho said.
Yonghwa lifted his chin slightly, meeting Minho’s words like they were a challenge. And in a way, they were—both Minho and Yonghwa knew it was a futile demand. “I will try,” he said. “But...what could you do about it, anyway?”
Minho smirked. “Careful.”
Yonghwa narrowed his eyes, his dark gaze cutting through Minho’s numb confidence, making his skin crawl. “You need me, Min. You need me.”
Minho could almost hear the implied, insecure right? tacked onto the end of the statement. “I do.”
I’ll let you keep believing I do.
“Okay. And I need you too, baby. You’re my king, you know?” He leaned against the back of the couch, making himself appear smaller, his fingers tracing across the cushions as he looked Minho’s body up and down. “You’re my partner in crime.”
“I’m going to bed.”
“Minho…”
He marched into the bedroom, closing the door behind him without another word. Soonie and Doongie both lie curled up on the bed, and Soonie looked up when he came in, meowing and flicking his tail slightly. Minho’s chest flooded with relief when he saw them, grateful to have a little piece of home in Yonghwa’s apartment. Just a few more months, he chanted to himself as he curled up on the bed between his cats. And we’ll be free.
Notes:
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 2
Summary:
A dozen unreadable, gorgeous words tangled together in the darkness of Minho’s eyes. Jisung couldn’t decipher a single one. “I’m glad you came.”
Chapter Text
ii: jisung
The first time Jisung dreamt about Minho occurred the same night they met. It involved colorful, feverish images of the sharp bridge of Minho’s nose, the navy streaks in his black hair, the strange, unreadable glimmer in his eyes when he smiled.
Five minutes later Jisung didn’t even remember that he’d dreamt.
Jisung stood nestled against the door of the fridge in his favorite green hoodie and shook his low-pulp orange juice up and down. He popped the cap and began to chug, glowering at Changbin through puffy eyebags when his roommate burst from his room to yell at him for drinking directly from the carton.
“I don’t want your disgusting mouth all over my juice,” Changbin said as he took a deep inhale of his bag of expensive hazelnut coffee. Changbin wore his fuzzy gray bathrobe and pokemon slippers, and his scrunched eyebrows made Jisung think he’d much rather be in bed suffering through his hangover in solitude.
“How are you awake right now?” Jisung asked as he sucked down more orange juice from the carton.
“I could sense you doing terrible things to the kitchen in my absence.”
Jisung halfheartedly wiped the carton with his sleeve and stuck it back in the fridge. “Like you didn’t share drinks with Chan and the girls all night.”
“Alcohol kills germs though.”
Jisung rolled his eyes so far into the back of his head they ached.
“I doubt Chan hyung will be up in time for us to work today,” Changbin said as he neatly laid a filter in their coffee maker. “I’m pretty sure this is the first time he’s been asleep since last weekend.”
“I’m going into the shop now anyways,” Jisung said with an exasperated sigh. “Maybe later tonight?”
“Sunny wanted to go to the Hub to see Minho dance, I thought.” Changbin pursed his lips to hide his laughter, sending a prickle of nervousness up Jisung’s spine at Minho’s name being mentioned with vague mockery.
“What do you mean,” Jisung mumbled. He wasn’t sure what he was embarrassed about, save for the obvious fact that he inevitably made a fool of himself in front of every single new person he met, but he had a feeling that wasn’t what Changbin was referring to. He’d clicked quite well with Minho, actually—now that he remembered to give himself more credit—but that made him even more nervous, considering the possibility that Changbin noticed Minho’s distaste for Jisung’s awkwardness in a way Jisung completely missed.
“I mean, Sunny was telling Trin and Minho that she wants to go to the Hub to see Minho dance.”
“Actually?” Jisung said, faintly relieved. He chewed his lip, mulling over the fact that Minho was a stripper and his girlfriend wanted to see him perform. If Jisung could’ve predicted how he’d behave in front of a male stripper who was equal parts good-looking and confident, he would’ve pinpointed himself as hardly being able to string a sentence together. But something about Minho drew Jisung out of his shell, and now he reflected on their two-hour nonsensical conversation with amusement and confusion. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten along so well with someone so...cool.
“Don’t you have to be twenty-one to get into a strip club?” Changbin went on conversationally as he pulled a leftover Taco Bell breakfast burrito from the fridge.
“That doesn’t usually stop Sunny,” Jisung said with a fond chuckle. Sunny tended to always get what she wanted, as a persuasive, energetic girl who was unafraid of taking risks or off-putting people. “I doubt she’ll actually want to go to a strip club now that she’s sober, though.”
For the first time that morning, Jisung opened his phone to read his awaiting texts.
Sunny: Morning love! My everything hurts!
Jisung smiled empathetically, leaning his head against the fridge, and typed back a nurturing reply. Then he noticed his conversation with Minho, which consisted of his own greeting text that’d been left on read at two in the morning. He decided it’d come off too eager to text Minho again, even though he felt like engaging in more meaningless chatter, so he locked his phone to go get ready for work.
Jisung was the type who hated being early almost as much as he hated being late, so he arrived for his eleven o’clock shift at 10:59, punched in at 11 on the dot, and sprinted to the electronics desk with his shoes squeaking on the shining floors. Seungmin stood behind the register fiddling with a security device, and he looked up when he heard Jisung approach. “I want to pull my hair out of my head.”
“It’s not even noon yet,” Jisung laughed as he pinned on his nametag. “What happened?”
Seungmin shook his head, his eyelids fluttering melodramatically. “Some lady complained to Sang because she couldn’t comprehend why I wouldn’t let her return a console with three parts missing. The box was opened. Torn open, actually, by what looked like fucking rat bites. And she bought it six months ago. And she didn’t have a receipt.”
“People are entitled,” Jisung said, chuckling nonetheless at Seungmin’s earnest displeasure. “This has always been true. Did Sang bitch you out?”
“No, but still. I don’t need my reputation tarnished.”
Seungmin and Jisung met their freshman year back when Jisung did choir at the university, and back before Seungmin switched from studying music to business. They were opposites in a lot of ways. Seungmin was a straight-A student, a logical thinker, and a gloriously well-spoken persuader, whereas Jisung, while loud and energetic, considered himself shy and tended to overthink to a self-destructive end. Despite—or maybe because of—these differences, they got along well. It was thanks to Seungmin that Jisung had his day job.
Later, while Jisung and Seungmin sat in the break room for lunch, Jisung asked, “Do you have to be twenty-one to get into a strip club?”
“Yeah. Since most of them sell booze. Why?” Seungmin wrinkled his nose. “What is Changbin forcing you to do?”
“Not Changbin. Sunny, actually. Well, no one’s forcing me to do anything.” He’d been kind of excited to be inside a strip club for the first time. The idea of seeing Minho dance was kind of embarrassing, since Minho was someone he knew and watching a friend...or acquaintance, or whatever...strip seemed a bit intrusive in Jisung’s eyes. But still, taking on such a scene with Sunny and Changbin and hopefully Chan by his side sounded like a night to remember.
But Jisung was not twenty-one, and nor was he willing to push people like Sunny did, so that was that.
The trajectory of his day changed, however, when Sunny burst through the doors of his apartment right after dinnertime. Jisung had just made it home from his shift and was in decompressing-mode—he was snuggled into the couch with his cozy socks on and his computer open in his lap—so he braced himself for an onset of explosive energy when he noticed Sunny was dressed in club clothes. She wore a skin-tight white crop top, the one that was transparent enough that her lacy pink bra was slightly visible through the thin fabric, and distressed light denim shorts.
“Hey, baby,” Jisung said, summoning a resurgence of energy and closing his computer. “You look cute.”
“Thank you!” She posed with one hand on a jauntily-cocked hip. “Trin gave us the okay to get into the Hub tonight!”
Changbin, who was seated on the opposite end of the couch playing League, barked out a laugh.
“We’re actually going?” Jisung asked. He tried not to sound too upset. After a performance the night before and a day of working, Jisung was in the mood for a couch-locked evening.
“Yes!” Sunny’s smile shined like a beacon of light. “I told Minho we’re coming so he’s expecting us. Or, I guess me, if you’re not up for it, Sungie. You look comfy.”
“Sun,” Changbin interjected, glancing up from his laptop between games. “Can I ask why you’re so eager to go to a strip club? And watch Minho dance? Minho, a man?”
Sunny opened her mouth to respond, but Changbin barreled on, “It’s worth mentioning that Minho is a very objectively sexy man. And you want to watch him strip? Whether Jisung comes with you or not?”
Jisung chewed his lip at the realization that he could’ve been jealous that Sunny was so eager to watch Minho dance, but his brain hadn’t come even close to that realm. He trusted Sunny. She made her love for Jisung very, abundantly clear.
Sunny just laughed, her hands on her hips and her head thrown back. “Are you kidding, Binnie? Minho is so gay.”
Jisung’s eyebrows shot up. “He is?”
Changbin slowly turned to pin Jisung with a scathingly judgmental stare. “How did you not know that? You two talked for an eternity last night.”
“I don’t think we actually talked about anything of importance,” Jisung mumbled. It made sense that Minho was gay. He was pretty, had colorful hair, was a professional dancer, all that. But again, it hadn’t crossed Jisung’s mind. He wondered, again, how Minho behaved so confidently. In Jisung’s eyes, being gay, or being different in any way, would make walking with utter confidence even harder.
“Well, yes, Minho’s gay,” Sunny thankfully went on after Jisung sat in mind-spinning silence for a few beats too many. “So it’s not like I’m going out of thirst for him. The club is really sickening, and they’re such talented dancers. Watching a stripper isn’t exactly cheating.”
Jisung’s eyebrows shot up at the rate this conversation was escalating, so he faced Changbin with the intention of steering the focus. “Do you want to go, Bin?”
“Sure,” Changbin said, sipping his beer. “Nothing else to do tonight.”
“Will Channie want to?” Sunny asked.
Jisung inclined his head back towards the bedrooms’ hallway and screamed Chan’s name. Their oldest hyung shuffled out his bedroom door shortly after, his hair rumpled and his eyes nearly swollen shut, and said, “What the fuck do you want?”
“Chan,” Changbin snickered. “It’s seven p.m.”
“Breakfast time,” Chan mumbled, waddling to the fridge with his fluffy blanket wrapped around his legs like a skirt.
“Channie,” Sunny said, jogging over to him and pulling the coffee maker towards the edge of the counter so she could brew him a pot. Sweet, Jisung thought. If it weren’t for the question she was about to drop on him. “Want to come to the Hub with the three of us?”
“Why are you so hell-bent on watching Minho strip?” Chan asked around a yawn. “Don’t you get enough hot guy action from your boyfriend?”
Jisung buried his reddening cheeks in his hands while Sunny smacked Chan’s shoulder and said, “I just think dancers are cool, okay! God, you’re all so annoying.”
“What time are you going?” Chan asked. “Also Minho’s like, my childhood friend, so I feel kind of weird seeing him take his clothes off.”
“That’s kind of how I feel too,” Jisung said, fanning his hot neck and slinging his arm over the back of the couch so he could see Chan and Sunny in the kitchen.
“You met him last night,” Chan scoffed. “But anyway, I wanted to get some work done. I might swing by if you guys are still there around ten or eleven.”
Changbin smacked his laptop shut with finality. “Alright, time to get my sexy pants on.”
After Jisung, Sunny, and Changbin fed themselves a measly carb-filled meal of buttered noodles and put their best strip-club attire on, they were on their way. Jisung wasn’t entirely sure what strip-club attire entailed, so he’d based his clothes off Sunny’s and put on ripped jeans and a white tank top.
“You can drive home, right?” Changbin asked from the driver’s seat as they sped downtown.
“Slow the fuck down,” Jisung sighed. “And yeah, of course.”
Changbin’s parents had a lot of money, which translated to him casually wearing clothes that cost a small fortune and him driving a smooth-purring BMW. Jisung absolutely hated driving Changbin’s BMW, since potentially creating accident expenses for other people brought him an incredible amount of nerves, but he didn’t want to make Changbin stay sober for the night now that they were already in motion. So, designated driver he would be.
Trinity stood next to the bouncer at the door. She wore a leather jacket over her cropped Hub t-shirt and a pair of black jeans with bulky cargo pockets, and she flicked her dark bangs from her eyes so she could grin at her sister. “Hey Sun, hey boys,” she said, backing into the bustling doorway and gesturing for them to follow. “I’ll get you guys your seats.”
“Thanks!” Sunny gripped Jisung’s hand and beamed at him. “I’m so excited!”
Her energy was contagious, so he couldn’t help but smile too, despite his encroaching discomfort at wading into the Saturday night crowd.
“Trin got us a table pretty far from the dancefloor, baby,” Sunny said as they entered the establishment. “It shouldn’t be too crowded.”
Jisung managed to thank her as he stared, jaw slackened, at the inside of the Hub. Neon lights flickered on every surface, highlighting the throngs of dancing bodies. It smelled like sweat, alcohol, and vape clouds, which was a familiar combination to Jisung. He performed regularly at venues similar to this, he reminded himself.
Still, it was different when he was in the crowd as opposed to slightly above it. There was less room to breathe this way.
Their booth was a few tables back from the raised stage, where several strippers already danced, slipping their bodies expertly around burlesque poles and flirting with the crowd. Changbin went to get a round of shots and a stack of bills from the ATM, leaving Jisung and Sunny alone. He snuggled closer to her on instinct, and she took his chilly hands in hers.
“Are you okay?” she asked, holding his cheek in her hand. She thumbed at his bottom lip before kissing him. “We can go home if it’s too much.”
He could hear the tints of disappointment in her voice, so he smiled encouragingly. “I’m okay. This is a good seat. I like being in a booth against the wall like this.”
“Isn’t it comfy?” she bounced in the cushioned seat and grinned at him. “Thanks for coming with me, Sungie.”
“Of course. Chan and Changbin talked a lot about Minho’s sexiness, though,” he teased, and chuckled when her jaw dropped. “Should I be worried?”
A sultry smile curved half her mouth. “I only see you,” she said, her eyelashes flickering up and down as she watched his eyes, then his lips. Her fingers moved from the seat onto his upper thigh. “You know you’re my world, Jisung.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose. It always made him slightly uncomfortable when Sunny said such things, though he wasn’t sure how to communicate that to her; she was trying to be romantic, after all. But Jisung didn’t especially like feeling like someone’s entire world. So he capped the situation by giving her a kiss, taking the hand on his thigh in his, and focusing his attention on the stage.
Changbin returned to the booth with his wallet between his teeth and a shot in each hand. Once they were settled and the alcohol was downed, Sunny pointed towards the nearest pole, yelling, “Guys, it’s Minho!”
“You would notice him first,” Changbin made fun of her, “Seeing as you think he’s sexy.”
“Fuck off, Changbin!”
Jisung stopped paying attention to their argument when he noticed Minho, who stood maybe twenty feet away, idly swaying his hips and grinning down at a crowd of women at the foot of the platform. As Jisung watched him, an uncomfortable physical sensation eased into the pit of his stomach, like the flutter of nerves before a performance.
Minho wore a snug white button up beneath what looked like a bondage harness, anchored across his broad chest and accentuating his narrow waist. His leather pants were so tight, Jisung swore he could see the bands of muscle in his thighs, flexing and relaxing as he lazily danced with a loose grip on the pole. His hair, deceptively bright blue under the neon lights, was gelled neatly back but fell parted in dark waves across angular brows. Jisung’s eyes traced the prominent angle of Minho’s nose, the way it dipped into his plump upper lip, and he was struck with a strange sense of deja vu.
Minho was so, disturbingly gorgeous. Jisung couldn’t believe he was real. Jisung couldn’t believe they were sort of friends.
“MINHO!” Sunny was suddenly screaming, half-standing up in their booth and waving. “MINHOOO!”
“Say it a little louder, the people fucking in the second story bathroom didn’t hear you,” Changbin snorted.
Minho glanced around, squinting into the shadows of the crowd, and his eyes fell on Jisung. Minho’s brows arched in surprise, then he bit his lower lip around a grin, lifting one hand to wave a little shyly.
Jisung was sure Minho was looking at all three of them, not just him. But he couldn’t shake the vague feeling that Minho was happy to see him there.
“Wow,” Changbin said, already pulling out a stack of bills. “He is pretty sexy.”
Jisung rolled his eyes, slightly sick of their shtick of objectifying Minho at Sunny’s expense, and returned the wave with a timid one of his own.
Minho’s expression changed when he looked at Sunny. His small smile transformed into a cocky smirk, and he turned his back to them, eyeing their table over his shoulder as he dropped into a low squat and pushed back up with his ass, giving them an eyeful of his rear.
Jisung diverted his gaze hastily to Changbin and said, “Okay, is this weird? I feel like it’s weird.”
“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Changbin chimed, popping back to his feet. “I’m getting us doubles, Sun.”
Jisung sat like a concrete statue, his arms glued to his sides, as Minho started to dance. Sunny cheered and hooted at his elbow, both hands in the air to applaud, but Jisung couldn’t bring himself to work his voice. He’d never seen someone move like this before.
In the darkness of the Hub, the pole was nearly invisible. Minho appeared to be suspended in midair, his limbs gracefully keeping him in place as he glided from one side of the platform to the other. The roll started at his chin and made its way down his neck, chest, torso, hips, knees, and feet, until Jisung realized Minho had dipped into a low squat again and was pulling up with his fingers raking through his hair, his hips grinding against the pole and his eyes fluttering shut.
Minho slinked around the pole until he was facing the bulk of the crowd and gripped his belt buckle. He let his head fall to the side, exposing the chiseled glide of his jaw down to his Adam's apple, down to the strip of pale chest between the undone upper buttons of his shirt. His teeth sank into his lower lip. His fingers nimbly worked at the buckles of his harness, quickly discarding the leather fabric as his hips continued to roll. His hand trailed a pattern down from his chest to the dip of his stomach, lingering on his lower abdomen before fleetingly grazing his belt buckle.
Something stirred in Jisung’s gut.
Sunny and a recently-returned Changbin continued to whoop and holler their support. Jisung just sat, utterly frozen and uncomfortable, feeling dirty for staring but feeling like he’d give his unease away if he averted his eyes.
“I gotta go shower him with singles!” Changbin yelled over the music, scooting out of the booth. Sunny laughed and tightened her hand around Jisung’s.
Jisung opted for staring at Minho’s face, since his body was overwhelming and Minho was now making slow work of his shirt buttons. Every one of his movements was meticulous, intentional, practiced. He was a stripper, but Jisung’s head swum with the realization that he moved like a professional dancer. He popped the final button of his shirt, and Jisung remembered not to stare at his body, quickly lifting his gaze to Minho’s face.
He didn’t feel much less filthy staring at Minho’s face, though. Like his expressions were any less sultry than his dance moves. Blue light caught the high planes of his cheekbones, and his teeth worked at his lip until it was bitten raw. Sweat beaded on his forehead, plastering dark bangs to his temples and making his porcelain skin gleam.
Minho’s dark, feline eyes found Jisung’s, and Jisung had to remind himself to breathe.
It turned into one of the longest nights out of Jisung’s life. He retired to the bathroom for some peace and quiet when he realized the visual and auditory stimulation wasn’t going to die down any time soon. He splashed cold water on his face, neck, and collarbones. He looked in the mirror at his own eyes, which were round and puppy-like, and his own cheeks, which were still chubbier than he wanted them to be, betraying his lingering youthfulness.
He wondered why the hell he was there. He was underage, hated crowds, and was happily dating a girl. Why was he overwhelming himself by watching his hot, brand-new male friend strip on stage? He wanted to have an actual friendship with Minho, if their connection from the night before hadn’t been beginner’s luck. He didn’t need to spoil that chance by obsessing over the fact that Minho was unfairly hot and confident and talented. The last thing he needed was another reason to trip over his own words.
When Jisung trudged back to the booth, he was exhausted. Changbin and Sunny were considerably drunk and hardly able to breathe around their own cheers and bouts of laughter, but Sunny still gave him a concerned pout when he came back. He just smiled and kissed the top of her head.
Minho came over to their table when his shift was over, and he slid into the booth next to Jisung easily, like they were friends who’d known each other for years. He was more familiar like this, in sweatpants and a t-shirt with a leather jacket thrown over, but Jisung couldn’t break free of the strangling memories of his half-naked body and his rolling hips. He loathed his anxious brain for running in circles trying to come up with ways to hinder a blossoming friendship.
“Hey,” Minho said, grinning and catching his breath. His sweaty hair clung to his forehead, and he leaned back against the booth as he wiped his face with his sleeve. “Thanks for coming, guys.”
“You’re so sexy!” Changbin howled in agony, clumsily sipping his whiskey sour and scrunching his eyes shut with passion. “I bet your body count is high as fuck!”
“Changbin!” Sunny glared at him venomously. “Minho, that was amazing! You’re such a talented dancer!”
“No need to tell off my generous tippers,” Minho said to Sunny, giving Changbin a close-lipped smirk that made his eyes twinkle. “Changbin, you gave me like forty bucks. I’m not so kind that I’ll give that back when you’re sober in the morning. Boy’s gotta pay rent.”
“Keep it!” Changbin waved a hand. “Money’s just paper!”
Minho raised his eyebrows but didn’t argue. He slid his eyes over to look at Jisung, who was working hard to loosen the knot in his chest. “Nothing to say, Jisungie?” Minho’s smirk widened to a grin as he laughed. “Do you need holy water to cleanse your eyes?”
Jisung chuckled, grateful Minho was lightening the mood with humor. “Honestly, yes. That was pretty sinful.”
“I only live to appease the devil.” Minho threw Jisung an exceedingly terrible wink, one that made both of his eyes scrunch shut, and Jisung’s insides bobbed with muted joy. “Can I get anyone a drink? I need to hydrate before I drop dead.”
Sunny and Changbin both requested more alcohol, so Jisung got to his feet to help. Minho turned around and frowned when he realized Jisung was following him towards the bar, and Jisung flushed, stopping and fiddling with the hem of his tank top.
“What’s up?” Minho hedged.
“Oh, nothing,” Jisung hurried to say. “I just figured with your water and two drinks for them, you could use a hand.”
“Oh.” Minho blinked, and then he turned to keep walking. “Thanks.”
They leaned their elbows on the bar as they waited for the tender to make their friends’ drinks. Minho propped his cheek up on his hand as he watched Jisung, and Jisung deflected the pointed stare with a question, afraid to let those wide, piercing eyes linger on his thin facade of confidence.
“What?” he asked, fidgeting on his bar stool.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Minho said, his expression unreadably cool, “But why are you here?”
Jisung gulped and weighed the options of apologizing and running back to the booth or demanding to know what the problem was. “Um, like I told you, between your water and—”
“No, no,” Minho laughed, tossing some sweaty hair from his eyes. Jisung noticed he had a slight overbite, but he wondered how it almost added to the gracefulness of his bone structure. He remembered, in an unfortunate spur of the moment, that Minho was gay, and he lifted his eyes urgently from his lips to avoid giving the wrong idea. Minho’s eyes curved into crescents as he smiled, and Jisung feared that Minho could read his thought patterns like a book. “I meant at the Hub. You don’t like crowds, right? And you’re not twenty-one anyways, are you? How’d you even get in?”
“Oh.” Jisung chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t know why I’m here.”
Minho’s grin widened. “Just rolling with it?”
“Sunny wanted to come, Trinity got us in, and who am I to pass up an opportunity to get into a bar when I’m twenty?”
“But you don’t drink…”
“Hey,” Jisung said with mock offense, pouting. “I’m allowed to be frisky and spontaneous.”
“You are,” Minho agreed, pursing his lips into a little smirk and reaching out to smooth some hair from Jisung’s forehead. “Try it some time.”
Jisung determinedly ignored the way his heart leapt into his throat. “I’m here, aren’t I? I guess coming to a strip club doesn’t seem very frisky and spontaneous to a stripper.”
“A stripper?” Minho’s nose crinkled.
Jisung’s mind whirled as he remembered that term offended some. “Oh, oh sorry, a dancer? Exotic dancer?”
Minho giggled, actually giggled, and covered his mouth with the back of his wrist. “I’m messing with you, the word doesn’t bother me. You must really like her, huh? Coming to a place you don’t vibe with because she wanted to.”
“I didn’t just come for her,” Jisung objected, in a moment of courage. “I wanted to see you again. Last night was fun.”
“It was.” A dozen unreadable, gorgeous words tangled together in the darkness of Minho’s eyes. Jisung couldn’t decipher a single one. “I’m glad you came.”
Jisung grinned sheepishly. “I’m not gonna subject myself to this crowd every time I want to hang out, though. Maybe you could just come over and hang out at our place some time this week? We make some fire pizza rolls.”
“Pizza rolls are fire no matter how shit you are at cooking,” Minho said. “That’s science.”
“Well then, there’s no argument. You’re coming over.”
Minho laughed, ducking his head, and Jisung couldn’t believe his eyes. Minho was exhibiting signs of nervousness in front of him. And he’d been so worried he’d make such a fool of himself in front of a pillar of unrelenting confidence. “Fine, I will.”
The bartender slid two drinks their way, and Jisung almost didn’t want to return to the booth. Much like he hadn’t wanted to leave the club, even in his sober state, the night before.
When they were back at the booth, Minho and Jisung chatted about hip hop, namely both their music backgrounds, while Sunny and Changbin progressively approached the boundary of too-drunk. When Changbin burst into song for the third time since they’d returned from the bar, Jisung turned a sympathetic grin Minho’s way, only to find his new friend was staring over Changbin’s shoulder with furrowed brows and a glare that could set fire to steel.
“Minho?” Jisung followed his gaze to a pair of guys lingering by the bar, one of whom suddenly peeled away from his friend to meander over to their booth like a zombie, his legs tangling and his drink sloshing in one hand.
Minho stood up and crossed his arms, eyeing the drunk guy like he was a pile of shit he’d just stepped in. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Minho spat, and Jisung shrank backwards into the booth. “I told you to never come back here, asshole.”
“Min,” the other guy whined. Jisung noticed he was actually pretty handsome, though in this state his bloodshot eyes and nearness to tipping right over detracted from that fact. “I just wanted to see you.”
“Get,” Minho snarled, “The fuck, out, of my place of work. Get the fuck out.”
“Jesus, Minho, you’ve always had such a stick up your ass.”
“Ever since you put it there.” His smile was sweet and borderline evil as he jabbed a finger to the door. He stood firmly, his feet hip-width apart, his shoulders squared and his jaw set. Jisung wondered if Minho was taller than he’d previously thought. “There’s the door. Leave before I tell the bouncer you’re harassing me.”
“I just wanted to tell you,” the guy started, reaching both hands out palms-forward as though to placate.
“I don’t fucking want to hear it.”
“I just wanted to tell you how hot you were tonight. Turned me on so much. I want you so bad, Min.”
“Leave,” Minho said coldly, but Jisung noticed color tinting his neck and ears. “I don’t want you here. Go home.”
Jisung cowered back in the booth further still. Changbin and Sunny both watched the exchange with wide eyes.
The drunk guy shrugged in surrender, mumbled, “Suit yourself,” and shuffled back to the bar. Minho glared after them, unflinching and scowling, until they were both out the door, then he sat back down rigidly in the booth next to Jisung.
“So,” Changbin said sarcastically, “Who was that, your boyfriend?”
“Yes,” Minho said icily.
Changbin blinked. “I was kidding.”
“Are you okay?” Jisung asked, now that his own heart rate was back to normal. “That seemed pretty intense.”
Minho threw him a tiny smile. “Yeah, all’s well.”
Jisung didn’t believe for a second that all was well, especially if Minho was serious and that drunkard really was his boyfriend, but he didn’t push it. They left soon after, Jisung getting behind the wheel while Changbin spilled into the passenger’s seat, Sunny and Minho taking the back.
“Thanks for the ride, Jisung,” Minho said after directing him for five minutes or so, unbuckling and offering a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Guess we’re even now, huh?”
“Guess so. Let’s, uh, make it uneven again soon,” Jisung chuckled, and then internally cursed his own awkwardness. “See you later this week, maybe.”
“Yeah, see you guys.”
Jisung watched Minho disappear into the foyer of an upscale apartment complex, one with a heated pool and gym visible from the street, and he battled with the feeling that Minho had a lot going on beneath a cool, still surface.
“Sungie,” Sunny said as they pulled away. “Can I come home with you?”
“Sure,” Jisung said. He wanted more than anything to just collapse into his own bed and watch nature documentaries until sleep took him, but because he didn’t want to get into it in front of Changbin, he kept it at that.
When they were back at the apartment, Changbin safely passed out watching HGTV on the couch, Sunny sagged into Jisung’s bed while he went to get them glasses of water. When he came back she was just in her bra, wrestling her shorts down her thighs and asking if she could borrow a pair of sweatpants. Jisung, who was even sleepier now than he had been when he got back from work hours before, shuffled over to his drawers, pulled out his smallest pair, and turned back around with his eyes barely open.
Sunny reclined on his bed with her legs spread, running her fingers over the lace waistband of her pink panties. She threw her head back against the pillows and licked her lips, watching Jisung with hooded eyes.
“Sungie,” she said, hooked her thumb in her bra strap so she could slide it off her shoulder. “I want you so bad, baby.”
Jisung blinked aside the way Sunny reminded him of Minho’s shitfaced boyfriend at the Hub and began carefully constructing the best way to dissipate this situation. “Sunny,” he cooed, bending down and kissing her forehead. “You’re hammered, hon. And I’m sober.”
“I’m not hammered,” she objected, and Jisung couldn’t deny her words were well-annunciated. “I’m just horny. Come on, babe, it’s been forever.”
Jisung cringed, watching with his lip caught between his teeth as Sunny’s fingers dipped beneath her panties. He always froze when they got this far, always felt like he was clawing desperately at a slippery slope, always got caught up in the logistics of what they were doing. By forever, Sunny meant it’d been a good week or two since he’d fingered her, maybe two more before that since she’d sucked his dick. Each day that went by was an added layer to his guilt.
Jisung wished he could. He wished he could just let go, surrender himself to sex, actually have fun. But his brain rarely let him.
“I’m tired, Sunny,” he said with a sigh. “It’s been a long day.”
Her face crumpled. She snapped her legs together and used both hands to shove herself back up into a seated position. His chest heaved when he noticed the tension in her chin and the way her eyes glistened, and he quickly got onto the bed next to her. “Oh, Sunny, baby, come here.”
She buried her face in the pillows, and he moved behind her, pulling her warm body against his chest. “It’s okay,” he said, kissing the tip of her shoulder and cupping her hand in his.
“You’re always tired,” she sobbed, sniffling. He itched to make her tears go away, to alleviate the distress in her voice. “You never want to.”
“I’m sorry.” He nuzzled into her neck, pressed his nose into the crook of her jaw. “I’m so sorry.”
“Do you not want me?”
“I do,” he whispered, because he did, he has, he does. On good days. “I do. I love you, Sunny. I don’t know...what’s wrong with me.”
They lie in silence for some time, him kissing a slow trail down from her ear to her shoulder, her sniffling and crying until her breathing began to relax. His mind spun as he listened to the gentle rhythm of her inhales, the soft huffs of her exhales. He wanted to be who she wanted him to be. He wanted to sweep her off her feet and capture her lips, dig his fingers into her curves and catch her moans between his teeth. He wanted to make her feel good like she deserved. He wanted to be the force of sexual desire boyfriends were in books and movies. He wanted to succumb to his cravings, but he couldn’t because there were no cravings to succumb to. If only his mind could take the back seat and his instincts could guide him to pleasure, to confidence in his body, to fun, to sex.
It wasn’t the first night Jisung felt lost inside the labyrinth of his own headspace.
Notes:
See u next time babes!
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 3
Summary:
They fell into an easy silence after that, Jisung turning up the radio and singing along to the words he knew. His voice, Minho decided, was beautiful. Clear and powerful, smooth and vibrant. The kind of voice musicians envied. He thought about telling Jisung this, but he was afraid the flattery would lead him to stop singing, so he held his tongue.
Notes:
Hi Minsungers!!! welcome back :-)
I think Monday-Thursday updates sound good, do you? (I'm in Chicago btw!)
***TRIGGER WARNING: domestic violence. Minho gets hit this chapter. It's only once and he leaves the situation immediately after, but I will star the scene just in case you want to skip.
Enjoy babes
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
iii. minho
Monday, Minho awoke with an aching lower back. After his confrontation with Yonghwa at the Hub Saturday night, his boyfriend slipped into an incessantly needy phase. He demanded to know why they didn’t sleep together as much as they used to; he complimented Minho’s legs, his ass, his “sweet little mouth;” he worked his whining and guilt-tripping into the close quarters of their weekend schedule until they were in bed together.
Sex with Yonghwa used to be excellent. Mind-blowing, even. When Minho was fresh out of the worst six months of his life and Yonghwa was a young, hot, rich kid who wanted nothing more than to make him feel good, they had plenty of golden nights getting lost in afterglow after afterglow. Minho still couldn’t bring himself to forget those days. When Yonghwa had been absolutely all he’d had.
It’d been a year and a half since they met, since the rapid incline of their relationship from strangers to partners who lived together. Every day Yonghwa grew a hair further from being the person Minho once loved, and they both knew that. The impending end of their partnership hung over Minho’s head like a ticking bomb. Minho wondered if Yonghwa saw it too. If he’d even be surprised, the day Minho finally came to leave him in the dust.
The night before, the sex had been a performance. Minho was mentally exhausted from early mornings of teaching dance and late nights at the Hub. Yonghwa was tense and moody after a gang from the city caught wind of one of his friends’ street racing habits—the same old shit. So Yonghwa had his way with Minho, hitting all the sweet spots he knew made him writhe, stimulating him until tears stung his eyes. And Minho exposed his throat, fluttered his eyes, and groaned like the fucked out pillow princess his boyfriend wanted him to be until it was over.
I only live to appease the devil, he’d told Jisung. Maybe it was true.
So, lower back pains and a sore asshole made his Monday even less chipper than usual.
After a full day of classes—kids in the morning, teens in the afternoon—Minho ate enough protein to propel him to the gym, even to call his friend Hyunjin to come along. Hyunjin was the furthest thing from a fitness guru, but he was chatty and confident, and he found the time went by faster when Hyunjin was there to carry the conversation.
“So I was telling Eleanor,” Hyunjin was saying, referring to their six-year-old dance student, “That she doesn’t need to be flexible to be a dancer. Because she doesn’t.”
Minho just grunted while squatting as much as he weighed.
“And she told me other girls in the class make fun of her for not being able to do the splits.” Hyunjin heaved a sigh. He “spotted” Minho by leaning casually against the closest mirror and pulling pieces of his long blond hair into mini braids. “I feel terrible that she’s being made fun of. I think I’m going to do something about it next week. I already drafted a strongly worded email to the bitches’ moms.”
“Hyunjin,” Minho ground out, settling the bar back onto the rack and rising shakily to his full height. “Making fun of someone for being inflexible isn’t necessarily bullying.”
“Coming from someone who bullies me constantly?” Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “Rich.”
“Draft me a strongly worded email,” Minho said.
Hyunjin’s glare might’ve been scary if Minho weren’t fully aware Hyunjin didn’t have an intimidating bone in his body.
“Oooh, what’s this?” Hyunjin screeched, jabbing his thumb into Minho’s collarbone where his V-neck slipped down. “A hickey? Someone got laid.”
“You know I have a boyfriend,” Minho grumbled, adjusting his shirt back up as Hyunjin daintily placed weights on the bar like he was decorating a mantlepiece.
“A boyfriend whose dick you avoid like the plague. Was it someone else?”
Minho sighed. He’d indulged in sleeping with other people while in a relationship with Yonghwa once or twice, but the proceeding guilt always deteriorated the sex’s worth, so he’d stopped that a few months back. “No, it was Yonghwa. He came to the Hub on Saturday night.”
Hyunjin’s plump lips parted around a gasp. “You’re kidding. After the grabbing you off the pole situation?”
“We don’t speak of the grabbing me off the pole situation. But yes. Then I had to yell at him to get the fuck out in front of my friends. In front of a cute guy.”
“Oh, a cute guy?”
Minho shrugged. “He has a girlfriend, but still.”
“Pshhh. You have a boyfriend.”
Minho ignored that.
“Still doesn’t explain how you ended up in bed with Yonghwa.”
“Something along the lines of guilt tripping after I screamed at him that I didn’t want him at my place of work. Quit playing with the weights and squat, Hwang Hyunjin.”
As Hyunjin whined and breathlessly chatted his way through his reps, Minho’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and mentally minimized the surge in his chest when he saw who’d texted him. Jisung.
Jisung: Hey! Are you free tonight?
Minho chewed his bottom lip as he toggled over to his conversation with Yonghwa. They were going to buy drugs under the bridge tonight, and Yonghwa needed Minho to drive them there. Minho wondered how long it would take.
Minho: depends. What’s your bedtime, grasshopper?
Minho put his phone away to focus on the rest of his workout session. He and Hyunjin grabbed dinner afterwards, and then it was time for Minho to be an accomplice to a crime. Again. He sighed.
“You can tell Yonghwa no, you know,” Hyunjin said as he dropped Minho off from their dinner outing. “It’s okay to like, not participate in gang activity. Lots of people do it.”
Minho gave a dry laugh. “I don’t do it because I want to.”
“You can always stay with me and Felix,” Hyunjin said. None of his usual mockery laced the words, and he even smiled. “The couch isn’t the comfiest but it’s available whenever you need it.”
“I know. Thank you,” Minho said, though the words felt heavy on his tongue. “I couldn’t ask that of you guys. I’ll see you at work tomorrow. Get some beauty sleep.”
“See you tomorrow. And be careful tonight.”
Whenever people asked Minho how Yonghwa afforded to live in one of the priciest apartment complexes in the city, Minho told them his boyfriend was an entrepreneur who worked running social media accounts. This, of course, was a lie, but there weren’t many savvy ways to decorate being a notorious drug lord and gang leader. Certain people knew. Hyunjin, for example. Felix, because Hyunjin had a big mouth. Trinity was aware Minho was involved in some shady shit, but she was wise enough not to push it. Minho was just glad she still employed him.
That was about it. Minho kept that door of his life carefully locked at all times. He took no pride in assisting where he was asked to, but he did what he had to do; he’d established a multitude of boundaries that rubbed Yonghwa the wrong way as it was. He never hurt anyone himself. He never showed his face at any of the exchanges; his primary role was transporting, since many of the guys were high or drunk when they were doing business. He did a lot of organizing of information. As a computer person, he found joy in collecting data and logging it in an easily accessible manner.
But Yonghwa wanted him to do more. He used to do more, and Yonghwa was always romanticizing the things Minho used to do.
So when six guys piled into Yonghwa’s car, reeking of cigarettes and sticking ammunition into guns, Minho slackened his grip on the steering wheel and turned stern eyes on his boyfriend. “You’re joking.”
“Just drive, baby.”
Minho, who didn’t much feel like arguing with someone who had five armed minions ready to do his bidding at the drop of a hat, gritted his teeth and put the car in drive.
“Those are insurance weapons, right?” Minho asked, turning down the volume when Yonghwa started blaring hip hop music through the aux cord. “You’re not actually going to shoot someone.”
“Of course not,” Yonghwa scoffed. Minho noted he sounded sober, if only a bit riled up on adrenaline. Some guy in the way-back of the SUV chuckled under his breath.
Yonghwa directed Minho through the darkening city streets, his voice cheery and rhythmic like he was teaching a kid to ride a bike. The guys in the back were eerily silent, and Minho guessed Yonghwa had told them to hold their tongues in front of him. The silence stretched on far too long, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Unease stirred in his gut as his palms grew wet on the wheel.
“You’re hiding something,” Minho said calmly, at a red light.
“Best if you don’t know,” Yonghwa chirped.
True as that might’ve been, Minho despised not knowing. The crushing weight of uncertainty, combined with his knowledge of Yonghwa’s ruthlessness, made plenty of terrible worst case scenarios spin through Minho’s mind.
Yonghwa instructed Minho to park a few blocks from the bridge. As he pulled into the alleyway, which was almost too narrow to drive down and littered with wind-tossed trash can lids, Minho noticed an empty truck parked in the vacant parking lot alongside the bridge. He recognized the truck, the tinted windows, the monstrous tires. Normally there were people inside. Normally the engine was running.
Minho’s heart hammered as realization sunk into him. He whirled around to watch Yonghwa and his minions tug ski masks over their heads. “Yonghwa, are you fucking kidding me?”
“Relax, babe,” Yonghwa said, shoving his hands into leather gloves and flashing Minho a crooked grin through the cartoonish holes in his mask.
Minho, who was baffled by how utterly pathetic his significant other was, cackled humorlessly. “You can steal from armed gang members if you want, but I won’t have any part in it.”
“Babe. All you have to do is wait here, then drive away when we come back.”
“Don’t babe me.” Minho was barely aware of the silent gang members listening in stony silence in the back seat. “Get out of the car and do your stupid bullshit, but you can find your own ride home. Or you can drive your damn self. I’ll walk.”
“Min, I’m coked up, I’m not trying to drive right now.”
Of course, that was crossing a line for Yonghwa. Minho rolled his eyes and bashed his head backwards against the car seat. “Here are your options. Don’t do this shit, and I’ll drive these idiots home. Or, do this shit, and run away on your damn feet after you steal from your trade partner. They’re gonna start fucking shooting at you if they catch you, by the way. Or, you or one of them can drive in the absolute stupid fuckery of a car chase you’re about to be involved in, and I’ll walk my ass home. Choose.”
Yonghwa’s eyes darkened beneath furrowed brows. “I don’t have time for your whiny bullshit, Minho.”
Minho ignored him, turned to smile at the car full of idiots, and asked in his best soccer mom voice, “Who’s sober enough to drive?”
“I could do it,” a guy Minho didn’t recognize raised his hand from the back seat.
“There.” Minho turned to gaze challengingly back at Yonghwa.
“Get out of the car,” Yonghwa said, words clipped. “I need to talk to you.”
*********** TW
Minho left the engine running and stood with one arm propped on the windshield as Yonghwa stomped around the front of the car to stand in front of him. They were about the same height, but Yonghwa appeared taller now, with his arms crossed and lips curled into a snarl. “You’re embarrassing me in front of my guys,” he said. The seething heat in his voice implied he was understating this embarrassment. “I told them you’d drive us.”
“Driving you to a drug deal is different from driving you to steal from the people you’re supposed to buy from.”
“This is why I said it’s better if you don’t know.”
“When would I have found out then? When their truck starts chasing me down the highway and their guys start open firing on my tires? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“Yonghwa. I did the accounting for this deal. This is a hundred thousand dollars worth of shit you’re stealing. Don’t try and convince me I’m overreacting. You could get yourself killed.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Minho grinned snarkily. “Best if you don’t know.”
Then Yonghwa jerked his shoulder to the side, flung his arm forward, and backhanded Minho across the face.
Minho staggered, grabbing his side where he’d slammed into the car door, and took a moment to acquaint himself with the flare of pain in his cheek. He squashed the urge to punch Yonghwa square in the jaw, despite the way it reared up in his muscles until he had to lace his own fingers together to keep from lunging at him. Then he held both his hands in the air in surrender, looked blankly into Yonghwa’s livid stare, and turned to jog down the alleyway.
**********TW end
He ran for a long time. He followed the edge of the river, enjoying the early summer wind in his hair, shrugging his jacket off and tying it around his waist when sweat started to pool between his shoulder blades. When he made it downtown, his mind was sufficiently blank, and there was plenty of space between him and the catastrophe Yonghwa was about to ignite.
As he stood propped against the railing overlooking the river, his cheekbone stinging and his lungs burning for air, pure instinct drew his phone from his pocket. He dialed Jisung.
“Hello?” Jisung answered, his voice small, slightly scratchy. Minho wondered if talking on the phone made him nervous.
“Hey,” Minho said breathlessly, gazing around at the river. Orange and blue lights shimmered on its dark surface, sliced in half by the bridge’s thick shadow. He turned around to look at the city now, perusing the expanse of restaurant storefronts along the waterside. “Do you like sushi?”
“Oh yeah,” Jisung said. “Sushi is heaven. It’s not filling enough for the price, though.”
“I’m not particularly hungry, myself.”
“I already had dinner, yeah. Baked potato.”
“Baked potato?” Minho leaned his elbows on the railing and grinned, letting his eyes fall shut as he caught his breath. “Did you butter it at least, you lawless savage?”
“Butter and sour cream! I’m not an animal!” Jisung paused to giggle, and the happy noise made Minho giggle along with him. “You sound like you just ran.”
“I’m jogging,” Minho said. “Or, something like that.”
“You’re so sketchy.”
“I didn’t look at your text. When’s your bedtime?”
“Sleep isn’t really something I budget time for in my day.”
“Ah, a man of true priorities,” Minho chuckled. “So, sushi?”
“Right now?”
“Yes. Are you home?”
“I’m at the recording studio,” said Jisung, and Minho dimly heard Changbin’s voice in the background. “It’s downtown, kind of far from yours. I could meet you somewhere?”
“I’m downtown. I’ll come get you. Send me your location.”
“Oh, oh sure. Okay. I’ll see you in a bit. Should I invite the guys?”
“Nah,” Minho said, on a whim. “I feel like just Jisungie time.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Jisung said, little hiccups of laughter coloring his voice. “I’ll, um, see you soon?”
“Mmhmm,” Minho hummed, and then hung up.
3RACHA’s recording studio was about a five minute walk for Minho, who took to inspecting his reflection in his phone screen to make sure there wasn’t a visible mark on his face. He felt at peace, almost giddy. It was only eight o’clock, he didn’t have to deal with Yonghwa’s drama, and he was going to hang out with his new friend Jisung. It was his first time seeing Jisung without Sunny there too, he realized. He chose not to linger on the relevance of that fact.
When Jisung stepped onto the sidewalk in an oversized flannel and light wash jeans, a shallow dent in his hair from wearing headphones, Minho swept past him and jerked his head for him to follow with nothing but a, “I know a place.”
“Hi to you too,” Jisung laughed as he jogged to catch up. “Why are you so set on sushi?”
Minho turned to give him a quizzical look. “Getting cold feet?”
“You act like we’re going skydiving or something.”
Minho wiggled his eyebrows and said nothing, so Jisung snickered and knocked his shoulder against Minho’s before going on, “I’m in the mood for sushi. I guess I didn’t expect you to call out of nowhere on a raw fish mission.”
“Sticky rice and nori are important parts of that equation.”
“Oh, absolutely. Spicy mayonnaise, optional but highly recommended.”
It impressed Minho how quickly Jisung could dive into the nonsensical swing of Minho’s topics of choice. He was vaguely aware of some lingering tension in his muscles, some adrenaline still trickling from his veins. But now that he was with Jisung, the intensity of arguing with Yonghwa started to dissipate rapidly.
“So what’s this place you know?” Jisung asked when Minho stood spinning in a gradual circle with his eyes narrowed down at google maps. “Are we sure it exists?”
“Ah!” Minho shouted when he figured out which way to walk, causing Jisung to jump. “Okay, come with me. I will show you the way. How was your day today, Jisungie? You look like you’ve been wearing headphones for a while.”
“Oh.” Jisung’s soft-looking cheeks flushed pink as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I tend to lose track of time when I’m at the studio. I forget about my basic needs. Can’t tell I have to pee until I’m about to wet myself. It was that type of day.”
“I get that way with dance,” Minho said, sticking an arm out to stop Jisung in his tracks when he almost walked out into traffic. “Speaking of basic needs, let’s try to avoid death by vehicular manslaughter.”
“Sorry,” Jisung mumbled. “My brain’s mush.”
“What time did you get to the studio today?”
“Uh, like eleven? Ten thirty maybe?”
“Goddamn,” Minho said, peeling his eyes from google maps to arch an impressed eyebrow. “Ten hours of writing?”
“We were in the zone,” Jisung said with a grin, bobbing up and down on his toes slightly. Cutie, Minho thought. “The three of us are really excited about what we’re working on.”
“How long till it's done? Or is it still in the fetal stage?”
Jisung laughed and shook some overly long black hair from his eyes. Minho observed the curve of Jisung’s lips and noticed, with a little grin of his own, that Jisung’s smile was shaped like a heart. “We put the finishing touches on my and Binnie’s verses today. But it’ll take a few more days of recording before it’s a finished track.”
“Can I hear your verse?”
Jisung hung his jaw when Minho spun to face him outside the sushi place. The lights from within the restaurant filtered through the storefront window, casting bright flecks in his dark eyes. “You want me to rap for you, right here on the sidewalk?”
“Ha!” Minho snorted and ruffled Jisung’s hair. “I bet if I pressured you enough, you totally would, wouldn’t you? But no. I meant what you’ve recorded so far.”
“Oh,” Jisung mumbled, scratching his head and trailing after Minho into the restaurant. “Yeah, of course. I’ll send it to you tomorrow. It’s all on Chan’s laptop right now, so even I don’t have it yet.”
“Thanks,” Minho said. “You guys make good music.”
He felt Jisung’s eyes on his face as Minho studied the sushi menu on the wall, but when he glanced over, Jisung was looking at the menu too with a small smile on his lips.
Jisung ordered two spicy salmon rolls and a dynamite roll, and Minho kept it simple by ordering the same for himself. He slid his credit card across the counter for them both, pointedly avoiding Jisung’s eyes.
“Minho,” Jisung whined. “I can pay for myself.”
Minho grabbed two packets of soy sauce and a pair of chopsticks, set them on top of Jisung’s head, and smiled sweetly before turning and making a beeline for the booths.
“So how did you meet Chan anyways?” Jisung asked. They sat across from one another at a booth under soft red light, accordion-folding their chopstick wrappers and waiting for their food. “He said he didn’t want to see you strip because you’re like his childhood friend.”
“What a wholesome boy.” Minho took a sip of his strawberry lemonade. “Chan and I grew up in the same neighborhood. I’ve known him since he moved here in sixth grade, but we didn’t really become friends until high school. Fell out again after we graduated.”
“Was he always stupidly handsome, nocturnal, and Australian as hell?”
“A hundred percent,” Minho laughed. “He was a cute kid. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“How’d you meet Chan? And what madness drove you to sign a lease with him and Changbin both? Your apartment must be chaos.”
“Oh,” Jisung said with a laugh. Their sushi came then, served on rectangular ceramic platters with sauce tastefully dribbled on top, and Jisung turned enormous, sparkling eyes on Minho. “How much was the bill for this place, Minho?”
“I don’t remember.” He did; it wasn’t expensive. If he told him, Jisung would probably try to do something stupid like pay him back. “Answer the question, grasshopper.”
“Uh, well Chan is three years older than me,” Jisung began, scraping his chopsticks together to sand away any wood splinters. “Thanks for dinner. It looks delicious.”
“God, you’re terrible at staying on topic.”
“This is true. Um, he’s three years older than me, so he was actually an assistant to my musical arrangement professor my freshman year. He helped us—the students, I mean—record our own demos, since he’s always been really good at putting music together. He asked me to try out some of his personal tracks, since um, he liked my rap style. It was a huge honor, really. I’m lucky he asked to take me on.”
“You’re twenty, right?”
Jisung nodded, his fluffy hair bobbing up and down.
“Lot of talent for so young,” Minho murmured, but pushed on before Jisung could get embarrassed. “So that’s how 3RACHA started, huh? What about Changbin?”
“Binnie came a bit later. Chan met him at an event he was DJing. Changbin performed a solo rap and Chan asked him to come to the studio to try out some of his stuff, and then the rest was history. We signed a lease after just like, two months of all knowing each other. It was a bold move on my part.”
“How do you guys have a studio? Is it through the university?”
“No, no. Chan graduated last year and got signed with a label, and it’s the label’s studio.”
“Oh shit,” Minho said, remembering to disengage from the conversation long enough to start eating his food. “So your music actually gets released. By a company.”
“Not, uh, exactly,” Jisung said, chuckling nervously. “It’s a really small label, so we get access to a studio to produce our stuff, but that’s kind of it. Chan handles most of the production and marketing himself. He’s a good leader.”
“He does most of the writing, then?”
“Ah, he writes the music. Arranges it, comes up with the beat, all that. And he writes his singing parts, of course. Bin and I write our own raps, though.”
“No conflicts of interest there?” Minho cocked his head, observing as Jisung rested his cheek on the palm of his hand contemplatively. “With three separate minds writing different parts of the same project?”
“Surprisingly, not really,” Jisung said, pouting, as though he’d never thought of the answers to Minho’s questions. Maybe he hadn’t. “We all write so differently, but with Chan in charge and Bin and I responsible for our own stuff, it goes pretty smoothly. Sometimes Changbin gives me a few words of advice too many on my rap, though, and then I’ll get pissed. But that’s rare. Normally he’s pretty good at keeping off his high horse.”
“Changbin thinks he’s better than you?” Minho wrinkled his brow.
“Changbin is better than me,” Jisung chuckled. “Don’t argue with that, I swear. It’s factual.”
“I guess I’ve only seen one performance,” Minho obliged, though he didn’t agree. “You said you all write differently? How do you write, then?”
“Oh, dear,” Jisung covered his mouth with the back of his hand while he chewed, his eyes scrunching into crescent moons. “I write a huge amount in a very short amount of time. Just like, word vomit. Then I edit down.”
“Chew with your mouth closed or you’ll word vomit all over this table.”
“Sorry.” Jisung took a sip of his soda, his cheeks puffed out around his food, and Minho could hardly stand how fucking cute he was. “Bin is slow and meticulous with how he writes. Much more of a perfectionist. I really hate going back and changing what I’ve done, to be honest. I get emotionally attached to what I’ve created. But it’s necessary.”
“Mmm,” Minho hummed. “I know what you mean. I hate changing choreo I’ve made.”
“You make choreo?”
Minho shrugged. “All the time. At the Hub, I come up with my routines. Some other people’s, too. To teach my students at the studio, I come up with little routines for practices, and for their performances. I tend to like what I start with, but usually it needs to be changed to accommodate the performer.”
“That’s so cool that you teach dance for a living,” Jisung said, his eyes round and sparkling. “Is that what you always wanted to do?”
“When I was a kid, I wanted to be a secret agent.”
“Oh, you’d be so good at that. Look at all the information you’ve dragged out of me tonight.”
Minho smiled and noticed Jisung was finishing up his sushi. He must’ve been hungry. He picked up one of his own pieces and brandished it across the table with his chopsticks.
Jisung pouted at him. “You paid for my food, now you’re giving me some of yours? Are you crazy?”
“Here comes the choo choo,” Minho said, opening his own mouth and waggling the sushi in front of Jisung’s face.
Protesting quelled, Jisung leaned in and opened his mouth, blinking patiently as Minho popped the sushi in his mouth. A smidge of warmth stirred in Minho’s stomach at the endearing sight, at the way Jisung chewed like a happy puppy, but Minho nimbly dodged the feeling by making fun of Jisung for eating like a squirrel.
As their conversation progressed, delving deep into specifics at certain points and skipping down absurd tangents in others, an hour and a half passed in what felt like fifteen minutes. When they were done eating and had sipped their way through refilled drinks, Minho wasn’t ready to go back to his piece of shit boyfriend’s apartment. So he suggested they walk around.
“What should we do?” Jisung asked as they walked along the riverside. The wind had a chilly bite to it at this hour, but thankfully Jisung looked cozy enough in his flannel. “Did you have something in mind?”
“Sometimes I like to just walk,” Minho said. “Especially after a long day. Helps me process.”
“It was a long day?”
After a brief, visceral moment of reliving Yonghwa backhanding him across the face, Minho shrugged. “Like any other Monday.”
“I know what you mean.”
The urge to tell Jisung the truth seized Minho, an unfamiliar instinct. Apparently Jisung opened doors Minho hadn’t contemplated unlocking in a long time. Maybe it was because he knew Jisung would take everything into stride. He seemed like that kind of guy.
He decided, though, that it was a bit early to tell Jisung his boyfriend was a drug lord. They were having a fun night; the last thing Minho wanted to do was scare him off.
As they walked along the river, Minho showed Jisung pictures and videos of Soonie and Doongie. Normally, Minho didn’t really give a fuck whether people wanted to see his cats—he usually thrust pictures upon them regardless of their opinions—but this time, it made him second-hand happy to see Jisung’s wide eyes and parted lips as he watched an arbitrary clip of Minho rubbing Soonie’s ears.
“He’s so pretty,” Jisung said. “How long have you had him?”
“I rescued him about two years ago.” He kept it at that; he always kept it at that. No one needed to know the exact circumstances that brought Soonie into his life. Again, he had no intention of scaring Jisung off so soon. “Doongie we adopted a bit over a year ago.”
“We?”
Minho grimaced. “Me and Yonghwa.”
“Oh.” Jisung bit his lower lip as he made a valiant effort not to look too curious. “Your boyfriend?”
“He’s a piece of shit,” Minho clarified, sweeping his eyes over the bridgeside as they approached. The parking lot where the truck had been parked was now empty. A knot loosened in Minho’s stomach. “But yes, he’s my boyfriend.”
Confusion and amusement twinkled in Jisung’s eyes. “If he’s a piece of shit, why date him?”
This was dangerous territory. Minho regretted bringing up Yonghwa’s name in any form. “It’s complicated,” he said. “I’d leave him if I could, believe me.”
“ That’s concerning.”
Minho just hummed, keeping deliberately silent despite the ensuing awkwardness, and eventually Jisung sighed and said, “How come you didn’t want him at the Hub?”
“Oh.” Minho laughed. “Because he’s an alcoholic, and one time he was there and he was so drunk that he pulled me off the pole while I was dancing.”
“You’re joking.”
Minho shook his head, and Jisung said, “He does sound like a piece of shit.”
A strange feeling washed through Minho, bred from the combination of an immensely enjoyable evening and the sound of Jisung’s low, honey-sweet, scratchy voice calling Yonghwa a piece of shit, but Minho locked the warmth up and said, “You have no idea. But anyway. Seems like Sunny is a much better significant other.”
“Yeah,” Jisung said, though the syllable struck a tone Minho decided had a few strings attached. “She’s very sweet.”
Minho raised his eyebrows but elected to steer the subject.
They talked about nothing much for the next hour—Jisung’s experience living in Malaysia, Minho’s students, the way 3RACHA coped with doing household chores—until they’d walked to the foot of Minho’s apartment complex. It was a quarter till eleven, and Minho felt uncomfortable at the idea of Jisung walking all the way home at this hour, so he told him to wait in the foyer while he ran upstairs to get Yonghwa’s keys.
When he pushed into the apartment, Yonghwa stood shirtless at the kitchen sink, mopping a wound on his side with an alcohol swab. Minho’s gut reaction was to groan with exasperation, but he needed to borrow Yonghwa’s car, so he opted for ass-kissing instead.
“Oh my god,” Minho said. He pouted and came over to place his hands on the small of Yonghwa’s back. The bullet wound looked like a graze, but it oozed a trickle of blood nonetheless. “That looks bad, babe.”
“Not so bad,” Yonghwa said breathlessly, holding a needle between his teeth. “Can you stitch me up?”
“Yeah, I will. Can I borrow your car to drive a friend home? I’ll be back in five to help.”
“Sure.”
Minho, releasing a relieved, quiet breath through his nose, grabbed the keys off the counter and dashed off to drive Jisung home. Jisung stood in the foyer with his eyes glued to his phone and his feet absentmindedly kicking the ground, so Minho slammed open the door, laughing when Jisung jumped. “Come, sir, your steed has arrived.”
“You take sick joy in surprising me, don’t you,” Jisung whined as they walked towards the parking garage. “This apartment building is boujee as hell.”
“Oh yeah,” Minho said. “Yonghwa has money.”
“Money isn’t everything,” Jisung said. Minho chose to ignore the heavy undertones of the casual statement.
The interior of Yonghwa’s car smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, but thankfully there weren’t any bloodstains or bullet holes in the seats. Jisung asked Minho if he smoked, and Minho firmly said no, stating the smell made him gag.
“What about weed?” Jisung asked as they pulled out onto the road.
“Oh, weed is lovely,” Minho said. “But it makes me incompetent, so I try to avoid it unless I’m around other high idiots.”
“Mmm. I love weed.”
“Yeah?” Minho said. “It helps put the mind at ease.”
“You got that right.”
They fell into an easy silence after that, Jisung turning up the radio and singing along to the words he knew. His voice, Minho decided, was beautiful. Clear and powerful, smooth and vibrant. The kind of voice musicians envied. He thought about telling Jisung this, but he was afraid the flattery would lead him to stop singing, so he held his tongue.
When he parked outside 3RACHA’S apartment complex, Jisung turned to give him a scrunchy, close-lipped smile that made his cheeks even rounder. “You should come over sometime this week,” he said. “Changbin and Chan would love to have you too. Whenever you’re free.”
“Sure,” Minho said, ruffling Jisung’s soft hair. “I’ll text you.”
“Okay. Good night, Minho. Get home safe.”
“Night, Jisungie.”
Minho watched him walk to the door, a comfortable warmth settling over his shoulders like a blanket. A warmth that felt like home.
He turned up the music even louder for the drive back, singing along and reminiscing fondly on his evening with his new friend. He only remembered the wounded asshole waiting for him in the kitchen when he was back in front of him.
“Here,” Minho said, placing his hands gently on Yonghwa’s. He was seated at one of the island bar stools, and his face was a bit pale. “I got it, babe.”
Yonghwa relented, leaning back against the counter as Minho got to work with the needle and thread. He felt his boyfriend’s eyes on him, so he paused to glance up. There was a surprising fondness in Yonghwa’s expression, so Minho smiled and asked, “What is it?”
“You’re beautiful, you know.”
Minho, who was only human, felt his ears grow hot. “Is now really the time for that.”
“I know I don’t say it enough. You don’t even have to try. Prettiest guy I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re reeling from blood loss,” Minho said flatly, although he allowed the barest hint of a smirk. Yonghwa’s skin tugged this way and that as he dragged the needle through. “But thanks.”
They were quiet for a few moments, Minho tying the thread’s end, before Yonghwa said, “We got the stuff. But I guess you were right. They did shoot at us.”
“I’m usually right.”
To his surprise, Yonghwa just chuckled.
Minho snipped the thread. As he straightened to toss the loose strands in the trash, Yonghwa’s arms curved around his waist. He leaned into the touch, resting his elbows on his boyfriend’s shoulders and propping his chin atop his head. Yonghwa’s breath was hot, gentle, and familiar against the hollow of his throat.
Moments like these reminded Minho how he’d dug himself so deep into a hole he’d have to spend all his life digging himself back out of.
Notes:
Thank you for reading~~ I'll be back Monday!
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 4
Summary:
Minho’s touches became progressively less instructional and more reassuring. He’d taken to rubbing and patting Jisung’s back and shoulders a lot, which was always where he held the most tension. Jisung wondered how Minho knew.
Notes:
Hannie's chapter for Hannie's birthday!!! Happy birthday to our ace quokka!!
Enjoy the chapter~~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
iv. jisung
“You know,” Changbin said as they divided up a box of carryout spring rolls, “You change when you’re on stage, Minho.”
Minho, who was picking bean sprouts from his serving of fried rice and plopping them onto Jisung’s plate, looked up with a challenge in his eyes. “Oh?”
“You do,” Changbin said. “When I’m talking to you now, you don’t seem like, you know. A professional at taking your clothes off.”
“Mmm,” Minho acknowledged the comment with an indifferent hum. “Fair. I think everyone changes onstage.”
Jisung braced himself. Sure enough, Chan piped up from where he sat in the living room arm chair, “Jisung especially. He’s such a firecracker on stage.”
Jisung frowned at him. “Are you saying I’m not a firecracker in real life?”
“Just in a different way,” Chan said quickly.
Jisung turned to look at Minho, who was studying him with a teasing smirk. Minho’s elbows were propped lazily on their kitchen island. He’d rolled up his t-shirt sleeves, which fit snugly to his upper arms. “You think I’m different on stage?” Jisung asked Minho.
“Mmhm,” Minho said. “On stage, you act like you want everyone’s eyes on you. Off stage it flusters you if I stare at you for an extra second and a half.”
Jisung brandished a single chopstick towards Minho like a threatening spear, pouting all the while, until Changbin interrupted. “Sung, Sunny says look at your phone.”
“Oh,” Jisung mumbled, his ears warming as Chan cackled at his expense. He pulled out his phone to respond to Sunny’s latest work drama.
It was a Thursday night, half past five. They’d been hanging out since early afternoon, playing video games and listening to hip hop and scarfing down whatever food they could find, and time had escaped Jisung. He treasured times like these, when the whir of his mind quieted and allowed him to live in the moment.
“So you guys never do choreo,” Minho said the question like it was a statement after several moments of them silently mowing through Chinese food.
“No,” Chan said, pointing his chopsticks at Minho like he’d struck an interesting topic. “But I’ve thought about it. Even if it’s just small stuff.”
“I think we’d look like dorks,” Changbin objected.
Minho’s eyebrows bobbed. “If the choreo is dorky.”
“Would you help us?” Jisung asked suddenly.
Minho’s eyes slid over to bore questioningly into his. “What’s the would in condition of here?”
“If we decide we want choreo,” Jisung clarified, grabbing his napkin to have something to fiddle with. He’d seen Minho dance; so had Changbin. He figured if they were discussing potential choreography with an experienced dancer, he might as well ask the question, though now his cheeks flamed. “I mean, we’d pay you of course…”
“No, shut up.” Minho rolled his eyes, though his lips quirked with an inkling of a smile. “I’d help. It’d be fun.”
“But like,” Chan pressed on. “We’re shit at dancing.”
“About that payment,” Minho said. He laughed when Jisung smacked his shoulder. “I think it’d be interesting to come up with moves to match your music.”
Changbin started asking Chan about the counts of their latest track, which quickly turned into a logistical argument Jisung knew Minho didn’t understand, so he turned to his friend and nudged his foot with his own. “Is it your favorite part of your job?” Jisung asked. “Making choreo.”
Minho watched Jisung blankly as he thought. Jisung squirmed under the stare. “No, I like teaching.”
“Yeah,” Jisung said. “You seem like you’d be a patient teacher.”
Minho recoiled like he’d been threatened, though his eyes still glimmered. “Minho and patient don’t belong in the same sentence.”
“Unless it’s Minho is an asylum patient for his murderous rage,” Jisung teased, which made Minho laugh. Jisung opened his mouth to eat the spring roll Minho was attempting to feed him. It happened a lot since the first time Minho fed Jisung a piece of sushi on Monday. Jisung realized feeding other people made Minho happy.
They’d hung out Wednesday night when they’d gone to get milkshakes and see a horror movie, and then again tonight. Jisung found it shocking that it hadn’t even been a week since he and Minho met. It felt more like they’d been friends for weeks or even months. It wasn’t like he understood Minho much better than the first night—the guy was still elusive, sarcastic, and even weirder than Jisung was sometimes—but he felt like he was well-equipped for Minho’s unpredictable turns. And he liked the turns, anyway.
A comment from Changbin got Minho venting about the immorality of people who declawed their cats, a rant which Jisung and Chan watched with silent laughter, until Minho stopped midway through an indignant sentence to look at his phone. “I have to go to work. But I am not finished with you, Seo Changbin.”
“I didn’t say it’s a good thing to do, just that people do it when they don't want their furniture destroyed,” Changbin insisted.
Minho opened his mouth, his eyebrows lifting like he was about to unleash another string of livid syllables, but instead he pursed his lips into a little smile and turned to Jisung. “Walk me out, Jisungie?”
“Oh, sure.” Jisung spilled off the kitchen chair and shuffled over to the front door, socks padding on hardwood. Minho, grinning impishly, tickled Jisung’s sides as he followed. Jisung whined and pretended to be annoyed when Minho poked and prodded him, but he found it far from annoying. Physical harassment seemed to be Minho’s primary way of showing he cared.
“Should I UberEats some holy water to your apartment in case you want to come see me at work again?” Minho asked as he stepped into his shoes.
Jisung laughed nervously, though his belly coiled up with tension at the thought of going back to the Hub. “Yes, please. One order of holy water. Bottled.”
Minho grinned and rested his hand on the door knob. His eyes, large and full of something Jisung couldn’t quite place, blinked at Jisung a few, slow times. “You actually want to visit?”
“No,” Jisung said, then quickly leapt to explain his stern tone. “You’re great, but crowded bars are not.”
“Mmm. This is fair.” Minho twiddled his fingers at the boys seated in the kitchen and then threw Jisung an exaggerated wink. “Bye, Jisungie. Everyone, start doing your stretches. My choreo is coming for your hamstrings.”
“Bye Minhooo!” Changbin and Chan chorused, and Jisung made a disgusted face at Minho, who stuck out his tongue until Jisung shut the door behind him and ducked his head to hide his smile.
“Minho’s great,” Changbin said as soon as Jisung was back in the kitchen. “But I never know what the fuck to expect with him.”
“That’s part of what makes him great,” Chan pointed out. Jisung nodded his agreement.
He checked his phone to find three missed calls from Sunny. Nerves swum at the base of his throat, making him all-too aware of his swallowing. He always felt guilty when he let calls go unanswered, but making them or answering them intimidated him as well. He much preferred when Sunny texted him.
He called her back, taking his food with him to his bedroom. She answered on the first ring. “Jisung?”
“Hi baby,” he said, perching on the corner of his bed and resting the takeout box on his lap. “Sorry, I was with the boys.”
“Still?” An edge of impatience made her voice squeak.
“They’re gone now. Well, Minho’s gone now. What’s up?”
“You know how my dad went to the doctor this morning?”
Jisung’s stomach dropped. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. “Yeah…”
“My mom just told me he has prostate cancer.” The minimal control she had over her voice shattered, and she sucked in a deep breath between gentle sobs.
“Oh, fuck.” Jisung clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt her grief soak through the phone. “I’m so sorry, Sunny. He’s always been such a healthy guy.”
“I know,” she whispered, sniffling. “It’s stage two, so he should be...I mean, he has a chance, but like...the next few months are gonna be hard.”
“Your dad is tough,” Jisung said. He weighed each word on his tongue before letting it past his lips. “If anyone can get through this, it’s him. And he has you and your mama and Trin to make this easier on him.”
“That’s true.” She sighed. “I love you so much, Jisung.”
“Love you too. Hey, are you home?”
“I’m home.”
He set his takeout box on his bedside table and pulled out his laptop. “Anticipate a delivery.”
“Jisung!”
“Share it with your mom and dad if you want.” With the speed of an Olympian, he had the bakery website open and was assembling a variety box of cookies. “Though I won’t judge you if you want to eat them all yourself.”
“What if I want to share them with you?” He could hear the smile in her voice.
“Then come over and bring them if you want. I feel like I shouldn’t come to yours right after your dad’s had that news, though.”
“You’re right. I guess I should stay with my parents for the evening, huh.” She sniffled. “This all feels like such a nightmare. Every time I remember what happened I just...I feel like the ground’s sliding out from under me.”
“Smoke some weed,” Jisung suggested, typing his memorized card information into the payment details. “Cry in the shower. It helps. I could give you a back rub.”
“I definitely need that back rub. Is it okay if I come over later tonight? I need...I need you tonight.”
Jisung, overwhelmed by being nominated to uplift the mood of someone who’d just found out their dad had cancer, did his best to sound reassuring. “Sure, baby. Spend as much time with your mom and dad as you want, and I’ll be here all night. Swing by whenever.”
“Okay. Thanks. You’re the greatest.” Her voice pinched at the end of her sentence. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Probably eat a lot less sugar.”
She laughed. “Bye, my Sungie. Love you.”
“Love you. Talk to you later.” He hung up.
Jisung spent the majority of his early evening writing lyrics, his headphones firmly blocking out the rest of the world while he allowed the ebb and flow of his imagination to filter through his fingertips. Changbin burst into his room twice, the first time to ask where the fuck the hot sauce was (it was on Jisung’s bedside table, which he was teased for relentlessly) and the second to ask if he wanted to play Smash (to which Jisung said no, he was on a roll writing), but other than that, Jisung was left alone with his thoughts.
Until ten o’clock rolled around and Sunny was a step across their threshold, her face buried in Jisung’s chest and her fingers clutching at his hoodie.
He watched Chan appear in the hallway over Sunny’s shoulder, realize what was happening, and robotically spin around to stroll back into his room. Jisung patted her back and tried to keep his own breathing even. It was easy for him to start crying when someone else was crying, and she needed him to be strong.
After shedding her built up tears, Sunny pulled back, the box of cookies awkwardly wedged between their ribcages. She smiled up at him tearfully. “Thanks for the cookies. I saved the ones I think you’d like the most.”
“You’re sweet.” He kissed her forehead, rubbed his palms up and down her arms.
“Let’s get under blankets and watch TV.”
And so they did, Sunny’s head on Jisung’s lap as he lounged on the couch and hiked his feet up on the ottoman. He played with her hair absentmindedly and failed to pay attention to Pretty Little Liars, Sunny’s comfort show. Instead his mind wandered, and he found himself thinking about Minho’s relationship.
He’s a piece of shit, Minho had said, but yes. He’s my boyfriend.
A part of Jisung couldn’t imagine taking a romantic relationship so lightly. Yelling at his significant other in public, calling them a piece of shit to brand new friends, threatening to send a bouncer after them. He struggled to comprehend why, if all of that was true, Minho chose to stay in such a relationship. Clearly, he was unhappy. Likely they both were.
But a part of Jisung understood. A thousand things could go wrong in every relationship, romantic or otherwise, but people chose to stay anyway. To Jisung, romance was all about weighing the good and the bad.
He gazed down at Sunny, who had her arms loosely wrapped around his thighs, and thought proudly that their good outweighed their bad. He couldn’t imagine their relationship ever being as volatile as Minho’s. He would never scream at Sunny to get the fuck out of a public establishment.
Jisung realized it scared him a bit, that Minho was involved in something like that. It scared him to think of whatever situation Minho was in that stopped him from leaving a relationship he was unhappy in. A relationship Jisung would tend to interpret as abusive.
Minho would probably be livid to know Jisung was sitting around worrying about him. Jisung smiled at the thought. Maybe it was because Minho was so adamant about not revealing anything beyond icy sarcasm and playfulness that Jisung felt determined to look out for him. Jisung of all people knew that those with utterly cool facades tended to have the most distress bubbling just beneath the surface.
Sunny’s laughter at something on the TV made Jisung jump slightly, and he scratched the back of her head where his fingers had been frozen. He found himself asking, “Do you know anything about Minho’s boyfriend?”
“Hmm? No,” Sunny said, shifting onto her back. She frowned up at him. “He’s closer with you than me.”
“Well.” He supposed that was true. “He really shuts down about the topic. I think it’s not, um, a good relationship.”
“Yeah, I mean. What happened at the Hub would imply that,” Sunny said. “I don’t think Minho would’ve acted that way unless it was deserved. He’s a practical person. Although I thought he was kind of an asshole when I first met him.”
“Minho?”
“Mhmm.”
“Oh.” Jisung frowned, remembering the way Minho had smiled and taken a sober, nervous Jisung under his wing that first night. “He was pretty nice to me from the start, actually.”
“He can be standoffish at times, but I think he’s a good guy.”
Something felt off, discussing Minho with Sunny. She took on a certain tone in her voice whenever Jisung talked at length about a friend. She tended to get jealous, though she never said it out loud, when his attention was on someone else. Jisung understood where she was coming from, but he’d never been a jealous person, so he couldn’t relate. Still, he tried to be aware so he could avoid causing her distress.
Her fingers traced winding patterns on his thighs, and he immediately realized what it was she wanted. Sunny tended to get horny when she was sad—physical reassurance was a huge source of validation for her—and he wondered if he should just do it tonight. It’d make her happier, after all.
He decided, as long as his body cooperated, he’d do it. He was in the mood to make someone feel good, anyway.
And so he let her mouth at his dick, work him through his pants,reach down his sweats and stroke a rhythm over him. And it felt good. Her palm, warm and soft against his length; soon after her mouth, wet and warm. Tonight, it felt good.
It was a fine line, though. There were moments where his brain plunged down a dizzying spiral. He’d think too hard about the way he was sitting, about the noises he made, about the chances of Chan or Changbin walking in. He’d think too hard about how she was feeling, about why she wanted his dick in her mouth—because realistically, he didn’t sit around fantasizing about going down on someone, so why would she?—or he’d just think about an endless stream of nonsense, of elements of the past he couldn’t control, of things he’d fucked up in his day. Maybe that lyric was corny as fuck, actually.
When he’d finished, he fingered her, went down on her when she asked. He was quite good at it, as far as Sunny informed him; she liked to say he was good with his tongue in all manners of the phrase. It took a lot of focus, though, sorting through real moans and fake moans, keeping in touch with her body tension, keeping his tongue in all the right places. There was little instinct involved in making his girlfriend cum.
“Why don’t we just fuck?” she asked, when she’d finished and they were curled up watching TV again. She turned over her shoulder to give him a shy smile. “You’re still not ready?”
Jisung sighed and kissed her cheek. He’d worked so hard to get her off. “The thought makes me nervous.”
“But why?” She turned back around, shifting her butt against him.
He gnawed his lower lip and allowed his anger to flare, simmer, dissipate. “Some things, especially things about anxiety...you just can’t explain.”
“I guess I just don’t really see how it connects with anxiety.”
“I don’t know, Sunny,” he said, unable to disguise the impatience in his voice. “I’d just get stuck in my head, okay? I don’t know why.”
“But we haven’t even tried...how do you know you’ll get stuck in your head?”
“I just know.” He didn’t want to keep talking about it.
“Don’t knock it till you try it!” she enthused, like it was an appropriate time for a goofy catchphrase. “We’ve been dating like three months. I guess I just wish you trusted me enough to not feel nervous when we fool around.”
“It’s not about trust. Of course I trust you.”
“Then what’s it about?”
His heart had begun to hammer, and he was aware that she could feel it against her back. Trying to make sense of one of the most embarrassing aspects of his mental health was bringing hotness to his ears and sweat to his palms.
“Anxiety,” he said finally. “Me. Not you. Me.”
“You’re pulling the it’s not you it’s me card,” she sighed, but she gave his wrist a gentle squeeze. “I know, Sungie. I know you think it’s just your fault and that it’s your brain that won’t let you finally sleep with me, but...I can’t help but think there’s something I’m doing wrong too.”
“You aren’t. You’re perfect.”
“Ha, ha,” she giggled. “I guess I just...want you. It’s hard, waiting around for your super hot boyfriend to realize he’s super hot and deserves to get laid.”
Jisung giggled along with her, squeezing her closer to his chest. “Someday I’ll get there.”
“Someday.” He could practically hear the unspoken question— when, exactly? —but he was grateful that she left it at that.
~
Friday morning, Chan sent one of their more popular tracks to Minho to see if he could come up with an interesting dance sequence for the chorus.
Sunday afternoon, Minho dragged 3RACHA to his dance studio.
“How did you even have time for this?” Jisung asked, wringing his hands as Minho held open the heavy glass door for them. “Didn’t you work Friday night? And yesterday morning? And also last night?”
“I was inspired,” Minho said dismissively, flicking a wave at the receptionist. The studio had short ceilings checkered with fluorescent lights and glossy hardwood floors. They walked down a narrow hallway that echoed with the sound of squeaking shoes and bumping music. Minho looked at ease here, swinging his keys around his finger, opposite hand hooked in the pocket of low-riding sweats.
Jisung, however, was so nervous his body was cramping up. He felt like an intruder, stepping into the core of a craft he couldn’t pretend to understand. Changbin looked almost as uncomfortable at his elbow, which was reassuring.
“I appreciate you doing this and everything Minho,” Changbin said as Minho shoved into a practice room to ensure its vacancy, “But I don’t want to do this.”
“Well, you can’t always get what you want, can you, Binnie,” Minho said far too slowly, like he was speaking to a second grader. He held the door open for them, grinned snarkily, and brushed his dark hair back from his eyes.
Just as Jisung balanced atop the spiral of comparing his own fumbling awkwardness to the grace and poise of a seasoned dancer, Minho started playing music. He beamed at them in the mirror and hopped around slightly on the balls of his feet, saying, “Let’s get moving, boys.” Then he started to walk them through a goofy, Zumba-esque dance to get them warmed up.
The moment Jisung started to move, a bout of tension flooded from his muscles. They spent a long time stepping around like dorks, jumping side to side and swinging their arms, getting used to moving their feet in the directions Minho asked. Jisung and Changbin were overcome by timid laughter a few times while Chan determinedly kept leaping through his Zumba routine, but eventually Jisung found himself getting into it, even enjoying the slight burn in his lungs.
Just when Jisung was starting to think he’d mastered the ridiculous warm-up, Minho commanded their attention with nothing but a, “Follow me.” Then he led them through a series of stretches. They began with their arms, then their necks, traveling all the way down to their ankles. Jisung had some lingering self-consciousness, glancing over at Chan and Changbin to see if they were as inflexible as him, but his friends both wore solemn expressions and kept their eyes on their own reflections.
When it was time to dance, a flutter of caution tightened in Jisung’s belly. Tension returned to his shoulders despite his efforts to keep them relaxed.
On his way to change the music, Minho rubbed Jisung’s back between his shoulder blades. When Jisung glanced at his face, Minho didn’t look his way.
“Okay,” Minho said, interrupting a silence within which Changbin chugged half his water bottle and Chan did some rusty freestyle work. “I’m gonna demonstrate what I have planned for We Go.”
The familiarity of 3RACHA’S music immediately put them at ease. Jisung idly sang along with Chan’s opening lines, gesturing and swaying as he tended to on stage, and for a moment he got so lost in the song that he forgot Minho was about to start dancing.
It was his own verse. Minho made choreo for him. With him in mind. An actual dancer having expectations of him weighed heavily on Jisung’s shoulders the moment Minho started to move.
The choreography was relatively simple. Minho made it look easy, as though Jisung’s verse was the wind in his sails, naturally guiding him through each sequence.
I can do this, Jisung thought as he watched Minho nimbly dance through the rest of his verse.
When he got to the chorus, Minho mimed a remote controller, pointing it at Changbin and then Jisung, and he broke into a crinkly grin as though amused by his own shtick. Jisung grinned along because he thought it was cute, but then Minho dropped into a swaying, hip-gyrating, crotch grabbing motion so suddenly that Jisung almost choked on his own tongue.
“Jesus,” Chan said, and he and Jisung made worried eye contact. “Can we do that?”
“Probably not that well.” Jisung licked his dry lips.
The choreo became increasingly complex in Changbin’s verse, and Minho started talking in the midst of it, allowing his body to move independently from his mouth. “So, the two of you who aren’t rapping will be doing the choreography, while the person whose part it is will do faux movements in the middle. You’ll act as each other’s back-up dancers that way.”
Jisung hardly heard him, too transfixed by the seamlessness of his movements. Minho danced like he could keep on moving forever, like he had the stamina of a workhorse. Everything was crisp and graceful, even though Minho hadn’t had much more than two days to make this choreography.
Jisung thought Minho was amazing. He felt lucky to know someone so smart and talented.
And his eyes were overwhelmed all the while. He noticed Minho’s t-shirt sliding down a milky collarbone and bunching around his narrow waist; he noticed the long lines of his arms; he noticed the hard, determined cut of his mouth, the way it contrasted with the soft glint in his eyes. He was in his element, and Jisung found it hard to deny that he was beautiful.
If he’d been speaking, Jisung would’ve frozen mid-sentence and started sputtering. Beautiful. Minho was beautiful.
He worked diligently to compartmentalize the thought, reasoning that yes, of course Minho was beautiful, everybody knew that. Everybody thought that. And he was pulled from the noisy clutter of his own brain when it was their turn to learn the choreography.
“Um,” Changbin said, when the music stopped. “You’re super talented, Minho.”
“Yeah,” Jisung added, glad Changbin said something. “Goddamn.”
Minho narrowed his eyes at them, though his smile betrayed his appreciation. “I’ve been doing this a while. But I think you guys will be able to learn this, and once you do, it’ll look really cool on the stage. We Go deserves choreography that accentuates it, though, so just let me know if you want to change anything.”
“I love it,” Chan said firmly. “I’m more likely to change something that’s too difficult.”
“Mmmm…” Minho cocked his head. “We’ll see if I’ll let you do that.”
They mowed through the motions of the chorus with an ease Jisung didn’t expect. None of them looked particularly cool doing it, and Minho easily allowed the skip of the crotch grab, or as he’d said with an evil grin, “At least for now.” They repeated the sequence until Jisung moved with a shadow of confidence, and he was proud to see Chan and Changbin actually looked like they were having fun alongside him.
When it was time to run down the choreo of Jisung’s verse, Chan and Changbin went to pick them up lunch at Minho’s request. “I’m gonna introduce the choreo for your verses to you two individually,” Minho explained when Jisung’s brows furrowed. “Since they’re a bit more complicated, and you and Bin are solo stage for parts of yours.”
So, swallowing his nerves down, Jisung prepared to frustrate the hell out of Minho with his incompetence.
Minho, it turned out, was hard to frustrate.
He danced alongside Jisung and supplied each movement, every position of each limb, count by count. Minho was liberal with touches—he’d pat the back of Jisung’s leg if he was angling it incorrectly, or simply manhandle his arms into the right position—but the physical guidance helped quite a lot.
Helped him get through all of four counts, that is.
“I’m sorry,” Jisung mumbled when he’d messed up the bare minimum. “Sorry, sorry, hyung.”
“Don’t be,” Minho said, voice calming. “You’re doing well, Sungie.”
A flush crept up Jisung’s neck at the praise, and he worked hard to get through the rest of his verse. Minho’s touches became progressively less instructional and more reassuring. He’d taken to rubbing and patting Jisung’s back and shoulders a lot, which was always where he held the most tension. Jisung wondered how Minho knew.
But then he imagined, to a dancer, Jisung’s bad posture and scrunched shoulders were terribly obvious.
They’d been in the practice room for an hour, and Minho hadn’t let an impatient word slip. Not a single one.
Jisung managed to run through his entire verse one time, although it was shaky and the choreo didn’t read anywhere close to how it did when Minho performed it, but he was quite proud of himself nonetheless. He grinned at Minho brightly, bobbing up and down on his toes as Minho handed him his water bottle. “I did it!” he said, sucking down some blissfully cold water. His skin thrummed with heat, and sweat seeped through his t-shirt, but he felt good. He felt alive. “I actually did it, I can’t believe it.”
“You did,” Minho said, pursing his lips to conceal his smile. He reached out to stroke some of Jisung’s hair from his eyes, and Jisung’s breath hitched. It always caught him off guard when Minho was unabashedly fond. “You’re a fast learner.”
“Thanks,” Jisung chirped, mopping his sweaty face with the bottom of his shirt. “You’re a good teacher.”
“Thanks,” Minho said, mocking Jisung’s tone, and he giggled when Jisung jabbed his ribcage. “It’s gonna be embarrassing when you’re on stage and you forget everything I just taught you.”
Jisung’s eyes widened. “Fuck, that’s totally gonna happen now. Minho. Minho.”
“Nah, we’ll practice until you’ll be able to do it in your sleep,” Minho vowed, sipping his water elegantly, blinking some sweat from his eyes.
Jisung was caught up in being bewildered by the length of Minho’s eyelashes when Chan and Changbin returned with bags of takeout. He ate animalistically, ravenous after the most intense workout he’d experienced in weeks.
They hammered in the details of the chorus after that, which was much more tedious. Jisung never had a lot of patience for perfecting and editing. Somehow Minho stayed completely calm, neither excited nor disappointed about any of their dancing, and picked apart the rusty layers of their technique.
“This is going to take a lot of work,” Chan said at one point, wiping his brow and glancing at his watch. “I say we regroup another day. I can’t feel my legs.”
“Thank god,” Changbin chuckled around an exhausted grin. “We made a shitton of progress today though. Thanks, Minho.”
“Sure,” Minho said, already moseying towards the door. “And if you decide not to perform with the choreo ever, I won’t be offended. It’s been cool to try it out anyways.”
Reluctance to leave weighed on Jisung as they shuffled out to Changbin’s car. It’d been the most fun he’d had in a long time. Plus now he had to return to his unfortunate reality of having an early shift at the electronics shop in the morning, when really all he wanted to do was sleep for twelve hours.
“Anyone in the mood for dinner?” Minho asked. He sat beside Jisung in the back seat, fanning himself with one hand and checking his phone with the other. “I can cook.”
“I gotta go get some work done at the studio,” Chan said. “I’ll probably just have ramen there. Or doritos.”
Minho made a tisk nose and said, “Binnie?”
“I’m gonna go home and shower, then I have a date tonight, remember? God, you assholes don’t pay attention to anything I say.”
“Sungie?”
“I would be down,” Jisung agreed. “Our kitchen isn’t, um, well-stocked though. Like at all. I’m pretty sure all we have in the fridge is a block of cheese and leftover Chinese food.”
“You can come to mine,” Minho said. “Yonghwa is gone. He’s at a hotel in the city till Tuesday afternoon.”
“Oh.” Throughout the duration of Minho’s suggestion, Jisung experienced initial terror of visiting the cave wherein Minho’s toxic relationship lived, but soon after felt excited to have a fancy apartment to themselves and a home-cooked meal after a long day. “Sure, let’s do it.”
And so Changbin, complaining about being their chauffeur while simultaneously raving about his love for driving, dropped off Chan at the studio before taking Jisung and Minho to Yonghwa’s apartment.
As they took an incredibly fast, wood-and-glass paneled elevator to the eighth floor, Jisung talked to settle his nerves. He was irrationally afraid that Yonghwa would be in the apartment when they got there and he’d bear witness to another screaming argument. Going somewhere new, particularly someone’s home, made him nervous enough as it was. So, he babbled and sang to savor the elevator acoustics, although thankfully Minho appeared more sleepily amused than annoyed.
“What do you think Yonghwa would do if he came home and found me in his apartment?” Jisung asked as they stepped off.
“He wouldn’t care,” Minho said. “I just prefer not to have friends over when he’s home because he puts me in a shit mood. But it’s not like he forbids me from having people over. I live here too.”
Jisung trailed after Minho down a wide, brilliantly-lit hallway with only two doors, one on each side. “Makes sense. Is he less of a dick to you when there are other people around? Your friends, especially?”
“Nah,” Minho laughed, keying in a touch screen passcode to pop the cover of the keyhole. Jisung watched, round-eyed and fascinated by the luxury. “I tell him he’s a dick all the time so he assumes I tell the same story to my friends. But again, I don’t bring my people around him. I don’t like the person I am with him.”
“Damn,” Jisung said. “Sounds like you two should break up.”
“For sure,” Minho agreed. Jisung almost laughed; he’d never met someone so brutally honest about the fact that they needed to break up with their significant other.
“Okay so,” Jisung said, stepping into the apartment behind him. “You won’t tell me why you can’t, am I right?”
Minho hummed noncommittally and shuffled into the kitchen. “I’m kind of feeling roasted chicken and mushroom rice. Mushroom rice is the shit.”
Jisung took a moment to observe the glorious apartment before him. It wasn’t enormous, but everything sparkled, from the crystalline white countertops to the dark hardwood floors and a crisp, black leather couch. The living room’s far wall was completely glass, exposing a sprawling downtown view warmed by a soft orange sunset.
“Holy fuck,” Jisung said. “Your apartment is gorgeous.”
“Thank you,” Minho said, and chuckled. “It’s not the homiest, but it’s definitely fancy. Did I hear a yes for chicken and rice?”
“Yes. Yes, sounds perfect.” Jisung’s eyes fell on an orange and white lump on the couch, and air rushed through his lungs as he drew in a gasp. He whisper-screeched, “Minho, is that Soonie?”
Minho veered away from the fridge like his bell had been rung. “You want to say hi?”
Jisung just nodded, holding his own face in both hands, anxiously biting his lips. “Oh, I totally forgot I get to meet your cats. Oh, I am elated.”
Minho knelt in front of the couch for a few moments, allowing Soonie to smell him and then stroking his ears with one finger, before he scooped him into his arms and carried him to Jisung. Meanwhile Jisung stood practically bouncing up and down at the sight of the cat snuggling into Minho’s arms and peering up curiously with golden green eyes.
“Hi, Soonie,” Jisung squeaked, shuffling forward until he could reach out and offer the cat his hand. He sniffed him for hardly a second before nuzzling his head into Jisung’s knuckles with enthusiasm, ears rubbing up against his fingers. “Oh! Oh, hello!”
“He’s a bit overly trusting,” Minho hummed, and Jisung glanced up at him; his eyes sparkled with something fond. “Or maybe he’s a good judge of character.”
Jisung grinned and rubbed a hand over Soonie’s soft ears. His pinky nudged Minho’s wrist, which was warm against his cool fingers. “Sorry,” Jisung mumbled; he knew how upsetting cold fingers could feel against warm skin.
“You’re chilly, Jisungie,” Minho said with a pout. “Soonie will keep you warm, here.”
“What?” But then Minho was depositing the ball of fluffy warmth into Jisung’s arms, who grimaced, scrambled and squatted in his effort to create a comfortable cradle. “Oh my god, I could’ve dropped him.”
“Come, Sungie and Soonie, help me cook.”
“Does he mind being carried?” Jisung whispered like he was trying not to wake a baby as he slowly followed Minho into the kitchen.
“He’ll jump to the floor when he’s had enough,” Minho said. He held a handful of vegetables underneath the faucet, where he carefully washed them.
“I can’t help you if there’s a baby in my arms.” Jisung kissed the top of Soonie’s head. He was toasty, and his belly was quickly warming Jisung’s hands.
Minho threw him a look over his shoulder, and a smirk touched the corner of his mouth. “Just stand there and look cute.”
Before Jisung could get flustered by the comment—or perhaps because he did—Soonie leapt neatly to the floor and padded away, tail brushing the tile floor. “Okay, can I wash my hands so I can help you?”
“I’m using the sink.” Minho pulled out his loud, exaggerated whine.
“It’ll take five seconds.”
“Well then that’s not proper hand washing!” Minho gasped and then choked out a sob. “You neanderthal!”
“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Jisung whined back, grabbing Minho by his sides and manhandling him away from the sink.
Minho, who was stronger than he looked, eased Jisung several sock-shuffles away from the sink simply by sticking out one of his legs and pushing Jisung back. “Go wash your hands in the bathroom, big baby.”
“ I’m a big baby? You whiny princess?”
Minho giggled then and faked tossing a sopping wet handful of veggies at Jisung’s face, who yelped and threw his arms over his head like he was being bombed. He blinked the astray droplets of water from his eyes and told Minho he was going to touch all his freshly washed vegetables with his cat fingers.
“I’ll kill you,” Minho said, dropping the vegetables onto the cutting board and throwing his body arms-spread in front of them. “I’ll defend them with my life, Han Jisung.”
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“You can use the kitchen sink, I’m done with it.”
Jisung rolled his eyes into the back of his head and fluttered his eyelids like he was having a stroke.
Minho just cracked a gleeful smile and attempted to wink, although it was more of a squinty half-blink. “Bathroom’s first door on the right down the hall, though.”
Jisung sang while he chopped vegetables, and Minho hummed along as he marinated the chicken. Between the two of them the process didn’t take longer than fifteen minutes, and once the chicken was in the oven and Minho was at work steaming the rice, Jisung hopped up onto the counter at his side.
“Do you ever miss your parents?” Minho asked, blinking at him. Jisung noticed Minho’s blinks got slow and sleepy when he was content.
“Sometimes,” Jisung said. He’d come from Malaysian international school to the States when he was twelve, which Minho knew, but his mom went back to Korea when it was time for Jisung to go to college. It’d been over two years now of only seeing them on holidays. “I was never the closest to them anyways. Well actually, my mom and I were close when I was little, but when they got divorced...I don’t know, being at home wasn’t comfortable like it used to be. Maybe because I realized all the comfort I thought I had as a kid was fake.”
Minho adjusted the stovetop flame with scrunched brows, strands of dark hair shadowing his eyes. “Just because they kept their tension away from the kids doesn’t mean your household comfort was fake. It means they wanted the best for you.”
“I know you’re right, but...I don’t know. I didn’t like knowing they stayed together for so long just for me and my brothers. Plus the divorce changed them both. It was bound to. It wasn’t their fault.” Jisung kicked his legs and chewed the inside of his lip as he thought. It was rare that he talked about his parents, since his emotional reliance on them frayed away until it was almost nonexistent by the time he was eighteen. The people his parents were today were hardly comparable to the people they’d been when he was a kid.
“Do you know they love you?”
Jisung blinked, taken aback by the question. “Of course I do.”
Minho hummed, giving the rice a stir. “That’s good.”
Jisung contemplated the question further. His parents made it clear that they loved him—his mom was always available for a phone call if he needed to hear her voice, his dad was always happy to offer financial support, and they were both supportive of his music career—but since the initial cracks in their family bond, their parental affection came off a bit more strained.
His mouth opened, and then he was telling Minho. “My parents...they disowned my oldest brother. When I was eleven.”
Minho looked up then, and Jisung had never seen such a particular fire in his eyes. Worry, fascination, and the determination to protect Jisung radiated off Minho with a transparency Jisung wasn’t used to from him. It made Jisung feel small, feel seen —maybe a bit too much. “Why?” he asked sharply.
Jisung sighed shakily. “He’s gay.”
Minho’s mouth dropped into a little O.
“It was hard for me to...really be close with them after I realized that’s what happened,” Jisung went on. He expected an ache in his chest, a nervous flutter in his gut, but they never came. Perhaps it really had been long enough now that he could blunt the edge of his resentment. “They told me he was a criminal. In prison, I mean.”
Minho shook his head, his jaw clenched. Redness spread from his neck to his ears.
“After the divorce, when my mom and I were here in the States together, she told me that they lied, that they cut ties with him because he was living with his partner. I got so damn mad. I was like, thirteen though, so I think I wasn’t even sure why I was mad...I guess mostly that I had to lose my brother because of a lie they told. I didn’t even really realize they were homophobic before that point. They didn’t usually talk like they were. I guess they were fine with it as long as it wasn’t their kid. That type of bullshit.”
“I’m sorry,” Minho said softly. “That’s fucked up. People are fucked up.”
Jisung just nodded, clunking his left heel to the top of his right foot absentmindedly.
“When’s the last time you talked to your brother?”
“We keep in touch now,” Jisung said, attempting brightness but achieving only a tone of silver lining. “He’s in Chicago, though, so I only see him for Thanksgiving. And it’s still a little strange. We lost so many years.”
“Right.” Minho’s sigh was shaky, and Jisung traced the tension in his neck and shoulders with concerned eyes. He’d never seen Minho visibly emotional like this before.
So, hesitantly, he asked, “Have...you ever come out to your parents?”
Minho shook his head once. His teeth were thoroughly buried in his lower lip, and his eyes bored into the rice.
Jisung realized a moment too late that Minho had never mentioned his parents before, and then Minho said in a low, even voice, “My parents died when I was a baby. I don’t remember them at all.”
Jisung’s breath hitched. “I’m sorry.”
“But my grandma,” Minho breezed on before the words of pity could resonate between them, and he even grinned. “She knew. I told her I thought I was gay when I was, like, ten. And she said okay, good for you.”
Jisung smiled and leaned his head back against the cabinet. “She seems cool.”
The delicate positivity in Minho’s eyes grew somehow thinner, and he bobbed his head, his knuckles white on the oven door handle. “Yeah, she was.”
Was. Was. Jisung’s stomach felt hollow as the realization sunk in. The uneasiness in his gut ebbed and flowed as he tried to grasp at straws for Minho’s true feelings. Jisung tended to empathize and pick up on others’ discomfort naturally, but now he could only sense a daunting black hole of so, so much from Minho.
“How old were you?” Jisung asked quietly. “When she...died.”
Minho’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He hadn’t made eye contact with Jisung in a long time. Jisung vowed to stop digging soon. “Twenty.”
Jisung nodded. He knew if he allowed himself to imagine losing his primary—and likely only, in all his lifetime—caregiver at his age, he would feel too much to contain in the quiet of Minho’s kitchen. So instead he took a breath and said a bit too loudly, “We’re going to be too sad to stomach our chicken and rice if we keep this up, aren’t we?”
Minho caught his eye, as Jisung thought he would, and managed a tiny smile. “Sorry. For being a downer.”
“Don’t say that,” Jisung said firmly, hopping down from the counter and patting Minho’s hair. “You weren’t. And I like when you’re honest with me.”
“I hate feelings,” Minho grumbled, wiggling his shoulders up and down and stretching his neck side to side as though to refresh himself. “Anyway. Help me set the table, Sungie.”
So Jisung did, and they retreated back to easy humor and stupid jabs for the rest of the night. Although something was different now. Something was warmer, almost homier in the cold glamor of Yonghwa’s apartment. Neither of them needed to say it for both of them to know it was there.
~
Notes:
See you Thursday! Comments and kudos always appreciated!
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 5
Summary:
“Minho,” Jisung said finally. His tone struck an alarming chord with Minho, who hummed his acknowledgment. “I don’t understand...why you stay in a relationship you’re unhappy in.”
Minho sighed. “It’s complicated, Sung.”
“I’m worried, though.” Jisung didn’t fiddle as much now that he was high. His posture was more relaxed; he sprawled back against the seat, his limbs sinking into the upholstery. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re aware it’s unhealthy, but it’s really concerning that you feel forced into staying. Like you don’t have a choice.”
Notes:
Welcome back! This one delves into some intense subjects, like alcoholism and drug addiction. It also touches on more details about Minho's abusive relationship, but nothing graphic happens.
I hope u like it so far!! Enjoy~~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
v. minho
About three weeks after Minho met Jisung, he sat at a bar with Trinity, who drank a cheap beer and discussed her uncertainties about the girl she’d been seeing, and Hyunjin, who sipped a cocktail and inserted encouraging feedback to Trinity’s thoughts.
“Want some?” Sunny slid onto the barstool at Minho’s side and set a basket of curly fries between them.
“Sure.” Minho helped himself, appreciative of something to consume other than bottled water. “Nervous?”
“Ha, ha, yes,” Sunny groaned, dunking three fries into the ketchup at once. She wore a dusty rose mini skirt with a billowy long-sleeved crop top, and the gossamer pink of her eyeshadow brought out the warmth in her dark eyes. Her bobbed hair fell neatly around her ears and neck. “I’ve been trying to be less nervous when he performs, like you said, but I’m shit at talking myself out of things.”
Sunny and Minho had seen quite a lot of each other over the past three weeks, since they were both friends with 3RACHA. She was a cool girl—laid back, didn’t take Minho’s jabs too seriously—and as much as he tried to dislike her, he couldn’t bring himself to.
He wanted to dislike her simply because Minho’s instincts told him Jisung was unhappy with her. But the reason behind that unhappiness was well-buried beneath both Sunny and Jisung’s amicable dispositions. And so for now, Minho found nothing about Sunny he could bring himself to dislike. He understood what Jisung saw in her.
“Jisungie gets nervous enough on his own for the both of you,” Minho replied. “But he manages to do well every time anyway.”
“Yeah, amazing how he does that, isn’t it,” Sunny said with a sigh. Minho didn’t respond, but silently agreed. “So, can I ask you something that might make you uncomfortable?”
Minho slid his eyes over to meet hers, but he found nothing but general lightheartedness and curiosity in her half-smile. “Try and make me uncomfortable, I dare you.”
“Pshhh. Don’t sign up for that challenge, Lee Minho.” She grinned, took a bite of fry, and shifted around on her chair. “I’ve never seen you take a sip of alcohol. Can I ask why?”
“Oh.” Minho felt his eyebrows tug together on instinct, but not out of annoyance; he was surprised Sunny danced so lightly around the subject. He was open with his friends about why he chose not to drink. “I’m a recovering alcoholic. I’m six months sober.”
“Shit,” she said, eyes fluttering as she blinked. “I didn’t realize. Power to you. Most people our age pull the it’s not a problem till you’re older logic.”
Minho laughed darkly. “Mine was definitely a problem. Waking up and getting shitfaced every day is a problem.”
“Well, yeah. But it takes a lot of mental strength to be twenty-two, an alcoholic, and to then cut booze from your life completely. Good for you.”
The compliment, while well-intended and thoughtful, rubbed him the wrong way. It’d been one of the most arduous struggles of his life, and it appalled him to have it narrowed down to a single sentence. To a single conversation. “I don’t miss it,” he settled on. “I was a dick when I was drunk anyway.”
“Like you’re not a dick all the time.”
“Ha.” He smirked around his curly fry. “Got me there.”
“I’m kidding, I know you’re a sweetie.” She threw him a wink. “Plus you make Sungie so happy, and it’s been a long time since he’s felt that way about a new friend.”
Minho swallowed, aware of a fresh tightness in his throat. He felt the need to defend himself, despite her kind intentions. Perhaps it was because she’d eat her words if she knew where his thoughts about Jisung tended to veer. “I guess we get each other’s senses of humor,” he said carefully.
“It’s more than that. Sung doesn’t tend to like new people. He likes his circle small. It’s been fun to see him branch out.”
Minho ignored the discomfort that itched down his spine. “I’ve always liked my circle small too.”
“Well I’m glad you’re now a part of ours.” She threw back her drink, ice cubes clacking, and pushed herself to her feet. “Want to dance?”
Trinity and Hyunjin accompanied them out to the dancefloor to kill the half an hour before 3RACHA’s performance. Before he knew it they were making their way to the compiling crowd at the foot of the stage.
“Hyunjin is cute,” Trinity said to Minho. “He wouldn’t want to work at the Hub, would he?”
“Nah, I’ve offered,” Minho said, glancing over at where Sunny and Hyunjin whispered to each other around their colorful drinks. “He’s surprisingly wholesome.”
“I figured. He’d be a good tender, even. He’s got a way with people.”
“Mm.” Minho admired this about Hyunjin; his friend was expressive and vulnerable, two qualities Minho lacked.
When the boys jogged out onto the stage, Minho’s gut stirred. He couldn’t tell if he was nervous or excited.
Jisung stood with his hands on his hips, showing a breezy smile that gleamed as brightly as the stage lights and dressed in a cherry red flannel that brought out the golden honey tones in his skin. So Minho breathed in, breathed out, and tried to settle the thundering in his chest.
It wasn’t that Minho was in denial. He was aware he felt something more than friendship for Jisung. He knew that the desire to pull Jisung close to his chest where the world couldn’t scathe him wasn’t platonic anymore. When he thought about it, it never had been totally platonic. Since the beginning, something was just...different.
But he felt no need to linger on these budding feelings. They would pass. Jisung was in a relationship, Minho was in a relationship, and in three short weeks their friendship had become more precious to Minho than he’d imagined possible. There was no need to change what they had. They were happy.
Or, happy enough.
During the show, the boys implemented a few moves from Minho’s We Go choreography, although not the entire routine. Nerves rocked through Minho’s body when each of the members of 3RACHA executed his choreo onstage, but they ended up running through it seamlessly, even eliciting cheers and hoots from the crowd.
As they made their way backstage after the performance, Hyunjin tugged on Minho’s arm, pulling from his hazy thoughts about Jisung’s voice. “Hey,” Hyunjin said, and Minho immediately knew that Hyunjin was venturing out of his comfort zone by the shakiness of that one syllable. “That guy, Changbin…”
Minho’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, he’s single.”
Hyunjin slumped his shoulders and squinted at Minho indignantly.
“Not sure if he’s into guys or not,” Minho added.
Hyunjin flicked his bangs neatly to the side and fanned his rising blush. “We’ll see how this goes.”
Chan opened the door to 3RACHA’s dressing room, and Sunny immediately ran for Jisung, who swept her into an easy hug and buried his face in her hair. Minho pointedly averted his eyes and moved towards Chan and Changbin with Hyunjin’s wrist squeezed between his fingers. “Channie, Binnie, this is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Chan and Changbin.”
“Nice to meet you,” Chan said, showing dimples and shaking Hyunjin’s hand enthusiastically. “Thanks for coming, mate.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Hyunjin said with a pretty, symmetrical smile. It always amused Minho how Hyunjin reined in his flamboyance upon first impression. “And you, Changbin.”
Changbin, who stood with a sweaty towel draped over his shoulders and his jaw slackened, stared at Hyunjin like he was the first human he’d seen in months. Minho had to violently chomp down on his own tongue to keep from cackling.
“Okay,” he declared, spinning to find Trinity. “Want to go dance, Trin?”
She frowned, arching a sculpted eyebrow in her sister’s direction. “Don’t you want to say hi to Jisung?”
Minho made the mistake of glancing that way, only to find Jisung’s wide dark eyes peering at him over Sunny’s shoulder. A little smile touched Jisung’s lips, and a tangle of emotions whipped up the stillness in Minho’s stomach. Guilt, primarily. He’d been on the brink of walking out of that room without saying a word to his friend.
Minho reconnected with his dignity, gave Jisung an evil smile, and waggled his fingers. “Guess you didn’t forget the We Go choreography after all.”
To Minho’s surprise, Jisung slinked around Sunny towards him, fighting a goofy smile all the way, and pulled Minho into a tight hug.
Minho froze, overwhelmed by the warm, sweaty ball of energy that clung to him, before remembering to reciprocate and wrapping his arms around Jisung’s slim body. He nestled his nose in the collar of Jisung’s flannel and gripped his fingers loosely in the fabric over his back, right between his shoulder blades where he was always tense. He could feel Jisung’s heartbeat through his flannel and his hair tickling Minho’s cheek.
Jisung smelled like cheap deodorant, sweat, and clean laundry. Minho squeezed him closer before letting him go.
“Sorry,” Jisung said, wiping his brow. His smile was uncontainable, radiant. “I’m just really happy. I can’t believe I did choreo onstage.”
“It’s okay,” Minho said softly. He felt like everyone’s eyes in the room were on them, even though realistically they weren’t. “You did really well.”
For a moment Jisung just looked at him, lips pursed and eyes huge, before he took a shallow step back. He seemed to soften. “I messed up, though,” he admitted. “I stumbled over the lyrics because I was so caught up in the choreography.”
“Bound to happen,” Minho said. “And I didn’t even notice.”
“You didn’t?”
Minho shook his head.
“Okay,” Jisung breathed out, breaking into a gummy smile. “Good. If the expert didn’t notice then it didn’t happen.”
“You act like I’m an expert of the We Go lyrics. I bet Chan and Binnie noticed.”
“Oh, yeah, but they both messed up too,” Jisung said. He held Minho’s eyes for a moment before his grin broadened again, eyes scrunching up. “I can’t find it in me to give a shit right now, though.”
Minho’s chest felt light. He wanted Jisung to be this happy all the time. “Good.”
Hyunjin sauntered over, pulling Minho’s attention from Jisung’s glowing smile. “Sungie,” Minho said, “This is Hyunjin. He works at the studio with me. Hyunjin, this is Jisung.”
“Hi Jisung,” Hyunjin said with a charming smile. “Any friend of Minho’s is a friend of mine.”
“Careful what you sign up for Jisungie,” Minho said, keeping an eye on Jisung, who was quiet and avoiding eye contact with Hyunjin. Minho knew Jisung got skittish around new faces, so he leapt to avert Hyunjin’s attention. “Are you going out after this?”
“I’ll go if people are going,” Hyunjin said. “But you have an early day tomorrow, don’t you?”
Minho felt Jisung’s gaze prickling the side of his face. “Yeah, I should probably head home now, since I teach tomorrow morning.”
“You’re going home?” Jisung asked. Minho knew he would.
“I’ll probably take a bus,” Minho said to him. “Want to walk with me? Trin was my ride.”
Jisung cocked his head, grimacing. “Sunny’ll want me to go out.”
“Well,” Minho said, lowering his voice. “Believe it or not, it matters more what you want to do.”
Hyunjin snorted out a laugh, and Jisung looked at him sharply; Minho straightened to diffuse. He called to the sisters who were chatting with Chan and Changbin, “Hey, Sunny? Are you going out tonight?”
“Yes!” Sunny put her hand on her hip and beamed. “It’s Friday night, baby!”
“Trin?”
Trinity’s brow wrinkled. “I’ll probably head home. I’m exhausted. But I can leave my car here if you want to drive Sunny home later.”
Minho weighed his options, glancing at Jisung to find his big dark eyes blinking up at him, and decided he could endure his Saturday morning with a measly night’s sleep. “Okay, you can do that. Or if I dip early you could drive people home, Sungie.”
Jisung grinned and made a tiny squeak. “Yay. I’ll drive if you go home before me.”
It was the right decision. This way Hyunjin could go out and have a chance to flirt with Changbin, and this way Minho could keep Jisung from having a completely miserable time with the drunk folks.
As their Friday nights post-performance had been going lately, Minho and Jisung wandered off on their own while Sunny, Changbin, Chan, and Hyunjin got to drinking and dancing together. Now the pair sat on the curb outside the bar after Jisung admitted he wanted some fresh air, and Minho watched as Jisung curled his arms beneath his thighs and rested his chin on his knees.
The thud of the club’s music was muted by brick walls and the rumbling line to get in. No one could hear them now, so Minho asked, “You okay?”
Jisung nodded, but he eyed the asphalt beneath his shoes rather than Minho himself. “I’m okay.”
“It's a bit crowded in there.”
“It is.”
Minho sifted through his words. “I’ll stay out tonight. If you want to smoke. Might help.”
Jisung lifted narrowed eyes to scowl at him. “Don’t you work at 8AM?”
“Eh. I can nap after my classes.”
Jisung sagged again, his shoulders slumping around his folded knees. “I don’t want you to stay out because you feel like you have to.”
“I want to,” Minho said. “Hyunjin was gonna leave if I left, and he thinks Binnie is hot and I want matchmaking credits.”
Jisung’s eyebrows shot up, and some of his glow returned to him via a small smile. “Hyunjin’s into Binnie? Of all people?”
“Is Changbin into guys?”
Jisung shrugged. “I think he’s just into beautiful people.”
“Understandable,” Minho hummed. Jisung peered up into his eyes for a moment before looking away. “I have a joint. Do you want to hit it?”
“Yes,” Jisung sighed. “But I can’t drive if I’m high so please, please —”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Minho wrestled the box of pre-rolls from his jacket pocket. “Let’s go smoke in Trin’s car so the bouncer doesn’t clock us.”
“She doesn’t care?”
“Trinity is high more than she’s sober. Pretty sure her car seats would release puffs of kief if you smacked them.”
Jisung laughed and let Minho help him to his feet.
Five minutes later Jisung was all giggles, a half-smoked joint between his fingers as Minho flipped through Trinity’s shitty 90’s CDs. “Just hit it,” Jisung drawled, chewing his lip to keep from laughing. “Just one. I’m so curious. What is high Minho like? Is he paranoid? Is he sleepy? Is he an idiot? Does he get the munchies?”
“All of the above,” Minho said, glowering at Jisung and batting the outstretched joint away. “If I smoke now, I’ll fall asleep and your high ass will have to drive everyone home.”
“Ohhhhhhhhhh no,” Jisung said, immediately pulling the joint close to himself and sucking on it. “No, no, nope. Nope nope nope!”
Minho rolled his eyes, but fondness almost made him coo. Jisung was just so cute. “That’s what I thought.”
“Reminds me of the night we met,” Jisung said, fiddling with the window button, lowering it a meticulous few inches to blow out a stream of smoke. “When everyone else was drunk.”
Minho toggled through a CD before settling on a song he recognized. “Feels like longer than three weeks ago, huh?”
“Three weeks? Minho we met like two months ago.”
Minho flashed Jisung a passive aggressive smile. “No, darling. Three weeks.”
Jisung’s mouth opened and closed several times, his eyelashes fluttering as he squinted, like Minho had just severely offended him. “Are you serious?”
Minho’s smile turned genuine. “Yeah. It was a Friday night, three weeks ago.”
“Christ.” Jisung leaned back against his chair, gazing at the wagon ceiling, looking small and overwhelmed. “I feel like I’ve known you way longer.”
“Me too.”
They sat in silence for the moments following that, Jisung fiddling with the joint with his brows scrunched, Minho bobbing his head absentmindedly along to the music.
“Minho,” Jisung said finally. His tone struck an alarming chord with Minho, who hummed his acknowledgment. “I don’t understand...why you stay in a relationship you’re unhappy in.”
Minho sighed. “It’s complicated, Sung.”
“I’m worried, though.” Jisung didn’t fiddle as much now that he was high. His posture was more relaxed; he sprawled back against the seat, his limbs sinking into the upholstery. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re aware it’s unhealthy, but it’s really concerning that you feel forced into staying. Like you don’t have a choice.”
Minho wouldn’t have told anybody but Jisung. He didn’t want to push Jisung away, to put up walls around him. He could afford to expose a half-truth.
Slowly, Minho said, “I owe him a lot of money. I have a lot of information that he wants to know I’d keep to myself. And if I left, he’d...make my life very difficult.”
Jisung was quiet for a few moments. Minho wanted to massage out the tense lines around his eyebrows. “I’m high, so I could be wrong, but it almost seems like a situation where you could go to the cops.”
“It’s not.”
Jisung didn’t argue. Instead he said, in the smallest, scratchiest voice, “I want you to be happy. I wish you could be.”
Minho’s heart fluttered, and his stomach felt heavy. “I’m happy.”
“It’s okay not to be. It’s okay for something to be wrong, and to seek change because of that. Sadness is important because it paints a pretty clear picture of what we should let in and what we shouldn’t.”
Minho gazed at Jisung, curled up in an oversized scarlet flannel that matched his bloodshot eyes, and thought about what it would be like to kiss him on the mouth. He allowed the thought to flit in and out, allowed the paralyzing intimacy of the inside of a car to lose its grip on his fragile self control, before he said, “Sometimes we don’t get to choose what we let in, though.”
“Usually we do,” Jisung murmured. “It’s just easier to pretend we can’t.”
Minho had to bite back a snide remark at that. Because Jisung was right. It just hurt to hear it.
“Sunny’s calling me,” Jisung sighed, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hi, baby.”
Minho wasn’t quite prepared for the sinking feeling in his gut when he heard Jisung call Sunny baby in his cottonmouth-y, sleepy voice. He felt the need to run. To get out of the car and put as much space between him and Jisung as possible.
Because he cared. It’d been three weeks and he cared more than he ever liked to. But tonight Jisung would go back with Sunny and Minho would go home to Yonghwa and Minho would have to learn to befriend the ache in his chest. He didn’t have a choice.
~
Opening up to Jisung about his relationship with Yonghwa weighed heavily on him for the rest of the weekend. He began fixating on the toxic ins and outs of his life through a more objective lens. From an outside perspective, the amount that Minho disliked his romantic partner was pretty fucked up. He wasn’t sure if he didn’t see it that way or simply didn’t allow himself to see it that way.
Minho didn’t dwell on the past for many reasons. The way he saw it, not much good could come from it, other than learning not to repeat his mistakes. But if Minho contemplated the recent past in which he was addicted to drugs and alcohol, something strange coursed through him. His initial reaction was dissociation. At the surface, he didn’t feel anything when he reflected on those times because he didn’t see that person as himself. That was the past, that was a broken shell of a human being, and Minho was different now.
But he couldn’t completely detach himself from that person. He tried hard to, because he was ashamed to have been so fragile. He didn’t want people to know that he lived in fear of reverting back to that person faster than he could blink. He wanted to be steadier than that.
The thoughts cycled back, though. That could be him again. Starving, frozen, desperate, staying alive only for the rush of getting drunk.
On a Monday evening, Minho was with Trinity at her condo, helping her throw together stir fry for the two of them. His head was elsewhere, and Trinity was never one not to notice.
“What’s wrong, Min?” She drizzled some teriyaki sauce into the frying pan. “You’re quiet.”
Minho shrugged, picking at his fingernails. It was rare that he had alone time with Trinity lately, since there were other dancers around them at the Hub and they’d often been hanging out in a group with Sunny and the boys. Their solitude pulled the conglomeration of feelings from Minho’s throat, urging him to put it into words for his own sake, even if it was incoherent. Trinity was good at making sense of Minho’s incoherence.
“Remember the night you met me?” he asked.
“The night I met you?” she grinned and lifted a carton of weed gummies from the drawer next to the stove. “Wouldn’t it be the night we met each other?"
“I don’t remember it, though. I was that fucked up.”
“Ah, right. You always had a way of seeming stone cold sober even when you were blacked.”
Minho shuddered but plowed on. “Why’d you give me the time of day?”
“You might’ve been fucked up, Minho, but I couldn’t tell. You were the most talented dancer I’ve ever seen, and you were kind of a cock to me. But I liked that about you. It gets old, being the boss and having everyone walk on eggshells around you all the time.”
Minho smiled, allowing a flood of gratitude to soften his emotional discomfort. He’d met Trinity just a few weeks after moving in with Yonghwa, and he’d been working for her ever since. She’d been the heart of his support system then, when he couldn’t admit Yonghwa was abusive. “Have I changed?”
Trinity almost choked on her weed gummies. “Babe, you were the most chaotic, go-go-go, balls to the wall piece of shit in the Northern hemisphere. Of course you’ve changed. I used to have to check on your physical health on a daily basis.”
Minho chuckled. “Now it’s only on a weekly basis.”
“Well, now you know your worth. Now you’re an adult. You’ve come a long way since then.”
He smiled, warmth encompassing him. It was nice to know she noticed. “I really have, haven’t I.”
She grunted, and Minho went on softly. “Yonghwa...is becoming a problem.”
Trinity looked at him sourly. “ Becoming?”
“Well, becoming a problem I’m running out of ways to handle.”
She jabbed a wooden spoon at the stir fry, her upper lip taught. “How often does he hurt you?”
Minho’s mouth curled up like a leaf under a magnifying glass. He dodged the too-recent memories that leapt around like caged animals in the back of his mind. “Regularly.”
“How regularly?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you know.”
He sighed, scratching the back of his neck, writhing slightly at the unavoidable questions. “Physically? Not a lot. The past few weeks it’s been...more.”
“Then what does he do regularly?”
He took the plate of stir fry she handed him. He wondered if he’d muster an appetite before it grew cold. “He’s a dick to me. He tries to make me feel like shit about myself so that I never develop the self-worth to leave him. Same old shit.”
“And physically?”
Minho’s insides felt like curdled milk. “Usually he’ll just push me around if I piss him off. Knock me over when he’s drinking.”
Trinity sat at the kitchen table and began eating her food. She eyed him closely, her dark green eyes narrowed and pointed, and Minho thought, not for the first time, that she and Sunny were nothing alike. “You know you can stay with me,” she said. “If you want to leave him. Crash on my couch until you’ve paid him back for whatever the hell it is you owe him for. I have no idea why you can’t just go to the cops, but I trust you have your reasons. You’re more logical than you seem.”
“Thanks,” Minho said sarcastically, setting down the plate but remaining standing. “But seriously, thanks. It’s nice to know it’s an option.”
“Your physical safety is important. Your mental health is important. If he’s hurting you, leave. Everything else is secondary, Min.”
He looked at her evenly, feeling like a rubber band was wrapped around his throat. “Have you ever been afraid someone you love is going to kill you?”
She gazed back, quizzical sympathy evident in her creased brow.
“It’s confusing,” Minho said, and then he laughed. “I mean, obviously. Why would someone say they love you but then toss you around like a toy? How do you think that makes you feel about love?”
“Is it love, though?”
He shook his head. “Not anymore. Not ever, maybe. It was infatuation and now it’s codependence.”
“No offense, but...why does he stay with you? You hate his guts. You tell him all the time. Why would he want someone around who responds to him like that?”
“He likes that he can do anything to me and I’ll still stay.”
She took a shaky breath. “Can we have a real life Purge for one day so I can get away with murdering him, please?”
Minho laughed, settling down in the chair and lifting his fork. “I’m almost there, Trin. I’ve been saving up, and I’ll be able to move out by fall.”
“That leaves two or three more months of living with that abusive asshat, though.”
“I can take it.”
“You’ll bear these mental scars a long time, babe.”
Minho smirked. “What difference does a few more make, after the shit I’ve seen.”
Trinity reached across the table and took Minho’s hand in one of hers. Her fingers were cool against his. “You’re a brave man, kid. And I’ll be here whenever you need me.”
He squeezed her hand and then let it go to pull his plate closer to his chest.
“My dad,” Trinity said suddenly. “He has stage two prostate cancer.”
Minho looked up sharply, the mood of the room twisting like it’d been spun upside down. Cancer, sickness, death in the family...it was a tragedy that people could do nothing but sit idly by and watch consume their lives. Minho knew it well. “Fuck, Trin. Are you okay?”
She nodded, chewing her lip contemplatively. “I think he’ll be okay. It fucking sucks, of course, but my dad’s strong. So is my mom, and so am I. We’ll support him through it and we’ll support each other, no matter what happens.”
Minho almost chuckled. Trinity was excellent at talking herself out of expressing weakness. “What about Sunny?”
“I’m worried about her, most of all. How it’ll affect her mentally, I mean. Although I’m glad she has Jisung. He’s good at lifting her up.”
Minho used his fork to roll a broccoli floret around on the plate. “And how good is she at lifting him up?”
Trinity eyed him scathingly, and he regretted saying anything. To his surprise, though, she said, “I guess you’re right. She does seem a little more dependent on him than he is on her.”
Minho released a quiet breath. “But it is good that she has him. This is hard on any kid, and Jisung is…” He swallowed. “I don’t know. A ray of sunshine. But what about you? Who do you have to lift you up, Trin?”
“Pshhh. Me, myself, and I.”
“And me.”
She grinned. “And you.”
He chewed his lip and forced himself to say more, even though it was a subject heavier than words could encompass. “I’m sorry about your dad. My grandma died of cancer, two years back. I know how...helpless it can make you feel.”
Trinity nodded, and something flickered in her gaze. Suddenly she looked much older than twenty-six, with the wet eyes of an overflowed mind. “Thanks. It’s good to know you have an idea of how we’re feeling.”
“How you’re feeling,” Minho corrected. “You have your own set of emotions, you know. They are valid.”
“Ha.” Trinity rolled her eyes, but she was smirking. “Take your own advice.”
“Whatever.”
As he always did after forcing his gates open for a few minutes at a time, Minho was exhausted out of his mind, and he retired back to his apartment before ten o’clock that night. He wanted nothing more than to cuddle up with Soonie and Doongie and crash before eleven, but when he arrived home, Yonghwa sat on the living room couch with the two snugglers curled up at his sides.
Minho smiled hesitantly, closing the door behind him and stepping out of his shoes. “Three cuties.”
Yonghwa glanced up from the TV and scratched Soonie’s head between his ears. “What were you up to tonight?”
“Went to Trin’s for dinner. You?”
Yonghwa’s jaw muscles bulged as he thought. “It was a rough night. Bo got popped.”
Minho laughed. “Of course he did.”
Yonghwa’s chin shot up to glare his way, and Soonie leapt from the couch in an instant, padding over to the bedroom. Doongie followed suit with less urgency. A chill traveled down Minho’s spine; the cats always left when they could smell anger on Yonghwa.
“He’s gonna be in prison for the rest of his fucking life,” Yonghwa said. His voice was too quiet. “There’s nothing funny about that.”
Minho wavered, torn between pressing deeper to prove a point and backing off. He wasn’t afraid of Yonghwa, though. Not like he used to be. “Life in prison isn’t funny. The fact that you’re surprised he got popped is. He was always shit at secrecy.”
Yonghwa shook his head, lifted the remote, turned off the TV. He slapped the little box back down onto his lap. “Bo...is basically my brother. And he basically died tonight.”
“Basically,” Minho echoed.
Yonghwa’s smile was poisonous. “Why the fuck do you talk like this? Do you want to piss me off?”
Minho leaned an arm casually on the kitchen counter and gazed out their living room window, unbothered. It brought him great joy to remain indifferent when Yonghwa aspired so childishly to get a rise out of him. “No, I don’t care how you react, Yonghwa. I’m just done not speaking my mind.”
“As if you’ve ever had a filter.”
“Well.” Minho smiled. “You used to like it about me.”
Yonghwa’s wrinkled brow smoothed. “I still like it about you. You’re a force to be reckoned with.”
“Then stop getting your panties in a twist when I tell it like it is.”
Yonghwa rolled his eyes back into his head and threw his neck back against the cushions. “There you go, needlessly insulting me again.”
“Hmm.” Minho chuckled. “Think about that word. Needlessly.” He stepped in the direction of the bedroom. “I’m going to bed.”
“Wait.”
Minho halted, trying to keep the impatient scowl off his face.
Yonghwa got to his feet and approached Minho. He was dressed in an oversized university hoodie, one that he’d given to Minho for a few months at the beginning of their relationship. His rough hands came to rest on Minho’s forearms, who tried not to fixate on his fight or flight blurring together with hazy, instinctive desire.
Yonghwa leaned and gave Minho a kiss. The gentle caress of his lips was jarring in comparison to the muted fear he drew from Minho’s core. “Good night,” Yonghwa said. “You look cute in this.”
Minho glanced down at his V-neck t-shirt and cuffed blue skinny jeans. The compliment felt like a catch, like a step in a plan, like a brick in the wall that kept Minho barricaded into Yonghwa’s life. “Thanks. Good night, babe.”
“Love you.”
“Love you,” Minho said, trying to smile. Because he felt obligated to, because Yonghwa was being nice, he added, “And I am sorry about Bo. It’ll be hard not to have him around. Scary to think of him going through that.”
Something warmed the ice in Yonghwa’s eyes, and then he was sweeping Minho into another kiss, hands rough on his waist. “You do understand,” Yonghwa breathed, ducking his head to press wet kisses to Minho’s neck. Minho’s heart pounded so loudly he could hardly hear Yonghwa’s whispers right beside his ear. “Why do you take me on such fucking emotional roller coasters every day. When you do understand.”
Minho squeezed his eyes shut, his arm rigid around Yonghwa’s shoulders. Because when I sympathize, you can’t keep yourself out of my pants. “What’s life without emotional roller coasters?”
“Easy,” Yonghwa murmured, nipping just below Minho’s collarbone. The pinch of pain made something hot rise beneath Minho’s skin. “Predictable.”
“Who wants that.”
He chuckled, a hand sliding up Minho’s shirt, calloused fingertips ghosting over sensitive skin. “Certainly not me.”
Minho tried. He really tried not to let the deep, throaty wanting in Yonghwa’s voice get to him. But something stirred in his lower belly nonetheless, and then they were kissing again, Yonghwa’s teeth and fingernails rough against Minho’s skin and Minho’s heart aflame at the reminder that he could ignite passion where there was nothing but hatred.
~
Notes:
Ugh Minho, poor confused Minho lol
Let me know what u thought! see u later mi loves
Also lino in Cheese MV haunts my every thought conscious or subconscious bye
Chapter 6
Summary:
Jisung stared intently out the windshield, very aware of Minho’s leg pressed up against his, very aware that he’d had a sex dream about Minho the night before that’d escaped his memory until right then and there, when his ass was in his girlfriend’s lap.
Notes:
Hello lovelies!! Jisung has a minor anxiety attack at the end of this chapter, but it's nothing too intense.
I think I'm going to have to skip updating a second time this week because I'll be out of town with questionable wi-fi but I will see u all next week! Enjoy the chapter babes
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
vi. jisung
Jisung and his coworkers Seungmin and Jeongin sat at a Taco Bell corner booth sipping Baja blasts when Seungmin said, “I’m ready for summer to be over. I want to go back to school so I don’t have to put up with this job.”
“I disagree,” Jisung said. “When we’re in school there’s never any time to just sit around and write. All my time is taken up by assignments.”
“So you have less free time when you’re not working full time?”
“Work is way less mentally exhausting than school. School follows you home.”
Jeongin glanced up from his phone. “Homework is a form of torture. I think it should be outlawed.”
“Plus,” Seungmin went on, “We’re turning 21 in the fall, which means we can actually partake in bar culture instead of just drinking cheap booze at shitty house parties.”
“You can,” Jisung corrected with a sigh.
Jeongin wrinkled his nose. “Do people on anxiety meds actually not drink? Is that a thing? Or just like, a recommendation no one follows?”
“I feel like shit after I do it,” Jisung said. “The days following I just can’t even be in my own brain, I’m so wired.”
“Sounds exhausting,” Seungmin said matter-of-factly.
Seungmin and Jeongin were easier to open up to than Chan and Changbin sometimes, probably because their lives were much less intertwined. Seungmin and Jeongin didn’t know Sunny or Trinity or Minho or even his roommates. So when Jisung needed to vent or clear his head, they were the perfect outlet.
Or when he needed to talk about something uncomfortable.
“So,” Jisung said. “The first time you guys got laid.”
Seungmin and Jeongin both rose from their burritos like their heads were tugged up by a puppetmaster.
“Oh no,” Jeongin said.
“Where is this going,” Seungmin said.
“Wait. If you’re virgins, speak now,” Jisung said, glancing around Taco Bell nervously to make sure they were out of earshot. “Then I know you can at least relate to me.”
“Why did I have to dig for a million years to get it out of you that you’re a virgin and now that I know you won’t shut up about it?” Seungmin sighed.
“Because you don’t know my girlfriend and because I trust you. How is a guy supposed to work shit like this out in his own head? It’s all too confusing.”
“We’ve both done it before,” Jeongin interrupted before Seungmin could layer on the indignance. “But like we’ve said, sex doesn’t have to be a huge deal. If it is a big deal for you though, there’s nothing wrong with waiting.”
Jisung ran his hands back through his hair, realized his fingers were probably greasy, and made a face before wiping them with a napkin. “I just want to get it over with, though. I’m sick of being a virgin.”
“Then do it,” Seungmin said simply.
Jeongin grinned, his eyes disappearing into slits, and shook his head at Seungmin. “Did you just advise Jisung to have sex because of societal standards, when he clearly isn’t ready?”
Seungmin threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t know! Maybe he’s just gonna get more scared the longer he puts it off and once he does it it’ll be mind-blowing and he’ll be knee-deep in pussy for the rest of his life.”
Jisung scrunched his nose at the mental image. “I trust Sunny, and I love her, so I might as well just give it a try. Right?”
“If you’re comfortable,” Jeongin said, arching an eyebrow at Jisung over his burrito.
“I don’t know,” Jisung mumbled. “I am comfortable in theory, but in the moment I freeze up.”
“Maybe you just need to push past that?” Seungmin suggested.
“Maybe that’s your gut telling you you’re not ready, or that she’s not the right person,” Jeongin added.
Jisung groaned. “You guys are not helpful.”
“Buy condoms just so it’s an option,” Seungmin said. “Safety first.”
“That’s...okay, yeah, I can do that.”
So at four o’clock when his shift was over, Jisung swung by the drugstore to get some condoms. He noticed a bottle of lube on the shelf across the aisle, and he decided to go for it. The idea of Sunny not being wet enough and Jisung hurting her was something that often scared the shit out of him.
Jisung walked home from the bus stop with his double-bagged condoms and lube, a mask pulled up to his nose bridge and a hat tugged down to his eyebrows. As soon as he got home and got past Changbin’s unparalleled nosiness in their apartment, he’d be in the clear.
He was shocked, then, to get home and find not only Chan and Changbin in the living room playing Smash, but also Minho and Sunny, who sat side by side on the couch with their cross-legged knees brushing.
Jisung stared at them, the drugstore bag hanging from his elbow, and said, “Uh, hello everyone.”
“Hi Jisungie!” Sunny tore her gaze away from the TV screen to grin at him. “What’d you get? Snacks?”
A flush crept up Jisung’s neck, making his ears hot. He disliked that Sunny was here and he hadn’t invited her. He knew that she was friends with Changbin and Chan—which made sense as to why Minho was there without Jisung inviting him—but Sunny was Jisung’s girlfriend, and he felt like it was his call whether he saw her on a given night.
Minho, who was looking at him with lifted eyebrows and parted lips, zeroed back in on the game and yelled, “Sunny, you just fell off the edge twice. ”
“What!” Sunny yelled, jaw going slack as she mashed at the buttons of her controller. “Changbin, you ass!”
Jisung exhaled and made a beeline to his room to deposit the goods, hiding them in the depths of his underwear drawer. His pulse began to slow, and he took a moment to breathe and fan his warm neck. He decided he’d take some time to eat a snack and shower before showing his face around the visitors.
He opted for a long, hot shower first, locking the door and scalding himself for a solid twenty minutes. When he’d combed his hair and jumped into a pair of athletic shorts and a hoodie, he emerged to the kitchen, where he was relieved to find only Minho. His hyung stood shaking layers of popcorn from a greasy bag into separate bowls. He looked up expressionlessly and said, “Hungry?”
Jisung sighed and shuffled closer. “Yeah, but I’ll probably need something more substantial than popcorn. It was a long day.”
Minho handed him a small bowl anyways. “It’ll hold you over till you order something.”
Jisung ducked his head as he took the bowl, feeling warm and relieved. Minho always knew how to quietly put situations at ease without being asked. “Thanks, hyung.”
“It’s your popcorn,” Minho deadpanned. “Don’t thank me for stealing your food.”
Jisung just smiled and patted the back of Minho’s hair before venturing back into the living room.
He took Sunny into his room after she was done with her game, saying he wanted help ordering food, although he actually felt the need to confront her. He was far from a confrontational person. In fact, he loathed it, and he hated disappointing people or rubbing them the wrong way. But if she was going to drop by his apartment uninvited, he owed it to himself to set a boundary.
“So,” he said, his pulse racing. He kept his eyes on his laptop as his sweaty fingers fumbled with the keyboard. “Who invited you over today?”
Sunny looked up from the screen with a frown. “Changbin texted me and Minho and said he wanted two more to play a Smash tournament.”
Fucking Changbin. He supposed this was a conversation he should be having with him, then. So, he relented. “Okay. I was just wondering.”
“Is that not okay? I did feel a little weird coming by without you knowing.”
“I mean…” Jisung sighed. He was tired, wanted substantial food, wanted to lay in bed and have alone time. He didn’t want to spark a conflict with his girlfriend and his roommate. “I would kind of like to be able to invite you over when I want, you know? But that’s his fault, not yours. I’ll talk to him.”
Sunny nodded quickly, though concern was evident in her wide, sparkling eyes. “Sorry, baby. I know how you like your decompressing time.”
“No worries.”
The evening of video games and delivered food turned out to be quite pleasant. After an amateur game of fake-money poker, which Minho completely swept everyone else in, Minho and Sunny left around eleven. Jisung took this as his opportunity to approach Changbin.
He did it in the living room while Chan was present, since Chan tended to swoop in as a mediator whenever he detected tension. Jisung said, “Hey Binnie, can we talk about how you invited Sunny over today?”
Changbin immediately glanced at Chan, who didn’t bat an eye from where he was kicked back in the armchair with his headphones around his neck. Changbin sighed and said, “Channie thought you’d say something.”
“Sometimes,” Jisung went on, ignoring the way his stomach twisted at the realization that they’d been talking about him behind his back. “Sunny is a lot. And I like to be able to decide when she comes into the apartment or not. Since she’s my girlfriend, if she’s here, I’m kind of obligated to spend time with her. That can be a lot after a long work day.”
“Totally,” Changbin said, clasping his hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”
That was too easy. Jisung frowned, his riled-up momentum halting. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Changbin said firmly. “Although…”
Chan glanced up from his laptop warningly.
Jisung swallowed and tugged on his sweatshirt sleeve.
Changbin sighed. “Nevermind. I guess I just...figured you wouldn’t mind, when I first invited her. Because she’s your girlfriend and all.”
Jisung’s cheeks burned. He felt singled out, pinpointed for his deviation from the “boyfriend norm,” and it was humiliating. Why did his priorities have to be such an exception to what others were used to? “You know I like my space, Bin.”
Changbin nodded. “I do. I just thought…”
Chan sighed audibly and gazed into the brightness radiating from his screen.
“I just thought,” Changbin started again, “That you wouldn’t mind with her. But I was wrong. I apologize.”
Jisung tested accusatory words on his tongue, thought about hurling a do you have a problem with my boundaries his way, but instead rocked back on his heels and mumbled, “Okay, apology accepted.” Then he shuffled off to his bedroom, feeling exposed, embarrassed, and like he needed a fat blunt.
After falling asleep with his thoughts on pause from being stoned, Jisung dreamt about sex.
He dreamt that he was fumbling around with Sunny’s vagina, unable to find the opening, and when he did, it was completely dry. He dreamt that she had to talk him through it, teaching him the basic anatomy of the female reproductive system like he was a child.
He dreamt about the flashing neon lights of a club, about Sunny grinding her ass on Jisung’s pelvis, about nameless, faceless strippers writhing their gorgeous bodies around on burlesque poles. He dreamt about Sunny asking him to fuck her in the bathroom of the club.
Then Minho wandered into the feverish sex bubble. They stood in Yonghwa’s kitchen, and Minho was wearing nothing but a pair of leather pants with suspenders. He pulled the suspenders away from his chest, let them go so that they smacked his skin, and sucked in a little gasp when the contact left red marks next to his nipples.
“What are you doing?” Jisung remembered asking something like this.
Minho blinked at him slowly, as he always did, and said, “You want me, don’t you?”
Jisung said something stupid like, “I’ve never had sex before.”
Minho said, “I’ll show you how.”
Then Minho kissed him, lips wet and gentle. Jisung ran his hands over Minho’s sides, where soft skin pillowed beneath his fingers.
When he awoke, Jisung was so engulfed in his string of sex dreams that he could only lay there staring at the ceiling, his heart pounding and his cock hard, trying to separate subconscious from reality. He hadn’t fucked Sunny in the bathroom of the club, had he? No.
He hadn’t kissed a half-naked Minho in Yonghwa’s fancy kitchen, had he? No. No, he fucking had not.
His cheeks flamed as the embarrassment of the situation settled down upon him. How was he supposed to face Minho when they hung out later, knowing he’d had a... dream like that about him? Jisung hoped his brain would cooperate for once and erase the memory before his day even began.
But for now, he had a situation in his pants to take care of. He started palming himself, chewing his lower lip and trying to slow his spinning brain. Why the fuck was he having sex dreams about Minho? Although objectively, Minho was one of the most attractive people Jisung had ever seen. He had striking eyes, an angular nose, plump lips. Broad shoulders. A slim waist. Thick thighs and a round ass.
Jisung stilled, his palm slowing against the bulge in his shorts. Nope, nope, nope. He pulled his thoughts up from that hole like he was urgently retrieving a bucket from a well. He felt intrusive, almost like he was violating Minho by thinking of him in such a way. Just because Minho was hot didn’t mean he wanted every loser off the street eyeing him like he was a piece of meat. Minho was his friend. He wasn’t supposed to think of him like that. Just like he wasn’t supposed to think about Chan or Changbin like that. Jisung’s nose wrinkled at the idea.
Because it was safer than letting his post-sex dream mind run wild, Jisung pulled up a pornsite on his phone and took care of himself that way.
He had a short shift that morning, after which he went out to lunch with Sunny, who was cheerful and all smiles despite the drizzly weather and thick humidity. After four hours at the shop and a pleasant outing with his girlfriend, Jisung had forgotten about his dreams from the night before.
That was, until later that evening.
Trinity drove Jisung, Sunny, Chan, and Changbin in her wagon to Minho’s place to pick him up. They were all going to the beach to watch the sunset now that the clouds were beginning to make way. But between Chan riding shotgun, Jisung in the middle seat, and Changbin and Sunny on either side of him, there weren’t any seats for Minho.
So when he opened the car door and calculated the three peas in a pod wedged into the back, he ignored Trinity’s suggestion about Sunny getting on top of Jisung and climbed right into Sunny’s lap, wiggling his butt against her thighs and giggling like the demon he was.
“Jesus, Min!” Sunny laughed, slapping at the side of Minho’s thighs. “You are so thick. I’ve lost count of how many C’s.”
Jisung stared intently out the windshield, very aware of Minho’s leg pressed up against his, very aware that he’d had a sex dream about Minho the night before that’d escaped his memory until right then and there, when his ass was in his girlfriend’s lap.
“Thank you,” Minho said, propping his elbow up on the back of Chan’s seat and grinning down at Jisung and Changbin. “Hello, bitches.”
“Hello, Minho,” Jisung and Changbin chorused.
“Am I actually hurting you, darling?” Minho asked, pouting down at Sunny and smoothing her hair with a delicate hand. “I can move.”
“No, it’s honestly delightful,” she said. “You’re like a cushiony heated blanket.”
Minho cackled, and Jisung continued to stare out the windshield. “Honestly,” Minho said, “This is hurting me, though. The dick was too good last night and I’m sore as fuck. Trin can you pull over so I can climb into the trunk?”
Jisung’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Dick last night? Good dick last night? Was Minho still fucking Yonghwa, even though they hated each other? His mind whirled at this possibility.
“Minho, just let Sunny get on top of Jisung and you sit there.”
“No, wait, I got this,” Minho continued, planting one foot between Jisung and Sunny’s thighs and beginning to wriggle into the trunk. “Don’t hit any potholes.”
“Lee Minho!” Chan yelled as Trinity laughed from behind the wheel. “You’re going to get killed if we get rear ended!”
Minho ignored that, tumbling face-first into the trunk and out of sight. Jisung, who was dazed by the smell of Minho’s cologne and his ass being so close to his face after the embarrassing events of the night before, glanced over to check Sunny’s expression. As if she could read the discomfort in the back of Jisung’s mind. Thankfully, she was smiling and laughing at Minho’s antics.
Jisung turned around, his chest straining against his seatbelt, to look down at Minho. He was curled up in a ball, blinking innocently up at Jisung, and broke into a goofy grin when they made eye contact.
“You okay back there?” Jisung asked, laughing at how absurd Minho looked lounging amongst their coolers and cases of beer.
“This is where I belong,” Minho said. His grin widened. “Want to join me?”
Jisung hung his jaw. “Yeah, because that’s a logical seating arrangement for this vehicle. Two in the back and then two in the trunk with the beer.”
“Sunny says I’m comfy though.”
Jisung grimaced at him and plopped back down into his own seat.
“So,” Changbin said, taking his turn to peer back into the trunk. “Can we talk about Hyunjin?”
“Yes,” Minho called up from the depths. “He’s single.”
Changbin looked at Jisung with his bottom lip tugged between his teeth threateningly. “You tell him? Han Jisung?”
“No,” Jisung said. “Minho was the one who told me Hyunjin thinks you’re hot.”
Changbin’s eyebrows shot up just as Minho yelled, “Shut the fuck up, Jisungie!”
“Oh!” Jisung immediately covered his mouth with both hands. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, Minho, I—”
“No, it’s fine, probably good they both know,” Minho said quickly. “But yeah, Changbin. Want his number?”
“Um,” Changbin said, “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be cool. Sure. If, if you think he’d be down. Yeah. Yes. He really thinks I’m hot?”
Minho groaned from the trunk. “God, why did I let this happen.”
“You literally wanted matchmaking credits,” Jisung shot back at him.
“Yeah and you took them away from me by telling Changbin Hyunjin thinks he’s hot!”
“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Jisung sighed, bashing his head back against the headrest. “Make up your damn mind.”
Minho gave a high-pitched giggle, yelped in pain when Trinity hit a bump in the road, and Jisung forgave him for being annoying. It never took longer than ten seconds, really.
It was sticky and warm outside, but more bearable now that the sun wasn’t so high in the sky. When they’d parked in a lot just off a secluded beach, Trinity popped the trunk, and Minho rolled out melodramatically, cracking his back and stretching his legs. Jisung took Sunny’s hand and pulled her with him to wander along the sand.
After the afternoon’s storm, the lake smelled like rain and windswept sand. The beach appeared puffy and spent, like a swollen face after a cry, with leftover uneasiness stirring in the haphazard waves. Jisung always loved the look of a lake after rain. He kept Sunny’s hand in his as he pulled his shoes off and wiggled his toes in the damp sand.
Sunny smiled at him and stepped out of her flip flops, squeezing his hand all the while. Jisung couldn’t help but stare at her. Her skin shone golden brown in the dimming evening light, only accentuated by a white bikini top and glinting belly button piercing. Her smile brought tiny dimples to her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled with something so fond when she looked at him.
“Wow,” he said. “You look beautiful.”
She blushed, bumping her shoulder against his and tripping slightly over the sand. “Thanks, Sungie.”
He tugged her arm closer to his chest so he could press a kiss to her forehead.
“Hey, Sun!” They both turned when Changbin yelled from the car. “Want a beer?”
“Yes!” She yelled back. “Throw it!”
Changbin hurled the silver can down the shallow hill, causing Jisung to yelp and cower behind Sunny, who caught it and shouted her thanks back.
Jisung led the way out onto the pier, holding both Sunny’s shoes and his own in one hand so that Sunny could use her free hand to sip her beer. Jisung had been to this beach the previous autumn with Chan, and he remembered loving the rickety old pier and the way it sank into the churning water. He sat at the end of the pier, dipping his toes in the cool water.
She sat down beside him and snuggled close, so he could loop his arm around her waist. She said, “Don’t you think we should go hang out with the rest of the group?”
Jisung’s mind was quiet, and he didn’t feel like disrupting that yet. “In a bit.”
She leaned her head against his chest, and he relished her familiar warmth. The water lapped quietly at the decaying wood, and he thought of nothing but the water’s touch and the gentle sound of the wind.
Eventually they wandered back, when Sunny got antsy against Jisung’s side and he felt guilty for keeping away from the rest of the group. The sun began to set, coating their tiny beach in a warm, enchanting orange light. Being on the edge of land did wonders to keep Jisung’s mind at a quiet hum.
When they’d returned to everyone else, Minho and Trinity were seated on neighboring towels, leaning back on their hands and splitting a tray of dippable veggies. Chan and Changbin perched on the bumper of Trin’s wagon, and Jisung’s heart sang with fondness when he looked upon his closest friends.
Sunny ran over to the trunk to grab another beer, so Jisung approached Minho, who was alone now that Trinity went over to get a refill with her sister. Minho looked up, one eye squinted shut to deflect the glaring sunset. The wind caught a hold of his hair, and a half smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. His loose gray t-shirt hung low around his collarbones.
“You look handsome,” Jisung told him, because it was true and because he was in a sentimental mood. The evening glow of the beach was pulling something soft from Jisung’s chest.
Minho leaned back on his hands. His smile was easy, confident. “So do you.”
Jisung hadn’t been prepared for that response. He ignored his hot ears and sat at the foot of Trinity’s towel so he could munch on some carrots. “I’ve always liked the beach,” Jisung said. “Feels like...the frontier. Like everything else in the world is far behind you.”
“I know what you mean.” Minho scanned the shoreline with furrowed brows. Jisung took in the pronounced angle of Minho’s nose, the shadow it cast along his cheekbone. “Everything feels small in comparison.”
Jisung nodded, and something sudden and painful tightened his throat. He wasn’t sure where it came from. “Good for people like me who blow up little things into something huge.”
Minho frowned, flicking his eyes over to study Jisung. His irises glowed a dark amber, alit by the yellow gleam of the sun on the water. “It allows you to be creative. And wise.”
Jisung picked at the fabric of his shorts. “I feel like the line between wisdom and overthinking is a fine one.”
“Well,” Minho chuckled. “I can agree with that.”
Jisung scooted over to make room when Trinity returned to her towel. “It always throws me off when you actually say serious things, hyung.”
“Mmm.” Minho blew Trinity a kiss when she handed him a bottle of water. “Gotta keep people on their toes somehow.”
“So,” Trinity said, cracking open her beer. “You were asking me about Mel. She’s a real interesting girl.”
“Right,” Minho said, shifting to face Trinity. Jisung noticed a reddish purple blemish where his shirt rode down, just beneath his collarbone, and he averted his eyes.
“But she continues to be way too fast to be whipped,” Trinity went on. “Like, she got me flowers. Flowers. On our third date. Do I look like a bitch who wants flowers?”
“No, but how’s she supposed to make that assumption?” Minho asked.
Jisung put in, “I got Sunny flowers on our third or fourth date.”
“Yeah, but Sunny is the kind of gal who just radiates buy-me-flowers-and-chocolate energy,” Trinity sighed. “I don’t give off that vibe, do I?”
“Trin.” Minho rolled his eyes. “If the flowers weren’t your vibe, tell the poor homo.”
“Imagine doing a nice gesture for someone—spending your hard earned cash on a romantic gift for someone—only for them to tell you they hate gifts.”
“Hard earned cash,” Minho drawled. “About ten dollars, you mean?”
“I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
“But like,” Jisung said. “If you like her and want it to go somewhere, better if you’re honest about how you like affection early on.”
Minho nodded in Jisung’s direction. “It’s not your fault you’re not gifty, but it is your fault if you choose not to mention it till you’ve been lying for a long time.”
“I just feel like I owe someone when they give me shit,” Trinity said. “You know? Like, suddenly there’s a tally and if I don’t give a gift in return that’s just as thoughtful, I’m a shit girlfriend. Or, date, or whatever.”
“Tell her that,” Minho said simply.
Trinity glowered at him. “Not everyone can be as blunt and shameless as you are, Lee Minho.”
Minho smirked and swirled a carrot around in the ranch dressing. “That’s right, you should be jealous of me.”
Jisung smiled. Minho’s confidence was ridiculous. Jisung almost felt more confident just being around him.
Sunny came over then to curl up against Jisung’s side so they could watch the sunset together, and Chan started playing his soothing stoner playlist from the wagon trunk. The temperature started to drop rapidly, so Jisung wrapped his arms around Sunny, covering her bare arms with his warmer ones, resting his chin on top of her head.
It felt right. Everything felt right. Jisung wished he could freeze the moment, record every detail of his current sensory input, and lock it up where he could revisit it whenever he wanted.
When the temperature dipped below what they were dressed for, they all convened at Trinity’s condo, where she provided them with popcorn, card games, and enough weed to knock them out. They all lived a doable walking distance from her place, anyway.
After they all came down from various levels of blurred awareness, it was almost midnight, and Sunny asked Jisung if she could come home with him. He agreed, but his heart jumped to his throat. Was this going to happen tonight?
Sunny turned to Minho, who was leaning against Trinity’s shoulder, his eyes fluttering shut. Jisung wanted to coo, he looked so sleepy. “Min,” Sunny said. “Are you okay with me not walking your way with you?”
Right, Jisung thought. Sunny lived that same way, but now Minho would have to walk home alone.
“Mm.” Minho blinked his eyes open and fumbled with limp hands for his phone. “I’ll ask Yonghwa to pick me up.”
“Is he sober?” Trinity’s question came out fast and sharp.
“Guess we’ll find out.”
Jisung watched Minho as he tapped out a message on his phone. The idea of Minho being alone with Yonghwa made him nervous (which he knew was absurd, seeing as they lived together); the idea of Yonghwa driving to Trinity’s home made him nervous; the idea of Yonghwa giving Minho a hickey made him nervous. Jisung realized he was probably still high when anxiety fluttered in his stomach.
They gave Trinity sleepy goodbye hugs when Changbin had passed out against Jisung’s thigh and Chan declared it was time to put him to bed. The five of them shuffled down Trinity’s condo stairs, Jisung and Sunny’s chilly hands linked to preserve warmth.
Jisung’s steps stuttered when he saw Yonghwa’s car parked on the street, its headlights beaming in the muggy night.
Minho turned to them then, his hands in his jogger pockets, and offered a close-lipped smile. “Do you guys want a ride? I can ask, since you’re all headed to the same place anyway.”
“Sure,” Chan said, before Jisung could vehemently decline.
“It is a little chilly to walk home,” Sunny murmured, her voice soft and tired.
“Wait here,” Minho said, running his fingers through his hair and strolling up to the car’s tinted windows. Jisung watched intently, though he couldn’t hear what was said. Then Minho was beckoning them over and swinging himself into the front seat.
“Can I sit in your lap?” Sunny asked.
Jisung didn’t hear her; his heart was pounding.
“Sungie?”
“What? Oh, yeah sure.”
The interior of Yonghwa’s car felt utterly different with Yonghwa driving it rather than Minho. The leather upholstery smelled of cologne—not Minho’s cologne—and cigarettes, and Yonghwa didn’t have any music on when they climbed into the car.
Yonghwa leaned around to look at the four people squashed into the back of the car, and Jisung’s innards lurched. He’d never gotten a good look at the guy before. Minho’s boyfriend was built, with broad shoulders and thick forearms covered with small, geometric tattoos. He had a chiseled jaw but a baby face, with a button nose and round dark eyes. Jisung thought he must have been a few years older than Minho.
He wasn’t all that scary, Jisung told himself.
But then Yonghwa looked over at Minho and said, “You didn’t tell me you’d have underage intoxicated people. Too many to fit legally in my seats.”
All the nerves came crashing back into Jisung’s headspace. He tightened his arms around Sunny’s waist.
“How do you know they’re underage?” Minho turned on the radio. “It’s like a five minute drive.”
“The last thing I need is to get pulled over again.”
“Well, then obey the fucking rules of the road for five minutes and everything will be fine.”
Changbin giggled. Yonghwa gave him a look in the rearview mirror that made Jisung’s skin crawl.
“If I get pulled over, you’re paying my ticket,” Yonghwa said, almost too quietly for Jisung to hear. The words made a surge of anger cut through Jisung’s nerves, and he wanted to tell Yonghwa to fuck right off. Instead he leaned his cheek against Sunny’s shoulder and focused on keeping his breathing steady.
“Guys,” Minho said, ignoring Yonghwa’s petty words. “This is my boyfriend, Yonghwa. Babe, this is Chan, Changbin, Jisung, and Sunny.”
“Hi, everyone,” Yonghwa said.
Chan said, “How’s it going, mate?” And Jisung was overwhelmed with gratitude that he was in the car with them.
During the dragging five-minute drive, Minho showed no effort to make conversation, and neither did Yonghwa, so the silence became strangling. Jisung could see Minho in the right side mirror calmly staring down at his phone, his face glowing from the bright screen. It bewildered Jisung how he could be so relaxed, even in moments like these.
As soon as they spilled out of the car, each of them thanking Yonghwa and muttering goodbyes to Minho, tension dissolved from Jisung’s muscles. Chan exhaled when Yonghwa’s car pulled away, and Changbin said, “Jesus, that guy’s scary.”
“How does Minho live with him?” Sunny squeaked, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Because Minho doesn’t give a shit,” Chan chuckled. “Couldn’t you guys tell? The guy’s intimidation tactics were like water on rock to him.”
“It’s still not right,” Sunny muttered as they started scaling the stairs to their floor. “I wish Minho would break up with him.”
“Do we know why he doesn’t?” asked Changbin.
Jisung held his tongue, though he felt three pairs of eyes fix on him.
“Jisungie,” Sunny said as Chan fished in his pocket for the front door key. “You know?”
Jisung shrugged. “I don’t think he’d want me to tell you guys. I think he barely wanted to tell me in the first place.”
Chan looked over at him coolly, his eyebrows pulled together, his jaw set. “Is he safe?”
Jisung swallowed. “The way I see it, he can take care of himself. That’s...what I tell myself, anyway.”
“Does he hit him?” In the buttery quiet of the hall outside their apartment, Chan’s question was like a knife.
Jisung’s mouth was suddenly very dry. “I...I don’t know? I don’t know.” His palms felt clammy. “Why would you think that?”
Chan shook his head, turning his attention back to the door. He spun the key and pushed through. “Just a vibe I got.”
Jisung realized much of what he was feeling was him getting that vibe, too.
The following half an hour or so, Jisung swam in the dark nothingness that hung between his brain and reality. He didn’t think about much of anything at all, although he was tense and unable to focus, sloppy at remembering what he was doing. He forgot what he was trying to do three times while changing into his pajamas.
He continued living through Chan’s sharp words like they were on repeat inside his skull. Does he hit him?
Jisung and Sunny lay in bed together, Jisung the little spoon for tonight, Sunny’s arms securely around his waist. “Are you okay?” she said softly, and pressed her thighs up against the backs of his. “You’re cold and shaky.”
He tried to slow his heart rate to lessen her worries. “I’m okay.”
“What’s going through your head?”
He licked his lips and wondered how to describe absolutely everything and nothing at all at the same time. “Um. I don’t know. I’m worried about Minho.”
“You said so yourself, Sungie. He can take care of himself.”
Jisung knew she was right. He’d said that, and Minho would say the same thing. “But what if he just wants us to think that he can? And he really needs help? As his friends, aren’t we obligated to do something if we think he isn’t safe?”
Sunny heaved a sigh that caught in the back of her throat, like she always did when Jisung was thinking about something harder than she ever would. “Honestly, I think if he needed help he’d be comfortable turning to my sister. They’re really close, and she knows more about his relationship situation than I do.”
Jisung supposed this was true. He was glad Minho had Trinity, who was reliable and trustworthy and smart. But Jisung understood Minho on a wavelength he wasn’t certain anyone else did, and he wondered if he was being a bad friend by noticing the vibes he did without doing anything to help.
Soon Sunny fell asleep. Her breathing evened out against Jisung’s shoulder, and her arms slackened around his waist. Jisung stayed awake for a long time, listening to the robotic hum of their decrepit air conditioning unit, trying to reason himself out of his spiralling thought pattern.
Does he hit him? Jisung tried to blink Chan’s question aside. He tried to think about his lyrics, the shift he had at work the following afternoon, the comforting weight of Sunny’s arm around him.
Does he hit him?
Jisung wriggled an arm from the covers, careful not to stir Sunny, and reached for his phone on the nightstand. It was past one o’clock in the morning and his eyelids were hardly heavy. The coiling in his gut didn’t seem close to letting up, either.
He maneuvered out from under Sunny’s arm, taking his phone with him, and padded out to the living room. He was cautious to click his bedroom door shut quietly, and then he curled up on the couch, wrapping himself in blankets and opening his phone contacts.
Because he wasn’t sure what else would ease the buzz beneath his skin, he called Minho. In the silence of their apartment, the warble of the ringing phone against Jisung’s ear was deafening.
Just as Jisung was prepared to hang up after the fourth ring and find some other way to summon sleepiness, Minho answered. “Hello?”
Something between nerves and relief swooped in Jisung’s belly. “Hi, hyung.”
“What are you doing awake?” Minho’s voice was low, a bit hoarse. Jisung wondered if he’d woken him up.
“Sorry to call so late. Did I wake you up?”
“No, I was just about to get into bed. Are you alright?” Jisung heard shifting around on Minho’s end. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Jisung echoed. He spoke in a low whisper as to not stir the three others in his apartment. “Are you...are you alone right now?”
Minho hummed, and there was a brief pause before he responded. “I am now. In the living room. What’s wrong, Sungie?”
Jisung chewed his fingernail. He couldn’t exactly ask, straight up, if Minho was being physically abused. The chances of someone in that situation answering such a blunt question honestly were slim. But he was nervous, exhausted, and wanted a dash of peace of mind, so he pushed himself.
“Minho,” he said his name carefully. “I’m...worried about you.”
“Worried about me?” Minho scoffed. “What use is that?”
“Well.” Jisung smiled, his dry lips cracking from the pull. “Not really about what its use is. I can’t help it.”
“Why are you worried about me, darling?”
Jisung’s stomach did a little tumble at the soft spoken words. He calls everyone darling, the voice in Jisung’s head supplied. “I just want you to be safe,” he mumbled. He knew he sounded like a broken record. “Are you safe?”
Minho was silent for a few moments, and Jisung wanted to claw at his own skin. Finally Minho replied, “I’m at home. On my couch, with Soonie in my lap.”
Jisung pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders, waiting for his icy fingers to warm up. “Do you feel safe when you’re at home?”
Minho huffed out a sigh that was hardly audible over the phone and said, “Is that what this is about, Jisungie? My living situation?”
Jisung swallowed and hastened to backtrack. His hands were clammy, and he was very aware of the way his pulse raced beneath his ear. “I don’t want to make any assumptions. I just got a bad vibe from him and, and...and I want you to be safe and happy. You can always come here. Changbin doesn’t care if I take his car, I can always come get you. I don’t know what goes on between you and that asshole, but…”
Minho laughed airily, the sound crackling through Jisung’s phone speakers. “Ah, Jisungie. Thank you for checking up on me.”
Jisung licked his lips and tightened his fingers around his phone. “I’m just nervous for you, that’s all.” His voice came out higher, shakier, than he intended. He cleared his throat.
“Hey, Sungie. Breathe.”
Jisung did. He tried to inhale for four seconds, but his lungs pushed the air back out.
“Breathe. Can you put your hand on your tummy?”
Jisung did. He tried to focus on the rise and fall of his belly as he breathed, but the nervous throb of his pulse made more uneasiness spin through him.
“Just focus on the way the air moves in and out of your lungs. Expand your tummy while you breathe if you can.”
“I’m sorry,” Jisung said, high and strained. “I don’t know why…”
“Shhhh.”
Jisung leaned his head against the back of the couch, his phone between his cheek and the soft cushions.
“It’s okay. I’m safe, and so are you. Just breathe.”
Jisung breathed. He wasn’t sure what Minho said for the next few minutes—mostly just encouragement to pause, to focus on his body, to ground himself—until eventually Jisung started to feel bad for keeping Minho awake, and more tension crept up his spine.
“Do you have an early morning?” Jisung whispered. “I don’t want to keep you up.”
“No, I don’t work till the afternoon.”
Jisung nodded, wondering why he felt like hot tears were building in his throat.
“Hey,” Minho went on. “You know what I watched tonight when I got home?”
Jisung shook his head, remembered Minho couldn’t see him, and said, “Nuh-uh.”
“Despicable Me. It’s actually a really fucking good movie.”
Jisung cracked a smile. “It is pretty good, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, the minions aren’t as detrimental to the plot as their impact on the toy industry would have you expect.”
“Exactly.”
“Soonie and Doongie enjoyed it too.”
“I’m glad you have them there,” Jisung whispered.
Minho went quiet again, and Jisung’s anxiety spiked, so he continued, “I, I don’t want to make assumptions, or anything, I—I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, either—”
“Shhh, Sungie.”
Jisung held his tongue, tried to focus on his breathing.
“Us having this conversation,” Minho said, “Is no burden on me. I’m not really sleepy, anyways. I can hear that you’re scared, and I want to help you feel safe. Will you let me?”
“Yes,” Jisung said softly.
“Okay. Keep on breathing, darling. You sound like you feel a little better already.”
“I’m sorry.” Jisung was embarrassed to be shaky and on the brink of panicking over nothing. Nothing that was happening to himself, at least.
“Don’t apologize for how you feel.”
Jisung kept on breathing for a few minutes, and Minho talked him through it, reminding him to hold his inhales in deeply. He’d also talk about random things—at one point he asked why Jisung thought there was lightning in rainstorms, but not snowstorms, and at another point he asked what the plural of roof was—until Jisung felt relaxed, warm, and completely exhausted.
“Thanks,” Jisung said, laughing to mask how defeated he felt. “I feel better. So tired.”
“Get some sleep,” Minho replied, and Jisung could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Okay,” Jisung said. “Goodnight.”
“Sleep tight.”
Jisung hung up, and he passed out almost immediately, bundled up on the couch and simmering amongst his released emotions.
~
Notes:
COME ON MINSuNG wAkE UpP
Byeeeee see you next week! I am so thankful for all your comments and kudos T.T
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 7
Summary:
When Jisung and Sunny returned from his room, they both wore giddy smiles, and their hands were entwined. She led him over to the front door, and then she kissed him, his fingers ghosting over her waist where her top rode up.
Minho looked at the floor. His stomach rolled, and a slow ache radiated through his chest.
Notes:
*****TRIGGER WARNING******* This chapter has a graphic depiction of violence. Minho is hurt to a degree that leaves him severely bruised and shaken up. It's pretty brief and I'll star it if you want to skip - it occurs at the very end of the chapter. if you choose to skip and want a summary let me know~
******TWs: domestic violence, verbal abuse, mentions of cheating, alcoholism, relapsing
I promise only the end gets really intense!! I hope you like it :)enjoy ❣❣
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
vii. minho
Even though many considered Minho an unbothered individual, he did not consider himself so. At least, not in all situations.
For example, if someone picked up on Minho’s unspoken feelings, it threw him off. Often, it was Minho who observed the subtle expressions and discomfort of those around him, so when the tables were turned, he felt more like a chess piece and less like a player at the board.
Jisung was getting good at reading between Minho’s lines. Minho wasn’t sure if he was elated or terrified by this.
In many ways, Minho was having one of the best summers of his life. Trinity, Sunny, and the boys of 3RACHA had rapidly become his tight-knit group of friends. Minho hadn’t felt so much like he belonged since before his grandma passed away.
In other ways, it was a rough summer. Impending doom sat upon Minho’s shoulders, crushing his weary back whenever Yonghwa snapped. The more Minho slipped away, the more Yonghwa bared down on him.
On top of that, Jisung could tell Minho wasn’t safe at home, and Minho had no idea how to keep it from him. He didn’t want him to worry, but he also didn’t want Jisung to get involved. Anyone who knew too much about Yonghwa ended up ensnared without a light at the end of the tunnel.
All the while, his crush on Jisung wasn’t exactly dwindling. Even spending all the time together that they did, Minho didn’t get used to the little things about Jisung that made his skin feel electric. When Jisung was onstage, spitting heartfelt lyrics with a snarky, lethal confidence, Minho could only watch with awe as every soul in the room was drawn in by his energy. He could only glance over at Sunny, whose eyes shined every time she looked at her boyfriend, and remind himself that he was not special for noticing these things about Han Jisung.
But when Jisung was off the stage, he became softer. Timid, warm. But this was when he was more dangerous because Minho practically had to bite through his own tongue to keep from touching him. He wanted to pull him close, to wrap his arms around Jisung’s waist and snuggle into his familiarity. He wanted his mouth on Jisung’s skin, and he wanted to hear the way soft whimpers would catch in the back of his throat.
It was becoming difficult to ignore.
Especially since there were days when Minho could swear Jisung felt the same. Sometimes he would notice a tremor of discomfort when Sunny pushed Jisung too hard. Maybe his eyes would linger on Minho’s lips a moment too long. Other times it was just because of how Jisung and Minho were together. They were on the same wavelength, tuned in to one another, always concerned with keeping each other company. Minho had never met someone whose presence he craved so much.
Jisung was all friendliness, loud noises, radiant energy, and an overactive mind. And Minho was all ice, stoic silence, cut-throat boundaries, and quiet thoughts. He had no idea how he got along so well with his polar opposite.
It was a few days before the weekend of the 4th of July. It’d been about two months since he met Jisung. Sunny and Trinity were going on vacation with their cousins that weekend, and Minho was trying to work out how to tell Yonghwa he wanted to spend the holiday with 3RACHA rather than him. He knew the conversation would be a tough one because while nobody but Minho knew he had feelings for Jisung, he feared everyone knew. Namely Yonghwa, Sunny, Trinity, and Jisung himself.
Because the crush was starting to feel overwhelming the longer he suppressed it, he decided to tell someone he trusted.
“Guys,” Minho said as he sat between Hyunjin and Felix on their suede couch.
Hyunjin shushed him, gesturing at the romantic comedy on screen.
Minho sighed, picked up the remote, and paused the movie.
Hyunjin and Felix both whined indignantly, babbling about how the plot was just about to get spicy, until Minho fixed them with a pointed glare until they faded back into silence.
“What?” Hyunjin asked. He shifted to face Minho, pulling his fuzzy blanket along with his knees.
Minho swallowed, despising the words before they came out of his mouth. “I want to tell you something.”
Hyunjin and Felix exchanged a bewildered glance.
“Oh, shut up. I don’t want to, but I have to. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
Felix’s eyebrows dipped, lips parting in a concerned pout. “What’s wrong, hyung?”
Minho groaned and buried his face in his inner elbow before resurfacing to gasp for air. He spoke quickly when he blurted out, “So I’m in a sticky situation because my friend Jisung is dating a girl who I’m pretty close friends with and also I’m in a relationship with a drug lord who will make my life a living hell if I leave him except I really, really like Jisung a lot and sometimes I feel like he likes me too and I don’t know what to do about it because I feel like the noble thing to do is cut him out of my life to protect my feelings and his relationship but I don’t want to do that because he makes me really happy and I can tell I make him really happy too and, um, yeah. Does anyone want popcorn?”
Hyunjin blinked rapidly and swayed like he’d been slapped before saying, “You’re acting like we couldn’t already tell you’ve got the hots for Jisung. It’s so obvious, Minho.”
Minho wiped some sweat from his forehead. “Hindsight is 20/20, you demon.”
“No.” Hyunjin laughed and patted Minho’s leg calmingly. “It’s obvious. Every time I hang out with you two, neither of you can keep your eyes off each other. Or your hands. I guess there’s a chance he’s straight and you’re just a close buddy to him, but as your friend I could tell right away that you liked him. I’ve never seen you so fascinated by someone.”
Minho ducked his head to stare at the coffee table, wishing he had a cat to cuddle with. “Why didn’t you say something,” he grumbled, urging the heat in his cheeks to fade. “I barely noticed it until a few weeks ago.”
“You probably would’ve thrown me into the dryer and cooked me if I’d confronted you before you were ready,” Hyunjin said, and Minho nodded his agreement.
“Thanks for telling us, though,” Felix added, and his gentle smile scrunched his eyes. “I hope you feel better, having said something. I can tell that was weighing on you for a while.”
Minho picked at his fingernails and wished he could take back his own words. Now that someone knew about this outside of Minho’s brain, it felt real for the first time. Minho told someone, and even after assigning words to the confusing feelings he’d been paddling around in like a drowning dog, they didn’t disappear. They were only more steadfast at the forefront of his mind.
“To answer your question,” Hyunjin went on when Minho remained silent, “I don’t think it would be noble to cut him out of your life. I think the noble thing to do is to tell him.”
Minho laughed dryly, though he felt like someone was pressing down on his chest. “Very funny.”
Neither Hyunjin nor Felix looked amused. Instead Felix said, “You’ll never know until you try, right?”
Minho scowled. “Guys. I’m dating someone. I live with my boyfriend. Jisung’s girlfriend is the reason I met 3RACHA in the first place. Also if he’s into guys, much less into me, he is deep in the closet.”
Saying it out loud, Minho’s throat tensed. There was no way. Even given the slim chance that Jisung felt something romantic for Minho, Jisung would never blow up his their friend group, his relationship, his comfortable heterosexual identity, for someone as messed up as Minho. It was impossible.
“I just need to move on,” Minho said, wrapping his arms around his knees. “We work well as friends, anyway. It was stupid of me to think of wanting more. I just need time.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to until you get a yes or no from him?” Hyunjin challenged. “Realistically?”
Minho shrugged. No, he thought. “That’s why the right thing to do is to cut him out. Without space between us I don’t know if I’ll be able to.”
“That would hurt him just as much as it’d hurt you,” Hyunjin said bluntly.
Minho knew he was right. He knew he didn’t have the strength to stop being friends with Jisung, anyway.
“I don’t know what to do,” he muttered. “I hate not knowing what to do.”
“Maybe the move is to just wait until they break up,” Felix said. “Then when he’s single you can tell him how you feel.”
“And wait until you leave Yonghwa,” Hyunjin added. “Then it’s less complicated.”
Minho nodded, actually appreciative of this point. “I guess that’s true. Although Jisung and Sunny seem like they could date for a long time.”
“Do you think he’s in love with her?” Hyunjin asked. Minho loved and hated Hyunjin’s ability to ask such pointed questions like they were casual inquiries about the weather.
“I think he loves her,” Minho said. “And I think she’s in love with him. But I don’t know if he feels...understood by her.”
“Mhmm,” Hyunjin hummed. “Seems like he doesn’t feel understood by anyone but you, to be honest.”
Minho tried not to smile at that, but he couldn’t help the way the corner of his mouth lifted.
“How do you know?” Felix asked suddenly.
Minho frowned.
“That you like him like that.”
“Oh yeah,” Hyunjin said, bouncing on the couch slightly. “Spill the tea. This is so much better than this shitty rom com anyway.”
Minho groaned, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “Do you guys seriously think I’d answer that? How do I know I’m into a guy? That’s dumb.”
“It might help you process it,” Felix pointed out, and Minho loathed his logic. “If you’ve been bottling up every time he’s made your heart flutter, you’ll explode one day.”
Hyunjin snapped his fingers in agreement. “That’s true.”
“I think we should talk about you and Changbin,” Minho threw back at Hyunjin. “How many dates have you been on?”
“Just two, but they’ve both been really fun, and I think the sex is going to be— hey, we aren’t talking about me and Changbin right now!” Hyunjin turned red and smacked Minho with a crocheted pillow. “Don’t change the subject! Tell us what you like about Jisung.”
Minho rolled his eyes. “His face. His voice. His body. His personality. The end.”
“You’re so boring.” Hyunjin grabbed the remote to resume the shitty rom com.
Minho smiled to himself. A weight had lifted, even if other weights settled down in its place.
~
Minho was at 3RACHA’s apartment with Hyunjin when Sunny swung by before leaving for her weekend trip.
Hyunjin leaned against Changbin’s shoulder as they watched a video on a tablet, his long fingers tracing patterns over Changbin’s biceps. Chan played league on his laptop, and Minho sat like an idiot on the floor where he’d been locked in conversation with Jisung about whether you need to wash a potato before you peel it. Jisung had hurried off to help Sunny find her spare toothbrush in his bedroom before Minho could as much as blink.
When Jisung and Sunny returned from his room, they both wore giddy smiles, and their hands were entwined. She led him over to the front door, and then she kissed him, his fingers ghosting over her waist where her top rode up.
Minho looked at the floor. His stomach rolled, and a slow ache radiated through his chest.
“Bye, guys!” Sunny called, waving as she pulled open the door. Jisung’s hand was still in hers. “I’ll see you when I get back!”
“Bye, Sunny!” the boys responded with varied enthusiasm. Minho’s smile felt strained.
Before Jisung could return to the living room, Minho escaped to the bathroom to regain his composure. This was getting ridiculous. He needed to move on rather than have wishful conversations with Hyunjin and Felix. Just because Minho wasn’t happy in his relationship didn’t mean Jisung wasn’t happy in his.
When he walked out, Hyunjin stood there with his arms crossed and his lips puckered into a frown. “You okay?”
Minho scowled. “I was peeing.”
“Not what I asked.”
Minho avoided eye contact. “Yes, I am okay.”
Hyunjin patted Minho’s back and disappeared into the bathroom.
“Hyung!”
He spun around, and there was Jisung, socks slipping on hardwood, fluffy dark hair a mess. Minho tried to hold back his grin, but it was difficult when Jisung came to a halt in front of him with a cardboard box hugged to his chest and an excited gleam in his eyes.
“Hmm?” Minho used two hands to smooth down Jisung’s hair.
“I got my new keyboard in the mail. Do you wanna see?” Jisung bit his lower lip, swaying excitedly.
Fuck, Minho thought. He’s the cutest person on the planet. “Sure, you dork.”
Jisung bounded off to his room. Minho sat on the edge of Jisung’s bed while he plugged in the device, and when it emitted a multicolored glow that made the desk look like a spaceship, Jisung turned to Minho with an ear-to-ear grin that made Minho’s heart hammer.
“You’re cute,” Minho informed him. He had little else to say about a glowing keyboard.
Jisung scrunched up his nose and squinted at Minho like he’d insulted him. “Hey, this is serious business. Listen to how the keys clack when I type on them.”
“Your roommates are going to want to kill you when it’s two in the morning and your typing sounds like a machine gun.”
“Screw them! They’ll learn to love the rhythm of my keys!” Jisung tapped around on the keyboard, dancing along to its ridiculous clicking sound and accidentally pulling up a bunch of settings windows on his desktop. “Oh, fuck.”
Minho groaned and shook his head, but he wanted to humor the little nerd, so he came over to sit in Jisung’s gaming chair. “Can I try?”
“Yes!” Jisung pulled up a notepad on the desktop. Minho tried not to stare at the way his tongue poked out of his mouth, at the iridescent glow the keyboard cast over his shapely throat.
“What should I type?” Minho asked, hovering his fingers over the keyboard. He used only his index fingers to type out, Han Jisung is a nerdablergadergh.
“You type like a grandma,” Jisung snorted, grabbing the back of Minho’s chair and spinning him side to side. “Type with all your fingers, old man.”
“I can’t type if you’re spinning me, you little shit!”
Jisung giggled and continued to spin Minho, who typed absolute nonsense on the new keyboard until Chan appeared in the doorway, staring at them down his nose like they were his children who’d woken him from a nap.
“Do you want to go to the studio with me, Sung?” Chan asked when Jisung managed to quiet his squeaky laughter.
“Uh,” Jisung said, and lowered his hands to rest on Minho’s shoulders. “I kind of want to stay and hang out with Min. Do you want to work on my stuff, though? I can come if—”
“No, you’re good. Changbin and Hyunjin are going out and I wanted to hitch a ride with Binnie while I could.”
Minho lifted a finger from where he’d been holding down the ‘/’ key and noted, “I have to go to the Hub at 6:30, Sungie.”
“Oh,” Jisung said, and the disappointment in his voice made Minho want to pout. “Maybe I will go with you then, Chan hyung.”
“I can walk you to the studio when I walk to the Hub,” Minho offered. “Since they’re in the same direction.”
Jisung chuckled and started massaging Minho’s shoulders, as if he wasn’t thinking about it. “That works. Channie, I’ll meet you there around 6:30.”
“See you then, fools.”
That gave Jisung and Minho an hour, which Jisung spent trying to teach Minho the art of PC gaming. Minho repeatedly insisted he knew what he was doing while being blown up and killed over and over.
The way Jisung laughed until tears streaked down his cheeks made the embarrassment worth it.
As they walked to the Hub, Minho gave Jisung his leather jacket, since the idiot was underdressed for the breezy evening. Jisung had less meat on his bones anyway, so he got colder easier than Minho did.
He could’ve sworn he caught Jisung smelling the jacket as he curled his arms around himself, and the gesture made Minho’s cheeks flame.
“You seem happy,” Minho observed as they walked up the riverside.
Jisung’s eyes fluttered shut as a breeze ruffled his hair. “I am happy. Why’s that surprising?”
“Well.” Minho picked up a crumpled water bottle that danced against the concrete and tossed it in the nearest recycling bin. “Sunny is gone for the weekend, and I figured you’d miss her.”
“Oh.” For once Minho couldn’t read the way Jisung’s eyes clouded. “I will miss her. But...I don’t know.”
Minho waited, stifling a shiver when a cool breeze pierced his thin t-shirt.
Eventually Jisung said, “I love Sunny.” Minho’s stomach twisted. “But seeing her constantly can be, um, tiring. It’s nice to get time to myself every once in a while.”
“She has a big personality, that’s for sure.”
“Which I love! But she can step on my toes without meaning to sometimes,” Jisung mumbled, scratching his head and averting his eyes. “I think she just likes being around other people more than I do.”
“I see.” It was rare that Jisung admitted any unpleasantries about his relationship, so Minho responded carefully, scared of shutting down the topic by mistake. “Have you told her this?”
“That I like space? Sure.” He sighed. “But I can tell it upsets her when I set boundaries with her, and that’s the last thing I want to do.”
Minho arched an eyebrow. “If someone gets upset over a boundary you choose to set for your own mental health, then they’re not worth your time.”
Jisung looked up with round eyes, and Minho bit his tongue. He shouldn’t have spoken so harshly about Sunny, but he’d been holding that one in for a while. Jisung said, “I wouldn’t say she gets upset with me. She gets upset with herself for rubbing me the wrong way, you know?”
Minho paused, combed through his encyclopedia of appropriate responses, and once again settled on, “I see.”
There was a short silence before Jisung went on, “Although, I can see what you mean about that being...not the healthiest.”
Minho traced his wallet’s leather seams in his pocket. “If she expresses that she’s upset over you thinking of yourself first, that puts you in a weird position. Without meaning to, she’s asking you to choose between your needs and hers, and that isn’t a choice you should have to make.”
Jisung’s crooked smile showed his teeth on one side. “You’ve got a lot of relationship wisdom for someone who’s in such a terrible relationship.”
“Ha.” Minho smirked and ran his fingers back through his wind-tossed hair. “Being in shit relationships will give you wisdom, if nothing else.”
“How much longer till you’ll be able to leave him?”
“Little over two more months.” How much longer till you’ll be able to leave her?
“Damn.” They stopped on the sidewalk outside the studio, and Jisung’s smile was sympathetic. “Do you know where you’ll stay?”
“Not yet,” Minho said. “I’ll figure something out. Trinity’s offered her couch, till I can afford my own place. And Hyunjin and Felix offered theirs.”
“And I offered mine,” Jisung added, eyes crinkling.
“Right.” Minho allowed a fond grin. “I’m lucky I have good friends.”
“That’s right,” Jisung chirped boastfully, grabbing the door handle. “Thanks for walking me. Can we hang out tomorrow?”
Minho nodded, ignoring the full-circle logic that linked up in his brain. Jisung wanted time to himself this weekend, space, as he’d called it, and yet he’d asked Minho to hang out every day that Sunny was going to be away.
They were friends, Minho reminded himself. Rare friends.
“Okay, talk to you later hyung. Have a good shift.”
“Bye, Sungie.”
~
Minho came home to Yonghwa that night hyping himself up to have the conversation about Sunday. Yonghwa loved the Fourth of July. The summer before, Minho went with him and his friends to a day-long barbecue cookout, and it was a blast. Yonghwa told Minho a few weeks back about the same event happening this year.
But Minho wanted to be with 3RACHA watching fireworks and smoking weed instead. So it was time to clear the air.
“Hi,” Minho said. Yonghwa was pulling a baking sheet from the oven, which was about as rare as an eclipse, so Minho frowned. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Making pigs in a blanket.” Yonghwa looked up with a smile as he set the tray on the stovetop and turned off the oven. “It’s Independence weekend, baby!”
Minho grimaced. “Pigs in a blanket at one in the morning?”
“I’m in the mood for them.”
Minho wondered whether his good mood made it a better or worse time to drop bad news on him. He rested his hand on the counter, maintaining a careful distance from Yonghwa, and said, “So, I can’t come this weekend.”
Yonghwa began sliding a spatula beneath the crescent rolls. He didn’t as much as grunt to acknowledge Minho’s words.
Minho frowned, disliking the lengthy, immature silence. Was he misheard, or ignored? “I’m going to watch fireworks with my friends on Sunday, so I can’t come to the barbecue.”
Yonghwa finished transferring the rolls and turned to place the spatula in the sink. For several moments he extended the silence, and Minho stood awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Finally, Yonghwa said, “Minho, it’s the Fourth of July barbecue. It’s my favorite day of the year.”
Minho kept his chin held high. “I know. But I think you’ll have more fun without me anyways.”
“I can make that determination myself.” Hurt made Yonghwa’s voice unsteady as he turned to face Minho, his hands braced back on the counter. “I want you there, Min. Please come.”
Minho shook his head. “I have plans. I’m sorry.”
“We’ve had these plans for weeks.”
“You,” Minho corrected, “Have had these plans for weeks. I never agreed to come.”
Yonghwa’s brow crumpled like this was complete nonsense. “You’re my boyfriend. All the guys will expect to see you by my side, too. We’re a team, baby.”
Minho ground his teeth, wishing that this conversation could’ve ended minutes ago. He ignored the first flickers of fear and said, “I would rather hang out with my friends than deal with gang drama on a holiday.”
Yonghwa’s eyebrows shot up, and his teeth gleamed through an incredulous smirk. “That’s what you see this barbecue as? Gang drama?”
Minho shrugged. “I would rather not go.”
“You can’t just…” Yonghwa laughed, and the sound was cold, humorless. “Live here rent-free, ride my dick every couple of days, and get away with being a shit boyfriend, Minho. We should spend the fucking Fourth of July together if we’re a couple.”
“Oh,” Minho said, and a surge of adrenaline coiled around him, pushing his pulse to a steady throb. “So I’m the one who’s getting away with being a shit boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“ Me? After all the times you’ve pushed me to the ground, I’m the shit boyfriend?”
Yonghwa’s jaw clenched. “You know I can’t always control that, baby.”
“No,” Minho said sharply, the pitch of his voice jumping. Moisture beaded on his forehead. “You can. You’re not a fucking robot. You are responsible for your own choices just as much as I am. I am choosing not to come to this barbecue with you. Just like you’ve chosen it every single time you’ve laid a finger on me.”
“You’re making an unfair comparison.” Yonghwa ran both hands back through his hair, pushing his stringy bangs back into place. “You have no idea what it’s like, having this anger inside you, Min.”
“I know a thing or two about having anger inside me.” Minho kept himself grounded by gripping the countertop with one hand. “I’ve heard your excuses enough. It’ll be a less destructive holiday if we spend it apart.”
“So you think avoiding each other on my favorite day of the year is a good way to not destroy our relationship?”
Minho was an ugly second away from blurting I don’t give a shit about our relationship before he caught himself. “Yes, because in general when your work is involved and when you’re drinking, I get hurt. Sue me for trying to protect my own skin.”
“You always fucking pull this,” Yonghwa growled. His knuckles were white on the countertop. “Turning your nose up like you’re better than me because you don’t drink anymore.”
Minho couldn’t contain a sarcastic laugh. “I am better than you because I don’t hit my boyfriend.”
Yonghwa’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You provoke me. Constantly.”
“Maybe I do,” Minho said, shrugging, toeing the line between unbothered and sadistically proving a point. “But did you ever think that no matter what someone does to you, it’s not okay to beat them?”
“Minho.” Yonghwa’s thick shoulders rose and fell. “I don’t want to hurt you. I love you. I will always love you.”
Minho hated how quickly hot tears sprang to his eyes. “Then why do you do this to me?”
“I don’t know! I don’t want to! I just get so angry, I just can’t...I can’t stop myself! And it doesn’t help that you’re always poking me and prodding me and laughing at me!”
“You won’t succeed in turning this around on me,” Minho warned shakily.
“I’m not trying to, dammit!” Yonghwa’s voice caught in his throat. “I’m trying to explain myself!”
“Yonghwa,” Minho breathed, taking a few steps closer, despite his racing heart and wired instincts urging him to do the opposite. “You can’t have it both ways, baby. You can’t demand I behave a certain way when you’re incapable of controlling your own behavior. If you’re going to keep a tally for all the ways I’ve wronged you, throw it away. My tally is already longer than yours could be if we stayed together till we die. Don’t try to use our past as a weapon against me because I could kill you with the past you’ve put me through.”
“That,” Yonghwa said, his voice quiet and icy, “Sounded like a threat.”
Minho groaned, clutching at his hair and walking around in a circle. Adrenaline coursed through him so powerfully, he wasn’t sure if he was going to cry, break something, or vomit. “No, Yonghwa, I don’t threaten you. I don’t insult you. I don’t do shit. I just defend myself.”
“No,” Yonghwa snapped, and Minho flinched. “You don’t get to avoid all blame like you always fucking do. You treat me like shit and you know it.”
“Because you physically assault me, asshole!”
“Chicken or the egg.” Yonghwa rolled his eyes. “So then what was cheating on me? Was that defending yourself?”
Minho froze. He felt as though cool water was trickling down his neck. He swallowed the fear that clawed up his throat. “How did you know about that?”
Yonghwa’s smile was plastic, so fake it made goosebumps prickle Minho’s arms. “One of my guys saw you go home with someone else. What was it, about four or five months back?”
Minho shook his head, his palms sweating. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I didn’t believe it.” Yonghwa’s eyes shone with something eager. “But you just confirmed it.”
Minho closed his eyes, digging his nails into his palms. “It was a phase. I stopped. It’s just you now, I swear.”
Yonghwa barked out a laugh, and Minho jumped at the sound. “So you admit it, then? You fucking cheated on me?”
Minho wanted to curl up into a ball. “Yes,” he whispered.
“What was that?”
“Yes, Yonghwa! I did! I was depressed, a recovering alcoholic—”
“Oh, no,” Yonghwa laughed darkly. “You fucking hypocrite. Don’t say you didn’t choose that shit. You made the choice.”
“Are we going to have this argument?” Minho wanted to cry. He tried to keep on breathing, to keep his shoulders squared. He wanted Jisung’s arms around him. “Are we going to debate what’s worse, cheating or physical abuse?”
“You fucked someone else,” Yonghwa said, laughing, still white-knuckled against the counter. “Fuck, and I stood up for you when rumors were spreading. But you were getting dicked down behind my back. How many people was it? One? Two?”
Minho shook his head. He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t.
“More?”
“Shut up,” Minho whispered. “I told you I stopped. What do you want me to say?”
************START TW
“Tell me,” Yonghwa growled, pushing off the counter and inching forward. “That you’re my slut. That you don’t fucking see anyone but me. That you’re mine, and that that was a stupid fucking mistake and that you’re sorry for what an idiot you were.”
Minho’s mouth fell open. “Do I ask for you to admit you were wrong and that you’re a piece of shit every time you hurt me?”
“Damn near it!”
“I’m sorry I was unfaithful, Yonghwa. But I’m not gonna degrade myself by saying I’m your slut anywhere but the bedroom . Get yourself a hooker if that’s what you want.”
“As if you’d be able to stand it if I was fucking someone else.”
“As if.” Delirious courage built in Minho’s chest. “Like I’d care.”
“So you wouldn’t,” Yonghwa echoed, incredulous. “If I had my cock in someone else. You wouldn’t give a fuck.”
Minho looked him in the eyes and said, “I’m falling in love with someone else.”
Yonghwa’s anger skipped a beat. A rare, wounded vulnerability bled through his soft eyes. “What?”
Minho raised his eyebrows and said nothing.
Yonghwa lifted a fist to his own mouth, bit his knuckle, and then grabbed his own chin. “Say that again.”
Minho’s voice was steady as he said, “I’m falling in love with someone else.”
Yonghwa wound his arm back and punched Minho so hard on the nose that he flew backwards into the fridge.
Minho yelped, his head cracking against the fridge handle. When he remembered to inhale, a gush of blood poured from his nose, dripping hot and sticky down his chin. His head ached, deep and loud, a clanging filling the inside of his skull.
Yonghwa’s hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him forward, slamming him back into the fridge again. Minho gasped, his neck and head pounding, stars swimming in his vision. “Yonghwa,” he cried out, fighting just to stay on his feet. “Please, stop, stop.”
“You piece of shit,” Yonghwa ground out, and Minho realized his boyfriend was crying. Then he threw Minho to the floor, who barely managed to catch himself before his head collided with the tile. “Did you really just say that to my face?”
Minho didn’t respond. He curled up there and took it. He really had just said that to Yonghwa’s face.
Maybe he knew exactly what he was doing when he’d done so.
The kicks came down hard and fast against Minho’s ribs. Minho stopped screaming out after a while, even though he had to bite down on his lip to stop himself; he didn’t want to give Yonghwa the satisfaction. The pain was sharp, each impact of Yonghwa’s sneakers like stab wounds against Minho’s skin. He lost track of time. He grew uncertain as to whether this was really happening or he’d wandered into a psychedelic nightmare.
Minho felt like a piece of shit. A heap of trash on the street to be stomped on and ignored. He felt like nothing. He felt like he was about to split open and bleed out onto the floor.
Eventually Yonghwa swept from the apartment without a word, leaving Minho there in a fetal position on the kitchen tile. As soon as the physical blows let up, the throbbing pain from each mark settled into one encompassing, cohesive burn, aching so deeply beneath Minho’s skin that he worried he wouldn’t be able to move. When he managed to sit up, all his muscles screamed in protest, his abused skin pulsating against the cool floor.
**********END TW
He noticed Soonie padding over to him, and he burst into tears. He held out his arms, and the cat’s gentle weight in his lap was enough to elicit an ache in his thighs.
He didn’t let himself cry for long. He eased Soonie from his legs and retrieved his phone from the counter, wincing through a rush of dizziness. Hyunjin was always asleep at this hour. Trinity was out of town.
He called Jisung.
“Hey,” Jisung answered, and Minho started sobbing again, managing only through sheer power of will to keep the sounds behind closed lips. “I was just gonna text you and tell you, I saw the prettiest coyote on the way home tonight!”
“Um.” Minho swallowed.
Jisung’s tone changed before Minho could speak another word. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“No,” Minho whispered. "Not okay."
“Want me to come get you?”
“Yes, please.”
“You’re at home?” Jisung’s voice was surprisingly calm.
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
This was too long for Minho. Fear and pain ripped into him, their weight nearly easing him back to the ground. So much pain resonated deep in his body, and he felt violated, like he’d been fucked until he was broken. He was broken. He was broken.
So he dug into Yonghwa’s cabinet and retrieved a handle of spiced rum, and then he started chugging it, chasing the immediate warmth that dulled his pain. He wasn’t sure how long he mindlessly drank, pounding back liquor and trembling at the burn as it slid down his throat, until he cried out and threw the handle in the sink, stumbling backwards until he hit the counter.
“Fuck,” he hissed, wiping the blood from his nose. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
His fingers shook so violently that he could hardly compose a text to Jisung. He told him he needed to run somewhere, so he’d run to Jisung’s apartment instead.
Jisung called Minho several times after that, but Minho ignored them all. Instead he went to the bathroom to clean the blood from his nose.
When he saw his reflection, he gagged, barely managing to keep the spiced rum in the unsteady containment of his stomach. His nose was bruised and swollen, but the worst damage was done to the rest of him. Colorful bruises bloomed beneath the hollow of his throat, and when Minho lifted his shirt, his vision blurred with tears. He looked like he’d been run over by a car, so many red and purple marks covered his ribs.
His mouth tasted like rum, his head pounded so violently he could hardly stay upright, and his entire body ached with fresh bruises. So Minho pulled on a sweatshirt, a mask, and a hat, and sprinted out into the midnight streets.
~
Notes:
T.T
let me know what you thought loves see u Thursday!
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 8
Summary:
Jisung tried to keep his eyes on Minho’s face, but the bruises were too obvious to ignore. From the neck down, he was covered in blotches of angry red. The worst ones were at his ribs, though his chest and arms were not much better. Jisung had never experienced much worse than a bruised knee, and he couldn’t imagine the pain Minho was feeling.
Notes:
I humbly think this chapter is iconic even though it is my own....what can i say I love some 'platonic' nude sexual tension
The trigger warnings from the previous chapter kind of roll over, since Minho is dealing with the trauma of what he went through - but Yonghwa does not appear, and no more assault happens.
Enjoy !
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
viii. jisung
After he received an ominous, uncharacteristically misspelled text from Minho, Jisung debated whether this situation warranted calling the police. Changbin was asleep, his car keys somewhere in his room with him. Chan was at the studio. Trinity, who would’ve been the biggest help in a scenario like this, was out of town.
Jisung paced around his living room and tried not to pull his hair out of his head. It was well past one in the morning, but he’d never been more awake in his life. His sweaty hands shivered as they clutched his phone, and his breaths came in shallow gasps. His fingers were freezing. He kind of felt like if he paced around like this for much longer he’d pass out, but sitting still was far worse. He needed to move. But Changbin’s fucking car keys were in his room, and Jisung didn’t know where Minho was anyway.
He tried not to think about what might’ve happened to Minho. Unleashing the worst case scenarios did nothing good for his overactive imagination. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Minho wouldn’t call on the brink of tears unless this were the case.
Thinking of Minho—ever calm, snarky, confident, gentle-hearted Minho—scared and alone in the night somewhere made Jisung feel like his peaceful world was slipping between his fingers where he had no control over it.
He pressed Minho’s contact for the fifth time and flailed his free wrist like he was trying to fling his hand across the room. “Come on, come on,” he muttered. “Pick up, Minho.”
When it went to voicemail, Jisung decided to call Chan. This was no longer a situation he could bear alone. Chan answered on the third ring with a tired, “What’s up, Jisungie?”
“Hyung,” Jisung said, sucking in a frantic lungful of air when he realized how high pitched his voice came out. “Minho called me saying he’s at his apartment but he’s not okay and that he needs me to pick him up, and then he texted me saying he needs to run somewhere so he’ll run to our apartment. What do I do? Do I wait here, should I take Bin’s car and go get him, or…”
“Is Changbin awake?”
“No, and his keys aren’t out here either.”
Chan was silent for a moment before he asked, “How long ago did you get the text?”
“Um.” Jisung wiped away the sheen of face oil from his screen and opened his messaging app with clumsy, trembling fingers. “Um, seventeen minutes ago.”
“Give him fifteen more minutes,” Chan suggested. “If he’s not at our place by...let’s see, ten till two? Then get Bin’s car and come get me, and we’ll find him together. Okay?”
“Okay,” Jisung said, throwing a hand over his sweaty forehead. “Thank you.”
“Sure. Text me if he gets there or not.”
“Okay. Bye, hyung.”
After Chan hung up, Jisung considered rolling himself a joint, but he feared Minho would show up in a crisis and he’d be too high to assist him. So he sat there, sitting on his icy cold hands to keep from fiddling with them, for fifteen long minutes.
Just when Jisung decided to get Changbin’s car keys, a knock sounded on the front door. He tripped over his own feet in his haste to get there and threw the door open.
Minho stood with his sweatshirt sleeves pulled down past his fingers. He wore a black face mask, a hood, and a beanie, and he smelled so strongly of booze Jisung took an instinctive step backwards.
“Hyung.” Jisung tried to read the utter vacancy in Minho’s eyes. “You smell like liquor.”
“Sorry,” Minho said, voice fragile. “Didn’t have time to brush my teeth.”
“Shut up. Come in. God, I was worried. Why would you run here, Minho? At 1:30 in the morning?”
Minho shrugged. His shoulders sagged as he shuffled inside and collapsed onto the couch.
Jisung’s mind still whirled, though less wildly now that Minho was there. He was aware that Minho was covering something up. Wearing a face mask, hat, and sweatshirt in the middle of summer was hardly a subtle disguise. But he was afraid of the damage he’d see if he asked.
It wasn’t about him, though. Minho needed someone to ask the right questions. So Jisung sat on the couch at Minho’s feet, who was curled up into a protective ball with chin atop his knees.
Because he knew he’d forget if he didn’t now, he texted Chan to tell him Minho made it to their apartment. Then he reached out to lay a hand on Minho’s arm.
And Minho flinched away from the contact.
Acidity lurched in Jisung’s stomach when he realized.
“Hey,” Jisung said, pouring all his effort into keeping his voice calm. “What happened, hyung?”
Minho didn’t move, save for his shoulders rising and falling.
“Minho. Can you take your mask off, please?”
“My cats,” Minho whimpered, so faintly Jisung almost didn’t catch it.
“What?”
“My cats are in my apartment.” He lifted his head, and the hood fell away, revealing bloodshot, unseeing eyes. A short laugh escaped his chest. “My cats are in my apartment.”
Jisung didn’t know what to say. He licked his lips and asked, “Do you want to go get them? I can drive.”
Minho shook his head. Tears sparkled in his eyes, and Jisung’s chest ached for him. “I don’t want to go back there.”
“Are you worried they’re gonna get hurt?”
Minho didn’t blink, much less respond.
“Can you take your mask off?” Jisung whispered. “Please? I want to help you.”
“I shouldn’t have come here.” Minho moved to stand, but Jisung grabbed a hold of his ankle before he could do so. “Let me go, Jisung.”
“Stop. You’re safe here, Min. You’re safe now.”
“My cats,” he said, louder now, and collapsed back onto the couch. He hid his face in his hands and laughed again. The sound was strained, humorless. “Ha, ha, ha...my cats are in my apartment…”
“Minho,” Jisung said, unable to conceal the shakiness in his voice. “Take a moment. Breathe. I’m going to get you some water, okay?”
“Stop trying to get me to take my mask off!”
“I’m not. You’ve been drinking and running and you need water.”
Minho didn’t argue. He gazed emptily at his overhanging sweatshirt sleeves.
Jisung returned with a glass of water and found Minho frozen where he’d left him, rigid and staring downward. Jisung sat across from him and said, “Would you feel better if I left you alone?”
Minho’s eyes slid up to meet his. His dark stare exhibited such raw fear that Jisung had to fight back tears just from looking at him. “No,” Minho whispered. “Please stay.”
“Okay. Of course, I’ll stay. Here, baby. Drink.”
He hadn’t meant to use that word, but neither of them commented on it, and it felt like the right thing to say. Minho wriggled a hand free of his sleeve to access his mask straps, and Jisung was relieved to see his knuckles, fingers, and wrist all looked unscathed.
When he lowered the mask, Jisung tensed.
A thin cut split across the bridge of Minho’s nose, which was swollen, bruised, and caked with dried blood.
Jisung wasn’t sure how he’d imagined himself reacting, but he hadn’t expected to calmly hand over the glass of water. His head remained empty, and he kept his face composed. He’d expected this the moment Minho called him. Hell, he’d expected this weeks ago.
And Minho didn’t need him to get angry right now. Minho needed someone steady, and Jisung would do his best to be that person for him.
“No!” Jisung pouted as Minho sipped the water. “Not your statuesque nose bridge!”
Minho glared at him, but his eyes crinkled around the edges.
“Has he done this to you before?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
Jisung gritted his teeth, attempting to squash a surge of fear and anger. “Fucking asshole.”
“Never this bad before.” Minho grimaced, tenderly holding onto his side as he maneuvered to a more comfortable position. “I kind of feel like I’m gonna pass out,” he admitted, laughing weakly.
“What...what can I do?” Desperation returned to Jisung’s voice.
“Uh.” Minho wiped his brow with his sleeve. “Your shower has a tub, right?”
Jisung frowned. He was struggling to combat the urge to collect Minho in his arms and hold him close because he knew Minho didn’t feel like being touched. “Yeah. Do you want to take a bath?”
“That might help. Maybe weed. I’d take painkillers if I hadn’t chugged a quarter of a handle.” He took a trembling breath, and Jisung could tell Minho was working hard to keep the panic away.
“Okay, let’s go get you a warm bath and some comfy clothes,” Jisung said. “You can have my bed tonight.”
“Cold.”
“What?”
Minho avoided Jisung’s eyes and swung his legs over the side of the couch. “Nevermind, I’ll do it.”
Jisung caught his ankle again, and Minho met his eyes like a teenager on the brink of storming out. Ignoring the ensuing pang of dread, Jisung asked, “You want to sit in a cold bath?”
“I need the swelling in my ribs to go down.”
“Your ribs?” Jisung echoed. More anger tangled in the back of his throat. “It wasn’t just your nose?”
Minho sighed, groaned on the exhale. “Must you ask questions?”
“Yes,” Jisung said sharply. “Yes, I must. Because you just stumbled into my apartment drunk and banged up after six months sober when I know you live with an abusive asshole.”
“Well, why do you need to know more than that?”
“I want to help you,” Jisung shot back, hysteria tightening his neck. “Because you deserve better than this. You deserve to be taken care of. I care about you and I want to be a safe space for you. Please.”
Minho softened. He took Jisung’s hands, who flinched at how hot his skin felt. “You are,” Minho said firmly, rubbing his thumbs over Jisung’s knuckles. “You are, Sungie.”
“You’re burning up,” Jisung whispered, wiping an escaped tear with his shoulder, hopefully before Minho noticed. “I’ll run the tub.”
Minho didn’t let go of Jisung’s hand. He trailed after Jisung for a few steps, but then he groaned aloud, doubling over. Jisung was upon him in a second.
“Jesus,” Jisung whispered, his hands hovering. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“Can’t afford a hospital.” Minho straightened, pale and tight-jawed, and Jisung’s heart broke when more tears sparkled in his eyes. “It just fucking hurts. Fuck, my cats are in my apartment.” He covered his face with both hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Shhh. Come here, hyung. Come here.”
Minho resisted at first, stiffening when Jisung’s arms snaked around his waist, but then he leaned against Jisung’s chest and shook like a dried plant. Jisung rested his arms tentatively around Minho’s hips, asking, “Am I hurting you?”
Minho shook his head, his hair messing up against Jisung’s chin.
There was a beat of silence, and then Minho burst into tears.
He clutched Jisung’s waist tightly and sobbed, his back heaving underneath Jisung’s careful hands, and Jisung couldn’t go five seconds before his own tears escaped. Minho unraveled against him, crying softly and hiding his face in Jisung’s neck, and Jisung was scared. He was scared of what could make such a strong person break down like this.
“I got you,” Jisung whispered around his tears. “I got you, Minho.”
Minho hiccuped and let out an ambiguous laugh-sob. “I hate him. I fucking hate his guts. I should’ve killed him.”
“There’s still time for that.”
Minho chuckled weakly. Jisung could feel damp tears where Minho’s cheek was pressed to the hollow of his throat. He rubbed his palm up Minho’s back with as gentle a touch as he could manage, and Minho went slack against him. He convulsed through his tears every couple of seconds, but eventually his breathing steadied.
“Minho.” Jisung pulled his arms away and took Minho’s hands instead. Minho’s gaze stayed stubbornly downward. “Can you look at me?”
Minho did. Puffiness made his usual intense, feline eyes exhausted and vulnerable.
“Please tell me why I can’t call the police on him,” Jisung said. “Or I will.”
He tried not to say it like a threat, but Minho flinched like he had. Jisung hurried to say, “I won’t judge you, no matter what the reason is or...or whatever. I just know that Yonghwa hurt you, and I see no reason not to call the police. So please give me one.”
Minho nodded, his lip caught between his teeth. A broken laugh made his shoulders bob up and down. “I get it.”
Jisung squeezed his hands encouragingly.
“Can we do the bath first,” Minho mumbled, releasing Jisung’s hands to wrap his arms around himself. “This just...is a lot.”
“Sure,” Jisung conceded, though he filed his ultimatum away for a later conversation. “I’ll show you how to run the tub. Do you want ice?”
“Ahhhh,” Minho chuckled. “If you have any. God, that sounds awful.”
“I think it’ll help ease the pain, though. Should we google it?”
“Probably.”
The internet helped them determine an ice bath wasn’t a bad idea, so Jisung added what little ice they had in the freezer to the filling basin. Minho, still fully clothed, dunked a toe in the water and wrinkled his nose. “This is going to suck,” he said, grinning and pulling his beanie off. He ran his fingers through his hair, raking the faded blue bangs back from his forehead, and Jisung couldn’t believe he was still so handsome with teary eyes and a swollen nose.
Minho folded his arms over his torso, fiddling with his shirt, and looked at Jisung expectantly.
“Oh,” Jisung said, realizing what Minho meant and moving for the door. “Sorry. I’ll roll a joint. You should eat, too. What sounds good?”
Minho snickered and said, “You say that like there’s any food in this house other than ramen and popcorn.”
“And...and eggs. I could scramble some eggs. I think I know how.” Jisung flushed, wishing he was a better caregiver. “Or maybe ramen with eggs in it?”
“That sounds good.” Minho’s voice was a timid, feathery whisper, and he avoided Jisung’s eyes. “Thanks.”
“Course. I’ll, um, give you privacy.”
Jisung surprised himself by remaining calm as he boiled the water and began the process of rolling a joint. He felt relieved, even happy, knowing that Minho was here where he could take care of him. It made him feel warm to know Minho had felt comfortable turning to him after something so horrible, and Jisung clung to that warmth.
It was easier than dwelling on the terrifying fact that Minho was beaten so severely that he needed to lay in a goddamn tub of ice water to numb the pain.
Jisung knocked on the bathroom door with a bowl of ramen in one hand and a fresh joint in the other. Minho sounded like he was being squeezed to death when he grunted, “Come in.”
Minho lay with his head craned back against the shower wall, his eyes screwed shut and his lips parted, his knees halfway curled to his chest.
Jisung tried to keep his eyes on Minho’s face, but the bruises were too obvious to ignore. From the neck down, he was covered in blotches of angry red. The worst ones were at his ribs, though his chest and arms were not much better. Jisung had never experienced much worse than a bruised knee, and he couldn’t imagine the pain Minho was feeling. Much less the pain he’d felt when these were inflicted. His stomach tightened when he imagined how much someone would’ve had to pound on him to leave these marks...had he been kicked? Dropped to the floor and stepped on like a piece of trash? Anger made Jisung’s jaw clench. Yonghwa was a fucking psychopath.
“Jisung.” Minho’s voice pulled him from his daze, and he realized he’d been staring at the pattern of red marks on Minho’s chest.
“Sorry,” Jisung mumbled, chin tensed. Don’t cry, Jisung. “It looks painful.”
“This is helping.” Minho let his head fall back again. “Making my headache worse, though.”
“Keep drinking water.” Jisung settled on the ground with his back to all the parts Minho wouldn’t want him to see. He placed the glass of water and the bowl of ramen gingerly on the edge of the tub.
Minho hummed but didn’t move. He sat with his neck craned to one side, goosebumps prickling over his naked chest. With a swollen nose, messy hair, dark bruises covering his pale skin, and long lashes fluttering against his cheeks, Jisung was sure he’d never seen Minho so vulnerable. His tongue felt heavy at the sight of him. Even like this, while suffering and upset, Minho was strong. Jisung thought he was beautiful.
He chastised himself for this, reasoning that it was fucked up to think someone was beautiful when they were covered in bruises. He realigned his thoughts by producing a lighter from his pocket. “Want to smoke?”
Minho nodded. “Split it?”
“Sure.”
Jisung puffed on the joint until he got a burn going and passed it over to Minho, who’d halfheartedly dried his damp hands in his hair. “Do you still feel drunk?”
“Not really. If the run over hadn’t sobered me up, getting in a tub of ice water did.” He sounded like the air was being forced from his lungs as he spoke, though he managed a weak grin. His lips were dry and cracked. “Fucking stupid of me to break my six months. With Captain Morgan, of all things.”
“I guess,” Jisung said slowly, watching as Minho took a slow inhale of the joint.
Minho thunked his head back against the wall and winced. “It’s taking a lot out of me not to ask you if there’s any booze in this house right now. I want it. My body wants it so fucking bad.” He rolled his eyes, as though his body was his stubborn child. “It gets harder when something hurts.”
“Mentally or physically?”
“Yes.”
“What hurts the most right now?”
Minho opened one eye. “My balls. They jumped right the fuck up back into my body.”
Jisung shrieked out a laugh, slapping a hand over his mouth when he remembered Changbin across the hall. “That doesn’t sound fun.”
“Although,” Minho sighed, “Probably my head hurts the most. I’m a bit numb from the chest down now.”
“Your body is resilient,” Jisung said. “It will heal.”
Minho nodded, sloshing around in the water so he could maneuver closer to the bowl of ramen. “It’s scary,” he said, lifting the chopsticks. “Because I know I’m not processing any of this. I should be freaking out more.”
“I mean…” Jisung exhaled a puff of smoke. “I think your instincts are in the right place. You called me, you came here, you sought help. That’s huge, Minho. I’m proud of you for doing that.”
Minho made a face at him around a mouthful of ramen.
“And you do seem a lot calmer now,” Jisung went on. “I’d say that’s a good thing.”
“I hope so,” Minho said, focusing dazedly on the bathroom door. Jisung’s eyes lingered on the harsh red marks that followed the curve of Minho’s waist. “You keep staring,” Minho noted.
“I’m sorry,” Jisung mumbled. “They just look so painful.”
“My eyes are up here.”
Jisung glared at him, and half of Minho’s mouth pulled up into a mocking smile before he asked, “Is it because I’m bruised or because I’m naked?”
“I mean.” Jisung could’ve responded in plenty of clever ways. He could’ve made him laugh, like Minho probably expected. But instead he said, “Both, I guess.”
“I guess I’ve become a train wreck who’s impossible to look away from.”
“It’s not just because you’re a train wreck,” Jisung said, grinning and plucking the joint from Minho’s fingers. “You’re also really handsome. Best of both worlds.”
He expected Minho to laugh, to feign offense at being called a train wreck maybe, but instead little patches of red glowed on the tips of Minho’s ears. He looked at Jisung’s chest and mumbled, “Shut up. I look like a mess.”
Jisung shook his head, embracing a moment of seriousness when he imagined how exposed and insecure Minho must feel. So, tentatively, Jisung told him, “I don’t think anything could change how handsome you are, hyung.”
Minho glowered at him like he’d just spit in his ramen. “I’m a concussed, banged up, balls-sucked-back-up-into-my-body hot mess.”
Jisung laughed. “ Hot mess.”
Minho’s glare softened, and he focused intently on retrieving the joint. “I see your mind won’t be changed.”
“For someone so confident, you’re pretty shit at taking compliments.”
Minho shrugged. “Can’t win em all.”
Jisung propped his cheek up on the edge of the tub by Minho’s shoulder and smiled, his eyes fluttering shut. They were close to hotboxing the bathroom, and Jisung worried that the smell would wake up Changbin.
“The worst part of this,” Minho said, pulling Jisung from his redundant worries, “Is that I can’t work.”
Jisung lifted his head. “That’s the worst part of this, Minho?”
“In the long run, yes. I’m a stripper. I can’t exactly make money by taking my clothes off when my naked body is gonna be bruised for the next few weeks. When I’m not stripping I’m dancing at the studio, and that’s gonna be painful as fuck for a while too. And I need an income. Badly.” A rigidness returned to Minho’s body, and he rolled onto his back again, lifting damp, shivering arms from the water to hug himself.
“You can stay here for two weeks,” Jisung offered. “And I mean, your boss is Trinity. It’s not like she won’t understand.”
“It’s not about keeping my job. I need money so I can move the fuck out of Yonghwa’s apartment and get him off my ass.” Minho’s teeth started to chatter.
“Do you want to call it quits on the ice bath?” Jisung asked, but then caught on to the more pressing issue. “Wait, you’re going back to Yonghwa’s apartment?”
Minho’s indigo lips pursed. “No. I can’t. I’m done with him.”
Jisung blinked, shocked by the statement after months of Minho insisting their relationship’s end was unachievable. “You broke up?”
“No, but I’ll do it next time I see him.” Minho’s face was too impassive for such an admission. “He can’t pull this shit and expect me to stick around. My life might be hell because of it, but I’m not gonna subject myself to this anymore. He can throw all the tantrums he wants.”
“How is he going to make your life hell if you leave him?” Jisung asked the question in a high, exaggerated drawl to accentuate his own bewilderment. “Why can’t you just leave and pay him back with like, checks in the mail or something? Dropping off cash at his apartment every month?”
“That’s what I’ll do. But if I’m not under his roof where he can control me, he’ll do what he can to fuck my life up. I know that for a fact.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s told me,” Mino said with a bitter laugh. “He’s told me that I know too much. It’s not like I’ve never tried to break up with him before. The last time I did, he said he’d…” He stopped himself suddenly, rubbing his hands up and down his goosebump-covered shoulders.
“You can tell me,” Jisung hedged. The truth was so close, he could almost see it on the tip of Minho’s tongue.
“I don’t want to,” he mumbled.
“Why not?” Jisung was sure to keep any indications of impatience from his voice.
Minho carded his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “It’s not because I don’t trust you. If that’s what you think. It’s because I don’t want you involved. People who know too much about Yonghwa end up in deep shit.”
“No one will know that I know except the two of us,” Jisung pointed out, although a trace of fear settled in his bones.
Minho glanced Jisung’s way, and the walls crumbled. Jisung watched them fall. “You really want to know?” Minho asked.
“Yes.”
Minho nodded, and he braced his forearms on the edges of the tub. “I’m gonna get out of here first.”
Jisung scrambled for the door in a whirl of limbs and weed smoke. “I have a hoodie and sweatpants that I’ll throw in the dryer for ten minutes and give to you.”
“Jisung, you don’t—”
Jisung ignored him, already halfway to his room.
Ten minutes later, Minho and Jisung returned to the couch. Jisung was stoned, likely too stoned to respond appropriately to a conversation as serious as the one they were about to have, but the high also lessened his nerves.
Minho’s teeth chattered as he pulled Jisung’s green hoodie sleeves down over his fingertips. He looked so small, drowning in bulky clothes and a bundle of thick blankets, and Jisung could see exhaustion dulling the spark in his eyes. Minho had been through a lot tonight, and Jisung didn’t want to push him past his capacity.
“We don’t have to talk about this tonight,” Jisung said. “We can wait till tomorrow. It’s been a long night for you, and you probably need sleep.”
Minho shook his head, his teeth still chattering. “I want to tell you.”
Jisung took a hold of Minho’s sleeves and slid his own hands inside them, where Minho’s fingers felt like icicles. “Can I?” Jisung asked, his fingertips brushing Minho’s.
Minho didn’t comment, but he laced their fingers and moistened his lips. “I haven’t talked about this in a while,” he said, his voice a quiet mumble. “I’m sorry if I get…”
When he trailed off, Jisung hurried to say, “I know. It’s okay.”
Minho looked down at their joined hands for a few breaths, unblinking, lost in thought. Then he said, “When I was a teenager, my grandma had cancer.”
Jisung swallowed. Here we go. He wondered if he should’ve placed a box of tissues nearby.
“She was my mom’s mom,” he went on, and his fingers twitched against Jisung’s. His icy palms were beginning to warm. “I’ve never met my dad’s parents. He didn’t get along with them, and they live in Korea still. Neither of my parents had siblings. Grandma was my only family, my whole life.”
Jisung nodded. He stroked his thumbs over Minho’s hands.
“It became my responsibility to take care of her,” Minho said. He kept his chin ducked as he spoke, eyes glued to Jisung’s chest. “I think she was diagnosed my sophomore year in high school. So I didn’t go to college, or anything...not that we could’ve afforded it anyway...so I could look after her.”
“How old was she?” Jisung asked.
“She died at 74.” Minho sagged against the back of the couch. The sweatshirt hood fell over his eyes, and he released Jisung’s hand to brush it away from his face before wriggling his sleeve back around Jisung’s hand and lacing their fingers again. “She and I were really close.. She put me in dance class when I was five.” A tiny smile pulled at his mouth, and his eyes softened. Jisung didn’t really think before slipping his hands further up Minho’s sleeve and loosely gripping his forearms. Minho’s cold skin felt soothing against the hot pulse point in Jisung’s wrist. “She and I danced together sometimes. We’d put folk music on in the living room and she’d play the guitar and I’d sing. Sometimes we’d just dance and laugh, and make fools out of ourselves for hours.”
Jisung smiled, too.
“She was always supportive of me. When I brought guys around to meet her, she’d learn their favorite food and make it for them if they stayed for dinner. She’d ruffle their hair when she walked past and comment on what a good head of hair they had.” Minho giggled. “She always wanted what was best for me, you know?”
“Sounds like she was a great person.”
“She was.” He lifted fearful, sad dark eyes to meet Jisung’s before averting them back to his chest. “When she died…”
Minho was quiet for several moments, his weary frame propped against the couch cushions. Jisung cupped his hands around Minho’s chilly elbows, and Minho’s fingers curled around Jisung’s in response.
“When she died,” Minho said again, “I guess I got...lost. The next few months after she died, I don’t remember much at all. Huge gaps of time are missing. I was pretty depressed in the months leading up to her death, too, but I held it in because I wanted to be strong for her. I wanted her to think I was independent and that I’d be okay on my own.”
Jisung hummed to show he was listening.
“But then I just broke.” Minho closed in on himself, posture slackening. “I inherited her money, not that there was much, and an apartment to live in on my own. It didn’t take me longer than a month to blow through most of what I had on drugs and alcohol. I lost my job. I lost everything.” He lifted feline eyes to look into Jisung’s when he muttered, “I was on the streets. For a little under three months.”
Jisung’s mouth fell open, then he remembered to slam it shut. “You were homeless? For three months?”
Minho nodded, no warmth in his sarcastic smile. “My grandma died on August 13th, and I was homeless September, October, and November of that same year.”
Jisung’s mind spun. When Minho was his age, twenty, he’d lived on the streets. How was Jisung just learning about this now? How was Minho so unbothered and calm and fine all the time when this was what he’d been through?
He was beginning to understand why money played such a huge role in Minho’s life.
“Being homeless wasn’t so bad for a while,” Minho went on, and he even grinned when Jisung pinned him with a judgmental stare. “I mean, of course it was awful. But I’ve always been kind of a minimalist, when it comes to possessions. And being outside all the time was good for my mental state after being cooped up in my grandma’s apartment. Plus I met Soonie that first month I was on the streets.”
“So you liked it?” Jisung asked, incredulous.
“Well, no. I was addicted to drugs and alcohol, and most of what little money I made from begging went straight to that. But it usually wasn’t enough, so the withdrawals…” Minho shuddered. “Anyway. No, I did not like it. I thought I was going to die. I was homeless and starving. And an addict. I just felt sort of like...I had nothing to lose, you know? And for the first couple of weeks, I liked that feeling. There’s a fine line between being completely vulnerable and totally invincible.”
Jisung was surprised to feel like he understood. “What sort of drugs?” he asked.
“Oxycodone, mostly. It was what my grandma was on while she was dying. I drank more than I used, though.”
“Jesus,” Jisung whispered. He didn’t want to contemplate how sick and malnourished and scared Minho must’ve felt back then. “You’ve come a long way in two years, I guess.”
“Have I, though?”
“Yes.” Jisung slid his hands back down Minho’s smooth forearms so he could lace their fingers again. “Of course you have.”
“I pounded a quarter of a handle like it was water tonight.” Minho’s smile didn’t touch his eyes.
“It was a slip. It doesn’t mean you’re back to square one, Minho.”
He nodded. His palms were toasty warm against Jisung’s now. “Maybe. Anyway.”
Jisung wanted to argue more, to pull Minho away from that headspace, but he held his tongue when it became clear Minho didn’t want to linger on the subject.
“So it was around Thanksgiving. I was starving and having withdrawals and living off scraps.” Minho blinked slowly, moistened his lips again. Jisung could tell he was getting sleepy. “That’s when I met Yonghwa.”
Oh, right. Yonghwa. Jisung kept quiet, curiosity peaking.
“We met at a bar, one night when I’d saved up enough to get drunk at an actual establishment. I needed somebody, and he loves when people depend on him. He was completely enamored with me, at first.” Something fond crinkled the corners of Minho’s eyes, and Jisung’s stomach churned at the thought of Minho still having lingering love for the asshole who beat him. “When we first met, it was amazing. Best couple of months of my life. I felt desired, and he’d shower me with gifts. Money, food, clothes, later a place for me and Soonie to stay. Later another cat. But most of all?” Minho sneered. “Drugs. He basically funded my addiction for six months.”
“Instead of, like,” Jisung said, “Paying to get you rehabilitation or therapy or something.”
“He actually did,” Minho chuckled. “He paid for my rehab last year. I think he did it out of guilt, though, not actual concern for me.”
“How does Yonghwa have so much money?” Jisung asked with a frown. “He can’t be that much older than you, right?”
“Oh.” Minho grimaced. “He’s 27. Five years older than me. He’s, um, a drug lord. He’s the leader of a pretty prevalent gang.”
Jisung’s jaw, once again, dropped. “You’re dating a gang leader?”
“Well, he’s one of the leaders. A co-leader, if you will. Um. But yes, he’s involved in some sketchy shit.”
Jisung’s organs felt like they were at his feet. Every detail he learned about Minho’s life made him more and more baffled as to how Minho was sitting here, calm and collected.
“Well,” Jisung said, managing a dry grin. “I think it’s safe to say you have terrible taste in men.”
Minho’s eyes glimmered as they traced Jisung’s face. “I swear, he was a catch at first. It wasn’t till a few months in that he became really, overtly abusive. Financially, mostly. And emotionally. He didn’t hit me for the first time until about six months ago.”
“You said you’ve tried to leave him before,” Jisung remembered.
“Ah, yeah. The first time he hit me I tried to leave.” Minho scowled, and Jisung was happy to see some familiar vigor returning to his eyes. “He basically threw in my face an exact calculation of how much money I owed him. From the rehab, drugs, liquor, clothes, all that. Of course he held the amount of information I know over my head, since I do a lot of accounting for his sales. He said if I left him, he’d send guys after me to trail me all the time, to jump me if I stepped out of line, to bait me into staying involved with his organization.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Jisung’s eyebrows soared. “That’s his idea of love? Blackmailing you and physically threatening you into staying in his life?”
“I think he’s basically seen me as his pet for the bulk of our relationship,” Minho said, so casually he might’ve been reading a grocery list. The words made Jisung feel sick to his stomach. “Someone who he takes care of and feeds and fucks, but not someone he sees as his equal.”
“You kept sleeping with him?” Jisung asked, unable to mask his curiosity. “Up until the end?”
Minho shrugged again, smirking. “The sex was good. Hate sex can be good.”
“Oh,” Jisung mumbled. His cheeks felt warm, and he peeled his hands from Minho’s to press to his own face.
Minho laughed. “Plus if I didn’t fuck him, he’d probably just force himself on me anyways.”
Jisung’s heart lurched. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s not,” Minho said firmly. “But it’s easier to deal with if I laugh at it.”
Jisung understood this logic. “So now,” he said, “You’re going to leave, and he’s gonna send minions after you to jump you and take your money?”
“Yeah,” Minho said, chuckling weakly. “Unless he’s all talk. But he’ll try and find me, for sure. I was basically a member of his gang, so they’ll do their best to keep me in their ranks. It’s kind of like a cult. If you’re in, you’re always in. Even if you fight your way out, the shit you’ve seen sticks with you forever, and Yonghwa will hate knowing I’m far away, out of his control, capable of getting him popped for all the shit I’ve seen him do.”
“What would happen if we called the police?”
Minho shook his head earnestly. “He has enough money, and a brilliant enough lawyer, to completely deflect everything off himself and paint me as a drug addict who has been up to shady shit and has been mooching off him for a year and a half. He’d completely dodge all blame while ruining my life at the same time. I’ve done my fair share of illegal shit, and he has evidence of that.”
“Fuck,” Jisung muttered. The cloudy situation was beginning to clear. Minho’s secretive, toxic, questionable ways were starting to make sense to Jisung.
“But I don’t care anymore,” Minho said. “I’m leaving him. I’ve lived on the streets before, I can do it again.”
Jisung snatched Minho’s hand again. “Stop. No. You can stay here, you don’t need to go through that again.”
“I wouldn’t want you to get hurt, Sungie,” Minho said softly. He lifted his free hand to stroke the hair from Jisung’s eyes. “If he found out I’m staying with you, I don’t know what he’d do to you and Binnie and Chan.”
“If he did something to me,” Jisung said, “I could call the fucking police. He doesn’t have anything on me. If he does something to me or something to you that I witness, I can actually take him down without you being caught in the middle.”
“I guess that’s true.” Minho looked apprehensive. “I don’t know, though...I would still feel weird, putting you guys or Hyunjin or Trin at risk.”
“We want to protect you, though,” Jisung murmured. He realized he was still slightly high when the words left his lips; his sober self knew Minho didn’t want to hear that. Jisung grimaced apologetically. “Sorry, I know you don’t need protecting or, or want to ask for it or anything—”
“Shhh.” Minho’s hand squeezed around Jisung’s, thumb pressed gently to Jisung’s wrist. His eyes were dark and sharp, and somehow utterly calm. Jisung felt the rising tension in his chest dissipate. “I know what you mean. But I’ll figure something out, okay? I always do.”
“Okay,” Jisung whispered. His eyes were beginning to flutter shut. “How much money do you owe him? Maybe I could help.”
“Less than three thousand dollars now.”
Jisung’s eyes jolted open. “Oh, shit.”
“And no,” Minho added. “I don’t want to owe anyone money again for the rest of my life. That includes you. Trinity has offered a million times to help me out and I’ve always said no.”
“Isn’t it safer to owe me and Trinity money than to owe Yonghwa money?”
“Probably,” Minho said, his syllables clipped and brisk. “But Yonghwa didn’t seem like the type who was dangerous to owe money to at first either.”
Jisung blinked, unsure if he should be offended by this, and Minho went on. “Not that I think you’d take advantage of me or anything like that. I just...have trouble accepting charity. Makes me feel like shit.”
“I get that,” Jisung said, watching as Minho yawned. Minho’s dark, damp hair was drying in a fluffy mess beneath his sweatshirt hood, and his features looked especially young and gentle under navy-streaked bangs. “Yonghwa knows where Trinity lives though, so maybe it’d be best to stay with me or Hyunjin for a while. Although I guess he dropped us off here too. Not that that tells him which unit we live in.”
“Hyunjin is allergic to cats, though,” Minho sighed. “And me and the cats are kind of a packaged deal.”
“Well there you go,” Jisung chuckled. “Stay here.”
“We can talk more about it in the morning,” Minho murmured. “I’m falling asleep.”
“Take my bed,” Jisung said. “You’re in pain and my bed is comfy.”
Minho’s sleepy, shut-eyed grin made Jisung smile. “I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, Jisung. I know how much you love your bed.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mhmm. This is comfy, too.”
“Okay. Thanks for telling me all that,” he added, clambering off the couch and stifling a yawn. “I’m glad I know now.”
“I’m glad you know now, too,” Minho said. His eyes cracked open, blinking tiredly up at Jisung, and then a soft little smile made his lips curl up. “Night, darling.”
Jisung’s belly squeezed. He tried to gloss over the moment, to treat the pet name like it was nothing, since it was —Minho called everyone darling—but he couldn’t help fumbling with his words as he said, “Um, yeah. Uh, sleep well. Sleep tight.”
After they parted ways, Jisung expected sleep to come easily. It was three in the morning and it’d been a long day. Minho was safe in his apartment. But still Jisung lay there tossing and turning, muscles and mind reeling from exhaustion, tank completely empty. Thoughts of homelessness and assault swum, jumbled and disconnected, around the chaos of Jisung’s brain. He tried to fend off the image of Minho’s naked torso covered in harsh red marks, but it was branded in his forefront imagination. Someone had deliberately harmed Minho. Someone had kicked him and punched him like he was an object.
Jisung wanted to kill Yonghwa. He tried not to feed that blossoming urge.
When he rolled over for the umpteenth time, he noticed a light on, bleeding from the living room and beneath Jisung’s door. He hadn’t heard Chan come home—he expected his hyung might’ve chosen to spend the night in the studio—and so he realized Minho was still awake, too.
Jisung shuffled into the living room with his extra blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Minho sat on the couch, blankets a tangled mess around his legs, while he stared at the muted TV, controller in hand. He was playing Smash, and he didn’t tear his gaze from the 2D fight when Jisung came to sit on the couch beside him.
Jisung watched Minho pop his bottom lip from between his teeth. It was glossy and swollen from biting. He kept his eyes, cast in blue light from the TV, on the screen as he asked, “Couldn’t sleep, Jisungie?”
“Nuh-uh.” He slunk to the side, propping his cheek on Minho’s shoulder, before he remembered Minho’s tender state and jerked back to an upright position. “Sorry, I forgot.”
“There’s no bruise there.”
Jisung smiled and leaned back down, snuggling up to Minho’s side.
They sat in peaceful silence, Minho diligently honing his Smash skills against the computer player, Jisung watching with his cheek squished on Minho’s shoulder. After a while Jisung asked, “You couldn’t sleep either?”
“I did for a little,” Minho said.
“What woke you back up?”
Minho didn’t respond.
Jisung frowned. “Did you have a bad dream?”
“I don’t know,” Minho admitted. “I couldn’t tell if it was a dream or just my brain going haywire. I was in and out of sleep.”
“That sounds yucky. And not restful.”
“It’s alright.”
Jisung didn’t think anything of it as he said, “Just come sleep with me.”
Minho narrowly beat his opponent and set the controller down. He rested his cheek atop Jisung’s head. “Are you sure?”
Jisung was a bit surprised that Minho was agreeing, and for a moment he hesitated. Was there something questionable about this? Sleeping in the same bed as someone else, the night his girlfriend went out of town? And Minho was gay. Was Jisung giving him the wrong idea?
Jisung didn’t think so. The idea he wanted to give Minho was that he was there for him, and clearly they were both having trouble sleeping alone tonight.
“Yeah,” Jisung said. “I’m sure. Maybe it’d help us both feel safer.”
“Okay,” Minho conceded. “Thanks.”
They made their way to Jisung’s bed. Minho snuggled under the covers first, his hood still pulled up, and burrowed in like a squirrel, kicking his legs a bit and grinning up at Jisung. “Wow,” he said, pulling the covers up to his chin. “Comfy.”
“You’re cute,” Jisung said sleepily. Saying it out loud made something tug at his chest. This is crossing a line, a voice in the back of his head noted.
“Will you…” Minho blinked up at him, sleepy. “Will you be my little spoon?”
Jisung stood there, slumped over at the foot of his bed in his pajamas, and acquainted himself with the pounding of his own heart. “Sure,” he said.
This is crossing a line.
Jisung didn’t care. He wanted to sleep, and tonight it’d be easier to fall asleep in someone’s arms. Minho was his friend, and they needed each other right now.
His heart was probably pounding because he was nervous about the controversial nature of having someone in his bed, someone spooning him, other than Sunny. Surely that was what he was feeling.
Jisung climbed under the covers, encompassed by the extra warmth of having someone else there. He rolled so that his back faced Minho and inched backwards.
And it was familiar, somehow. The way Minho’s chest felt solid and warm against Jisung’s back. The way Minho’s arm looped around Jisung’s waist and pulled him flush against him, their legs slotting together. The way Minho’s face nuzzled into the bare skin between Jisung’s neck and shoulder.
The ease of their proximity almost made Jisung dizzy. He was larger than Jisung too, which was something he often forgot. But snuggled back against Minho, curled up in his arms and pulled to his broad chest, Jisung felt small and safe.
He fell asleep in minutes, basking in the feeling of security.
~
Notes:
Oh my gaddd they be spooning T.T
Let me know what you thought babes! See you Monday ❣️Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 9
Summary:
“Through it all,” Yonghwa said, “I’ve loved you. And I know you’ve loved me, too.”
“No,” Minho said. “I do not love you anymore.”
Yonghwa shuffled in his socks. They were an old pair of Minho’s, with holes in the toes. Minho’s chest squeezed. “So what, you’ve just been lying?”
“Yes,” Minho said. “Because I was afraid you would kill me.”
Notes:
welcome back loves
wow no trigger warnings this chapter?? who AM i
enjoyyyyy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
ix. minho
A dull, aching pain closed in on Minho’s weary body. He woke up while gritting his teeth to keep from grunting out loud.
A headache pounded behind his eyes. He realized it was likely he had a concussion, and a moment of medical awareness reminded him it was dumb not to wake himself up every hour during the night just to be safe. It was also probably dumb to stare at a screen playing Smash for so long the night before.
But he survived the night, so whatever.
The ice bath had numbed his injuries thoroughly, but now the aching was almost worse, rooted deep beneath his skin. He didn’t want to pull away from Jisung, who was so warm and soft and smelled like fresh linens, but he needed to find painkillers. So he rolled over onto his back, wiggling his limbs and getting used to the dull ache of morning-after bruises.
He tilted his head to glance at Jisung. He looked so small, bundled up in blankets with his messy black hair splayed against the pillow. Fondness spread through Minho like sunlight creeping over the horizon. Jisung had been so sweet the night before, taking all of Minho’s chaotic bullshit into stride and helping him without a complaint. Minho felt so lucky to have him. Even if they were only friends.
But were they only friends? Minho wasn’t so sure. Jisung repeatedly calling Minho handsome, holding his cold hands, hugging him when he cried...was it all because Minho needed care, or did Jisung feel the same electricity Minho did?
Minho had no idea. It was all so fucking confusing. He had bigger fish to fry now, anyway.
When he shuffled out into 3RACHA’S kitchen with his hood pulled up in search of someone with a sense of responsibility, the last sight he needed to see was Hyunjin seated on the kitchen table, wrapped around a standing Changbin, both of them locked so intensely in their makeout session that Minho thought for a moment he’d walked into someone’s bedroom.
“Tongues,” Minho snapped, and Hyunjin and Changbin sprang apart like they’d been tossed. “Out of throats. Jesus. This is where we eat food.”
A red-faced Hyunjin assumed a serious expression when his eyes fell on Minho. “What happened?”
“Yonghwa.” Minho turned to Changbin. “Do you have ibuprofen?”
Changbin blinked until focus returned to his eyes. “Did you say your boyfriend did this to you?”
“Yes. Where’s the ibuprofen?”
“Minho,” Changbin said, lifting his hands as though to rewind. “You can’t...I can’t just…”
“I’m breaking up with him today,” Minho said firmly. “And no, you can’t call the police, he’s got good lawyers. Can you tell me where the ibuprofen is?”
Changbin glanced at Hyunjin, and then made his way over to the bathroom. Hyunjin leapt off the table and put his hands on his hips, and his penetrative stare froze Minho before he could follow Changbin. “Where are you going to stay when you leave?”
“I don’t know,” Minho said, wincing when Hyunjin walked right up to him and lowered his hood. “Hyunjin, personal space.”
“This looks bad.” Hyunjin tenderly cupped Minho’s cheek as he inspected his nose. “I don’t think it’s broken, though. Just bruised.”
“I figured that much out for myself.”
“How’s the pain?” Hyunjin pouted. “Have you been icing it?”
“It hurts, but not as bad as last night. Relax, Jin. I’m fine.”
Hyunjin stroked Minho’s hair from his eyes while giving him a death stare. “You’d better actually leave him, Mr. I-have-no-self-preservation. If you go back to him I’ll kill you.”
“I know. I’m done. It’s done.” Minho meant it. He was scared to go back to that hellish apartment and sever ties with someone so volatile, but he had to do what he had to do. He compartmentalized that fear for when it was in front of his face.
Hyunjin nodded, and the solemnity in his eyes lightened. “You weren’t on the couch when I got here. Did you sleep in... someone’s bed?”
“Yes, Jisung’s.” When Hyunjin’s mouth fell open with glee, Minho scowled at him and smacked his shoulder. “I hate having you here now.”
“You love me. Are you gonna stay with me and Lix do you think?”
“Probably not, since I’m bringing the cats with me. Maybe here, or with Trinity.”
“Okay.”
Changbin returned, bottle of ibuprofen in hand. Minho thanked him, popped four, downed an entire glass of water, and said, “Alright, carry on defiling the kitchen table.” Then he strolled back towards Jisung’s room.
It wasn’t yet ten in the morning, so Minho was careful to remain quiet as he stepped into the cozy bedroom. Jisung was right where he’d left him—bundled up like a burrito with a tuft of messy black hair sticking out the top—but he stirred when Minho began collecting his clothes.
Minho watched Jisung with wide eyes, hoping he’d settle back into sleep, but then he rolled onto his back. Arms wriggled free from the blankets and stretched over his head as he squinted at Minho. “Are you leaving?” Jisung mumbled, and his voice was so soft and scratchy that Minho felt weak in the knees.
“Yeah,” he remembered to say around his dry tongue. “Yeah, I have to go, um, end my relationship.”
Jisung’s squinty, puffy eyes blinked wide open. “Right now?”
“Mhmm.”
Jisung pushed himself up into a seated position. His hair was a tangled mess, sticking up in all directions. His oversized pajama t-shirt fell low over one shoulder, exposing a whole map of tan skin and a smooth collarbone. The little mole at the base of his neck practically begged Minho for a kiss.
Minho shook his thoughts aside when he realized Jisung just said something to him. “Sorry, what?”
“I said be careful.” Jisung started fidgeting with the bedding, his eyes round and nervous. “Maybe I could drive you? So you and the cats can just come right back here? That way I can do something if...if he gets like that again.”
Minho had spent the morning neatly avoiding all thoughts of Yonghwa and the possibility that he’d be assaulted again. For Jisung to mention it about thirty seconds after waking up was jarring, but probably helpful. “That might be good,” Minho said. “You can sleep more though, Sungie. I can get Changbin to drive me. Hyunjin’s here too.”
“Like I’d be able to sleep knowing you’re about to go do that.” Jisung climbed out of bed. “You can take your leather jacket back, too. It’s on the chair.”
Minho stalled. He couldn’t believe it’d been the evening before that he walked Jisung to the studio and lent him his jacket. It felt like a lifetime ago. “Okay.”
When Jisung and Minho were dressed for the day and emerged to face the world, Chan stood in the middle of the living room with his arms crossed. Hyunjin and Changbin sat side by side on the couch like they’d been sitting through a disciplinary lecture.
“Are you alright?” Chan asked, walking right up to Minho until he reached a three-foot distance or so. His voice was serious, though he sounded sadder than he did angry. “You’re not going back there, are you?”
“Just to sever ties and retrieve my children.”
“You can stay here,” he said. The corners of his mouth lifted, but his eyes were piercing and steady. “For as long as you need.”
It’d been one thing hearing the invitation from Jisung; from Chan, who wasn’t as close to Minho, it made his eyes sting. Minho hadn’t even needed to ask. “Thank you,” Minho said, ducking his head as he was oppressed by the weight of Chan, Jisung, Changbin, and Hyunjin all staring at him. “Maybe just for the weekend. I can bother Trinity when she gets back.”
“You’re not a bother.” Chan seemed to sense Minho’s discomfort, so he strolled off towards the kitchen. “Jisung, you’ll go with him?”
It sounded more like a command than a question, but Jisung just nodded and rested a hand on Minho’s shoulder. “Let’s eat something,” Jisung suggested. “Seems like it’s gonna be a long day.”
Minho loathed being a person in need. He hated feeling like a burden, or like his inability to brave pain could radiate outward and drag down others. He would’ve preferred if no one knew about what happened the night before.
But, someone had to know now, and he was grateful it was these boys.
After breakfast, Minho and Jisung piled into Changbin’s BMW. Minho, who’d done his best not to think about what he was about to do all morning, realized there wasn’t any more avoiding the seeds of fear in his chest.
He was about to break up with Yonghwa. Finally. He glanced Jisung’s way and found him with one hand on the wheel, a breeze filtering in through the cracked window and messing up his soft dark hair, and Minho knew he was making the right decision. He wanted Jisung. Not Yonghwa.
Whether Jisung wanted him in return was a question for another day.
Nevertheless, cutting ties with Yonghwa was not going to be a simple process, and Minho’s stomach churned at the thought. Who knew what sort of harassment he’d endure after today. A tiny, pathetic voice in the back of Minho’s head feared he’d be killed. Yonghwa hadn’t shown much care for Minho’s physical well-being before; now that he knew Minho cheated on him, was falling in love with somebody else, and was leaving him? Minho wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t make it out of the apartment at all.
After having this thought, he waited for the physical reaction to manifest. Sure enough, his heart started to pick up the pace, and Minho sighed, annoyed at his own weakness. It didn’t matter the consequences. Minho needed to leave him. Even if it was scary.
When Jisung parked at the curb outside Yonghwa’s apartment building, Minho sat very still, gazing ahead. Eventually Jisung asked, “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”
“Yes,” Minho said. “Sorry, give me a minute.”
“Take your time.”
Minho swallowed, wishing the thudding of his pulse would slow. He closed his eyes and found himself back on the kitchen floor, kicks swinging down at his vulnerable flesh, pain jolting through his body. You piece of shit, Yonghwa had said to him. You piece of shit. You piece of shit.
Minho’s eyes flew open. He remembered to breathe.
“What is it you’re scared of?” Jisung asked softly.
“Um.” Minho wrung his cold hands. “That he’s going to kill me.”
When Jisung didn’t respond, Minho swiveled to look at him; he was chewing his lower lip, eyes brimming with transparent concern. Nervous as he looked, the warm brown of Jisung’s eyes evened something askew in Minho’s chest. “Do you actually think he’d do that?” Jisung asked.
Minho shook his head but said, “I don’t know. I really...I really pissed him off.”
“What do you mean?”
Minho rapidly sanded down the real answer into a believable half-truth. “He found out I was cheating on him.”
Jisung made a faint noise in the back of his throat. Minho’s eyes flickered back to him hesitantly; he remembered too late that maybe such a detail wasn’t something he wanted the current object of his affections to know about his dating history.
But it was better than admitting Yonghwa had freaked out because Minho was falling in love with someone else.
“I mean,” Minho said quickly. “It was a long time ago, months ago.” Before I met you. “But he just found out last night. And I only did it because—”
“Minho.”
Minho pressed his lips together. He felt slightly dizzy.
“You don’t need to explain to me why you cheated on Yonghwa. He’s an abusive piece of shit who’s been literally coercing you into staying with him. I’d have cheated on him too.” Jisung managed a tiny smile. “I’m more confused as to why you stopped.”
Minho sighed and squirmed in his seat. “It made me feel like shit to do that to him, even though he deserved it. But anyway, the point is he almost killed me just for that and I don’t know what he’s gonna do when I tell him I’m leaving.” He tried not to process his own words.
“Have my contact pulled up,” Jisung suggested. “If he lays a finger on you, call me and I’ll know to come start pounding on the door.”
Minho nodded. He could do that.
“You have carriers for the cats and everything?”
“It’ll take a while to assemble the litter and their food and stuff.” Minho bit into his lip almost harshly enough to draw blood. “He’ll ask what I’m doing.”
“What if he’s not home?”
“He is.”
“Minho...why can’t you just wait till he’s away, pick up the cats, then call him and break up with him? That way you aren’t putting yourself at risk.”
Minho thought his words over for a long moment before saying, “I don’t want to leave with my tail between my legs. I don’t want him to be able to turn it around and say some shit like, you cheated on me then you broke up with me over the phone. I want to be the bigger person and end things to his face.” He rubbed his palms up and down his arms, though he wasn’t cold. “Plus I don’t feel comfortable leaving my cats in that apartment any longer than I already have.”
“Okay, that I get. But you don’t owe him shit, Minho. Having the last word or being the bigger person isn’t more important than your safety.”
“It’s more about what I owe myself than him.” Minho laid a hand on the door handle. He knew if he waited longer, safe in a car with Jisung, he’d never get this done. “I’ll call you if something goes wrong. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, come knock on the door, please.”
“Sure. Good luck, hyung. You’re amazing.”
Minho knew the compliment was nothing but friendly, but his cheeks colored nonetheless as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.
At least three times, Minho almost turned around and sprinted back to the car as he made his way up to Yonghwa’s apartment. He dug deep for the gumption to keep walking, and when he pushed through the door, he kept his thumb hovering over Jisung’s contact on his phone screen.
There sat Yonghwa on their couch, Soonie and Doongie curled up on either side of him.
Minho’s heart plummeted. He didn’t see many opportunities to avoid confrontation here.
Yonghwa looked up with glistening puppy dog eyes, and Minho knew exactly what was going to happen. “Min,” Yonghwa said, covering the bottom half of his face with cupped hands. “I’m sorry, baby. Fuck.”
Minho’s lip twitched into an instinctive snarl as he shut the door behind him and moved straight for the cabinet with the cat food.
“Babe,” Yonghwa said again. The soft, pained hitch in his voice might’ve made Minho stall another day. Right now all he felt was the roll of acidic hatred in his gut. “Where’d you stay last night?”
“That’s not your concern.” Minho spoke every word at the same pitch as he collected the bag of cat food and what remained of their kitty litter. He heaved them both up onto the countertop, and Yonghwa flinched when the heavy bags struck the stone. “I’m taking the cats.”
“Where?”
“Out of here.” He stormed past Yonghwa to retrieve the cat carriers from the closet off the living room.
“What do you mean, Minho?” Yonghwa sounded frail. Pathetic. Like he’d been the victim in this situation. “Where are you going?”
Minho ignored him. He set the carriers on the ground one at a time, then he approached the orange fluffy delights at Yonghwa’s hip with a smile on his face.
When Yonghwa placed a protective hand in front of Soonie’s chest, the thin balloon over Minho’s suppressed hatred burst. He bared his teeth in Yonghwa’s face and snarled, “Get your filthy fucking hands off my cat, you psychopath.”
Yonghwa’s eyebrows shot up, and he lifted a hand as though to slap Minho, who deftly said, “My hand’s on my friend’s contact right now. If you hit me, he’ll come in here and escort me out himself.”
Yonghwa watched with his jaw muscles bulging as Minho ushered the cats one at a time into their carriers. Once they were safely set by the door, Minho faced Yonghwa, who’d gotten to his feet.
Minho stared into the dark eyes of his boyfriend and roommate of a year and a half. He felt no reluctance. Only bitterness and pity. He pitied the pathetic abuser he’d wasted his time on.
“Yes,” Minho said. “I’m leaving you.”
“You can’t—”
“You gave me a concussion. If you’d kicked a few inches down you might’ve hit my liver and killed me. I’m not going to be able to work for weeks because of the injuries you gave me. No one in their right fucking mind would stay with you, Yonghwa.”
“I’m sorry.” Yonghwa’s cocky, boyish face crumpled. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. Please don’t leave me, Minho. Please.”
“This isn’t a negotiation,” Minho said crisply. Adrenaline itched to take hold of his words, but he didn’t want to piss off Yonghwa and escalate this situation. “I’m done. We’re done. I’m breaking up with you. I don’t want to see your face again, ever.”
Yonghwa took a breath, and his bottom lip trembled. “You’re one of us, Minho. You’ve seen almost as many deals as I have. You’ve seen people killed. You can’t just walk out. Not without consequences. Especially since you owe me at least two grand.”
“I have no desire,” Minho growled, “to speak of the shit I’ve seen in your gang. Why would I ever do that? I’ll be pretending you don’t exist for the rest of my life.”
“I have no way of knowing that. How am I supposed to know you won’t turn me in with the information you have? And how do you know I won’t turn you in with the information I have? It doesn’t make any sense for us to part ways, baby. You know it doesn’t.”
“It does,” Minho said promptly. “Because you beat the shit out of me. You have been for months. Also, I cheated on you and am interested in another guy. Doesn’t really seem like there’s much of a relationship to stay in anyway.”
“Through it all,” Yonghwa said, “I’ve loved you. And I know you’ve loved me, too.”
“No,” Minho said. “I do not love you anymore.”
Yonghwa shuffled in his socks. They were an old pair of Minho’s, with holes in the toes. Minho’s chest squeezed. “So what, you’ve just been lying?”
“Yes,” Minho said. “Because I was afraid you would kill me.”
Yonghwa nodded. Glassy defeat shone in his eyes. “Who’s the guy?”
Minho choked out a laugh. “Literally the last thing I’d tell you.”
Yonghwa’s lips curled, and a tear streaked down the side of his nose. “Asshole took the man I love, and I don’t even get the courtesy of his name?”
“He didn’t take me,” Minho said. “He has no idea how I feel. You were the one who pushed me away, Yonghwa. There’s nobody you can blame for this one but yourself.”
“We’re both to blame,” Yonghwa hissed, his fists clenching at his sides.
“I’m not saying I was perfect,” Minho said. “But you abused me from the beginning. Since I was a homeless drug addict and you were all I had.”
Tears filled Yonghwa’s eyes. “There were good times,” he whispered. “Don’t act like there weren’t good times.”
“Of course there were.” He left it at that. “I’m going to pack my clothes.”
“Minho,” Yonghwa said, louder now. Desperation clung to each syllable. “You can’t leave, baby. I can’t let you leave.”
Minho tried to march right past him, but Yonghwa grabbed his arm. Minho yelped and jerked his arm back, shocked by the onset of pain from having a bruise jostled. “Don’t touch me,” Minho said. “Ever again.”
“You have nothing to threaten me with.”
“That wasn’t a threat, that was a goddamn personal boundary.” In their room he began throwing his clothes into his suitcase, quickly before Yonghwa could get creative with his anger. After packing his underwear, he noticed a metallic glimmer in the corner of the drawer.
Minho had to resist gasping. His key. He forgot about his goddamn key to Yonghwa’s storage unit.
After about three seconds of debating whether to return the key as a gesture of I never want to be involved with you again or to keep it for himself as insurance, Minho eased the key into one of his balled-up pairs of socks and tossed it into his suitcase.
Yonghwa hung around the doorway to their bedroom, wringing his hands. “I have evidence of the shit you’ve done,” he said warningly. Minho flinched but kept packing. “Mia won’t stand for you leaving either. She’ll ask me where you are. I had to just about beg her to bring you into the fold in the first place, and she only agreed because I had her convinced you’d be one of us forever.”
“Luckily for you,” Minho said, despite a surge of fear at the mention of the gang’s other co-leader. “You won’t know where I am.”
“You still owe me money!” Yonghwa laughed then, like Minho was stubbornly missing something obvious. “Jesus, don’t you get it? I’ll find you if you don’t tell me where you go so I can get my fucking money back.”
“First of all.” Minho tugged the suitcase handle up to its full height. “It’s fucked up that you’re making me pay you back for what you once told me was a gift.”
“I never told you shit. Not my fault you assumed.”
“Second of all.” Minho pushed past Yonghwa and dragged the suitcase to the kitchen, where he reopened it and shoved the cat food and kitty litter beside his clothes. “You don’t need to know where I am. I’ll get you the money. Nine hundred bucks, every month for three months. Then I’m done ever contacting you again.”
Yonghwa sighed shakily. “Don’t do this, Minho. At least stay here for the three months. Where are you gonna stay? On the street? With two cats? Stay here, pay me back, then move out. I’ll take the couch.”
“Fuck no,” Minho said, smiling falsely. His pulse jumped beneath his skin. He was almost out. Forever. “Not after last night. This is goodbye, Yonghwa. It’s been a long time coming, but this is goodbye.”
Yonghwa just gazed at him, his arms dangling like a corpse’s. “Can I hug you, at least? We’ve lived together for more than a year, can’t we at least…” he sniffled, and Minho didn’t think he’d ever seen Yonghwa look so small. “I’m afraid I’ll never see you again.”
A pang of sadness rang through Minho’s organized feelings. He breathed in slowly before forcing himself to say, “I’m scared to touch you. I was afraid you were going to kill me last night. The last thing I owe you is a hug.”
“That’s it?” Yonghwa’s jaw slackened. “We’re gonna wave goodbye like strangers? You’re gonna take our cats and fuck up my life and break my heart, without so much as a hug?”
Minho’s smile was genuine, albeit pitiful. “You’re trying to pull the same card,” he said. “Guilting me into giving you something I’ve already said no to. Not going to work.”
Yonghwa nodded, wiped his tears with both hands, and spoke in a voice like slick ice. “Get out, then, Minho. Whatever. The gang’s gonna be on your ass forever, but good fucking luck. And good riddance.”
“Good luck to you too,” Minho said. He rested Soonie’s carrier atop the suitcase and lifted Doongie’s with his free hand. “Goodbye, Yonghwa.”
Then he left.
The tears hit Minho when the door shut behind him. He stood in the elevator alone and sobbed, the pathetic hiccuping of his tears bouncing around in the confined metallic space.
He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Relief, mostly. Fear, because he was on the shit-list of two gang leaders who had evidence of his illegal past. Heartbreak, because the man he’d once loved had long turned into an irreversible and inexcusable monster.
Jisung wordlessly got out of the BMW to help Minho load his suitcase and the cat carriers. He didn’t question Minho’s quiet tears until they drove off, when he asked, “Did you do it?”
Minho nodded, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No. It just feels like a lot right now.”
“Understandable. It was a long relationship. And a complicated one.”
Jisung didn’t ask any more questions, and Minho didn’t give any more answers. They drove in silence save for Minho’s embarrassing muffled sobs and the cats’ soft mewls. Only when they were face-to-face in the garage, the BMW safely parked, did Minho stumble into Jisung’s arms.
He didn’t want to crave Jisung’s warmth like he did. He had plenty of shit to worry about on top of falling in love with a goddamn straight guy with a girlfriend. But he couldn’t deny the way the tension in his shoulders lessened as soon as he slumped against Jisung’s chest. He buried his face away from the light of day and tried to smooth out his mood before coming face to face with anyone he trusted less.
Jisung glided his palms up Minho’s back, and Minho had to bite his tongue to keep from whimpering. “Proud of you,” Jisung whispered. Minho could feel his lips moving against his shoulder.
Minho pulled back and mopped his drying tear streaks. He met Jisung’s eyes, who stood so close, gazing at him earnestly with upturned brows and a soft pout. Minho’s breath evacuated his lungs. “Let’s go,” he mumbled before he could do something he’d regret.
Although Minho was in a daze for the rest of the day, he did what he had to do to organize the shattered pieces of his life. He removed the storage unit key from his socks and slipped it into a zipped pocket in his wallet instead. He tried not to think about whether it was pathetic and foolish to take the key. He hoped Yonghwa had no idea Minho still had a copy, and that Minho would never find himself needing to use it.
Next he called Erica, the owner of the dance studio, and told her what happened. He was as truthful as he could be, save for a few details. He ached at the realization that he wouldn’t be able to dance for a few weeks. Yonghwa had truly knocked him down a peg in every aspect of his life.
His last job was to call Trinity. He was exhausted to his bones, curled up on 3RACHA’s couch with Soonie in his lap (Doongie was still hiding beneath Chan’s bed), and he didn’t feel like having such a heavy conversation after all he’d endured in 24 hours.
But he wanted to have all his ducks in a row so he could enjoy the holiday tomorrow with his friends, and he was going to stick to that goddamn plan.
Trinity answered just before it went to voicemail. “Minho? What’s up?”
He had no idea where to start. She’d been gone all of one day, and so much had blown up in her absence. “Hey, Trin, can I...stay with you?”
There was a heavy pause. Trin spoke like she was finessing words out of a cage. “Yeah, of course. Minho, what happened? Did you…”
“I left him,” Minho said. “I took the cats. I’m at Jisung’s.”
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “My god. You’re so brave.”
Minho wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t convinced that his toxic ability not to process any of his emotions was equivalent to bravery. “Do you mind if I stay with you, just for a little bit? Till I get back on my feet?”
“Not at all, I’d love to have you. What gave you the push to leave? What the hell happened after we left?”
“He almost killed me. Dropped me to the floor and kicked the shit out of me.”
“Jesus. Fuck. Asshat. Fuck. Did you go to the hospital?”
“Can’t afford a hospital. They’ll probably make me get a CT.”
“With good reason! I’m taking you to the hospital Monday.”
“Trin, you don’t have to.”
“I’ll call and make an appointment. I’ll pick you up some weed, too. You deserve a fat blunt and some good dick.”
Minho smiled. He supposed he was single now, and technically that meant he could sleep with whoever he wanted. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, though. His skin felt like a layer of clay, uncomfortable and restrictive, not at all like his own.
Plus the thought of touching someone other than Jisung was like pondering the sexuality of touching a plank of wood.
“Also,” Trinity added, “I would love to have you stay with me. But I also have another option, since I know you’re not into asking for help.”
“Yes?”
“Well, there’s a room in the back of the Hub you could stay in. It’s ugly as hell and makes questionable noises cuz that’s where the furnace and water heater and shit are, but it’s pretty spacious. There’s a big old couch back there the cats might enjoy, too.”
“Wait.” He gulped. “You’d let me stay there for free?”
“Hon, it’s a shit hole. And you wouldn’t be using any resources that aren’t already paid for anyways. Of course I’d let you stay for free.”
“Holy...yes. Yeah, that’d be ideal. Is there a shower?”
“There’s a shitty little bathroom back there, with a shower and everything. I can help you move in on Monday. If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to stay with me.”
“Fuck.” Minho swayed, overwhelmed. He was going to have somewhere to stay, by himself, without putting any of his friends in danger. For free. “Thank you. I owe you.”
“Nope, you don’t. Locate yourself a good comfy mattress and some bedding. That’s one thing it doesn’t have.”
“I can do that. Thanks, darling.”
“Course, Minnie Min. Are you okay staying with the boys tonight and tomorrow? It wouldn’t be a problem for me and Sun to dip a day early.”
“It’s fine,” Minho hurried to say. Trinity returning meant Sunny’s return, and Minho wanted to make the most of what time he had alone with Jisung. “I’m happy to spend the rest of the weekend here. They’re idiots but they’re good people.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“Enjoy your trip, okay Trin? I’ll see you on Monday. Thanks for making the appointment.”
“Hang tight. Love you, kid.”
“Love you, old hag.”
“Fuck you.” She hung up.
Chan made chicken nuggets, homemade French fries, and a pot of mac and cheese for dinner, which brought a silly smile to Minho’s face. There was no greater comfort meal than unhealthy American childhood food. 3RACHA, Minho, and Hyunjin settled around the living room furniture with overflowing plates, passing a bottle of ketchup between them, while Chan turned on a thriller movie and Changbin hit the lights.
Minho’s bare elbow brushed the skin of Jisung’s arm. Neither of them shifted away; he swore Jisung moved closer.
Although, he supposed it was hardly a groundbreaking touch after the night before. His cheeks warmed at the memory. What a ridiculous, smitten school girl he’d become.
Yonghwa wasn’t his boyfriend anymore. Each time he remembered it, Minho almost couldn’t believe it. He’d done it. The wounds would take time to heal, but he was free.
Although, this didn’t change the fact that Jisung was in a long-term, loving relationship with Sunny. With Minho’s best friend’s—and boss’s—little sister.
As their Saturday night wound down, Minho knew he no longer had an excuse to sleep in Jisung’s bed. Although he was still in head-to-toe pain, his mental state was much improved, and he’d wrapped himself around Jisung the night before to quell the noise in his brain. Now he could fork up no honest reason other than wanting to cuddle with the guy he liked.
Around midnight, Minho was starting to feel the latest dose of pain meds wear off, and he knew he’d have to take more and call it a night. His body needed to heal. The boys were playing video games still, passing a joint around and filling the low lit apartment with clouds of smoke, but the ache in Minho’s ribs told him he’d need something a bit stronger.
As he popped a handful of painkillers in the bathroom, Jisung came and knocked on the ajar door, pushing it the rest of the way open. His eyes were foggy red, and a stupid grin stretched across his face. “Drugs are bad, Minho,” he said, leaning his slender body against the door frame. “You’re sinning? Right here, in this holy place?”
Minho scoffed and downed a glass of water. “What god is worshipped in this holy place, Jisung? God of the dank herb?”
“No, that’s me,” Jisung said. “I’m the god of the dank herb.” He giggled, flinging his arm over his mouth, eyes scrunched and feet pawing ungracefully at the ground.
Maybe only because Jisung was baked, Minho told him, “You’re so fucking cute.”
Jisung let his arms drop and pouted, his neck and jaw shadowed prettily by the dull bathroom light. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not.” Minho swallowed and looked away before he could get too brave. “I should sleep. I feel...my body is telling me to sleep.”
“You’ve had a long day,” Jisung said, offering a small smile that made his cheeks rounder. “It seems like we’ll be up for a while still, so you can take my bed. I’ll take the couch when everyone settles down.”
Minho cleared his throat. “Uh, you don’t have to. I don’t mind if you come join me later.”
Something wavered in Jisung’s eyes. Minho knew they both felt the mutual, deliberate crossing of a boundary.
But then Jisung licked his lips, crinkled his eyes into a sleepy smile, and said, “Sure, I will. Good night, hyung.”
“Good night.”
Minho passed out as soon as he settled into Jisung’s bed, and they awoke with two cats and a comfortable arm’s length between them.
Although Minho didn’t care about the Fourth of July, he was ecstatic not to have to spend his day being a gang leader’s trophy wife at a barbecue full of drunk rich people. So he dedicated the early half of his day to preparing food for their evening.
He took Jisung grocery shopping, since 3RACHA’s solution to having no food on a holiday was to eat chips and dip for dinner. Jisung was a terrible shopping partner—he overthought every item they considered getting, talked himself out of it due to the price or the nutritional value, and then made high pitched, stressed noises when he realized he was overthinking—but Minho thought it was cute, and as a decisive person, he liked being able to help Jisung come to conclusions.
In the early afternoon, Minho carved a watermelon, threw together a homemade potato salad, and baked chocolate chip cookies. Changbin and Hyunjin made fun of him the whole time, telling him it was excessive and that he was behaving like a grandma hosting Thanksgiving.
“Why are you cooking so much?” Jisung asked from where he was seated atop the counter. Minho was compiling the nearly-expired ingredients in 3RACHA’s pantry into a saucy pasta dish.
Minho sighed. “Why can’t any of you just be thankful that you’ll be fed and leave it at that?”
“Because smart people question everything out of the ordinary.” Jisung kicked his legs and grinned. “And believe it or not, there are smart people living in this home.”
Minho rolled his eyes. “Because keeping myself busy is easier than processing this shit storm of a weekend.”
“See, there you go. I knew there was something. And thank you for the food.”
Minho glowered at him. “Ungrateful.”
“I just said thank you.”
“After dragging more feelings out of my cold dead lips.”
“My god,” Jisung groaned. “You are so melodramatic.”
Minho giggled and flicked Jisung’s knee, intending to be a childish annoyance. But he froze when he realized his fingertip had brushed the soft, warm skin of Jisung’s thigh where his athletic shorts rode up. Why were knees so goddamn close to inner thighs, when knees were unsexual and inner thighs were practically erogenous?
Although, were knees unsexual? They were involved in getting down on the floor and sucking cock.
Minho gulped and busily sliced watermelon before Jisung could see his flushed ears.
They packed Minho’s food and a case of beer into Changbin’s BMW. They arrived at a secluded field, close enough to see the fireworks but far enough away that they could drink and smoke without the cops noticing. Minho offered to stay sober and drive them home, since he didn’t drink and he knew Jisung would love watching the fireworks high.
They laid out a waterproof blanket and a couple of foldable chairs, Jisung lit a joint, and they settled back underneath the darkening sky.
Despite the persistent aches in his bones, Minho could’ve died happy. The fireworks, although distant, filled the sky with brilliant hues of red and green and gold, and a hush fell over his group of friends.
Changbin and Hyunjin cuddled at the foot of the blanket. Minho watched as Changbin pressed a kiss to Hyunjin’s neatly tied hair. He glanced over at Jisung, and his belly squeezed at the sight.
Jisung sat propped up with his arms behind him, head craned back to gaze at the sky. His eyes sparkled with the reflection of bursting colors. Soft glows of yellow and red bathed his face and brought out his warm skin tone. His lips were parted in awe, pulling into a faint half-smile as he watched the fireworks. Minho’s eyes traced his heart-shaped smile over to the shell of his ear, the arch of his jaw. He looked so cozy in his white pullover hoodie.
Jisung looked over at Minho and broke into a shy grin, one that scrambled Minho’s ability to speak into an incoherent mess. “What?”
“Uh, nothing,” Minho mumbled. He didn’t have a witty excuse this time. “Nothing.”
Jisung didn’t make fun of him for it, either.
After feasting on picnic food and smoking weed until the fireworks died down, they made their way back to 3RACHA’s apartment. Jisung had an early shift at the electronics shop, so after Changbin and Hyunjin ran off to one room and Chan shuffled off to the other, Minho offered to sleep on the couch so Jisung could rest before work.
“I’m not tired enough to fall asleep for a while,” Jisung objected. He was microwaving himself a midnight serving of cup ramen as Minho boiled water for tea. “Let’s stay up a bit.”
So they turned on a nature documentary and settled onto the couch, Jisung noisily slurping his ramen while Minho quietly sipped his tea. Minho’s eyelids grew heavy, and he only emerged from his content exhaustion when Jisung spoke.
“Hyung,” he said. “Can I ask you a question?”
Minho had no idea what Jisung was going to ask, but his heart sped up anyway. “Mhm.”
Jisung shifted so he could set the empty cup on the coffee table. He rested his arm along the back of the couch, eyes on the TV. “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”
Minho frowned, unsure as to why Jisung wanted to know. “Virginity is kind of a dumb concept, in my opinion. With a guy or a girl?”
Jisung blinked rapidly. “You’ve slept with women?”
Minho grimaced as he nodded, and Jisung cackled before asking, “When? Who?”
“Well.” Minho wrinkled his nose and sniffed. “I think I was about nineteen? And drunk. She was a friend, she wanted to fuck me, and so we fucked. But I don’t think I would’ve done it sober, you know? Pussy is…”
Jisung’s eyes grew somehow rounder.
“Phenomenal,” Minho decided, “But not my cup of tea.” He squeezed the cup of tea in his hands and grinned for good measure. “To answer your question, though, my first time with a guy was when I was seventeen, with the guy I was dating then.”
“Seventeen,” Jisung echoed, then he sighed. He fiddled with the edge of his blanket, twisting the woven fabric between his fingers. “How did you know you were ready?”
Minho’s head spun as he put two and two together.
Jisung was asking how Minho knew he was ready because he didn’t know if he was ready. Jisung was asking when Minho lost his virginity because Jisung had yet to have sex.
Oh.
Minho tried not to let the shock beam through his facial expression. How long had Jisung and Sunny been dating? Somewhere between four and six months, maybe? And they hadn’t had sex?
That didn’t necessarily mean Jisung wasn’t into women. There were a multitude of reasons someone might not have sex with their partner. Minho didn’t want to make assumptions, and he most certainly didn’t want to further feed his own delusions.
“Minho,” Jisung said. His hesitant grin indicated he was somewhere between humiliated and amused. “Earth to Minho.”
“You,” Minho said once he’d found his voice. “Have never had sex before?”
Jisung’s face grew so flushed, he was forced to fan himself. “Don’t judge me, Lee Minho!”
“I’m not,” Minho said, blinking himself from his daze. “I’m judging all the other people in the world who haven’t had sex with you.”
Jisung stared, jaw slack, seemingly frazzled by Minho’s words.
“I mean.” Minho rushed to cover his sloppiness. “Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable or whatever, but you’re hot. Really hot.”
Jisung covered his eyes with both hands. His neck was so red, Minho was momentarily worried for his cardiovascular health. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “I’m really not. But anyway. It’s not like I haven’t had opportunities.”
“You’re in a relationship,” Minho said.
Jisung looked up. Minho wished he could read the way a shell hardened over those soft brown eyes. “Yeah. And she wants to fuck me.”
Of course she does. He barely caught himself before he said it. Minho couldn’t believe he and Jisung were sitting here discussing Jisung and Sunny’s sex life. He supposed they were close enough now that this should be expected.
Minho wasn’t sure whether he was thrilled to know there were issues in Jisung’s relationship or terrified of hearing nitty gritty details that might ignite a jealous flame in his chest.
“So,” Minho said. “You’ve never had sex, you’re with a cute girl, and you’re thinking it’s about time?”
Jisung’s face twisted as he listened. “Sort of,” he said. “I’m thinking it’s about time because that’s what I feel is expected of me, you know?”
Minho arched an eyebrow. “But you don’t want to?”
“I have no idea.” Jisung’s chuckle was self-pitiful, like he was revisiting a demon from his past. “I do want to, in theory.”
Minho waited, watching as the cogs turned in Jisung’s brain.
“It’s not like we haven’t done other stuff,” he said finally. “And Sunny’s had sex before. For some reason, in my head I keep making actual, like, fucking a big deal.”
“What do you mean by a big deal?” Minho asked.
Jisung looked at the TV with his teeth working at his bottom lip. “I don’t know. I hate being bad at things, or new to things. I don’t want to fuck it up. There are so many moving parts.”
Minho smiled, understanding why Jisung’s mind might go there. He found himself pocketing his crush for a moment so he could help Jisung make sense of what he was going through. “I doubt you’ll fuck it up,” he said. “It’s instinct. Your body knows what to do. People have been fucking since the dawn of time.”
“Well, yeah, I know—but that’s what makes it annoying!” Minho could tell this was something that’d been eating at him for a long time. “It’s not instinctive for me. I freeze up. Why can’t I just be normal and get the first time over with and learn from there?”
Minho knew he had to choose his words carefully. Jisung wasn’t stupid, and Minho was openly very gay. One misstep, and he could reveal his feelings.
“Maybe,” Minho began, “If it doesn’t feel right, it’s because it isn’t right, Jisung. Maybe she’s not the person for you.”
“I love her, though.”
Minho kept his face still through his internal wince.
“I want so badly to be able to give her what she wants.” Jisung sagged against the back of the couch, defeated. “It makes her so insecure. The fact that we haven’t yet, I mean.”
“Which probably makes you feel more pressured.”
“Mm.”
“Sounds like a bit of a vicious cycle.”
“You didn’t answer my question, though. How did you know you were ready?” Jisung hugged an armful of blankets to his chest.
“Oh.” Minho frowned as he reflected on those hazy days when he’d been seventeen, taking his boyfriend back to his grandma’s apartment when she was away at work. “I don’t know. I wanted to fuck him.” He shrugged. “I learned what I wanted to be done to me. I communicated that to him. And when he did it, it felt right.”
Jisung visibly swallowed. “What do you mean, what you wanted to be done to you?”
Minho laughed, but it was a fake, casual veil over the way his heart pounded. “Um. I don’t know. I think there’s a different sexual charge to every person. When you’re with someone you’re attracted to, you can... sense what you want them to do to you. It’s where your mind goes when you let it slip. When you stop thinking so hard about what your body’s doing.”
Jisung watched Minho with huge, shining dark eyes. A light blush still dusted his cheeks.
“If I had any advice,” Minho said, his voice low. “It’d be to follow your gut. Let yourself feel what your body is telling you to feel. Learn what you want, and then get it. Sex should be about you just as much as it’s about the other person.”
Jisung broke into a bashful smile. “That’s...that’s good advice.”
“You’re welcome.” Minho haughtily adjusted the pillows against the arm of the couch to hide his own blush. “I’m tired, Sungie. Leave me to my slumber.”
“You sure you’re okay sleeping out here? How’s your pain level?”
“It’s not so bad.” And it wasn’t. Only his head was bothering him, and the bruises were beginning to fade from red to a bluish purple. “But if your room is too dark and scary without me, I can keep you company.”
Jisung made a face at him and lightly swatted his sock-covered feet. “Being scared of the dark is a perfectly reasonable, evolutionary phobia.”
“Whatever. Goodnight, darling.” Minho leaned back against the pillows and threw Jisung a squinty wink. “Sleep tight.”
“Good night,” Jisung mumbled. He ruffled Minho’s hair on his way to his bedroom.
Minho drifted off to sleep that night more confused than ever, but slightly more certain that Jisung’s reciprocation was less of a far-off delusion than he might’ve expected.
~
Notes:
minho is so whipped for jisung in this fic it's not even funny
only he would flick jisung's knee and then start thinking about sucking his dick as a direct result lmao
jk I'd do the same thinglet me know what you thought babes! your comments make my day!
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 10
Summary:
“I need to support myself before I can support other people.” He sounded like a broken record, regurgitating information from a self-help book, but he tried to stick to his guns.
“Christ, Jisung.” She sighed. “Am I such a burden that one brunch with me in two weeks will trigger you? Why are you even dating me if that’s how you feel?”
His stomach rolled nervously, and his heart started to hammer. He shifted around on his bed, grasping his fingers into the roots of his hair as sweat started to collect in his palms. “What do you mean, baby,” he whispered. “Are you really asking that? You are not a burden or a trigger.”
Notes:
Welcome back boo boos
I'm a little self conscious about this chapter because it has a lot of exposition and backstory and not as much action as the previous few, but I hope you guys enjoy it anyway~~
TWs****: Depression and anxiety, mentions of past bullying, mentions of homophobia/internalized homophobia
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
x. jisung
Jisung didn’t want to admit he was dreading the sisters’ return from their weekend getaway.
Of course, he looked forward to seeing Sunny again. But spending the whole weekend with Minho was nice. He was confused by how nice it’d been.
Minho drew out something in Jisung that he couldn’t quite explain. When they were together, Jisung’s words didn’t stick behind his teeth so often. He didn’t lay awake at night rewinding their conversations and overthinking his own awkwardness because Minho never made him feel judged.
He’d made a rare, irreplaceable friend in Minho, and Jisung cherished the thought. He wanted to keep Minho close as long as he could because he’d never felt so understood before.
Jisung had always struggled to make friends. As a kid, he’d often sit alone at school lunches or on the playground. His brothers were significantly older than him, so they preferred each other’s company, not his. Growing up, if he found someone at school who seemed interesting or worth his time, he’d try his hardest to approach them and strike up a conversation, but he almost never found the courage.
He despised the pressure of making a first impression. There was too much to do all at once, too many variables. It was too hard to be perfect.
He’d been picked on plentifully, and that comprised most of his peer interactions as a child. Perhaps it was because he was short, a fact made worse by his late growth spurt. He’d always been skinny, too. Now he was a bit bulkier—still lean, certainly, but muscular in a few helpful places—but when he was younger, he was picked on for looking like, as they’d called him, “a little girl.”
It didn’t help that Jisung never had the words to defend himself.
It also didn’t help that his parents dragged him across the globe like an afterthought, sweeping him off to Malaysia and the States, forcing abrupt restarts upon an already socially anxious kid. Being trilingual but sloppy in all three languages also hindered his bravery when it came to conversing with people his age. He’d been a quiet, nervous creature before he’d found his outlet through music.
So he poured his heart into it. He did choir in high school, and a few musicals. He took guitar lessons so he could get good enough to play for his school’s jazz band. He began to experiment with rapping, writing lyrics, and performing. He immersed himself in hip hop. He obsessively listened to records across the decades of hip hop’s evolution, finding key inspiration in Kanye West and Kendrick Lamar, staying up until dawn on weekends to teach himself their lyrics.
He grew bored of their lyrics; he eventually came to prefer the feeling of his own.
And through music, he made meaningful friendships. A guy named Tommy had been his best friend in high school, and Jisung cringed as he recalled the mental breakdown he’d had when Tommy left for college in Florida. He thought he’d never find friends again. It’d taken years to construct a comforting social circle. Years of anxiety attacks, loneliness, depressive episodes, homesickness. To have it all ripped away again at the end of high school was his greatest nightmare.
So he’d told his mom there was no fucking way he was going back with her to Korea. There was no way.
Just a few months later, he met Chan and Changbin. He got to study music at a university he loved, and he got to perform side by side with two great friends. Not long after, Sunny came into his life. Sunny, who was a powerhouse of a vocal performance major and the prettiest girl Jisung had ever seen. Sunny, with her honey blond hair and dimpled grin. And she picked Jisung. Of all the guys she could’ve had, she picked Jisung.
He’d never had that sort of attention before. He’d had distant crushes, sure, but never ones he’d spoken to. No one had ever asked him out or pursued him. But for this beautiful girl to approach Jisung after one of 3RACHA’s stages and to tell him she wanted his number and that she’d been crushing on him for months? Jisung had nearly burst into tears.
She was his first kiss. His first love. His first everything.
He wanted his first time having sex to be with Sunny because he loved her. She’d seen something in him no one had ever seen before, and she taught him to unleash the confidence that’d been dormant beneath the surface for his entire life.
And she wanted him so badly. He owed it to her to give her what she wanted.
Minho’s advice had struck a chord with Jisung, though. What was it he’d said? To trust his gut, to let his body do what it wanted when he wasn’t thinking so hard?
As if Jisung knew what he wanted. As if Jisung knew how to let his mind slip or how not to think so hard. He was constantly thinking about how something could go wrong, about how it could go right.
Jisung feared being alone more than he feared anything else, and this was saying a lot.
Beneath the flashy exterior of a talented, charismatic, witty rapper, Jisung was still the kid he’d always been, cowering in the corner, unable to meet eyes with the kids who made him feel small. The way he saw it, he was a few clumsy mistakes away from reverting back to that life, where he’d been alone and overcome with self-loathing. But of course, he kept this truth diligently concealed, since in his eyes it was so ugly and alien.
Part of what’d been so special about that weekend for Jisung was that Minho—even though perhaps it was because he had no choice—laid his own sad, lonely inner child out for Jisung to see. He’d opened his heart to Jisung, who knew such a feat wasn’t easy for Minho. Jisung felt valued. He felt the furthest from alone he’d ever been.
He liked that Minho had broken pieces because Jisung did, too. He liked how it felt to slowly heal one another.
It was nice to have that with Minho because Sunny, as much as she tried, didn’t quite understand. She didn’t quite have the same muddled interior as Jisung did.
Maybe it was Jisung’s fault, though. Maybe he wasn’t vulnerable enough with her, and if he gave her a chance she’d fully understand.
When she came to Jisung’s apartment following her road trip, she threw herself into his arms, squeezing him with her grin hidden against his neck. “I missed you,” she whispered, kissing his cheek.
“Missed you too, baby,” Jisung chuckled, rubbing his palms down her back. She felt so tiny compared to Minho. “Did you have fun?”
“So much fun!” She pulled back and kissed him, warm palms resting on his cheeks. “I’ll have to take you on my cousin’s boat sometime. It’s literally so fun.”
“Sounded like it.”
“How was your weekend while I was away?” She moved to sit on the couch, and Jisung followed her. “I heard about Minho and Yonghwa. Trinity said they broke up?”
A lump formed in Jisung’s throat, and he scrambled to find his voice. Hearing them referred to as Minho and Yonghwa, and having the situation of Minho being beaten and courageously leaving his psychotic boyfriend referred to as they broke up threw Jisung off, to say the least. “Yeah. It was bad.”
She texted something on her phone, locked it, set it on the arm of the couch. “Sorry. What? Oh yeah, Minho and Yonghwa. What happened?”
He took a quivering breath. It’d been Minho’s trauma, not his own. But he hadn’t realized how emotionally exhausted he was until told to explain what’d transpired.
Quietly, his eyes on Sunny’s hands, he said, “Yonghwa hit him.”
Sunny gasped. “Oh, fuck.”
“Well.” Jisung attempted a sarcastic smile. “That’s an understatement. He has a concussion. And he’s so covered in bruises he can’t work for weeks.”
A delicate hand came to cover Sunny’s mouth. “My god. Good for him for walking out, though. Where’s he staying?”
“He said Trin’s letting him live at the Hub, in a room in the back.” Jisung didn’t love the idea of Minho living in a dusty furnace closet trying to sleep through the bass of a strip club, but Minho had seemed ecstatic at the option.
Sunny frowned. “He has all these friends who are willing to help him out. Trinity wouldn’t mind if he stayed at her condo, and I’m sure you guys would welcome him here. Plus Hyunjin and Felix. Hyunjin’s bed is practically open since he’s always in Changbin’s.”
Jisung shrugged. “You know him. He’s Minho. Asking for favors isn’t his thing. I could hardly get him to stay here over the weekend.”
“He stayed here all weekend?”
Jisung nodded. A heavy sensation he didn’t recognize stirred in his stomach.
“With those bruises? Where’d he sleep, the couch? Poor baby.”
Jisung began to sweat. Lie? Don’t lie? “He, uh, said the couch was pretty comfortable actually.”
“Well, that’s good.”
Jisung scrambled for a subject change. So he said, “Have you ever seen Clone Wars? The TV show that gives us the Anakin and Obi Wan content we deserved?”
Sunny looked shocked and bewildered by the question, but her focus was successfully steered.
They came close to having sex that night. They made out in Jisung’s bed for a long while, and he thought of Minho’s advice: Learn what it is that you want, and then get it. He tried to piece together his own wants amid the clearcut barrage of Sunny’s.
When she hollowed her cheeks around his cock, his thoughts flickered to Minho. Minho had exceptionally pretty lips. Jisung couldn’t fathom what it would feel like, having those lips against his skin. Seeing those defined, dark eyes blinking innocently up at him as his cock disappeared in and out of—
Jisung bit his own tongue. He endured the familiar visit of deep, suffocating self-loathing. He waited for it to pass.
He wove his fingers through Sunny’s fine blond hair and admired her soft, reddened lips. She was beautiful. And she wanted him so bad. He couldn’t ask for anything more.
He decided he was ready. It was time to have sex. If she asked tonight, he’d do it. But when he offered to get her off, she said she was on her period and that she was fine leaving it at that tonight, so they went to sleep instead.
~
Jisung always knew in the back of his mind that he wasn’t totally straight .
Since he was a kid, really. He never had crushes on boys, but he admired things about them. He saw people like artwork: beautiful and interesting and untouchable. When his parents disowned his oldest brother, it became clear to Jisung that his sexuality—which, as a late-blooming 13-year-old, was something he’d hardly begun to comprehend—couldn’t be complex. There weren’t options.
But now, he started to think. Jisung was always thinking, though not usually on productive pathways. Maybe this train of thought was just another downward spiral. Even if it was, he started to think maybe he was attracted to Minho.
How could he not be? Minho held a rare kind of beauty that Jisung only saw in photoshopped ads or fantasy TV shows.
When Jisung tipped over the top of this spiral, he brought himself back to the earth with a few pointed thoughts. Everyone was attracted to Minho. Plus, Minho was way too good for most people. He was so handsome, not to mention talented and hilarious. He was bizarre and standoffish and one-of-a-kind. He’d been through so much. Odds were, Minho would end up marrying a celebrity or something.
Even in a universe where Jisung’s blossoming attraction to Minho coincided with real feelings, and Sunny was never part of the picture, and Minho somehow, somehow felt the same way, Jisung wouldn’t dream of changing what they had. He’d found a wonderful friend, and he would do his best to nurture their friendship as long as he could.
In the next several days though, Jisung felt a certain misalignment in his mental state. He could always tell when depressive episodes were coming. He was bewildered by its impending onset. Jisung was very happy recently. Maybe the happiest he’d ever been in his life.
But now, he felt his happiness teeter. It was a matter of when, not if, he’d plummet down a dark hole.
He tried, again and again, to pin the sadness on something. Was it stress from his relationship? Was it because it’d been hard on him to see what happened to Minho the weekend before?
He became unmotivated. Distant and crabby. He was no longer content with his daily routines of retail bullshit, writing with his hyungs, and spending his evenings with Sunny. Even his lyrics felt false and forced as they flooded sloppily from his cluttered brain onto the page.
All week, Jisung kept away from Sunny and his friends. He’d cited feeling depressed and irritated as the cause, and most of them understood. Minho, for example, asked Jisung to hang out Wednesday for the first time since the Fourth of July, and Jisung had told him he was in a mental health rut and wasn’t up for it.
Minho had texted him a simple, I’m sorry to hear that, Sungie. I’m here if you need me, I’ll always lend an ear.
Chan and Changbin knew Jisung desired space when he was feeling depressed, so that was what they gave him. This was accompanied by plenty of guilt on Jisung’s end; he always felt like his friends would abandon him if he stayed away from them for big chunks at a time. But he’d been through enough of these episodes to know he would feel okay soon, and that his friends would accept him back with open arms when he was ready.
Sunny tried to give Jisung space. He knew she did. But she’d text him throughout the day anyway, worried, asking if she’d done anything wrong or if she could help. He did his best to make it clear to her that it was chemical, not by any fault of hers or even his.
Although he wasn’t completely convinced of this himself.
The sadness crept in like a compactor crushing him from all sides. He stayed in his bed when he wasn’t working, occasionally letting a string of sobs out, a weighted blanket making him feel small and snug. His thoughts circled like ravenous vultures, uselessly weaving in and out of the same pattern. He wondered if he was a terrible boyfriend. He contemplated how guilty and scared Sunny must feel now that Jisung was going days without seeing her. He thought of how his friends must feel underappreciated because he didn’t want to see them.
So late Friday afternoon, he called his mom.
“Jisung?” She sounded sleepy when she answered the phone, and Jisung realized it was only seven in the morning in Seoul. “Is that you?”
“Hi, umma.” He spoke in Korean, his phone pressed to his cheek beneath the covers. “I wanted to hear your voice. Sorry for calling so early.”
“It’s okay, sweet boy.” There was an edge of surprise to her voice, but not displeasure. “Are you okay, my son? You sound teary.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Just another one of those times.”
“Have you eaten dinner?”
“I had some potato chips.”
“Ah, Jisung.” She clucked her tongue. “You need nutrition. Take some vitamin D supplement. Make yourself some tea. Is there someone there who can take care of you?”
“They would if I asked them,” he sighed. “But I want to be alone.”
“What are you seeking by calling me?” She asked the question gently, like she wanted to encourage him to contemplate the answer more than she wanted to hear it for herself.
“I don’t know.” He sniffled. “Hearing your voice helps.”
“Well, know that I love you. So, so, so much.”
Jisung scrunched up his face to keep the tears in.
“And I miss you. Every day.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should’ve visited you this summer.”
“Don’t apologize, boy. You’re doing what you have to do. I love that about you. You’ve always had a strong sense of what your path needs to be.”
He allowed the compliment to soak through his tense muscles. While he was terrible at knowing what he wanted moment to moment, he did have good instincts when it came to the long term. He wished he could trust himself more.
“Make yourself some soup,” she suggested. “Curl up in bed with some tea. Take care of yourself. This too, shall pass.”
“This too shall pass,” he echoed. “Thanks, umma. Love you.”
“I love you too. Tell Sunny I say hi, okay? I can’t wait to meet her one day.”
Jisung winced. Unfortunately, his mom was perceptive as a raptor even over the phone. She asked, “Everything’s going okay with Sunny still, is it not?”
“It’s going okay,” he mumbled. “She just doesn’t understand...how I’ve been feeling.”
“Ah. Well, give her a chance to. Show her your heart. Maybe it would help.”
Maybe it would. “Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye, sweet boy.” She hung up.
He tossed and turned in his bed for several hours more, unable to find the motivation to get up and do anything, plagued by the same pressing, circling questions. Am I a good person? Am I a good boyfriend? Am I a good friend?
At the bottom of each spiral sat the same answer. No. Of course you aren’t.
Sunny texted him to ask if he wanted to come out to a bar with their friend group. It was only seven and they didn’t want to leave till nine, so he momentarily considered giving the outing a chance, but he had a feeling he’d be exhausted by that time. So he told her no, and that he was sorry but maybe they could have a movie marathon the following afternoon.
When he set his phone back down on his pillow, it buzzed, the screen coming to life with the message: Incoming call from Minho.
He sighed. Was Minho calling to try and convince him to come out that night? More guilt sank down on Jisung when he realized he hadn’t been there for Minho all week, who’d been beaten and gone through a messy breakup that left him basically homeless all in one weekend. Jisung was a shit friend. A piece of shit friend.
He took a deep breath before answering, prepared to loathe himself for setting boundaries with someone who needed him. “Hi, hyung.”
“Hey, Jisungie.” The familiar sound of Minho’s voice eased the tension in Jisung’s calves. He melted into his blankets. “I know you’re probably resting.”
“I’m sorry,” Jisung mumbled.
Minho paused. Clearly, he hadn’t expected that response. “What are you sorry for?”
“You’re going through a lot,” he said shakily, swallowing to keep from crying. “I feel like shit for not being able to be there for you. I’m sorry for being so lame and being holed up in my room all week.”
The pause stretched on, and then Minho barked out an incredulous laugh. “I’m okay, darling. Don’t worry about me. I’m out of that fucking relationship, finally . I have my own space to live, where my cats are safe and I’m safe. I couldn’t ask for more.”
Jisung assumed he was lying and held his tongue.
“I know you want to be alone,” Minho went on. “And I respect that. But I brought something for you. Can you let me in? I’ll be in and out in thirty seconds, I promise.”
Jisung sat up, his brow wrinkling. “You’re here?”
“I can leave it outside your door if you’d prefer that?”
“No,” Jisung mumbled. “No, it’s okay. I could kind of…” He tried to steady his breathing. “I could kind of use a hug.”
“I thought that might be the case.”
“I’ll be right there.”
He hung up and hauled himself out of bed. He was far from a vision of beauty with his sweatpants, baggy t-shirt, tear-stained eyes, and greasy hair, but it was just Minho. He’d seen Minho naked and covered in bruises the week before.
When he opened the front door, he found Minho standing with a bag of takeout in one hand and a smoothie in the other, a hesitant smile curling his lips. Jisung burst into tears as soon as he saw him, though he wasn’t sure why. Minho set the food on the coffee table and pulled Jisung into a tight hug.
Neither of them said anything. Jisung squeezed him close, his fingers curled into Minho’s t-shirt, shoulders shaking as he let his sobs out against his chest. It didn’t last long—no more than thirty seconds—but Jisung still felt humiliated when he staggered backwards and wiped at his slippery cheeks.
“Sorry,” Jisung sighed, avoiding Minho’s eyes. “I didn’t expect...I’m a mess, I know.”
“Quit apologizing, idiot.” Minho smiled and reached out to wipe beneath Jisung’s eye. Jisung shuffled forward to melt against his chest again, arms snaking around Minho’s waist. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed a hug. “Wanted to make sure you had someone here for you. Just in case.”
“Thank you.” Jisung could only manage the words in a pathetic whimper.
Minho rubbed a gentle circle between Jisung’s shoulder blades.
Jisung pulled back, panic flaring in his throat. “I just hugged you so hard, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“Not at all,” Minho laughed, and only then did Jisung notice the swelling of his nose was almost completely gone. “I’m tough, remember?”
“You are.”
“Here.” Minho bent to pick up the takeout bag and the pink smoothie. He offered a funny little smile. “Strawberry banana smoothie. Something tells me you haven’t eaten a single fruit or vegetable all week.”
Jisung pouted. “I had pizza. Tomato sauce is a fruit.”
Minho glared at him and lightly shook the brown paper bag. “Soup and salad. Hot soup makes me feel better when I’m sad.”
“Thanks,” Jisung sighed, slumping his shoulders and looking at his toes as he took the food. “You didn’t have to.”
“You’re right,” Minho said. “I didn’t.”
Jisung glanced up at him and managed a watery smile. “You’re sobering it alone tonight?”
“Mmm.” Minho crossed his arms and grinned, shaking some hair from his eyes. The navy blue streaks had faded to a dark silver since Jisung last saw him. “We’ll see. Maybe I’ll drop an edible and make the drunks find their own way home.”
“That sounds amazing.” Jisung wished he could ask Minho to stay so they could drop edibles together, but a vicious onset of guilt made his spine crumple down. “I should...I should get back to bed.”
“Of course.” Minho took a step backward and carded a hand through his hair. “Have fun crying and smoking weed and jerking off.”
“Fuck off,” Jisung said, but a short laugh escaped his chest, the first one in a while. “Thanks again for um, for all this.”
“You’re welcome.” Minho’s eyes crinkled, then he set his hand on the door knob. “Bye, darling. Get some rest.”
Jisung’s throat felt tight. “Bye.”
When Minho was gone, more sobs racked Jisung’s chest. He sucked down the smoothie fast because Minho was right, he had gone many days without a single fruit or vegetable. The dose of sweet nutrition upped his mood, if only slightly.
He wished Minho had stayed.
The episode got worse before it got better. The weekend was all sorts of brutal—Jisung sobbed in Sunny’s arms thirty minutes into their movie marathon, and she cried too—and he went back to keeping everyone at a distance until he had to go to work Monday.
It took a lot of energy, but he forced himself to exercise. He jogged every afternoon that week following his shifts at the shop. He tried to eat well, although his knowledge of nutrition was limited at best; phone calls with Minho from the grocery store helped to remedy that issue. Slowly, his midsummer low started to thin out, leaving behind thin traces of lingering sadness.
He still needed to set boundaries for himself, however. Sunny asked him to come to brunch with the women in her family—Trinity, their mom, and their grandma—who were all mentally struggling through Sunny’s father’s chemo treatment. When Jisung was headed to bed the night before the brunch, he decided such a heavy situation wasn’t something he could immerse himself in. He wanted to be there for her, but following two weeks of extremely low moods, he didn’t yet have the capacity to.
He’d told Sunny maybe, so he figured following a maybe up with a no was socially acceptable.
He gave her a call.
“I’m sorry about this,” he said, heart racing as he anticipated her reaction. “But I don’t think I can come tomorrow morning. I just think it’d push me over the edge a little bit.”
Sunny went quiet.
Jisung hurried to say, “I feel like you’re all going through a lot, and you’ll be able to help each other, but I don’t really know how I’d fit into that. Other than awkwardly being triggered and not knowing how to help.”
“You’d help by being there,” Sunny said, and Jisung sensed the hurt in her voice. “I’ve seen you one time since the day I came back from the boating trip. One time. In two weeks.”
“I know,” he mumbled, sagging down onto the corner of his bed. Guilt sat heavily on his shoulders. “I know, Sunny. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry,” she echoed. “What does that even mean? You say you’re sorry but you’ve been saying that all week. Clearly you’re not sorry if you’re not actually changing anything, Jisung.”
He felt a prickle of anger as her tone sunk in. She was mad, clearly, but why? It wasn’t Jisung’s fault he was feeling depressed. “I’m apologizing because I can’t be there for you,” he said, trying not to escalate his pitch. “Because I need to prioritize my mental health first. I’m sorry that I have to make that choice, but trying to be strong for you guys in your time of need is beyond me right now.”
“You wouldn’t have to be strong for us...you could just be there. At all. Supporting me.” She clipped the sentences short, her voice cracking. “Is that so much to ask?”
“I need to support myself before I can support other people.” He sounded like a broken record, regurgitating information from a self-help book, but he tried to stick to his guns.
“Christ, Jisung.” She sighed. “Am I such a burden that one brunch with me in two weeks will trigger you? Why are you even dating me if that’s how you feel?”
His stomach rolled nervously, and his heart started to hammer. He shifted around on his bed, grasping his fingers into the roots of his hair as sweat started to collect in his palms. “What do you mean, baby,” he whispered. “Are you really asking that? You are not a burden or a trigger.”
“You’re contradicting yourself.”
“I never said you were, Sunny. Your dad having cancer and three members of your family suffering because of it is a trigger. I need to do what I can to protect myself from that.”
“This is a part of my life,” she said. “This is a part of dating me. I need you right now, can’t you see that? Why are you allowed to take what you need for your happiness but I can’t have what I need for mine?”
He swallowed painfully, his pulse racing. “Your happiness isn’t my responsibility.”
“No, of course it’s not.” She sounded indignant that he’d make such a statement. “But I wish you would at least try to do what you can to be there for me.”
The sharp pain in her words pierced into his chest, dragging heavy emotions to the surface that he knew he’d struggle for days to put back in their place. “I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was high and shaky, despite his efforts to level it. “I wish I could be the guy you want me to be all the time but sometimes I can’t. I’m sorry.”
She paused. “I don’t want you to be the guy I want you to be,” she said. “I want you to be you. I love you, Jisung. For who you are.”
He took several slow breaths to let the tears subside before he responded. “Who I am is someone who has depression. That means I need to do this, for me.”
She was quiet as she thought. Then she murmured, “You’re right. You’re right, babe. I’m sorry. Fuck.” Her voice hitched. “I don’t know why I got so mad. That was stupid. I know you, and if you were up for it, you’d come. A hundred percent. That was fucked up of me to push you when you need to take care of yourself right now. Fuck.” He could hear the tears break through her shell of anger. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said, relief making his shoulders slacken. “Thanks for understanding.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” He squeezed his phone hard. “You’re right. If I could be there for you, I absolutely would. You know I would.”
“I know,” she said. “I just miss you. I think I feel like…”
A lengthy, strangling silence stretched between them.
“I feel like you’re slipping away from me,” she said softly. “And I don’t know what to do about it. It’s hard when you’re asking for space and all I want is to hold you, and…” she let out a gentle sob. “And be there for you and take care of you, but you don’t want me there. I don’t know how to help you and help myself at the same time.”
He was unsure how to help her and help himself either. “Giving me space is helping. This will pass. I’m keeping my distance from everyone, you know? It’s not like it’s just you. I need space from all my people right now.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Sunny asked, “Even Minho?”
Nervous dread nearly made Jisung sick to his stomach. He scrambled for words, his heart in his throat, wondering if she’d somehow gotten a glimpse into his ugly downward spirals. “Why?” he asked, frowning. “Yes, even Minho.”
“Okay.” She sighed. “I’m gonna go to sleep, okay? Good night. Love you.”
“Night, Sunny. Love you too.”
~
In the following days, Jisung forced himself back into social routines.
3RACHA had a performance that weekend, so he knew he needed to get used to an environment other than his bed before he was thrown back onto the stage. So he started hanging out with Sunny again—coffee dates, TV show marathons, semi-nice dinner outings—and, when he was sure his girlfriend was happy and taken care of, he reached out to Minho.
It’d been two weeks since Minho left Yonghwa. Jisung had yet to see how Minho’s life was shaping up after that turning point, and his lack of presence for the transition left him feeling guilty and ashamed. Now, he’d separated the voice of guilt from the rest of his mind and decided he wanted to see Minho just because he missed his friend. If Minho was upset with Jisung for keeping his distance, then Jisung had practice explaining his boundaries after half a dozen fights with Sunny about it.
He picked up Minho from the Hub in Changbin’s car so they could go purchase a rug. When Minho swooped into the passenger’s seat with pink cheeks, a silly little grin, and a head of bleached, ash blond hair, Jisung’s vocal cords ceased to function.
“Hi,” Minho said, smile widening. Jisung could hardly believe his eyes. His hair was dirty blond on top, falling over his angular brows, dark brown in the lower layers. The soft, golden color brought out the coffee brown shininess of Minho’s wide, cat-like eyes.
He was so pretty. Jisung had missed him so much. He looked on helplessly as his heart accelerated.
“Wow,” Jisung managed, blinking rapidly. “Wow. I love the hair.”
“Thanks.” Minho brushed his fingers through the fresh blond and smirked. “Navy blue was more of a spring color.”
“You…” Jisung had no idea what he’d been about to say, so he shook his head. “You’re handsome.”
He expected Minho to give him a snarky clapback, maybe make fun of him for focusing on something so shallow, but instead Minho fixed him with a cool, almost challenging stare. “Thank you.”
Jisung cleared his throat. “So, a rug? Vacuum? What else is on your list?”
“Take me to Target and we’ll storm the home improvement section like conquistadores.”
As their afternoon progressed, Jisung reacquainted himself with carefree, thoughtless happiness. Minho acted like their two weeks apart hadn’t even happened. He passed no judgments about his mental health hiatus and made the same nonsensical comments he always did.
They stormed Target like conquistadores, as Minho promised; he bought a vacuum, a floor lamp, an area rug, a cheap set of dishes, some shampoo to heal his bleached hair, and a pack of bandaids because, as he’d said, his “stripper boots were going to give him blisters.” They loaded everything into Changbin’s car and drove back to the Hub.
The room in the back of the club had an entrance near the dumpster, which Minho withdrew a key for. They pushed into one long, narrow room with harsh fluorescent lights, filled with the air conditioner’s hum. A full-size mattress sat in one corner and a sagging old couch sat in the other, on which Soonie and Doongie slept snuggled up to one another. There was no kitchen, but a utility sink stood just off the bathroom, and above it there was a singular window covered in paint splotches.
“This floor lamp is going to save me,” Minho was saying, already digging into the lamp box. “I hate these fluorescent lights. They’re messing with my cats’ senses of humor.”
“Can’t have that, can we?” Jisung sat cross-legged on the floor and began tearing at the rug wrappings. “Where do you want the rug?”
“So that when I get out of bed my footies aren’t hitting cold hard cement.”
Jisung cackled. “Footies.”
They got to work, Jisung laying out the area rug while Minho pieced together the floor lamp. Jisung’s chest ached at the sight of Minho having to live with so little, but Minho seemed cheerful as he stacked his dishes and his hot plate on top of the mini fridge.
“So,” Minho asked later, when everything was set up. Jisung sat on the couch, scratching behind Doongie’s ears while Soonie snoozed in his lap. Minho approached him with a can of sparkling water and then settled himself beside Jisung. “How are you feeling, Jisungie?”
Jisung sighed, testing the trickle of sadness that still gripped his thoughts. “A lot better,” he admitted. “But still not at my best.”
“Mmm.” Minho reached out to caress Soonie’s head with a single finger where his chin rested on Jisung’s knee. “I missed you.”
Jisung looked at him, startled. Minho rarely said such things. He kept his eyes stubbornly on Soonie as he continued to speak. “I’m glad you took care of yourself,” Minho went on. “But I missed hanging out. It’s good to see you again.”
Jisung broke into an embarrassed grin. “I missed you too, hyung. How are you feeling?”
Minho smirked. “I feel good.”
“Good.”
Minho’s eyes slid upward. He stared at Jisung through long lashes, his hair dark ochre beneath the lamp light.
Jisung glanced at Minho’s lips. They looked soft, pale pink and so close.
“Um,” Jisung said, clearing his throat and angling his shoulders away from Minho’s face. “I should probably get going. Supposed to head to the studio for a bit tonight.”
“Okay.” Minho reached out to hoist Soonie from Jisung’s lap, and he pressed a kiss to his head before setting him down on the mattress. “Thanks for assisting me with my home renovation.”
“Course.” Jisung tried to smile, but his throat felt tight. “See you soon.”
Jisung drove home with his thoughts in a knot, tangled up with images of Minho’s lips.
~
3RACHA’s performance was that Friday night, and Jisung was more nervous than he’d been for a stage in months. He felt rusty, stiff, and unconfident, even if he knew he still had the ability to perform like he always did.
It ended up going well. As soon as he was on the stage, adrenaline caught hold of his heart and fueled him every step of the way. He forgot what was bothering him because he had to. He had to leave it all on the stage and connect with the innermost part of his creative core. It felt good to do what he loved. So good, in fact, that he couldn’t stop smiling throughout the entire performance.
After the stage, Jisung was sweaty and hyped up on endorphins, unable to stop laughing to save his life. When Sunny dove into his arms he held her close, breathing in her familiar smell, his heart leaping at the feeling of someone who loved him celebrating his success.
They—meaning 3RACHA, Hyunjin, Trinity, and Sunny—planned to meet up with Minho after the performance, since he worked that night. So, quarter till midnight, they went to the Hub.
“What time does his shift end?” Jisung asked Hyunjin as they waited outside the Hub for Trinity to let them in.
Hyunjin, who looked even more fabulous than normal in a billowy white shirt and blue velvet pants, grabbed Changbin’s forearm, lifted his expensive wrist watch to eye level, and pouted. “In five minutes. Damn, we won’t make it in time to see him shake his booty.”
Jisung exhaled, relieved. He tightened his grip around Sunny’s hand.
She grinned up at him, and dark purple lipstick made her teeth even whiter. “You okay, Sungie? You look a little nervous.”
“I’m okay.” He disliked that he wore his nerves on his sleeve, so he attempted to stand with more nonchalance.
Trinity appeared over Sunny’s shoulder and beckoned them to follow, and a few short minutes later they were seated at a booth, shoulder to shoulder and sipping drinks. Jisung breathed to slow the approach of his nerves, keeping his hand firmly linked with Sunny’s. He focused on the feeling of her skin rather than the hundreds of dancing bodies surrounding them.
When Minho came over to sit by them, Jisung scooted over to make room. Trinity slid Minho a glass of water from across the table and said, “Min, there’s a guy checking you out. Five o’clock.”
Minho arched an eyebrow as Sunny and Changbin broke into a low chorus of “oooooh”s. Jisung watched Minho’s face closely, observing the way his dark eyes shined and his lips pursed. Before Jisung could look away, Minho glanced at him.
“What do you think?” Minho asked, smiling and jutting his chin in the direction Trinity pointed out. “Worth it?”
Jisung looked over Minho’s shoulder at some white guy, maybe a few years older than Minho. He was kind of scrawny, with messy brown hair and round glasses perched on his nose. He stared at their table without shame, his chin propped on his hand, his fingers fiddling with the base of a whiskey glass.
He was handsome. Jisung felt something painful pierce his gut, and he swept it easily beneath all the other layers of his emotional palette. “He seems harmless,” Jisung decided to say.
Minho laughed and settled his eyes on Trinity as he ran his fingers back through his dirty blond locks. “Was he watching me dance too, Trin?”
“Yeah, he looked hypnotized,” she chuckled. “Come on, Minho. You deserve to get laid.”
“Yeah, come on Minho!” Changbin added with enthusiasm, and Sunny whooped at Jisung’s elbow. Chan offered a grin and an innocent shrug. Hyunjin appeared intrigued but skeptical as he watched Minho.
Jisung’s stomach tensed. He didn’t want Minho to talk to that guy. He didn’t want Minho to sleep with that guy. He wanted to hang out with Minho tonight, not to watch from the sidelines as he flirted with some dude at the club.
But he should be happy for Minho. Trinity was right—he did deserve to get laid after all shit he’d put up with in the last few weeks.
So why did Jisung feel like he’d choke on his words if he tried to speak?
“Okay,” Minho said, glancing at Jisung briefly before grabbing his water. “I’m gonna go for it.”
“Yes!” Trinity cheered, beaming like he was her son who’d just scored a point in a high school sport. “Yes, Minho. Get it.”
Jisung watched, aware of the sweat gathering at his hairline, as Minho strolled across the club. Minho walked like he knew he was hot, even though he was wearing nothing but joggers and a t-shirt. He turned heads as he walked. Jisung sat back and took a moment to be one of the dozens of heads. He stared at Minho’s pretty blond hair, the loose shirt pooling around his waist, the sweatpants hugging his ass and thighs. He realized, for the hundredth time, that everyone was attracted to Minho. Jisung was far from special for noticing his beauty.
Minho’s smile was flirty and daring as he sat across from the stranger, and Jisung tore his gaze away before he could process the dread sinking in his chest.
~
Notes:
Ok so maybe they're both whipped
Hope you liked!! It was fun bringing more depth to Sungie's character this chapter. Let me know what you thought, and see u Monday❤️
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 11
Summary:
Minho was excited about this party.
Most of his closest friends were going to be there, 3RACHA was going to perform, and he more or less had an excuse to dress up like a cat.
Notes:
hi my loves welcome back! i'm sorry this is a bit later than usual, it has been a long and exhausting day T.T Mondays ughhh
BUT IT's MINSUNG TIME WOooOHOO
hope you enjoy❤️
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
xi. minho
When Minho awoke with a sweaty man wrapped around his bare midsection, he wriggled free and left the premises before his lay for the night could stir.
As he made his Saturday morning walk of shame back to the Hub, jangling his keys in his joggers pocket, he tasted bitter regret. Minho didn’t tend to regret much, since he strived to live moment to moment and had grown skilled at forgiving himself for past mistakes, but he couldn’t ignore this unpleasant dissatisfaction.
The sex had been fine. That wasn’t the most unsatisfying part. The guy—Travis? Maybe Trenton?—had decent stamina, and he’d even been a proficient dirty talker, which Minho liked more than he let on.
In fact, if Jisung didn’t exist, Minho probably would’ve called the sex with Trenton or Travis or whoever pretty excellent.
It was pathetic, really. He had a hot, fit, experienced guy who thought Minho was gorgeous and was willing to bend over backwards for his pleasure, but all he’d been able to think about was Jisung. Twenty-year-old, dorky, straight-or-closeted, virgin Han fucking Jisung.
It had gotten to the point where it was a problem.
Minho hadn’t really intended to fuck the guy anyway, only to flirt with him a bit just to watch with sick, deluded joy as Jisung sputtered and blushed from jealousy. Or, what Minho liked to think was jealousy.
That immature plan came to a screeching halt when Jisung refused to spare them a glance, giving no room for Minho to bat his eyelashes at him over Trenton—Travis?—’s shoulder.
Pathetic. Minho was pathetic. When the fuck had he become willing to do something he didn’t even want to do, just to get a rise out of a cute boy?
He didn’t like to admit how hard it’d been to go two weeks without seeing Jisung, either. He wanted to give Jisung space. Minho would always respect what Jisung wanted, but that didn’t lessen the frustration of knowing that Jisung was curled up in bed fighting an onslaught of invisible enemies, but being unable to hold him close and keep him safe.
So Minho settled for two long, tedious weeks of staying home from work, waiting for his bruises to heal, and jerking off. Kind of a lot.
Because Jisung was in a relationship, Minho usually tried to tether his wandering thoughts. It hadn’t been that simple when he was left with two weeks to lay around with his thoughts. He couldn’t help himself from thinking about Jisung’s smooth honey skin, cut jawline, pouty mouth, and his voice …
Minho thought a lot about Jisung’s voice. About what sweet, gentle noises he’d make. He thought about how it’d feel to have Jisung’s fingers dusting over every inch of Minho’s body. He thought about Jisung’s teeth dragging over Minho’s sensitive skin.
Minho wanted him so bad. Minho wanted him so bad.
So yes, it was becoming a problem.
Hyunjin, unhelpfully, insisted on a regular basis that Minho needed to tell Jisung how he felt. Minho disliked these conversations because Hyunjin was terribly convincing, and the thorn in his side from bottling his feelings was growing sharper by the day.
How was he supposed to tell him, though? Jisung was dating someone. If he felt the same way as Minho did, wouldn’t he have already broken up with Sunny and followed his heart?
Like Minho was one to talk. He’d juggled his crush on Jisung and his relationship with Yonghwa for months.
Just as the pedestrian crosswalk signal blinked to a halt a block away from the Hub, Minho felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned.
His insides twisted.
She stood dressed in snakeskin high-heeled boots, a black mini dress, and reflective Ray-Bans. Her red hair was pulled into a sky-high pony, with little flyaway curls falling over her sunglasses. Her pale, silvery pink lips pulled up into a lopsided, seductive smile.
Mia.
“I have nothing to say to you,” Minho said. He promptly took the opposite crosswalk, away from the Hub.
“Mmm, I doubt that,” Mia purred in a fading English accent. Her heels clacked pointedly on the asphalt as she followed him. “Where are you walking home from so early? Already replaced that idiot with a new lad, have you?”
Minho almost laughed when she referred to her business partner and co-leader as that idiot, but he was aware of her spiderweb of social charm, so he kept his expression blank. “It isn’t your business where I’ve been or where I’m going.”
“If I’ve come to you myself,” she chuckled, “You know it is my business.”
“I’m not joining any new projects,” he started, throwing up air quotes around the euphemism. “And I’m not helping with any existing ones. I just want to be left alone.”
“You’ve got it all wrong, my dear. I’m here to help you.”
“Then I cordially decline your generous offer.”
“Minho.”
He stopped on the sidewalk and regarded her scathingly.
“I know he was abusive,” Mia said, as though she were lazily recalling a piece of old gossip. “Plenty of my people saw him hurt you. Repeatedly.”
Minho’s hands became fists. “Then who the hell are you to keep me from severing all ties with him for the rest of my life? That makes you no better.”
“Don’t be so hasty, sweetheart,” Mia giggled. Long, manicured nails lifted her sunglasses from her nose and tucked them atop her hairline. “Again, I only want to help.”
“Forgive me for having trouble believing you. I can’t remember a single time you or Yonghwa did anything that wasn’t for your own benefit.”
“Oh, surely.” She smirked, and he forced himself to resist the ensnaring charm of her yellow-green gaze. “I will get plenty out of it in return.”
“Then no,” Minho said, impatience creeping into his voice. He turned to stroll away once more. “Not interested.”
“If you walk away now,” she said, “You’ll have to watch your back, dear. There’s no telling what…” she sighed and clucked her tongue as Minho swiveled around to glare at her. “ Tragedies happen when those with too much information turn their backs on very powerful people.”
“What information do you think I have?” He hissed, walking right up to her so the ambling pedestrians would be none the wiser. “Exactly?”
Mia smiled, looping a dainty forearm through the strap of her leather handbag. “Yonghwa is nervous. He’s looking for you.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“So impatient.” She plucked a cigarette from her bag. “He’s nervous because he hurt you quite badly, didn’t he? He seemed to think you’d have an abundance of photographic evidence that you’d been severely injured at his hands.”
“I don’t,” Minho said flatly. It wasn’t a lie. “If I had interest in turning Yonghwa into the police I would’ve done it months ago. This was far from the first time he’s left a mark on me.”
“It doesn’t matter what you have interest in.” Her syllables were muffled as she pursed the cigarette between her lips. “Can you light me, sweetheart?”
Minho rolled his eyes but took the lighter to assist her.
“The point is,” she went on, puffing out a cloud of smoke and retrieving the lighter from Minho. “You and I could mutually benefit from leverage over Yonghwa.”
“I could not benefit from any connection with you.”
“You could benefit,” she said, “In that I will not kill you.”
Minho swallowed.
Mia broke into a glimmering smile. “I don’t want to hurt you, Minho. I only want to protect myself, and the key to that protection lies with you. You are Yonghwa’s greatest mistake. Ever since he met you, he’s been slipping up, left and right.”
“Mia. I have no pictures of my injuries. I intentionally didn’t take them because I don’t want to be involved with either of your bullshit.”
“It doesn’t matter what you want.” Her smile soured into a threatening grimace. “He has something over me. You know what it is, too.”
Minho stared at her blankly for a moment, but horror lurched in his gut when he realized. Yonghwa did have something on Mia. A video tape, which showed Mia elaborately torturing a smuggler set to stand trial. It was something he’d been saving up to use against her for years.
Minho wished he could wipe his knowledge of that video clean out of his own brain.
“What does this have to do with me?” he asked after a silence that was both too long and too short.
“He has leverage. I need leverage back.” She grinned, made an O with her lips to breathe out a stream of smoke, then resumed grinning. “Last time I saw you was in the storage unit in the river sector. Two people in the world have access to that storage unit.”
Minho’s stomach dropped, but he kept his expression stony.
“Yonghwa,” Mia went on, “and you. Do you still have his accounting records?”
Minho squinted through the cloud of smoke. His wallet sat heavily in his front pocket, and he thought of the storage unit key zipped inside it.
He slid his hand into his pocket and lied through his teeth. “No.”
Her grin returned. “That bastard has been making your life miserable for years, and you expect me to believe you didn’t grab onto a single piece of evidence before you left? You didn’t even make the tiniest effort to file a restraining order?”
“Evidence is more dangerous than it is helpful when it comes to Yonghwa.”
“This time is different,” she said. “This time I need your evidence, too. I need what’s inside that storage unit, Minho. We both know the video tape is in there. We could lose him as a threat without a scratch on either of us. Restraining order for you, no more blackmail for me….we would be golden.”
He refused to entertain the idea. She was skilled at spinning a tempting offer, but he wouldn’t risk entangling himself further in Yonghwa’s business. “I’ll be going now. There’s nothing I can do for you.”
“I suppose we’ll see about that.” She winked and then lowered her sunglasses once more. “Toodles, Minho. Remember even your shadow has eyes.”
He fled at a brisk walk, no destination in mind other than as far away from anyone he loved as possible.
~
Minho spent a few days holed up at the Hub, only leaving to take the five minute walk to the dance studio for work.
Mia was the type to make vague threats whether she had the upper hand or not, and Minho was uncertain as to whether she and Yonghwa knew where he was staying. He worked to keep his fight or flight instincts squashed until an immediate physical threat arrived.
He was grateful he had his own space. The last thing he wanted was for Trinity, Hyunjin and Lix, or 3RACHA to get caught up in Mia and Yonghwa’s chaos.
When a knock sounded on the dumpster entrance to Minho’s room, he nearly sent Soonie flying from his lap from standing up so fast. He squinted through the paint-spattered window at the dumpster stoop, prepared to grab his cats and hide.
He relaxed when he realized it was Sunny standing outside.
Minho pulled the door open, narrowing his eyes as they fell on the petite girl. It was chillier out today for late July, so she wore ripped skinny jeans, a pink beanie, and a cute bomber jacket he recognized as Jisung’s.
“Hey Sunny,” he said with a brittle smile. “What’s up? Come on in.”
“Thanks!” She did, and Soonie and Doongie leapt from their resting spots, prowling around her warily. “This must be Soonie and Doongie! Such pretty babies.”
“Want a sparkling water?” He was already pulling one from the mini fridge for himself.
“Oh, no thanks. Those make me burp like no one’s business.” She settled on the rug next to Soonie, who allowed himself to be petted. “I’ll be in and out in just a bit, anyways. Oh my god, how’d things go with that guy from the Hub the other night?” She flashed an excited grin reserved only for hot gossip. “He was cute!”
Minho couldn’t hold back a dry laugh. “Um, it went well. We fucked.”
“Hell yeah, about time you got some good dick after that prick.” She rolled her eyes at the mere mention of Yonghwa. “Although, I shouldn’t assume. Was it good?”
Minho chewed his lip and reflected. Yes, Sunny, having an intense orgasm while imagining it was your boyfriend fucking me into the mattress was a pretty good time. How was your Friday night? “It was decent. Got the job done.”
“Nice. Ugh, sex. I wish.” She giggled, and Minho couldn’t help the way his eyebrows shot up. Thankfully, she breezed on. “So anyway, this Saturday is July 31st, the most important day of the summer. I’m turning 21!” She beamed, produced a pastel pink envelope from the pocket of Jisung’s jacket, and clapped it against her opposite hand. “I’m having something of a... fiesta to remember the night of. Do you work Saturday night?”
“Ah, 21st birthdays are exciting,” Minho deadpanned, despite his attempt to say it cheerfully. He’d spent his own 21st birthday huddled up against a restaurant’s outer heat vent, chugging a fifth of rum and wrapped in pieces of damp cardboard to stay warm. “And no, I just work Sunday this weekend.”
“Great! Well, I hope to see you there. We’ll be hitting some of my favorite bars.” She handed him the envelope, which he took with quiet thanks. “The theme is Leo season, baby. Interpret that in your outfit if you will!” She offered a good-natured laugh and hopped back to her feet. “This place is cozy, by the way. Kind of perfect for a temporary situation.”
“Yeah, it’s not so bad. The cats are happy.” He kissed Doongie between his ears and then got up to let her out. “Thanks for the invite, darling. I’ll see you Saturday.”
“Bye, Minnie!” She blew him a kiss and strolled out into the afternoon light with a spring in her step. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when she was gone.
As the days progressed, he thought to wonder how Mia had found him in the first place. There was no way she’d stumbled upon him unplanned, but he’d been at least a mile away from the Hub when he’d run into her. He supposed his hookup’s apartment had been only a few blocks from Trinity’s condo.
Were two gang leaders patrolling the area around Trinity’s condo?
He could think of no other explanation, but he was unsure how to proceed. Trinity was probably not at immediate risk. She knew nothing about Yonghwa except that he’d hit Minho. He could warn her, but he had a feeling that’d needlessly freak her out when they wouldn’t harm her anyway. They had nothing on her, and without Minho living at her condo, she had nothing to hide.
The night before Sunny’s birthday party, as Minho applied makeup in front of his utility sink for a shift at the Hub, his phone buzzed. It was Jisung, so he picked it up and said, “The fuck do you want?”
“Hey! Where the hell have you been? I’m sick of hanging out with my roommates.”
“It’s been a busy week.” He had been busier than normal, since he’d resumed work for the first time in a few weeks, and that was all Jisung needed to know. “I’ll see you at the party tomorrow, though. I assume you’re going.”
“Oh, yeah. We’re performing, you know. Just a little stage at Buble’s. I think it’s gonna be fun! But anyway. You’ll be there?”
“I’ll be the guy in the full lion costume.”
“Please do that,” Jisung chuckled. “Crawl around and roar. Perfect way to avoid talking to people.”
“What if poachers get me though?”
Jisung snorted. “Imagine the headstone. Killed by poachers while dressed as a lion at the club. You’d go down in history.”
“Make sure to get those poachers thrown in prison for what they do to me.”
“I will avenge you, I promise.”
Minho smiled, running the hem of his silk shirt between two fingers. “Should I get Sunny a birthday present?”
“Nah,” he responded. “She just wants her people around her.”
“But you’re getting her something.”
“Well, yeah. She’s my girlfriend. Thankfully she’s easy to shop for, I just got her makeup and a jacket.”
“What are you wearing tomorrow?” Minho asked, mentally combing through his minimal clothing supply and pondering how he’d fit the theme. Minho enjoyed themed parties. They reminded him of school dances, which were some of his favorite events when he was a kid. He wanted to make the most of this opportunity to dress up like a hoe and dance his ass off.
“What? Oh, like am I wearing a lion’s mane?”
“I bet you’re just gonna wear your red and yellow flannel and call that good enough.”
“Ha, ha, ha, no, I’m...yeah, that’s exactly what I was gonna wear.”
Minho grinned. “Boring.”
“I should spice it up more, shouldn’t I,” he sighed. “I bet you’re gonna walk in looking like something out of a high fashion horoscope magazine.”
Minho’s ears warmed at the praise. “Crawl in, you mean. Crawl.”
“Right.” Jisung giggled. “Are you working tonight? Want to do something?”
“I work till one tonight. We could go get McDonald’s fries at two in the morning like that one time.”
“Oh, that was fun! Yeah, let’s do that. Call me when your shift’s over and I’ll come get you.”
“Changbin’s gonna start asking you for gas money at this rate.”
“I’ll buy him a McFlurry and call it even.”
Minho had hardly stopped smiling since their conversation began, but his shift was about to start, so he had to wrap things up. “I better go, gotta go shake my ass and take my clothes off on a stage for seven hours. I’ll see you after.”
“Have a good shift, hyung, byeeee!” Jisung hung up, and Minho’s chest felt light at the thought of getting to see him later.
~
Minho was excited about this party.
Most of his closest friends were going to be there, 3RACHA was going to perform, and he more or less had an excuse to dress up like a cat.
He was more than a little curious to see how Jisung was going to react. They’d had fun the night before, driving around town listening to music and eating French fries, and Minho was pretty sure he had Jisung convinced he was actually going to show up in a full lion costume.
His outfit of choice, though, was quite different.
Since his hair had been recently bleached, he borrowed a semi-permanent orange dye from Maeve, his friend from the Hub. The dye job was done before he’d started his clothes or makeup, and he was shocked by how much he enjoyed the fiery hue. He’d elected to wear a silky gold shirt, one that dipped below his collarbones. He planned on fitting his black corset over the button-up, which would tie in with his black skinny jeans and knee-high, lace-up boots.
Halfway through clumsily lacing himself into his corset, he felt like he might be overdressing, so he facetimed Hyunjin. Thankfully, Hyunjin was painting a gold glittery mask around his eyes and sporting a cheetah print, skin-tight bodysuit, so Minho decided his outfit was going to fit right in.
To top it off, he fitted a pair of yellow and black cat ears over his styled hair, brushed on some soft brown eyeshadow, and glued a tiny row of gold gemstones beneath his eyes.
He knew he looked hot. The corset, jeans, and tall boots combination drew attention to his ass and his thighs, and it was no secret those were among his assets. He didn’t want to hope that Jisung was going to stare, but...he hoped Jisung was going to stare.
The plan was for the party to start at the Hub, travel to Buble’s for 3RACHA’s stage, and then finish at a third bar downtown. Ten till eight, Trinity knocked on the Hub entrance to Minho’s room and then strolled in. She wore a red tank top cut low around the arms, revealing a sports bra and her ribcage tattoo underneath, plus baggy black harem pants. Even though she looked great, Minho exclaimed that she did a terrible job following the theme.
“Hey, I’m wearing red.” She looked him up and down with her chin pulled back like she’d been zapped. “Lord, you look sexy as hell, Lee Minho. What the fuck? Who would’ve thought you could rock orange hair.”
“Thank you.” He popped a hip, arched over, and smiled seductively at her as he ran his hand up the back of his thigh and over his ass. “This theme is my calling.”
She blinked rapidly. “I kind of want to fuck you. Me. Ew.”
Minho just shrugged and began collecting his phone and wallet. “Don’t blame me for being universally sexy.”
“Something about you with those ears on,” she grumbled, scrunching up her face as though to block out an unpleasant memory. “God damn.”
“Okay, relax. You’re gorgeous but not my type.”
“I mean, you too.” She grinned and jerked her head back towards the bar. “Let’s go, babe. Birthday girl’s waiting.”
Minho’s insides stirred at the thought of seeing Jisung, but then he remembered that wouldn’t happen till they transferred to Buble’s. Either way, tonight was Sunny’s birthday. He should remember that instead of thirsting for her boyfriend all night long.
Sunny shrieked when she saw Minho and pulled him into a hug. She smelled like rosé and cranberry juice, and he realized she was probably already drunk. “You are so hot,” she half-sobbed, running her fingers over his corset. “Holy shit. It’s sad for me that you’re gay.”
Minho laughed out loud. “You look hot as fuck too, darling. Happy birthday.”
She did look very cute in a mustard yellow mini dress, suede boots, and pale cat ears. She practically glowed at the compliment before moving to hug her sister.
When it was time to step out into the warm summer air, Minho and Hyunjin walked side by side, and Minho felt half ridiculous and half like a runway model. Hyunjin’s upper half was covered in skin-tight cheetah print, all the way up to his throat and down to his wrists, while his lower half flounced in bell bottoms. He’d painted on an elegant gold mask, a black nose, and a black upper lip, and Minho thought he looked hot as hell. Changbin was going to lose his mind.
Minho’s feelings muddled into a mess at the thought of Jisung seeing him like this. He wanted to look good for the guy he liked, but it was Jisung’s girlfriend’s birthday. What kind of person did that make Minho?
He wasn’t sure he cared.
It was one of those nights Minho desperately craved a drink. There was courage aching to break free from his bones, and he wished he could forsake his composure for a night and let it all hang out. He wanted to pull Jisung into a corner, watch a pretty blush color his cheeks, and tell him that he wanted him more than he wanted anything else.
But Minho didn’t drink. And Jisung was in a relationship.
Buble’s immersed them in a noisy room full of elevated platforms and colorful lights. Once within the stuffy, booze-scented air, Minho and Hyunjin struck up a conversation with one of Sunny’s friends. Just as she asked whether Minho wanted a drink, the overhead lights zeroed in on three guys jogging out onto the stage.
An instinctive grin tugged at Minho’s mouth. His smile faltered, however, when Jisung stepped into the light.
Minho’s gaze focused on Jisung’s mouth. Opposite lip rings glimmered on his lower lip, resembling the canines of a predator in the feverish light. He’d sprayed his hair an aggressive shade of cherry red, one that made him look so tan and so ridiculously hot that Minho’s throat went dry.
“Oh my god!” Sunny screamed, and her party laughed. “My man is so hot!”
Minho clenched his teeth.
Jisung looked absurdly, devillishly handsome as he grinned around the snake bite lip rings. He still wore that red and yellow flannel, but good god. He’d certainly followed through with spicing it up. Minho was very aware of the sweat forming between his shoulder blades.
“You okay?” Hyunjin laughed, kneading Minho’s shoulder.
“He’s so fucking hot,” Minho gritted, unable to tear his gaze away from Jisung.
“Changbin? Yeah.”
Minho glared at him. Hyunjin just framed his chin with one hand and smiled prettily.
3RACHA led the crowd through a fast and clumsy performance of happy birthday for Sunny, who sat on Trinity’s shoulders and chugged a cup of vodka cran. Then their stage commenced, which was as stellar as all their other stages, though more intimate and fun. They interacted with the crowd more, since it was a smaller venue and the crowd was about half-comprised of Sunny’s friends.
Jisung looked so happy on that stage, his limbs relaxed, grin cocky, eyes twinkling. Minho knew he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about the way he looked for days. He was in his element, words spilling in neat, sharp patterns from his lips, the raw vulnerability of his lyrics ensnaring everyone in the room. Every time he stood on stage, Minho could hardly believe he was real. He was so unbelievably talented. A pillar of unstoppable creativity.
After the performance when the boys jogged out from backstage, Minho watched as Jisung caught Sunny’s eye, beamed like it was Christmas morning, and scooped her into his arms. He watched as he spun her in a circle, as her legs wrapped around his waist. He watched as she cupped his cheeks in her hands and pressed her lips to his, as Jisung hooked an arm comfortably under her butt so he could pull her close and kiss her deeper. She had to stop kissing him so she could giggle, her smile pressed right to his. Minho saw Jisung’s tongue linger against her lip.
Minho turned his back to them. A dark, draining feeling emerged in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t hear anything other than the silent desperation of his own mind.
He spent several moments like this, his cup of water in hand, staring at the crowds of dancing drunks on all sides of him. He couldn’t stop seeing the image of Jisung kissing Sunny, his hands on her ass, her smile pressed to his kiss, their bodies intertwined.
“Hey,” Hyunjin said, his hand heavy on Minho’s arm. “Min, let’s get out of here. Come on.”
Minho hardly realized what was happening as Hyunjin led him away. They had their hands stamped, then they were out in the muggy summer air, ten feet away from the whir of late night traffic.
Minho’s throat was tight. He felt like crying. He felt so ridiculous, in his stupid golden kitten outfit and his corset. He was so glad he had Hyunjin.
“Vape?” Hyunjin offered, pulling a juul from his pocket. Minho took it, eager for something to disrupt the unpleasant rhythm of his mind.
“Fuck,” Minho hissed, breathing out the sweet vapor and squinting through blurry tears. “This sucks.”
“Minho,” Hyunjin said softly. “I can tell you really like him.”
Minho glared at the nearest traffic light like he wanted it to fall and shatter.
“I know I’ve told you to tell him enough. I won’t say it again.”
“Won’t you,” Minho grumbled, taking another drag of the juul.
“I could see how much that hurt just now, okay? I don’t want you to be hurt. All I can say is, he’ll be affectionate to her tonight. It’s her birthday. That doesn’t necessarily mean their relationship is perfect.”
Minho knew this, but the idea of continuing to fuel his fantasy that Jisung might like him back made him feel pathetic. He felt like going home and cuddling with his cats.
“Come on.” Hyunjin hit his arm lightly. “You look hot. So hot. Go in there, be yourself, and make him see exactly what it is he’s missing.”
Minho turned wide eyes on him. “Hyunjin.”
Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “Fuck it, I want you to be happy. Your ass looks amazing and you deserve to be ogled. Come on, Min. Let’s go dance. Dance with me.”
Minho’s chin trembled for a brief second. He smoothed it carefully. “Love you.”
Hyunjin smirked, grabbed Minho’s wrist to pull him back into the bar.
Inside Buble’s, he quickly found himself face to face with Chan and Changbin. Changbin pulled Hyunjin into an embrace the moment he saw him, which left Minho to face Chan, who looked him up and down with raised eyebrows.
“Wow,” Chan said. “You look amazing.”
Minho tried to smile to mask his inner turmoil. “Thank you.”
Chan reached out, caressed Minho’s elbow. “You okay?”
Minho stared at Chan, who looked undeniably cute in his sleeveless black t-shirt and skinny jeans. He didn’t follow the theme. Minho didn’t care, he wanted to make out with someone. “Chan,” he said. “Can I kiss you?”
Chan blinked, took a step back, and broke into a sheepish, dimpled grin. “Minho, are you serious?”
“Don’t ask questions,” Minho breathed. “Yes or no?”
“Uh, yeah, su—”
Minho crashed his lips to his, wrapping his arms around Chan’s neck and licking into his mouth. Chan’s strong hands came up to rest on Minho’s waist, who realized about five seconds into their kiss that he was making out with Chan, and while Chan tasted good and his lips felt nice, this was in no way what Minho wanted.
Minho pulled back and looked nervously into Chan’s eyes. “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t know why I did that.”
“I don’t know why you did that either,” Chan said, grinning, letting his hands fall away from Minho’s corset. “Was that something you’ve like, wanted to do for a while?”
“No.”
“Okay, me neither. Was fun, though.”
“It was,” Minho agreed, allowing a breathy laugh. He pressed one more kiss to Chan’s lips, just for fun, before unwinding his arms from his neck. “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure…”
Minho braced himself. “Jisung. I like him a lot.”
He couldn’t read the way Chan’s eyebrows twitched.
“Seeing him with Sunny sucks,” he went on, averting his eyes. He leaned closer to ensure he’d be audible over the thudding music. “I’m sorry I used you because I was jealous.”
“Hey.”
Minho looked up.
Chan was smirking at him. “It’s obvious. That you like him, I mean.”
“Please don’t tell him.” Minho glanced around the club, and his heart swelled when he locked eyes with Jisung, who stood some fifteen feet away, his arms hanging at his sides and lips parted as he watched Minho and Chan. “I think he just saw us make out. Fuck.”
“Do you want to make out again?”
Minho looked back at Chan, who offered a good-natured smile that made his eyes scrunch up. He was tempted for a moment before he relocated his maturity. “I shouldn’t,” he admitted. “It’d be for the wrong reason.”
“Good for you,” Chan enthused, patting Minho’s shoulder. “Maybe go explain that one to him.”
“No shit.” He slid Chan a glare before lightly pinching his cheek and slinking off.
Sunny wasn’t nearby; Minho noticed her at the bar, locked in conversation with the tender. So when he approached Jisung he tried to relax, fighting through the mess of emotions twisting his decision-making skills.
But Jisung had vibrant red hair and two lip rings, and he was staring at Minho with such unveiled disappointment that Minho felt like rewinding thirty seconds and making out with him instead of Chan.
It’s Sunny’s fucking birthday, he reminded himself. God, he was an awful person.
“Hey,” Minho managed. He didn’t know what else to say.
“Did you just…” a hesitant grin pulled at Jisung’s mouth, and Minho was relieved to see it. “Did you just make out with Channie?”
“I have no idea why,” Minho said quickly, covering his eyes and breaking into sad, humiliated laughter. “I’m not into him. I just...felt like making out with someone.”
“Was it fun?”
Minho squinted at Jisung, whose smirk reflected glimmers of arrogance and amusement. Minho’s stomach churned. “It was fine.” He swallowed. “You look good, Jisungie. You really spiced it up.”
Jisung’s smile was strained. “Thanks. I like your outfit. Suits you.”
Minho’s feelings clashed together, their noise filling the disorganized contours of his brain. He wanted more. He wanted to hear that Jisung thought he was beautiful. He wanted Jisung to stare, jaw-slackened, cheeks pink. He wanted Jisung’s hands on his ass, and he wanted to feel the smooth metal of those lip rings against his mouth. Like Sunny got to.
“Hey,” Minho said, feeling the rush of building tears in his throat. “You know how…”
Jisung waited, his eyebrows furrowed.
“How sometimes you get overwhelmed by places like this and need a moment outside?”
Jisung cocked his head. “Do you need a moment outside?”
Minho nodded, looking down before Jisung could see right through him. Wordlessly, Jisung took his arm and led him out, and not a minute later they were seated side by side on the curb, the thud of the club well behind them and the hum of traffic just ahead. Minho sat in silence, his mind reeling, desperately waiting for the annoying whirl of his emotions to slow.
He thought to himself, he needed to tell him.
But it was Sunny’s birthday.
Soon.
“Are you okay?” Jisung asked, his voice hesitant. His warm hand came to rest on Minho’s shoulder. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
“I’m fine,” Minho reassured him without thinking. He breathed shallow and sharp, and he debated loosening his corset. “Just…” He licked his lips. “I wish there was someone who…”
A brief silence dragged on for what felt like minutes.
“I wish there was someone who wanted me,” Minho muttered. “Not because of superficial shit like because I look hot dressed as a stupid fucking lion. And not like fucking Yonghwa did because I would do his bidding. Just because I’m me.” His lip trembled, and he breathed in deeply to calm his thinly veiled internal chaos. “I’m being dramatic, I know.”
“No,” Jisung said softly. “Not at all. I get what you’re saying.”
Minho couldn’t do anything but nod.
“I wish that for you too,” Jisung went on. “I mean, it shouldn’t be too hard. You have the added bonus of being good-looking, hyung, but there’s no one like you. Even the best guys out there would be lucky to have a place in your life, you know?”
Minho rested his forehead on his folded arms and willed himself not to cry. You idiot, he wanted to say. It’s you. I just want you.
“But also,” Jisung chuckled. “You don’t need anyone. I know you. You’re so strong. You don’t need some...talking cock with legs to tell you you’re beautiful for you to know it’s true.”
Minho rolled his face to the side to stare miserably at Jisung. “Still nice to hear.”
“Is the terror of being single starting to catch up with you?”
Minho sighed. “I guess.”
Jisung’s palm settled on Minho’s back. “Soon you’ll learn to enjoy it. It’s an adjustment but...relationships are so annoying. And complicated. They involve so much overthinking.”
Minho laughed gently. “I don’t think all of them do.”
“Maybe not.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Jisung rested his chin on Minho’s shoulder from behind, crooking an arm around his waist. Words tangled up in Minho’s chest, threatening to spill over at any moment. He forced himself to keep the madness behind his lips.
~
Notes:
jealous much, irino???
Having a sprinkle of minchan was way more fun than it should've been lol
your comments and kudos always make my day!!❤️❤️ have a great week and I'll see you Thursday!Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 12
Summary:
Minho’s hands began fiddling with his clothes—the drawstring of his joggers, the bottom hem of his t-shirt—as his eyes flickered between the floor and Jisung’s face. “I shouldn’t have ignored you,” he said. “I was just trying to find...I was trying to work up the motivation to, to…”
Jisung stared at him, impatience prickling his neck.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
LOOK at the amazing artwork Jellowrites did for COH chapter 8's ice bath scene!!! I can't stop staring at it! THANK U JELLO
OK go jisung go
~~~
xii. jisung
The morning following Sunny’s 21st birthday party, Jisung stretched his arms over his head and allowed his body to soak in the comfortable remnants of a heavy slumber. A glance at his phone told him it was a few minutes after ten.
Sunny had gotten so drunk the night before that Trinity had taken her back to her condo in an uber, despite Sunny’s loud protests about wanting to go home with Jisung. He appreciated Trinity stepping in; Sunny had puked as soon as she got to Trinity’s, according to the misspelled texts Sunny sent his way as he was getting into bed.
He lazily opened instagram as his body began to wake up. Sunny made a birthday post thirty minutes ago, he noticed; it was a 10-slide album of pictures she’d taken outside Buble’s. The first picture was her and Jisung, and he winced at the sight of himself with those absurd fake lip rings and obnoxious red clown hair. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to be seen in public in such a state, much less on stage. Although, Sunny hadn’t been able to stop talking about how good he looked all night.
Minho had said he looked good, too.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, he swiped onto a picture of Sunny and Minho, arms wrapped around each other like sorority sisters, Minho with his hip popped and a knee bent so he could stoop to her height. Jisung stared hard at the picture, blinking sleep from his eyes so he could focus on all the stunning pieces of Minho’s outfit.
He’d dyed his hair coppery orange. Jisung couldn’t believe he’d missed that the night before, under the colorful lights of Buble’s. Minho showed the camera his trademark mischievous, flirty half-smile, accentuated by the glitter beneath his eyes. The gold button-up hugged his chest and shoulders, and the corset was laced tight, pulling Minho’s waist into an impossible curve. Jisung’s eyes traced the photo carefully, observing the fullness of Minho’s thighs in those jeans.
On top of it, he had those fucking cat ears on. He looked hot. Jisung wanted to…
He wasn’t sure what he wanted. All he knew was that his ears were burning.
Jisung couldn’t believe that Minho walked around looking like that, with the personality he had and the heart he had, and still spent the night sad and lonely. Jisung would’ve expected Minho to be basking in the attention of a dozen different guys. Especially in that outfit.
It hurt his heart to see Minho upset. He urged to chase those feelings away, to help Minho see how much respect and appreciation he deserved.
But Jisung was just his friend, so how much did his words really mean, anyway?
He felt guilty for not commenting on Minho’s new hair, so he pulled up his contact. He decided he’d give him a check-in call to appreciate the color change and make sure Minho was feeling better after what’d seemed like a rough night. When it went straight to voicemail though, Jisung sent Minho a text. I just saw Sunny’s insta post - I can’t believe I missed the orange hair, it looked blond at the bar. Looks good hyung! Are you feeling better this morning?
The day oozed by without a response. Minho didn’t call or text him back, nor did he like Sunny’s instagram post, which Jisung checked on about three hours later. By the time it was nearly dinnertime and Minho still hadn’t replied, Jisung’s worries started to take control. Was Minho giving him the silent treatment? Had Jisung done something to hurt his feelings?
Worse yet, had something happened to Minho? He’d pissed off a lot of powerful people by breaking up with Yonghwa. The thought made Jisung slip into a nervous spiral. Should he try calling him again?
He did. It went to voicemail once more.
As he sat in the living room that evening with Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, and Sunny, the vivid memory of Chan and Minho kissing in the middle of Buble’s struck Jisung. He straightened, staring at Chan. He’d almost confused that reality with a hazy dream, but it’d happened. Minho had made out with Chan. So he said, “Chan, you and Minho fully made out last night, huh?”
Sunny gasped so loudly Jisung was worried she’d hurt her throat. Hyunjin and Changbin looked unfazed, although Hyunjin’s eyelids fluttered in response to Sunny’s noisy reaction.
Chan covered his mouth as he grinned, eyes squinting into innocent slits. “I thought he explained that one to you.”
Jisung regretted bringing it up at all. Suddenly his ears burned. Minho made out with Chan. Wouldn’t Jisung have seen it coming if his best friend made out with his other best friend? Sober? Why had Minho done that? Jisung didn’t like the feeling of distance broadening between him and Minho. Minho made out with Chan, expressed feelings of loneliness, and began ignoring Jisung, one after the other. Why was Minho drawing into his shell, pulling away from Jisung? Why was he making out with Chan?
“Um,” he said. “He said he isn’t into you and just felt like making out with someone.”
“Well, there you go.” Chan leaned back in the armchair and dug around in a bag of barbecue chips.
“But that doesn’t explain your thoughts on the matter,” Changbin cut in. “Did you enjoy sucking face with Minho?”
Jisung laughed loudly to cover up the way his insides were squirming.
Chan shrugged. His smile exuded nonchalance. “Yeah, he’s a really good kisser. And he looked fucking hot. But like, I’m straight, so. That’ll probably be it for us.”
“He looked so hot!” Hyunjin jumped into the conversation with frustrated enthusiasm. “I’m infuriated that he didn’t get laid last night. The audacity of the men in this fucking world.”
Changbin gave Hyunjin a fond smile. “Jinnie, you’re sweet but, you know Minho could be getting laid every night if he wanted to.”
“That’s true,” Hyunjin agreed. Jisung didn’t have any idea what they meant by that, though he assumed Minho’s romantic endeavors must’ve been complicated now that he was fresh out of an abusive relationship.
“Hyunjin,” Jisung began hesitantly. “Have you heard from Minho today?”
Hyunjin raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, we got breakfast this morning. Why?”
Jisung felt the blood drain from his face. “Just wondering,” he said, too cheerily to mask the sinking in his gut. He was relieved to know Minho was safe, but now he struggled to come to terms with the news that he was ignoring him. Why? What’d he done wrong? Jisung scrambled back through all of their interactions that night, trying to piece together what he’d done wrong, but he was left empty handed and drowning in hypotheticals.
“Can we rewind?” Sunny laughed. “Chan and Minho fucking made out? That’s iconic. Especially since you were both sober last night.”
Jisung left to go to the bathroom, no longer feeling like listening to this conversation. He sent Minho another text as he sat on the edge of the tub, carefully typing out each word. Minho, are you okay? Did I do something to hurt your feelings? If I did, I’m sorry. I know I don’t always say the right thing.
He went to go make him and Sunny a pasta dinner to keep his shaking hands occupied.
Minho had been vulnerable with Jisung, sharing his insecurities, something that Minho didn’t often do. Had Jisung insulted him somehow? Responded to his feelings like the idiot he was and pushed Minho away? The thought made Jisung’s brain swirl into a worried mess.
Jisung hated being ignored, too. Each hour that passed, the worrying only intensified. He told Sunny he wanted to be alone that night, but when she pouted and said that they hadn’t even spent one night together over her birthday weekend, he relented and let her stay the night.
When her hands roamed his bare torso beneath the protective covers of his bed, he told her he didn’t want to. The hurt in her eyes haunted him for hours as he tossed and turned, wishing sleep would take him.
Monday at the electronics shop, Jisung sat with Seungmin in the break room, nursing a bitter cup of coffee and picking his way through a pastry. “I can’t figure out why Minho is ignoring me,” Jisung told Seungmin, bands of tension tightening across his ribs. “I don’t like being ignored.”
“Yeah, understandable.” Seungmin’s face wrinkled with disappointment. Despite his soft and friendly exterior, Seungmin was quick to determine right from wrong and unafraid to voice his opinions on something he found questionable. “The silent treatment is a form of emotional manipulation, you know. Especially for someone with anxiety like you.”
Jisung disliked the flavor that claim left in his mouth. He didn’t think Minho was cruel enough to deliberately manipulate Jisung like that. Minho was an asshole sometimes, but he was always playful about it, never cutting deeper than the outermost layer. “I don’t know,” Jisung sighed. “Minho is one of my best friends. I don’t think he would do this unless something was really wrong.”
“Go confront him, then. You know where he lives, right?”
Initially, Jisung objected to this idea, claiming that it was an invasion of privacy. But after six hours at the shop, six more hours at the recording studio, and enough exhaustion to dull his nerves, he decided he’d take Changbin’s car to the Hub.
Just as he approached Changbin to ask for his keys, though, Sunny called him. He retreated to his room to pick up. “Hey, baby.”
“Jisung?” She sounded uncertain. “Have you not checked your phone in a while?”
“Yeah.” He sighed and sagged onto his bed, laying on his stomach with his head buried in one elbow. “It was a long day. Work and then more work. Sorry.”
She didn’t say anything for a while. “I feel like I’ve hardly seen you this weekend,” she said. “You’ve been around, but you’ve been...distant. Is something bothering you?”
Jisung sighed. Of course she’d notice. She was his girlfriend, and he’d been a ball of nerves all weekend. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Minho has been ignoring me since your birthday party and I’m just worried, I guess. I really hate being ignored like this.”
“That’s kind of rude.” Surprise colored her voice. “Why would he do that to you?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like him. He’d never…” Jisung swallowed. “He’d never deliberately hurt my feelings like this. I’m afraid I really pushed him away somehow, but I have no idea what I did wrong.”
Sunny paused for several seconds before saying, “Have you ever thought maybe he’s jealous of our relationship?”
Jisung’s eyebrows laced together. “Jealous of our relationship?” That familiar, annoying heat returned to his cheeks and neck. “You think he…”
“I don’t know,” she said quickly. “Maybe because his past relationship was so terrible, and because you and I are actually good to each other.”
“I guess…”
“Or maybe he has a crush on you. Who knows.”
Jisung shook his head. There was absolutely no way. Minho was as untouchable as the moon, and Jisung was stuck on earth, sinking into the mud with each passing day. Minho liked guys who were older, built, confident, experienced. Jisung had been in a relationship since the day they met each other, since long before that. They had never been an option for each other. “I don’t think so,” he said firmly. “I don’t think I’m his type. Not even close.”
“You’re everyone’s type, Sungie,” she said, and he wrinkled his nose. “But either way, that’s shitty of him. You should go talk to him if you’re that worried.”
“Maybe I will. I’m sorry I’ve been distant, baby.” He ran his fingers through his hair, nails against his scalp somewhat soothing a dull headache. “I don’t know what’s going on with me.”
“Hmm.” She huffed out a sigh, and Jisung winced. “Well, maybe we can do something tomorrow?”
“Yeah, definitely. I’ll text you after work and maybe we can go get dinner and a movie?” He closed his eyes and forced a fragile smile that no one saw. “I miss our dinner dates and late night cuddles.”
“Me too,” she said. “That sounds perfect. Sleep tight, okay Jisungie? Love you.”
“Love you. Sweet dreams.”
~
Their Tuesday date turned out to be a lot of fun, and Jisung finally began to go hours at a time without thinking of Minho. His sadness and worry melted into simmering anger. He focused on filling his life up with other joys instead of dwelling on the fractured relationship with one of his favorite people.
He was shocked out of his mind when he came home from work Wednesday and found Minho sprawled out across his couch wearing a blinding smile, his legs lazily slung over Hyunjin and Changbin’s laps.
Jisung stared, and hurt plunged straight through him like he’d been injected with it. Four days of no response, and now here he was like nothing had happened, hanging out with Jisung’s friends. Dejection and anger made his upper lip tense.
Minho looked up at him brightly, lolling his head back against the pillows. Pale orange hair fell messily over his dark eyes. His smile was radiant, although hesitant. “Hi, Sungie,” he said.
Jisung glared at him, took a deep breath, and strolled off to his room.
He paced around his bed, heart pounding and palms sweating. The living room sounded eerily silent through the wall. He both wanted to press his ear to the door to listen in on what they were saying and wanted to put on headphones and exit this realm of existence.
Then a quiet knock sounded on his door.
He pulled it open, bracing himself to confront the emotions throwing themselves at the walls of his heart. Minho stood there without a hint of amusement in his eyes. Instead he looked pitiful, his lips relaxed into a solemn frown, a tiny dent creased between his brows. He was so familiar, dressed in a t-shirt and joggers, and Jisung was torn between shutting the door in his face and leaping forward to give him a hug.
“Can we talk?” Minho said.
Jisung just nodded, stepped aside.
Minho leaned against Jisung’s dresser with his arms crossed while Jisung stood like a statue at the foot of the bed. Minho nearly made one of Jisung’s Star Wars figurines tumble to the ground when he bumped the dresser with his shoulder, and he apologized breathlessly, scrambling to straighten the toy.
Jisung smiled. He couldn’t help himself. “Why did you ignore me for four days?” he asked. Despite the momentary lapse in tension, his heart started pounding all over again.
Minho sucked his lower lip between his teeth. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m really sorry. I know you must’ve been worried.”
“Yeah,” Jisung said coldly. A hitch of emotions made his throat tighten. “I thought I must’ve done something wrong to push you away like that.”
“You did nothing wrong,” Minho said. His delicate fingers fiddled in front of his stomach, a sign of nerves Jisung knew well. “I’m sorry for making you think you did. I shouldn’t have kept my distance like that, I just needed…” He sighed, his eyes far away. “I needed some time to myself.”
“You could’ve told me that,” Jisung said. Sharpness still punctuated each of his words. “I would’ve given you all the time you needed if you asked, hyung. Why would you ignore me and leave me wondering if I’d done something wrong?”
Minho shook his head. His eyes were glued shamefully to the floor.
“Can you please keep me in the loop next time?” Jisung tried to smile, but it didn’t feel genuine. “I was worried sick.”
Minho’s hands began fiddling with his clothes—the drawstring of his joggers, the bottom hem of his t-shirt—as his eyes flickered between the floor and Jisung’s face. “I shouldn’t have ignored you,” he said. “I was just trying to find...I was trying to work up the motivation to, to…”
Jisung stared at him, impatience prickling his neck.
A shaky sigh made Minho’s shoulders bob unsteadily. “I feel terrible,” he admitted. “I never want to worry you or hurt you, and I did both. It was selfish of me. Can you forgive me?”
Jisung blinked. “Can’t you tell me why?”
Minho’s nails began scratching at his opposite biceps. “I don’t think so, darling.”
Jisung’s frown deepened.
“I’m sorry,” Minho breathed, nervous eyes meeting Jisung’s. “I wish I could, but I just haven’t figured out what’s going on in my own head, and trying to explain it to other people feels impossible.”
“Hyunjin said he’s seen you like three times since Saturday,” Jisung pointed out. “It’s just been me you’re avoiding. But why?”
“Hyunjin,” Minho groaned to himself.
“Did you not want him to tell me?”
“No, that’s not it,” Minho sighed, running his fingers back through his hair. “Look, Jisung, you know that expressing my emotions is…”
Jisung waited, his heart in his throat. He periodically wiped his sweaty palms on his athletic shorts.
“Not easy for me,” Minho went on shakily. “And I was just feeling things, okay? And it sucked. I didn’t know how to tell you. Hyunjin is good at pulling stuff from me when I want nothing more than to be alone, that’s all. I never wanted to hurt you.”
The threads of tension between them began to loosen, curling away with each exchanged word, slowly but surely. Jisung chewed on his lip for a while before reiterating, “Next time, please just give me a heads up, okay? I was really worried. I didn’t know what you were going through, I thought maybe something had happened to you. I was worried I’d lost you, or…” He paused, and tacked on because he didn’t want to make things too heavy, “Or something.”
Minho’s gaze burned with an intensity that left Jisung’s head spinning. “Jisung,” he said softly. “Please don’t think that. You…” His eyelids fluttered as he sighed. “You mean so much more to me than that. It’s because I care that I couldn’t face you. I never want to make you feel that way. I’m sorry. It will never happen again, I promise.”
The weight of the promise made Jisung’s breath speed up. He felt suddenly warm, suddenly close to tears. “Okay,” he whispered.
Minho tried to smile, though he barely managed to muster a convincing grimace. “I’ll make it up to you,” he said. “I’ll—”
“Your hair looks good.”
Minho blinked like he’d been slapped. “W-what?”
Jisung laughed uncomfortably. “I didn’t appreciate your getup enough Saturday night. It was really a stunning look, hyung. The orange hair looks so good. Your eyes look pretty.”
Too much talking, Jisung. He bit his tongue.
“Thanks,” Minho said, his lips pursing like he was keeping a silly secret, eyes crinkled with restrained laughter. “Thanks, Sungie.” Then the familiar carefree laughter in his eyes faded. “Are we...are we okay?”
Jisung’s smile was finally genuine. “Of course we’re okay.”
~
Later that week, Sunny suggested a beach outing. Jisung had the day off from the electronics shop, and they even convinced Chan to tear himself away from the studio for an afternoon.
Early August never sat well with Jisung. He enjoyed the sticky, blazing heat, but it was tinged with impending sadness. Summer was a few weeks away from ending. Not much would change once classes started up again, but at the same time, everything would change. He and Changbin would have to drive onto campus every day, he’d have homework to busy himself with instead of free time to bask in, and he’d be spending money instead of making money.
It’d been an excellent summer, and he didn’t want it to end.
“Can you get my back?” Sunny asked him as they stood beneath the awning of the beach check-in. It was sweltering, and Jisung had been steadily chugging water since they piled into Trinity’s wagon that morning.
“Sure.” He squirted some sunscreen onto his fingers and began smoothing it onto Sunny’s back, careful to spread it beneath the straps of her bikini. The smell of lotion and watery breezes filled his nose, and he itched to run out into the sand.
As Sunny rubbed lotion between Jisung’s shoulder blades, Minho strolled out of the men’s bathroom, a towel lazily slung around his bare shoulders, dark sunglasses perched on his nose. The wind caressed his coppery hair up from his angular brows, and when he met Jisung’s eyes he allowed a small, mischievous smile before walking over to join Trin, Chan, Changbin, and Hyunjin.
Chan’s fingers came up to grab Minho’s hair and lightly ruffle it, and something heavy turned over in Jisung’s chest.
Sunny and Trinity created prime tanning set-ups, lining up their towels side by side at the perfect angle between the treeline’s shadows and the sun, while Chan started handing out beers. Changbin and Hyunjin were already wading along the shoreline, hand in hand, and Jisung smiled as he watched Changbin untangle their fingers so he could loop his arm around Hyunjin’s waist.
Minho walked up to Jisung and tossed him a water bottle, which was still dripping with ice water from the cooler. Jisung caught it and gave Minho a grateful smile. “Bold of you to come to the beach when you can’t swim.”
Minho pushed his sunglasses up so they held his hair back like a headband and rolled his eyes. Little red marks dotted his nose bridge where the sunglasses were, and Jisung noticed a smear of sunscreen on his cheek, so he reached out to rub the lotion in. Minho was unfazed by the contact, saying, “As if the point of going to the beach is to swim. I’m here exclusively for vitamin D. And to steal Trinity’s food.”
“You might not have a choice,” Jisung chuckled. “After rap, 3RACHA’s specialty is throwing people into the water.”
Minho tugged his sunglasses back down and smirked, wandering back towards the water. “You’ll have to catch me first.”
Jisung dropped his water bottle and lunged at him, grinning. Minho shrieked and skittered away, kicking up a storm of sand and nearly falling on his ass. “You’re the clumsiest dancer I’ve ever seen,” Jisung snorted, running at Minho and looping his arms around his waist. “Come on, hyung, time to swim!”
Minho wiggled free of Jisung’s arms, crouched, and then heaved Jisung up onto his shoulder like he weighed nothing. Jisung shouted, flailing all over the place, bringing an arm down to slap Minho’s ass. “Hyung, hyung, put me down, I’m afraid of heights, you know this, hyung —”
“I’m five foot eight, this is not a height!” Minho began unsteadily running towards the water.
Jisung used both hands to grab at Minho’s sides and tickle him, and Minho yelled and squirmed, nearly sending Jisung toppling to the ground. His arms came up to encircle Jisung’s middle, and Jisung was surprised by how ropy and solid his biceps felt against his stomach. Minho had a lot more muscle than Jisung thought.
“Ready to swim?” Minho threw Jisung’s words back at him, and Jisung looked down past Minho’s ass, realizing he was knee-deep in water now.
Jisung’s shouting didn’t relent. “If you drop me I’m taking you down with me, asshole!”
Minho charged on, taking several more long strides into the water, and Jisung couldn’t help his giggles as Minho’s steps splashed water onto his face. “Fuck, the water is cold as shit!” Minho hissed, and then he was flopping over like his legs had been whisked out from under him.
Jisung yelled like a warrior charging into battle as he tumbled into the lake, plunging back-first with Minho curled around him, and the rush of cold was shockingly refreshing as he squeezed his eyes shut and sank into the shallow water. He emerged, spluttering, and found himself and Minho in chest-deep water.
Minho grinned at him, wet amber hair clinging to his forehead, droplets gleaming on milky skin, sunglasses hilariously askew atop his head. Jisung’s eyes followed the clear waves as they caressed the toned muscles of Minho’s chest. “You okay?” Minho asked, and the question caught Jisung off guard.
Jisung scowled, using both arms to splash a wave of water in Minho’s face. “No thanks to you! You almost murdered me and buried me at sea!”
Minho whined and wiped water from his eyes. Jisung stared at his forearms, fascinated by the way the glistening water slid down veins and smooth muscles. “It was self defense,” Minho replied, turning and marching through the water back towards the sand. “Now this water is deep and I can’t swim, so, bye Sungie!”
“It’s not even to your chest, hyung! Wimp!”
Minho venomously glared at him over his shoulder and kept wading back to shore. Jisung watched him go, crouching so he could hide his grin beneath the waves.
When Minho emerged from the water and began shuffling in his cozy, quiet way up towards Sunny and Trinity, Jisung watched him, transfixed. His swimming shorts were completely soaked, clinging to his legs like a second skin. The muscles of his calves flexed and relaxed as he walked. The midday sunlight caught the tips of his faded hair, igniting it into a flaming orange.
Jisung exhaled sharply. The water felt constricting against his chest, and he dug his toes into the wet sand.
Come back, he thought, curling his fingers into his palms. Please come back.
It all hit him at once.
He lowered himself further into the water to hide his burning cheeks. He wanted to pull Minho back into the water where no one could see them, where he could make Minho laugh and watch his pretty smile unfold again and again. He wanted to wrap his arms around Minho’s shoulders and kiss him on the mouth, to feel Minho’s arms around him again. He wanted to touch him, to smell the sunscreen on his skin, to taste him.
Okay, so. Jisung tried to stick a blockade in the unstoppable spinning of his mind. Slow down, Jisung.
So maybe…there were feelings there.
Jisung floated on his back for a while, his eyes gently shut, only opening them to ensure he wasn’t wandering too far from the shore.
He told himself it would be okay. He’d had his fair share of intense, short-lived crushes. Maybe never on a boy before, but was it really so different? This didn’t have to be a big deal. Jisung had certainly found other women sexy and attractive throughout the time he’d been in a relationship with Sunny. That didn’t mean he needed to act on the attractions. They would pass.
This would pass.
Minho was in no way, ever, an option. It was a fun, indulgent fantasy to think about how soft his lips might feel, or what pretty sounds he’d make—
Jisung swallowed. But. But. Minho was an irreplaceable, close friend who understood Jisung like no one else in the world did. He would never risk admitting these stupid feelings to anyone out of fear that he could damage what he and Minho had. It’d been painful enough spending four days with awkwardness between them; the last thing he wanted was to lay more bumps in the road of their friendship. He treasured Minho way too much to risk pushing him away or making him uncomfortable.
Plus, if Minho picking up Jisung and tossing him into the water like a younger brother proved anything, it was that Jisung wasn’t Minho’s type. Jisung was young, inexperienced, foolish, and so nervous all the time. Never in a million years could he catch the eye of someone who was so confident and had been through so much. Jisung was sure Minho saw him as an idiot little brother who was sweet and cute and fun to take care of.
Jisung was quiet for the remainder of their afternoon, lost in the guilt and confusion of his noisy mind. As they walked towards the bathrooms to change out of their swimsuits, Trinity invited everyone over for dinner, saying she could order a pizza and bake some edibles, but Jisung requested he be dropped off at home instead.
“Are you okay?” Sunny asked with a pout, looping an arm around Jisung’s waist and thumbing at the waistband of his swim shorts. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“I’m okay.” He kissed her forehead. “Feeling tired. I think I just need a nap. I might come out later if you’re all still hanging out. Will you text me?”
“Of course.”
Minho caught Jisung’s eye over the top of Sunny’s hair, and Jisung averted his gaze, unsettled by the piercing wisdom of Minho’s dark eyes. He disliked when Minho looked at him like he knew everything going on in his head.
But Jisung couldn’t get the look in Minho’s eyes out of his head for the entire drive home. By the time he was unlocking the door to his apartment, panic stirred inside his skull, ensnaring his ability to see things reasonably and weighing it down until it was suffocated. He went straight to his room and curled up in his bed, tossing the bag of swim gear carelessly against his dresser and sending his Star Wars figurine tumbling to the floor.
He thought of Minho. He lay on his back with a hand on his chest, waiting for his racing pulse to slow, thinking of Minho’s dark eyes and plush pink lips.
He breathed in, then out. He relaxed against the familiar warmth of his bed. There was nothing he had to do right now. No one was home. There was no one to please, no one’s expectations to meet. It was just him, safe and alone in his bed. The front door was locked. His bedroom door was locked. He was okay.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Minho. God damn it, he couldn’t fucking stop thinking about Minho.
Minho’s stupid eyes, Minho’s stupid mouth, the way the water slid down his body today, the feeling of his muscles against Jisung’s skin. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and groaned, trying to think about something else. Anything else.
Images flickered through Jisung’s head. Minho and Chan locking lips at Buble’s, Chan’s hands running over Minho’s waist. Minho leaning back against the shower wall, completely naked, goosebumps covering his bare chest, his nipples hard and dark. The sun brightening Minho’s brown eyes into liquid amber.
Minho in that golden kitten outfit, in that fucking corset, with those stupid fucking cat ears on his head.
Jisung groaned, rolling over onto his stomach and idly grinding down against the bedding. Thoughts of touching Minho had been chipping away at Jisung’s self control for months, but he wasn’t quite sure he had the strength to fight them this afternoon.
They were just thoughts. He couldn’t be held accountable for just thoughts. Right?
He contemplated the way Minho had looked today. Sunglasses, pale orange hair, and covered head to toe in droplets of cold water. He contemplated all the curves, grooves, and shapes of Minho’s legs—calf muscles, thighs, even his fucking ankles were pretty—and he rolled over onto his back, his bottom lip clamped between his teeth and his fingers skimming down his body to palm himself through his shorts.
Jisung stopped, fear trickling into his muscles. This was wrong. This was wrong.
Who the hell was he to encourage these thoughts about someone other than his girlfriend? Sunny deserved better than that. Minho deserved better than to be some object in Jisung’s frustrated fantasies. Minho was his friend. His close, beloved friend.
Did that make this better or worse? Jisung didn’t know.
But this felt like an itch he needed to scratch. He was forcing himself not to think about how badly he wanted to touch Minho, and it was making things worse. Maybe if he did this, the thoughts would go away.
He groaned when he began to run a lube-slicked hand up and down his cock. He imagined a determination in Minho’s eyes, a pretty blush coloring his cheeks, the sweetest moans falling from his swollen mouth. He pretended it was Minho’s small hand fisted around his cock, Minho’s thighs laid out naked as he sat astride Jisung. Minho’s legs covered in dark, shining marks from Jisung’s teeth.
Jisung thumbed at the head of his cock and thought about how Minho would look above him. Moving over him, gazing down at him like he was precious. Fingers clawing at Jisung’s chest as he swiveled his hips in Jisung’s lap. What would it be like, to watch Minho absolutely fall apart? To crumble his facade of stoic nonchalance and bring tears to his eyes? Fuck, Jisung wanted to make a mess out of him. He wanted Minho’s breaths heavy against his neck, teeth sinking into Jisung's shoulder. He wanted to feel Minho tight and hot and quivering around him.
He couldn’t think of anything else. Only Minho’s lips, shining and red, stretched around Jisung’s cock. Minho’s thighs, the way it’d feel to dig his nails into that milky skin. He came thinking about how it’d feel to make Minho come.
He lay there with his chest heaving, sweat collecting on his forehead, cum drying from his lower belly to his chest. He waited for the self-loathing to settle in.
Jisung spent the rest of the evening with his phone turned off, loose leaf paper dry and familiar beneath his fingers as he scribbled down lyrics in blue ink. Images wheeled tirelessly through his mind, manifesting in broken descriptions of pitiful feelings. He wrote about the oily smell of sunscreen, the feeling of a genuine smile pressed to your neck, of soft lips and pretty dark eyes. He wrote about the cold, exposing ferocity of water, how it can pull you in just as quickly as it can fling you back out. He wrote about hating himself. He wrote about everyone else hating him, too.
When he was done, his attraction to Minho was contained into a neat little box in the corner of his mind where it belonged, and he turned on his phone so he could call Sunny and invite her over for alone time.
They fell asleep in a loose embrace, Sunny tucked into Jisung’s arms with her cheek pressed to his chest, and Jisung brushed his nose against her hair and breathed in her familiar scent. After all his faults and all his failures, Sunny still loved him, and Jisung couldn’t believe he’d gotten so lucky as to find her.
~
Notes:
Oooooohoo things are getting a bit SPICY
Let me know what you thought! Thank you guys for reading, and I'll see you next time♥️
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 13
Notes:
****TRIGGER WARNING: Gun violence. Bullet wounds. Wound-stitching. I will star the scene where the shooting happens so you can skip it if you'd prefer. It is sort of graphic. I don't want to spoil too much for you here, but it's not a fatal gunshot wound! Promise lol
DM me on Twt or comment if you have any further concerns about this trigger. Just let me know!
Ok babes enjoy~~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
xiii. minho
“I never thought Changbin and I would end up actually dating,” Hyunjin said as they painted the wood paneling of Minho’s room a crisp white. Hyunjin took a roller to the Hub-side wall while Minho sat cross-legged by the window and hand-painted the trim. “But I really fucking like him.”
“Good for you,” Minho said. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so sarcastic, but he was preoccupied with painting. “Seriously, good for you. You two deserve each other.”
“Would you fuck Chan?”
Minho smoothed the paintbrush downward, blending out a drip of paint before it could dry. “No, definitely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because I wouldn’t want Jisung to think I would fuck his roommate.”
“But what if Jisung didn’t exist?”
“Then yeah, of course. Chan is hot.” Minho rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately, everyone except Jisung is really lackluster at turning me on lately.”
“Jisung turns you on? He’s so like, adorable though.”
Minho smirked and dipped his paintbrush into the can. “He’s many things.”
“Pfft. A ravishing dom isn’t exactly one of them.”
“You don’t know that. And if he isn’t, whatever. I’m many things too.”
“You should probably confess your love before you get carried away with these sexual fantasies, Min, or else you’ll miss so many opportunities to fuck other people.”
“It’s not love,” Minho said flatly. He didn’t want to admit to himself that he was on the fast track down that route. “And I know, I know. Shut the fuck up about it.”
He’d been close, a few days prior, to telling Jisung how he felt. After Minho disappeared for days and Jisung expressed being afraid he’d pushed him away, Minho had been on the brink of letting it all out. Something had held him back, though. Maybe the emotions and their connotations were too heavy to put into words.
Maybe he was fucking terrified of how Jisung would react. Either or.
It’d been a rough couple of days. Staying away from Jisung was hard, but after an inexplicable yet intense spiral of pathetic jealousy, Minho had only managed to find comfort in turning off his phone for four days and trying to come to terms with his feelings. He was afraid. He feared becoming so overwhelmed by his pent-up frustration that he’d let his feelings slip, and he feared his truth would push Jisung away.
So he found himself spinning in tragic, self-loathing circles. Sure, Jisung was radiant and had a smile that warmed Minho straight through to his bones and just got Minho in a way he found exceedingly rare, but the truth was still the truth. Jisung was not into guys as far as Minho knew. Jisung was not single . Jisung and Minho were close. It was scary to think of jeopardizing their friendship.
On top of that, Jisung was too good for Minho. Minho found it vastly unlikely that such a warm, gentle heart could ever want to let in someone….well, someone like Minho.
But these days, Minho wasn’t so sure it was impossible. Sometimes Jisung’s touches lingered too long, or his eyes filled with a certain something when they looked at each other that left Minho’s head spinning for minutes. He could sense a yearning that danced on the outskirts of their platonic friendship, but usually he didn’t dare to assume it was anyone’s yearning but his own.
It was getting hard to deny, though. Minho was sharp and perceptive. The more he got to know Jisung and the closer they grew as friends, the better Minho got at reading him. And more often than not, Jisung simply…seemed interested. Minho knew he wasn’t imagining the way Jisung preferred his company to his girlfriend’s. Maybe even preferred his touch to his girlfriend’s.
It was at a point where Minho couldn’t keep it in much longer. He grew tired of sitting back and watching Jisung press kisses to Sunny’s hair. Telling himself these feelings would pass while they only sank deeper each day was an absolute joke, and he knew it.
In the four days he’d spent away from his phone, he told himself it was time to confess. He had the words picked out. He’d say he was interested, that he knew Jisung probably didn’t feel the same way, but that he just wanted him to know so he was aware of his options. He’d say they could still be friends and Minho was happy to keep their relationship at that, but that he was tired of hiding how he felt and he just wanted to be honest.
But when he’d been face-to-face with Jisung in his small bedroom, looking into those sweet, hurt puppy dog eyes, Minho’s brain became nothing but white noise. He’d forgotten everything he’d rehearsed. All he could think was I really, really want to kiss you.
It was biting him in the ass, being much more physical than he was verbal.
Hyunjin pulled Minho from his thoughts by asking, “Want to come over for dinner tonight? You must be so sick of cooking on this hot plate.”
“Oh.” Minho sighed and began bundling the wet paintbrush in plastic wrap. “Yeah, the only thing I miss about Yonghwa is his kitchen. I fucking loved that kitchen.”
He was briefly teleported back to being curled up on the kitchen tile, aggressive kicks slamming into his flesh, and he blinked the memory aside. He tried to breathe deeply.
“What do you think? I have pork dethawing on the counter.”
“That sounds good.” Minho averted his eyes, embarrassed to be a mooch. “I can pay you, or, or—”
“Don’t you even dare.” Hyunjin made a face as he popped the roller off its handle. “You’ll pay me with the pleasure of your company.”
Minho’s incredulous scoff molded with a grateful chuckle.
He was thankful for Hyunjin’s offer. Money was, to say the least, tight. If Minho were to pay off his debts by the end of October like he planned, he’d have to pour almost a thousand bucks a month straight into Yonghwa’s wallet. The thought made Minho seethe. And between furnishing his new living space, feeding himself, taking care of his cats, and having to go two weeks without stripping at the beginning of July, he was behind. He was very behind.
His dinner plan for the night had otherwise been a packet of ramen for the third night in a row. If he kept it up like this, he’d lose weight, lose his figure, lose tip money. Everything felt pretty high stakes now that he was single.
It was time to drop off his first payment at Yonghwa’s apartment. It’d been just over a month since they broke up, and Minho had decided to wait for a day he knew Yonghwa was out of town. He’d wrestled with the decision long and hard—would Yonghwa expect him to show up then, and stay home for that very reason?—but he ended up deciding overthinking was dangerous and went to withdraw nine hundred dollars cash.
So, after a pleasant dinner with Hyunjin and Felix, Minho walked an odd route home to swing by his old place. Hyunjin and Changbin were off to see a movie that night, so Minho didn’t want to bother Hyunjin with driving him home; plus he doubted his friend would agree to take him back to Yonghwa’s.
Minho walked along the sidewalk with his hands in his jacket pockets, one clutched around the envelope of cash and the other around his knife. It was cooler tonight, the air heavy and damp with rain clouds, but he felt sweaty and warm nonetheless. He itched to run instead of idly stroll.
The apartment exuded harsh white light. It protruded into the sky like a blade, lined with expensive windows and stacked atop a fancy gym and heated pool. He couldn’t believe he’d lived here for almost two years. He’d put up with shit mental health and a shit relationship for so long for this fucking place.
It wasn’t worth it. Luxury wasn’t worth anything if it didn’t bring joy. Minho would hold this belief till the day he died.
He slid the envelope into Yonghwa’s shiny mailbox. When the cash was deposited, Minho pushed out into the muggy summer night and started towards the Hub once more, but the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw nothing, so he continued to walk, though he tightened his hold around the switchblade. The night stretched silently on all sides of him, swallowing him whole. Minho felt like a speck, drowning in the city streets. He felt eyes on him with each step he took.
He stepped from the pedestrian crosswalk onto the sidewalk again, red lights morphing into green, long shadows dancing beneath his feet.
When two figures turned the corner and began to walk towards him, Minho didn’t waste a second before spinning around and starting in the opposite direction. He knew exactly what was about to happen.
Fuck, he thought, opening the switchblade in his jacket pocket. Fuck. It was so stupid of him to do this alone.
He glanced over his shoulder again and saw two guys in hats and black hoodies. They weren’t talking or looking at one another. They both watched him, their pace brisk against the pavement.
His pulse kicked into overdrive. He broke into a run.
Just as he made it back across the crosswalk, he pulled his phone from his pocket, clumsily trying to dial 9-1-1. Before he could hit the first number, two more guys burst from the alleyway just next door to Yonghwa’s apartment complex, and Minho skidded to a halt. His blood raced beneath his skin, and he turned on his heel, debating darting across the street, but a steady, quick stream of traffic whirred by and the second two guys came at him fast.
“Get his phone,” one of them hissed to the other. “I’ll get his arms.”
Minho skittered backwards as one of the guys grabbed his wrist. A pair of hands shoved into Minho’s shoulders, and he yelped, thumping backwards against a brick wall. The scent of cigarettes and alcohol invaded Minho’s nostrils, and he forced his trembling lids to stay open. He needed to be alert, to get himself the fuck out of this situation.
********TW start
The slimmer of the two guys pressed Minho’s arms to the brick wall, caging him in. Minho’s heart leapt erratically beneath his ribs. As the bigger guy closed in on Minho, reaching for his own belt—what the fuck was he reaching for his belt for?—Minho drove a knee up into the skinny guy’s crotch, smirking with satisfaction when the guy doubled over and ground out a string of curse words.
Minho ran away from both pairs, his heels hammering on the pavement, but then hands were snatching the hem of his jacket and he was yanked backwards, a strong arm encasing him in an iron grip. Minho wriggled, pouring all his strength into forcing his arms apart. He stomped on the guy’s feet, scrambled at his jacket pockets with barricaded fingers, but the man didn’t budge.
His breath froze in its path when a glinting blade flicked free and pressed to the hollow of his throat.
“Stop squirming, little bitch,” a low voice spoke in his ear. Minho’s fingers continued to wiggle desperately. “Make this easier on yourself.”
Pure adrenaline at his back, he fished the switchblade from his pocket and plunged it directly over his left shoulder, aiming for the asshole’s chest.
The blade met doughy flesh, and the guy screamed out, his hold on Minho loosening. The skinnier guy lunged forward, but Minho sprinted away, his bloody knife clutched between trembling fingers. He heard nothing but distant shouting, the thud of his sneakers against the sidewalk, and his own panicked breaths.
Just as he crossed the nearest sidestreet, the echoing, jarring blast of a gunshot boomed around the street. Pain burst in Minho’s arm before he could register the sound. He screamed out, stumbling from the explosion of agony on his outer shoulder, but forced his legs to keep moving. He ungracefully pocketed the knife and used his free hand to clutch over his damaged shoulder, too frightened to pull his hand away and see the blood he could feel pooling between his fingers.
He remembered to zigzag. Should he call the fucking police? He’d stabbed the guy first, and he knew Yonghwa would have no problem turning this around on him. Fuck.
********TW ends
Thankfully, Minho knew these streets well. Months of homelessness came with its wisdom. So when he’d dashed around a corner, he took another sharp turn into an alley, leapt into a dumpster, and slid a bag of trash over his head, breathing through his mouth when the scent of garbage became nauseating. He couldn’t hear their shouting now, and he hoped they would look past this empty alley and run further down the street.
Keeping his fingers gripped securely around his wounded shoulder, he lifted his phone with his other hand, squinting at his screen around the mysterious figments of garbage draped in front of his eyes. He dialed Hyunjin. “Come on,” he whispered to the quiet darkness of the dumpster. “Come on, Hyunjin, pick up, pick up.”
Hyunjin, who was never the type to look at his phone at the theater, did no such thing. He called Trinity next, though he knew she was working at the Hub tonight and the chances of her having her phone out were slim.
Would 3RACHA have a first aid kit at their apartment? He doubted it. But, he’d run out of choices. He called Jisung and squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth as garbage settled against his wounded arm.
“Hey,” Jisung answered, sounding sleepy. “What’s up?”
“Hi,” Minho said, but the syllable came out strained. “Um, do you have a first aid kit?” He attempted to lower his shrill voice to a pinched whisper. More pain throbbed outward through his shoulder.
“Yeah? Minho? What the fuck happened? Why do you need a first aid kit?” With each sentence, Jisung’s pitch elevated. “Minho?”
“Shhh. Okay. Yeah, that’s good,” Minho grunted, trying to elbow a damp glob away from where it was sitting atop his injured arm. “Is it okay if I come over?”
“Do you need me to come get you?”
Minho bit his lip. Did he really want to risk Yonghwa’s followers noticing Changbin’s car? Changbin’s license plate? “No, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Sit tight, darling.” He hung up.
After slipping his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, Minho clambered out of the dumpster, forced to remove his hand from his shoulder to do so. Hot blood oozed from his throbbing skin as soon as he alleviated the pressure, but he could tell without even looking that he’d only been grazed. The wound would have to wait.
Minho mentally mapped out the streets, wishing there was an easy shortcut to Jisung’s apartment. At a light jog, he pulled up his hood, peeled off his jacket, and tied it around his wound, concealing it as well as applying pressure. He darted across the busy street at his first chance, his breath hot and aching in his lungs, and ran towards the edge of town.
Each thud of his sneakers jostled his shoulder. He tried to breathe, tried to focus on the lines of the sidewalk beneath his strides rather than the nausea building in his gut. It fucking hurt, hurt, hurt. It fucking hurt, and he was struggling to think of anything else. He wondered if he was going to make it the entire run.
Panic surged in the back of his throat, but he gulped it down. No time for that.
Several people gave him funny looks as he ran, probably thinking he was a criminal or a crazy person on the loose, but Minho paid them no mind. He had no idea whether it was a car or a group of people he was trying to outrun. Each stranger loomed in the night like a ghost, and every appearance made Minho’s muscles seize up.
Only when he was on 3RACHA’s block did he slow his pace to a brisk walk, and his bodily fatigue caught up with him. The streetlights above appeared blurry and far away, and the pain coursing through his arm was so much worse now that he’d stopped moving, now that his adrenaline was seeping away. He gritted his teeth hard as he clutched at his shoulder, and he felt hot blood pooling into the crook of his elbow.
He struggled to make his way up Jisung’s stairs. He had to sag against the railing for a few seconds, supporting his weight on his hip and catching his breath, blinking urgently to get his vision to clear.
He knocked on Jisung’s door—or what he hoped was Jisung’s door—and then slumped heavily against the door frame, yearning for the feeling of a couch beneath his back. Jisung flung the door open, and Minho squinted at his blurry face.
His mouth hung open. His eyes were enormous, and his fingers came up to root into his own hair. “What the hell happened to you? Why do you smell like trash?”
“Can I come in?” Minho ground out. “Please?”
Jisung jerked to the side, allowing Minho to shuffle in, who silently lowered himself to his knees as soon as he was inside. “I’m calling an ambulance,” Jisung said immediately.
“No!” Minho yelled, and Jisung straightened, blinking at him like he’d just tried to deny the earth was round. “No,” Minho said, more quietly. “Please, please don’t. I have no health insurance and no fucking money.”
“I will pay for your medical attention! What the fuck happened to you, Minho? You’re bleeding a lot! Shit!” Jisung started breathing rapidly, and Minho watched his phone quiver in unsteady hands. “I, I—”
“Shhh.” Minho swallowed, got ungracefully to his feet in an effort to go to Jisung’s side, and then slumped back down onto his knees. “Okay, just a little dizzy.”
“What sh-should I d-do, what—”
“Get me a glass of water, please. I just ran like two miles.”
“You just ran two miles with blood pouring out of you?” Jisung’s voice was so loud, it made Minho’s head pound. “What the fuck is going on, Minho? You’re scaring me!”
“Jisung.” Minho inhaled slowly, deeply, and fixed Jisung with solemn eyes. He wasn’t as blurry now that Minho managed to catch his breath. “Come here. Sit in front of me.”
“What good will that do?”
“Please?”
Jisung glared at Minho like he’d asked him to do something life-threatening and shuffled over to spill onto his knees across from Minho, so they were kneeling about a foot apart.
Minho reached out and took Jisung’s hands. Jisung’s eyes bulged when he noticed the blood on Minho’s fingers. “You’re bleeding so much…”
“Shhh, sweetheart. Look at me.”
Jisung’s big eyes jolted up to meet Minho’s.
“Breathe, okay? Breathe.”
A pout pulled at Jisung's lip as he obeyed. “Why are you comforting me? You’re hurt, you’re—”
“I’m fine now. I just need some slight medical attention. Just slight.”
“Slight?”
Minho managed a weak smile. He was sleepy and his shoulder hurt, but all he wanted was to lean forward and curl up in Jisung’s arms. He was home now. “Please get me some water, darling. And a first aid kit. I think the bleeding has mostly stopped, but I need to clean the wound.”
Jisung took a deep breath, rose clumsily to his feet, and trotted off to retrieve what Minho requested. Minho was proud of him for keeping his panic at bay.
Minho knelt on the floor for a few moments, his left hand wrapped tightly around the wound, until he decided his dizziness had subsided and climbed to his feet. He shuffled to the kitchen, where Jisung was madly flinging open cabinets in search of a first aid kit.
“Aha!” He pulled one out from the drawer next to the sink. Then he faced Minho with spooked eyes and a slackened jaw. “Do you need me to…do I have to…”
“Nah,” Minho said, pounding a glass of water with his good arm, setting it sharply on the counter, and moving to peel his hoodie off. “I’ll handle it. Can you roll me a joint?”
Jisung didn’t respond. He was staring, no color in his cheeks, at the exposed wound on Minho’s shoulder. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he backed up against the counter, a hand coming up to cover his mouth.
“Hey.” Minho let his sweatshirt fall to the floor, and he moved over to lay gentle palms on Jisung’s arms. “Hey. I’m okay.”
“Did someone shoot you?”
“Yes, but it only grazed me.”
Jisung stared at Minho like he’d just told him he had a terminal illness, chin quivering.
“I’m sorry,” Minho said softly. “To spring this on you, but I just need to clean the wound and stitch it up. It hurts, but it’s not bleeding as much as it was.”
Jisung shook his head, dipping his gaze to Minho’s shoulder before lifting it to his face again. “I don’t understand how you’re so calm all the time.”
Minho smirked. “I trust myself.” He stepped back from Jisung and moved to lean over the kitchen sink, which was fortunately empty. He wrinkled his brow and clenched his jaw as he began to peel his shirt over his head with one arm. “Life has thrown its arsenal of shit my way, and I’ve survived it all so far.”
Jisung scrambled over to help Minho take off his shirt. “What can I do?”
“Joint, darling.”
“Right, right.” He took another fatigued inhale and scampered off to get his weed jar, or so Minho assumed. Meanwhile, Minho rummaged through the first aid kit, acquiring the proper tools to clean himself off. He used a wet paper towel to wash the blood off his lower arm, then he took an alcohol swab to the wound itself, which was only a nick, still releasing a trickle of blood. He hissed when the swab made contact with the broken skin, his toes curling at the sting.
Jisung returned, using a pencil to pack weed into a pre-rolled cone, his eyes nervously flickering up to examine Minho’s shoulder. “Why did someone shoot you?” he asked, his voice tense and shaky.
Minho bit down on his tongue as he cleaned the wound, taking a few seconds not to answer. “Because they were trying to get their hands on me. Yonghwa’s gang.” Or, he supposed in this case it could just as well be called Mia’s gang. He wondered which of the leaders was responsible, but decided it was bad news either way.
“But why?”
“He wants to know where I’m at. Where I’ve been staying. He wants to have leverage over me so he can ensure I won’t turn him into the police.” He rolled his eyes as he dropped a bloody swab onto an increasing pile next to the sink. “Annoying. I dropped off a payment tonight, he must’ve had guys patrolling the area.”
“That must’ve been so scary,” Jisung whispered. “How did you get out of there?”
Minho reached a blood-stained hand out for the joint, and Jisung handed it over. Minho clamped the paper between his lips and lit it, anxious for the pain in his shoulder to dull. “Well,” he said, puffing on the joint for a few seconds before handing it back. “I stabbed one of them. I carry a knife. Comes in handy.”
“God damn.” Jisung broke into a grin then, and Minho smiled reactively. “You’re a fucking badass, hyung.”
Minho smirked and began fitting a thread through a sterilized needle. “Not my first rodeo.”
“Are you saying this isn’t your first time being shot?”
“It actually is my first time being shot. What a momentous occasion!” He reached for the joint again and took a deep drag before returning to the needle and thread. “We should mark the calendar. Anyway. I’ve stitched up bullet wounds before, just never my own. Yonghwa has taken plenty of hits.”
“Are you about to stitch it while high? Is that wise?”
“It’ll be fine. It’s not hard.” Minho pierced the needle through his own skin with a wince, and Jisung made a garbled noise before spinning around dramatically. “Relax, Jisungie. Can you give me joint hits while I work?”
“Like, stick the joint in your mouth every once in a while?”
“Mhmm.” Minho stuck out his lips. “Please?”
Jisung sighed and shuffled forward to fit the paper between Minho’s lips. “God, this is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“You’re welcome.” Minho exhaled and began weaving the thread in and out of his skin. It was painful, a sting and an unpleasant tugging sensation accompanying each stitch, but it wasn’t unbearable.
He glanced up when he was done and found Jisung’s gaze on him, trailing from the stitched wound down his arm, his bare torso. Then his eyes jumped up to meet Minho’s, and a dusty pink blush colored his ears.
“It’s kind of hot, isn’t it,” Minho said around the joint in his mouth.
“Wh-what?”
Minho carefully clipped the end of the thread, wondering if maybe the adrenaline rush of being shot and the comfortable weed high were making him bolder. He set the scissors down and plucked the joint from his mouth so he could exhale. “When someone’s got a gnarly wound and they’re unbothered by it.”
“Oh.” Jisung laughed, his nerves evident in the volume of the sound. “Yeah, I guess it kind of is.”
“Just gotta bandage it, then I’m set.” He tried to smile at Jisung, but he was exhausted, so he imagined it was an unconvincing gesture. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Jisung mumbled.
“You did. You’re here. You let me stay here. I would’ve been fucked if you didn't answer the phone.”
“That’s...terrifying,” Jisung sighed, running his hands up and down his arms with a shiver.
Minho finished smoothing a bandage over the wound, and then he bent to pick up his fallen shirt. “Do you think I could, um, run this through the washer or something? Do you have laundry to do?”
Jisung broke into a sad, weak chuckle and took the bloody shirt from him. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be right back.”
Since they smelled like a back alley dumpster, Minho peeled off his pants and sent them with Jisung too, enjoying the little flush to Jisung’s cheeks as he turned to shuffle off to the washer. Minho watched him go, warmth pooling in his chest. Minho hoped he hadn’t frightened Jisung too badly with this snag. He knew Jisung was sensitive to situations like this, as most normal people were, but he also knew it was particularly hard on Jisung to see his friends in pain or distress. He’d spend the rest of the evening making sure Jisung knew he was fine.
They rode out their highs by nibbling on snacks and folding a load of Jisung’s laundry. Jisung protested when Minho started to fold, saying it’d strain his shoulder to partake, but Minho argued by saying no one folded laundry better than him, even one-handed.
“See?” Minho ran a finger down the folded crease of one of Jisung’s t-shirts. “Flawless.”
Jisung rolled his eyes with a faint giggle. “You’re annoying.”
“Do you want me to go home?”
Jisung’s bottom lip stuck out. “I didn’t mean it. No, I don’t want you to go.”
“Just checking.” Minho used his good arm to drop the folded shirt into the basket. “I did show up uninvited with a gunshot wound on a casual Tuesday night.”
“At least you had the courtesy to call ahead,” Jisung laughed.
“That’s why I smelled like garbage, by the way. I was hiding in the dumpster.”
Jisung slumped his shoulders with a disappointed sigh, his lids drooping. “Is this how you spend your casual Tuesdays? Getting shot at and hiding in dumpsters?”
“I didn’t ask for them to shoot at me, Jisung.”
Jisung’s jaw flexed. “No. I know, I’m sorry.”
Minho averted his eyes. “Sorry, that was harsh. It’s my life and I have control over it, but I don’t exactly love that I need to watch my back every time I’m out and about on the streets.”
“I could walk you places,” Jisung offered. He was rolling a pair of socks into a conjoined ball. “I’d like to help make sure you’re not alone on the streets, especially at night.”
“I usually don’t leave the Hub by myself anyways. Tonight was an exception. I’ll just have to figure out what to do with the next payment.”
“I’ll come with you,” Jisung said. His small, bright smile made his cheeks so round that Minho didn’t bother to resist reaching out and pinching one; Jisung’s smile melted into a pout. “They wouldn’t come for you if you’re with someone else, would they?”
“Probably not.” Minho winced as he leaned his good shoulder against the back of the couch, maneuvering his wounded arm so that it couldn’t be easily jostled by his folding. “I dislike the idea of putting you at risk. Anyone, but especially you.”
Those words hung heavily between them, dragging Minho’s chin downward. Especially you. He hoped Jisung wouldn’t read too hard into that one.
“Will you tell me what happened?” Jisung asked quietly. “You don’t have to, I just kind of want to know. How did you end up getting shot but making it out okay?”
Minho filtered back through the events of the evening, recalling the four guys pursuing him.
He remembered the cold blade pressed to his throat, with thick biceps caging his arms to his sides. He could still feel the guy’s hot breath on his ear, calling him a bitch, the sharpness of the knife against his exposed neck.
The blare of a gunshot echoed through Minho’s mind. He relived it several times, the sound, the explosion of pain in his arm. He realized he’d forgotten to breathe, and he sucked in a procrastinated inhale, refocusing his eyes on Jisung’s familiar face.
Jisung’s eyebrows furrowed together. “Minho?”
Minho shook his head, looked down. He was hurtled back into the feeling of sprinting, a volatile enemy hard on his heels. His wounded shoulder ached.
“Hey. You don’t have to say anything, it’s okay.”
Minho attempted to resurface from the encroaching memories. He could still feel the blade against his throat, the pavement beneath his shoes. The sound of a gunshot, so much louder knowing it’d been him someone was trying to shoot down.
“Min.” Warm hands caught a hold of Minho’s. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
“I know,” Minho breathed, blinking the thoughts aside. “I know.”
Jisung squeezed his hand. “Is there anything I can do?”
Minho tried to smile and said, on a whim, “Your voice helps.”
“Really?” A flattered smile broke through Jisung’s visible concern. “Do you want me to sing?”
Minho tried to play it off like he wasn’t blushing. “Um, maybe. If you don’t mind.”
“One sec.” Jisung clambered to his feet and shuffled over to the TV stand, where his guitar case leaned. “Do you want to smoke more weed before you sit through a mess of a performance?”
“No,” Minho chuckled. His high was fading, but he hoped the comedown would put him to sleep soon without a brutal battle with his thoughts. “Thanks, though.”
Minho watched, melting against the couch cushions in Jisung’s t-shirt and Jisung’s sweatpants with a blanket wrapped around his legs. Jisung removed an acoustic guitar from its case and got to work tuning it, his big eyes focused on the tuner on his phone screen. Minho gazed at him fondly, smiling every time Jisung’s forehead wrinkled with concentration.
Just as Minho’s thoughts inched towards a steep ledge of fresh, sharp memories, Jisung began to pluck lightly at the guitar strings, sitting straight and tossing some hair from his eyes. He looked so comfortable with the instrument in his arms, his tan fingers idly dancing across the strings, jaw lax and eyes sleepy, content.
Minho recognized the soft guitar melody immediately. It was the melancholy quiet of Dust in the Wind. Minho hadn’t known Jisung knew this song.
When Jisung opened his mouth and started to sing, high and clear but still so soft, Minho had to breathe deeply to keep tears from springing to his eyes.
Jisung’s voice was his favorite in the world. Minho could’ve listened to him sing all day. He sang the high, graceful notes with pure ease, lightly strumming a simplified version of the guitar part all the while, his eyes falling shut as he lost himself in the gentle music.
Minho could only stare. The way Jisung’s lips moved as he performed had been one of the first things Minho noticed about him—how they pulled back over shiny white teeth, how he grinned when he was enjoying himself, how he flicked his tongue over his bottom lip as he breathed in—and he could hardly believe such a beautiful person had such a beautiful voice on top of it. It wasn’t fair.
That voice. Powerful but soft, high but raspy, melodic but gritty with personality. Jisung leaned back as he sang, halting his strumming for a beat to belt out the lyrics nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky, his mouth curving into a pretty smirk as he sprinkled vibrato across the moving notes.
A weight pressed down on Minho’s chest. Jisung sang higher yet, throwing his head back, his dark hair fanning away from his face, veins bulging in his neck.
He finished the song neatly, his high notes settling back down to a quiet, intimate conclusion. He strummed the basic guitar melody a few more times before finishing by obnoxiously whacking his palm against the body of his guitar. He looked up brightly at Minho, a proud smile making his eyes squish into gleaming crescents.
Something pulled at Minho’s ribs. He could feel his stomach churning.
Jisung’s smile faded. He looked so handsome, so tan in a big white t-shirt with a hole in the sleeve. Strands of tangled hair fell in his eyes. “Minho?”
Minho swallowed hard, and the words left him more quietly than he intended. “Jisung, I like you.”
Jisung didn’t move.
Minho made himself keep going, despite the fact that he couldn’t feel his legs and his heart was ready to hammer right out of his chest. “I like you a lot, actually. And…” he forced himself to breathe, and he even managed a pathetic, shaky smile. “I know you’re with Sunny and everything, but if you wanted, you could be with me instead.”
Silence sat between their opposite couch cushions.
Jisung was completely frozen, his lips parted and his eyes wide, his jaw working every few seconds as he seemingly fished for words.
Minho moistened his lips and curled his cold fingers into fists. Why wasn’t Jisung saying anything? The silence was quickly becoming awkward. Was he supposed to say more? What had he even said, anyway? His mind raced, spinning a dozen directions at once. “Jisung…”
“What,” Jisung managed, his voice hoarse. He looked pale and frightened, not unlike he had when he saw Minho’s gunshot wound. “What do you—what am I supposed to say?”
Minho shook his head, trying to keep his mind quiet. Jisung’s shock was far from a good sign. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“I have a girlfriend, I—I don’t, I can’t…” Jisung blinked, inhaled, and Minho watched his fingers tremble around the neck of the guitar. “I don't want to...Why would you…”
Minho winced. There it was.
He tried to swallow, despite the lump in his throat and the fear pressing down on his dwindling hope. “I had to tell you,” he said quietly. “Nothing has to change. I’m sorry.”
Jisung jerked his head, his eyes enormous and empty. His shoulders rose and fell rapidly, and while he was staring directly at Minho’s chest, Minho had a feeling Jisung couldn’t see him at all.
Minho shoved the blanket off his legs, trying to ignore his stinging ego. Worry swum in his mind, and all he could think to do was give Jisung space. “I should go. I’ll text you when I’m home.”
Jisung didn’t move, didn’t blink. Minho left the apartment without another word.
As soon as he’d left, the weight of the sky collapsed onto Minho, and he doubled over. He covered his mouth, tears burning in his eyes, panic making his breaths strenuous and rapid. He fucked up. He fucked up so bad.
He walked home briskly, only resisting the urge to run by clamping down on his bottom lip and reminding himself of his wounded shoulder. He was an idiot. A stupid, desperate, delusional idiot. Why the fuck had he said anything?
He’d told Jisung. Months of squashing his feelings to preserve their friendship, and he’d told Jisung. As if Jisung hadn’t been sufficiently terrified by the sight of Minho stitching his own gunshot wound. Of all the times to open his fat mouth, he had to do it when Jisung was wrestling with that situation?
His stomach ached as months of pent up stress coursed through his body. He’d fucked up so bad. He didn’t want to lose Jisung. He didn’t want to change what they had. Why had he fucking said anything?
Only when he’d made it to the Hub and was clumsily shoving his key into the back door did he think of how stupid it was to walk home alone tonight, hardly an hour after being shot. He pushed into his room, locked the door behind him. He had to pull sharply at the roots of his own hair to stop from going into the Hub and asking for a drink.
He was so stupid. Above anything else, he was embarrassed. Beyond embarrassed and ashamed. He’d really been so deluded as to think Jisung would be flattered, even happy to hear Minho’s true feelings.
Jisung had looked... upset. Offended. Like nothing was ever going to be the same again.
Why had Minho been so arrogant as to think Jisung might feel the same way, despite being straight, in a relationship, and brought up by a homophobic family?
Minutes dripped by. When the urge to drink became strangling, he took a cold shower. The water stung his wound, but the stinging was good, distracting. He couldn’t get Jisung’s pale face, slackened jaw, and aghast eyes out of his head. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
When he was out of the shower, shivering in his own clothes and feeling like it took all his energy just to stay on his feet, a knock sounded on the door.
Minho glanced out the window—it was just Hyunjin. He let him in.
“Hey!” Hyunjin’s lips curled into a frightened frown. “What happened? Changbin got a call from Jisung, said you ran out into the night? After being shot? Minho, what—”
Minho crumpled forward, hiding his face in his hands, and burst into tears.
Hyunjin squeezed him close, and Minho shattered, clutching at Hyunjin’s shoulders and sobbing. Hyunjin’s fingers ran soothingly through Minho’s hair, but he couldn’t stop the hiccuping, painful sobs until he was sure he’d collapse.
“Min.” Minho heard Hyunjin kick the door shut behind him. “Sit down, honey. I’m gonna get you some water.”
Minho curled up in his bed, drawing his blankets close to his chest. Soonie padded over and began sniffing his fingers, retracting and eyeing him skittishly. “Sorry, baby,” Minho whispered. “I smell like blood.”
Hyunjin sank down onto the mattress beside him. He handed Minho a tall cup of water and said, “Who the fuck shot you, Minho? Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”
“Yonghwa’s guys. Because I can’t afford it and because it was just a graze. I stitched it up already.”
“You’re insane.”
“Whatever.”
Hyunjin carded his long fingers through Minho’s hair. “Is that what’s going on? For some reason I feel like it’s not.”
Minho finished chugging the water, set it down on the concrete, and settled back down on the mattress. He clenched his eyes shut when Jisung’s horrified expression flashed through his mind. “I told him.”
Hyunjin sucked in a quiet gasp.
Minho glared at him. “You’re a dick for making me tell him.”
“I didn’t make you do shit,” Hyunjin snapped, but his eyes shimmered with guilt nonetheless. “It didn’t go well?”
“He looked like I’d ruined his life.” Minho sighed shakily. “Told me he has a girlfriend. Like I didn’t already know that. He looked on the brink of panicking when I walked out. He totally shut down.”
“Oh.” Hyunjin’s features scrunched as he thought. “Well, maybe he just needs time to process what you said. He didn’t explicitly say he doesn’t like you, right?”
“Hyunjin,” Minho groaned, rubbing his damp eyes with the heel of his good hand. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to keep lying to myself. I let myself believe I might have a chance and this is where I ended up.”
“But like...he didn’t say no.”
“He looked devastated.” Minho’s voice shook, and he glowered at Hyunjin through hot tears. “He didn’t even stop me from walking out when he knew it wasn’t safe for me.”
“Okay, dumbass, that was your fault for walking out when you knew it wasn’t safe for you. It sounds like he was shocked, Minho, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re going to lose him as a friend forever. Maybe he didn’t see it coming and he just needs some time to process it, and in a couple of days he’ll explain his reaction.”
Minho sighed. “I’m embarrassed,” he mumbled. “The thought of facing him again after I made such a fucking fool of myself…”
“It’s only awkward if you make it awkward. If he wants to just be friends, be his friend. You’re close enough that you’ll both move on from this, Min.”
Minho shook his head, tears rolling down the side of his nose. “I don’t know if I could just be his friend.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know.” He sniffled, wiped his nose. “I don’t fucking know. I’m an idiot. I feel like such an idiot.”
Losing Jisung as a friend was a terrifying thought, but trying to act like he was fine, like his heart didn’t ache each time he saw Jisung and Sunny together, especially now that Jisung knew the truth…that was even more terrifying.
Hyunjin slid his hand over to grasp Minho’s, and Minho squeezed his fingers tightly, waiting for his heightened emotions to fizzle away. He felt like he was losing control. Like the life he cherished was slipping through his fingers.
He didn’t want to lose Jisung. But it felt like it was too late. Their comfortable, platonic friendship was turned completely upside down, and he had no one to blame but himself.
~
Notes:
The song Jisung sang is Dust in the Wind by Kansas - an iconic tune. If our Hannie actually ever covered this song I would die, it's so well-suited to his voice.
Let me know what you thought my loves! This was a bit of a rough one huh? The pot has been stirred...
I will be back with more on Thursday❤️
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 14
Notes:
welcome back, babes! No TWs this chapter unless you count jisung overthinking himself to death lol enjoy~~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
xiv. jisung
“Jisung, I like you. I like you a lot, actually. And I know you’re with Sunny and everything, but if you wanted, you could be with me instead.”
Jisung didn’t know how long he spaced out, his limbs heavy around the body of the guitar, staring at the couch cushion where Minho once sat.
His breaths came close together and painful. He could feel his pulse thud in his neck, his wrists, where his fingers were curled around the neck of the guitar. His mind spun faster than he could keep up with, alive with images between now and the day he first met Lee Minho.
Minho liked him. Minho wanted Jisung to be with him, not Sunny. Minho liked him.
How long had Minho felt this way? Had he been interested from the beginning? Was that the reason Minho was so nice to him all the time? Jisung tried to keep his writhing stomach still. So many memories clawed their way to the surface of his mind. Minho scooping up Jisung on the beach. Minho asking Jisung to be his little spoon, arms sliding around Jisung’s waist and pulling him close. Minho brushing Jisung’s hair from his eyes, rubbing his tense shoulders, bringing him soup and salad when he was depressed.
Minho slumped over on the curb outside Buble’s, bitterly wishing someone would want him for who he was. Jisung’s mind whirred faster yet. Minho wanted Jisung to want him. It made no sense. His heart pounded, sweat forming on his palms. Why would Minho want Jisung? What did Jisung possibly have to offer Minho? Did Minho only get close to him initially because he liked him?
Was Jisung about to lose one of his closest friends?
He couldn’t believe any of this was real. Had that really just happened? Had Minho just confessed feelings and then ran off?
Jisung sucked in a long overdue breath when he realized Minho was just fucking shot and now he was walking home, alone, at nighttime. He scrambled for his phone, unlocked it with sweaty fingers, and selected Minho’s contact.
He stalled. He didn’t want to talk to Minho. What the hell was he supposed to say? Come back, I’ll walk you home? Jisung didn’t even want to think about the potential awkwardness.
He found himself calling Changbin.
“Hello?” Changbin answered on the third ring.
“Bin,” Jisung said, blinking slowly, trying to even his breathing. He’d gone down a multitude of spirals so quickly, he couldn’t even be sure how much time passed since Minho left. “Are you with Hyunjin?”
“Yeah, we were about to come back to our place. Why?”
“Can you swing by the Hub and make sure Minho made it there safe?” Jisung’s voice cracked around his name. “He ran off, and it’s nighttime, and I don’t think he’s safe. He got shot, and I’m worried—”
“Did you say he got shot?”
“Yes!” Jisung felt hot tears building in his throat, and he tried to breathe. “He stitched it up here, he’s okay, but then—”
“Why the hell did you let him just walk out into the night after he got shot, Jisung?”
The tears welled up fully now, and Jisung buried his face in one hand. “I don’t know, I don’t know. I was stupid! He, he told me…”
“Told you what?”
Jisung bit his tongue. He could barely believe it’d happened himself; there was no way he was going to be able to explain it to Changbin. “Please just check the Hub, Changbin. Please. Or have Hyunjin check.”
“Okay,” Changbin said, his voice softening. “I’ll let you know when we find him. It’ll be okay, Sungie.”
Jisung swallowed the lump in his throat, thanked him, and hung up. He curled his arms around himself, feeling cold and overwhelmed, his own thoughts absolutely battering him. He couldn’t catch a break from the relentless whirl of memories and hypotheticals.
Minho, who’d gone from a stranger to a best friend to a very confusing sexual fantasy in a few short summer months, had feelings for Jisung. Feelings.
Jisung didn’t know how to begin processing this. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even bring himself to put his guitar away.
It’d been emotionally exhausting enough to see Minho bleeding and nearly collapsing to the floor as soon as he’d made it to Jisung’s apartment. On top of watching Minho stitch a gunshot wound and being on the brink of panic himself the entire duration, now Jisung had a confession to pick apart. Minho liked him. Minho wanted to be with him.
So many feelings scrambled up in Jisung’s chest at the thought. He wanted to get shitfaced or stoned or something so he wouldn’t have to try and come to terms with any of them.
What was it that Minho wanted, exactly? A relationship? With Jisung?
Jisung had been convinced that such a thing was impossible. Each time he ran his fingers over his own body, lost in thoughts of the sound of Minho’s voice, he’d ground himself with the reassurance that it was all a fantasy in good fun. Each time Minho’s eyes flickered through Jisung’s hazy dreams, Jisung awoke telling himself it didn’t mean anything.
Because Minho could never be interested. Except Minho was interested.
Why the fuck was he interested? Jisung was in a relationship, in a happy relationship, with a girl. Minho was sexy, chaotic, confident, queer. Jisung had absolutely no idea why Minho would have interest in being with him.
Minho had interest in being with him.
The thought was so, beyond overwhelming. Minho was attracted to him. Jisung was so stupid. How had he not seen it earlier?
His phone chimed. Hyunjin texted him, telling him Minho was safe at the Hub. Jisung nearly collapsed from relief, one of a thousand knots loosening in his stomach.
Jisung was not used to being the object of anyone’s affections. Sunny was the first person to ever express interest in him, the first person he ever kissed.
He realized he was asking himself the wrong questions. The timeline didn’t really matter.. He needed to ask himself the one question he didn’t want to answer.
Minho wanted to be with him—but did Jisung want to be with Minho?
Even thinking about it made him spiral so viciously he could hardly stay upright. He put his guitar away, deciding he needed to lay down. He made his way to his room, trying to drag himself back up the slippery slope of his own feelings. He locked his bedroom door, curled up in bed, and started rolling himself a joint.
Did he want to be with Minho?
No, he didn’t. In theory, maybe, there were appeals. He was attracted to Minho, certainly. He’d done a considerable job coming to terms with that fact over the past few days. He thought Minho was beautiful, and he loved him as a friend. Minho was one of his favorite people. Not many people understood him better than Minho did. No one did, in fact.
His stomach churned at the thought of Minho having feelings for him. How long? How long? Was that…all their friendship had been to Minho? Did he only give Jisung the time of day because he wanted to date him?
No. There was no way. They were more important to each other than that. Jisung was transported back to just the other day, when Minho had appeared fidgeting at his bedroom door, apologizing for his four days of absence but having no explanation for why he’d needed space. Jisung’s heart lurched when he realized Minho had been likely wrestling with his feelings.
It was a bizarre, fascinating thought. Minho being overcome with emotion.
Everything was different now. How could things ever go back to the way they were? Minho was no longer the stoic, eccentric, stone-cold diva who liked to take care of Jisung and make him laugh. He was an option. He was interested.
But Jisung couldn’t date Minho. There was no way.
He loved Sunny, and their relationship was comfortable. He knew what she liked, what made her happy. She was a close companion who he had no intention of hurting or pushing away. He wanted to keep Sunny close to his heart where she belonged.
Sunny was warm, familiar. Minho was a hurricane of uncertainty. Even beginning to unpack whether he could actually see himself with Minho forced Jisung to inspect depths of himself he never wanted to see the light of day.
Not only was Minho’s life incredibly messy and dangerous. Minho was also a man. If Jisung threw caution to the wind and acted on his attraction, his life would completely change. What would he tell his parents? Nausea rolled through him at the thought.
On top of that, Minho was his best friend. Their friendship was not worth risking, not for a silly little crush Jisung had done such a good job locking away in the back of his mind. Why would he even consider hurting what they had? What they had was perfect.
This meant that Jisung had to tell Minho no. He had to reject him. Jisung felt like he was falling backwards down an endless pit as that reality sank in.
He had a feeling Minho would take it well. Minho had been shot tonight, ran two miles, and then stitched the wound up himself, for crying out loud. A rejection probably wouldn’t hurt too bad, right? Plus Minho was fresh out of a relationship. These feelings were likely new, shallow. They probably didn’t run that deep at all.
Jisung came to a tentative conclusion when he dozed off that night. He’d look his decision in the face tomorrow.
~
The next day was a Wednesday. After awkwardly trying to be subtle while questioning Hyunjin about Minho’s schedule, Jisung took Changbin’s car to the Hub.
It was an understatement to say he was nervous. He’d been unfocused and jumpy all day, messing up basic tasks at the electronics shop and hardly responding to any texts from Sunny or the rest of his friends. No one knew what’d transpired between Minho and Jisung the night before, as far as Jisung knew. Minho didn’t reach out to him, and Jisung didn’t reach out to Minho.
He had a loose plan, though. He’d say that he cared about Minho a lot, that he was flattered by the confession, but that he thought they’d be better as just friends. Hopefully it would progress without a hitch, and after a bit of awkwardness, things could go back to normal. Jisung loved normal.
Still, he despised that he was about to hurt Minho. He hated that he had to be the one to inflict pain on someone he cared about so much.
It was dusk, raining and humid in the dwindling daylight. Jisung parked on the street, hoping the brief walk to the Hub would help calm his nerves.
As he walked, wiping his palms on his jeans and fiddling with the fabric of his jacket, he only grew more and more nervous. His tongue felt dry and heavy in his mouth. His skin itched with sweat, sticky from the humidity.
He stood on the stoop outside the Hub’s back door for several moments, trying to work up the courage to knock. A squeeze of nerves fluttered in his belly, and he knocked before he could overthink it.
He noticed warm light filtering through the window and beneath the door. Before he could prepare himself further, the door swung open.
There he stood, dark circles bruised beneath his eyes, dressed in a snug black tank top and low-riding sweats with a bandage wrapped around his right shoulder. His faded orange hair was a damp mess, halfway through the process of air drying. A hesitant smile curled his lips.
Jisung’s heart was in his throat. He couldn’t believe someone so gorgeous had taken an interest in him.
“Hi,” Minho said, his voice soft.
“Hi,” Jisung replied, too loudly. He smiled, thought it must’ve looked forced, and let it slide awkwardly off his face. “Uh, can we talk?”
Minho’s thin smile evaporated. He looked exhausted, but he nodded, shifting to the side so Jisung could come in.
The confines of the room felt smaller than normal once Minho shut the door behind Jisung, despite its freshly painted white walls. Minho cleared his throat and shuffled over to the mini fridge. “Do you want a sparkling water?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
Minho opened the mini fridge door, glanced inside of it, then shut it again. He straightened and folded his hands. Silence encased them, thick and unwelcoming. Minho seemed to be having a hard time looking Jisung in the eyes, while Jisung struggled to remember what the hell he wanted to say.
In front of him, with Minho’s tank top baring so much skin and his plump lips pursed into a tentative frown, Jisung couldn’t remember any conclusions he’d come to. He could only reel in shock that this man, this incredible, strong, stunning guy, had feelings for him. The shock ripped all his carefully constructed logic out by the roots, like the news was fresh all over again.
“How are you feeling?” Jisung finally managed to say, gesturing to his shoulder. “Does it still hurt?”
“Yes,” Minho said, his eyebrows bobbing as he drew up a sarcastic smile. “It’s a gunshot wound.”
“I just figured…I just hoped—I hoped it would hurt a little less today,” he stammered, wringing his hands.
“Mmm.”
Jisung darted his eyes up to glance at Minho, who was scratching behind his ear and examining the floor.
“I’m sorry,” Jisung supplied. “For how I reacted.”
Minho looked Jisung in the face now, and the intense, vulnerable curiosity in those dark eyes made Jisung feel weak in the knees. His gaze felt so much heavier now.
“I froze up,” Jisung sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “I shouldn’t have let you walk home alone like that. I’m really sorry.”
Minho shook his head, blinking slowly, processing. “It worked out. Nothing happened.”
“That’s good.”
Silence, again.
Minho leaned against the load bearing beam in the center of the room, eyes down. When the quiet between them became unbearable, Jisung spoke quickly. “Look, Minho, I care about you a lot. You know that. So much.”
Minho’s jaw clenched. Jisung watched the muscles ripple above his pulse point.
Jisung swallowed. “What?”
Minho allowed a dry, joyless laugh. “Nothing.” He smoothed a hand up his injured arm, his shoulders rising and falling. “I just know what the start of a rejection sounds like.”
The words felt like a sucker punch to Jisung’s gut, like he was being disappointingly predictable. He chewed his bottom lip, watching Minho’s downcast lids until their eyes met again. Trying to sound sure of himself but gentle, Jisung said, “I have a girlfriend.”
Minho’s facial expression didn’t twitch. “I know you do.”
Jisung was sweating, the adrenaline of confrontation making him warm. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”
Minho frowned, his gaze shadowed beneath angular brows. “Can you be honest with me?” His forehead smoothed, and a trace of a smile touched his mouth. “And with yourself?”
Jisung disliked that Minho was asking questions. The silence was dizzying as he waited for a continuation.
Minho pushed off the beam and crossed his arms, his jaw working as he looked levelly at Jisung. Orange hair fell messily over his dark eyes. “Are you attracted to her?”
Jisung’s stomach flipped. Before he could tangle himself up in a web of overthinking, he said, “What do you mean? Of course I am.”
Minho had the courtesy to try and hide a knowing smirk, but he wasn’t successful. “You are, huh?” The question was abrasive, too pointed after weeks of both of them dodging around this subject.
“Yes.” Jisung ran his fingers back through his damp hair, pushing it up from his brow and then his neck, hoping for some relief from the muggy heat in the room. “I’m sorry, Minho. I am.”
To Jisung’s surprise, a confident grin broke across Minho’s face. He lounged back against the pole, crossing his ankles, tossing some hair from his eyes.
“What?” Jisung pressed again, trying hard to keep from fidgeting excessively.
Minho shook his head, his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. “I like to think I know you pretty well.”
“You do,” Jisung croaked, clearing his throat.
“I can tell when you’re lying,” Minho said simply. A nervous flush still colored his cheeks, but his posture was steadfast. “I think…you’re not in love with her. I think she’s in love with you, and you love her, but I don’t think it’s the same feeling.”
Jisung’s eyes narrowed. Discomfort fused with anger in his gut. “Who the hell are you to assume you know what I’m feeling?”
Minho gritted his teeth, a spark of anger flashing in his eyes. “Assuming how you felt was what I used to do. I assumed you were happy in your relationship since the day I met you. This is me cutting that bullshit. Can you do the same?” He cocked his head, unblinking. “Can you cut the bullshit, Jisung?”
A shiver danced up Jisung’s spine. “It’s not my responsibility to prove to you that I’m in love with my girlfriend. Take my word for it when I tell you something, maybe.”
“Tell me, then. Give me your word.” Minho opened a hand questioningly from where it was wrapped around his arm. “Are you attracted to her?”
Having this conversation out loud was bringing so much adrenaline to the surface of Jisung’s thin composure that he could hardly keep his voice steady. It felt jarringly simple and straightforward to have Minho target him with pointed questions. Questions that should be easy to answer. “Yes,” Jisung said. “I told you, I am.”
Minho shook his head, an amused twinkle in his eyes that made something flutter in Jisung’s gut. “I don’t believe you, darling.”
Jisung seethed, clenching his hands into fists. “Is this what we’re doing? I’m trying to tell you how I feel, and you’re just going to refuse to believe any of it?”
“Jisung, if what you came here to do is tell me you’ll never be interested in me and that you want to just be friends, you can do that. I’ll respect your wishes.” Minho held both hands up in surrender. “Sue me, I know you and I can see you’re hiding something, and I just want you to be honest with me. I told you how I feel, and the least you can do is do the same.”
“How I feel,” Jisung said loudly, his hands fiddling at his sides before curling into fists again, “Is that I’m in love with my girlfriend, and that you’re just my friend. That is it.”
Hurt flickered through Minho’s eyes, his composure visibly wavering. Jisung’s chest ached. Before he could open his mouth though, Minho said, “Okay.”
An onset of guilt dropped heavily on Jisung’s shoulders, and he muttered, “I don’t want to hurt you, Minho. You’re one of my favorite people. I hate that I have to do this.”
Minho shook his head, his eyes wide, his lips gently parted. “You don’t have to do this, though.” He pushed forward off the beam and took a few steps, closing the distance between them until they were only an arm’s length apart. Jisung watched the way Minho’s lips shaped around his words. “I don’t want to put words in your mouth,” Minho said, his voice softer now. “And I don’t want to pressure you into saying something you don’t feel.”
Jisung swallowed and kept his mouth shut.
“But I don’t understand how you do it,” Minho went on. The warm light reflected droplets of sparkling yellow in his dark eyes. “I don’t understand how you pretend like you’re fine all the time when you’re not. You once said it yourself, Sung.” He squared his shoulders. “You told me it’s okay to be sad. That sadness is important because it shows us what we should and shouldn’t let in.”
Jisung bit down on his lower lip, his skin warm.
“So why aren’t you admitting it?” Minho managed a tiny smile, free of mockery. “Why aren’t you admitting that you’re not happy?”
Jisung blinked hard before demanding, “Why are you talking like you’re in my head with me? You don’t know anything, Minho.”
“Jisung, you’re like, my best friend. I can tell when you’re faking it, and I can tell you don’t feel the same way about her as she does about you.” Minho said it so confidently, like it was a fact he’d read in a book instead of an observation he’d made about Jisung’s life, and Jisung wasn’t sure if he was more embarrassed or angry.
“That’s wishful thinking,” Jisung forced himself to say, even though his words felt like a kayak precariously floating atop a crashing sea of emotions. How did Minho know? How did he notice the rough patches in Jisung’s attraction to Sunny? “Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I’m in love with her, okay? I’m in love with Sunny.”
Minho nodded then, and Jisung watched with the feeling of skittering to a halt at the edge of a cliff as hurt quivered in the soft lines of Minho’s face. “So,” he said, his lips pursed, his chin taught. “This is what you want to tell me, then?”
Jisung waited, trying to breathe steadily.
Minho’s eyes sparkled with tears. “That you’re not interested in me at all? That I read this wrong, and you don’t feel the same way?”
The words came out harsh, determined, not at all sad and defeated like his face might’ve led Jisung to expect. Jisung, stunned by the phrasing, took a moment to spin in his own emotional cyclone. Minho read that Jisung felt the same way. He’d read that Jisung returned his interest.
How did he know?
“I don’t know,” Jisung finally whispered, staring at Minho desperately. “I don’t know.”
“Sung.” Minho moved closer now, the yellow light catching his soft orange hair. Jisung’s entire body tingled when Minho slid a hand forward, brushed his fingers over Jisung’s wrist. “There’s something here. I think you can feel it, too.”
Jisung tried to ignore the way his heart was about to stop. He dragged his eyes away from the plush, pink curves of Minho’s mouth and blindly reached for the plan he’d walked in with. “I said no, Minho,” he said, attempting to keep his voice monotonous and certain. “Why are you making me say it again?”
Minho leaned back, let Jisung’s wrist drop from his hand. Silence rang between them, and Jisung watched with bated breath as tears welled up and spilled over from Minho’s wide, shining eyes.
“Minho,” Jisung whispered. His chest felt empty. “I’m terrified, okay? I’m terrified of losing you. Of hurting you, of changing what we have—”
“Please get out,” Minho said shakily. He sniffled, pressing the back of his good hand to one eye.
“What?” Jisung said. Tightness crept into his throat.
“Please leave!” Minho’s voice bordered on a yell as he gestured halfheartedly for the door, and Jisung flinched, shocked by the shift in Minho’s demeanor.
“Now?” Jisung’s voice shook. “Like...like this, on this note?”
“Jisung.” Minho stared at him with tearful eyes, his lips pressed into a hard line, and Jisung could hardly stand the sight of Minho looking so distraught at his hands. “I get it, I get your message. But this is real for me. This is how I feel, and this hurts.” He breathed in, more tears streaking from his lashes. “So please leave.”
Jisung wanted to crumple to the floor. His body felt heavy as iron as he turned, pulled his gaze away from Minho’s, and pushed through the door out into the steady rain.
The tears didn’t come, but so much chaos stirred around in Jisung’s chest that he could barely walk in a straight line. His brain was loud, echoing with desperate cries as he shuffled away from the Hub.
No, he thought. He couldn’t stop thinking it. The further he walked, the louder the syllable chorused in his mind, as rhythmic as his heartbeat thudding in his ear. No, no, no.
Then the noise in his brain shorted out.
He jogged the short distance back to the Hub, didn’t bother knocking. He pushed inside, and Minho turned around from where he was leaning against the pole. He fixed Jisung with wide, defensive eyes.
“Jisung,” Minho whispered.
Jisung didn’t think a single thing as walked right up to him, took his face in both hands, and kissed him on the mouth.
Like everything else between them, they fell into a rhythm almost immediately, the sound of the rain hitting the roof encompassing them in a hum of white noise. Minho’s lips were softer than Jisung could’ve dreamed, damp with tears, and so gentle as he started to shape his mouth to Jisung’s. He shivered when he felt Minho’s hands lift to rest on his waist.
Relief, intense and overpowering, coursed through Jisung’s veins. A fog of heat encased him, and he found himself leaning in, parting his lips, licking into Minho’s mouth and struggling to contain a groan of satisfaction. Minho’s fingers smoothed up the fabric of Jisung’s t-shirt, and Jisung’s breath caught when he felt cool fingertips exploring his sides.
One of Jisung’s hands curled in Minho’s soft hair, the other looping around his waist, tilting his head all the while so he could tangle his tongue with Minho’s. The sensation of Minho’s sweet mouth against his was completely addicting. There was little tact to it—it was all tongue and teeth and hot breaths—but Jisung’s pulse was racing, and nothing had felt so unbelievably right in his life.
For a moment he pulled back, if only to see the way Minho’s eyelashes fluttered and to watch a gorgeous, pink-cheeked grin spread across his face, but then they were kissing again, Jisung catching Minho’s bottom lip between his teeth and grunting when the act drew a low moan from Minho’s throat.
Minho’s hands, warming quickly against the heat of Jisung’s naked torso, slipped from his shirt to wrestle his jacket to the ground. Jisung pressed Minho back against the beam and kissed him deeper, completely enthralled by his taste, rooting his fingers in his hair while his opposite hand gripped desperately at Minho’s hip, urging him closer.
He dipped his hand up the back of Minho’s shirt, exploring the hard muscles and the broad expanse of his shoulders. The feeling of Minho’s skin beneath his fingers made his head spin, but he wanted more, so he ducked to map out the curve of Minho’s jaw with his mouth.
“Jisung,” Minho gasped. The sound of Minho breathily, desperately uttering his name made Jisung’s belly clench, and he swept his tongue over the side of Minho’s throat, grazing his teeth over his earlobe. Even his skin was sweet, barely salty with natural sweat, and Jisung wanted to sink his teeth into him. “Jisung.”
“Minho,” Jisung murmured, brushing his fingers up beneath Minho’s tank top and caressing his naked waist.
“We should stop,” Minho said, though his fingers came up to snarl in Jisung’s damp hair.
Jisung pulled back, his nose brushing Minho’s, his heart beating like a snare drum, fast and incessant and consuming. “I don’t want to stop,” he breathed, leaning his forehead against Minho’s, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of their lips brushing.
Minho kissed him hard, making a shocked gasp stutter in Jisung’s throat that melted into a soft moan when Minho tugged their hips flush together. Jisung numbly sensed Minho guiding them, but then his back was shoved against a smooth wall, and Minho pulled back to study him with hooded eyes.
Jisung’s heart leapt at the sight of Minho’s pupils blown wide, hair a tangled mess from Jisung’s wandering hands. His stomach fluttered when Minho kissed him again, sweeter now, slower, and then Minho’s wet, soft lips traced a gentle pattern across Jisung’s jaw.
He ran his fingers through Minho’s hair, biting his lip around a moan as Minho planted open-mouthed kisses against his neck. His hot breath caressed Jisung’s ear, and his tongue flicked out to trail along Jisung’s throat, closely followed by his teeth digging in just hard enough to sting, just light enough to elicit pleasure.
“Fuck,” Jisung hissed, tugging at the roots of Minho’s hair. He grinded their hips together idly, hiding a moan in Minho’s shoulder when his clothed, half-hard erection rocked against Minho’s sturdy thigh.
Minho froze, his mouth pulling away from Jisung’s neck. He took a step back, but Jisung’s lips chased him, a certain desperation flaring in his insides when he sensed Minho disengaging. “Min…”
“Jisung.” Minho slid his hands into Jisung’s, lacing their warm fingers. Jisung could only stare at him, completely blown away by how gorgeous his eyes were, by how badly he wanted to pull him back and kiss him until the sun rose. “We should stop.”
Jisung stepped forward and kissed him again, looping his arms around Minho’s neck, marveling at how broad his shoulders were. “I don’t want to stop.”
“As if I do,” Minho mumbled against Jisung’s lips, and Jisung’s heart fluttered as he watched Minho’s eyes crinkle into a genuine grin. “But we have to, darling.”
“Why?” Jisung pouted, brushing the tips of their noses and staring into Minho’s eyes, completely lost in their endless warmth.
“Because.” Minho’s hands came to firmly hold Jisung’s arms so he could coax him back a few steps. “You have a girlfriend.”
Oh.
Jisung’s warm, bubbly emotions hardened, crashed to the ground, and shattered.
He backed up against the wall, lifting his hands to cover his face, and mumbled, “Oh, shit.”
“Did you forget?” Minho asked, a hint of teasing in his voice, though the reassuring weight of his hand settled on Jisung’s shoulder. “Jisung?”
Jisung barely heard him. His brain was awhirl again, a thousand emotions crashing around inside his small frame, making him feel weary and exhausted. He began to shake, overwhelmed by trying to differentiate between the conglomeration of thoughts and feelings, and his breath started to come in harsh, shallow pants.
“I cheated on her,” he whispered, his voice hushed and raspy. “I cheated on Sunny.”
“Jisung, come lay down, okay? I’m gonna make you some tea. Come lay down.”
Jisung allowed himself to be steered towards the mattress. He curled up under Minho’s comforter, burrowing against the sheets and swaddling himself tightly, trying to rid himself of the dizziness that clung to his vision and the iciness at the tips of his fingers.
He’d just made out with Minho. And he was dating Sunny.
He felt like a shellfish on its back, his innermost secrets and vulnerabilities exposed for all the world to see. His guard was completely down, his self control shattered.
He was scum. Only scum cheated on their partners. Jisung himself held this belief. The thought made tears spring to his eyes, and then he gasped again, trying to slow the frantic pounding of his heart.
Minho came to sit by his side, a mug of tea in hand, his forehead creased with worry. “Would this help?” he asked, pouting.
Jisung hated that all he wanted to do was pull him down and kiss him again.
“I don’t know,” he whispered, gazing blankly at the opposite wall.
“You’re shaking.” Minho set the mug down and laced his fingers through Jisung’s. Minho’s skin felt hot and dry against Jisung’s clammy hands. “Breathe, Jisungie. It’s gonna be okay.”
“No it’s not,” Jisung said, his voice pinched and hectic. “I cheated on my girlfriend.”
“It was just a kiss,” Minho offered.
Jisung shook his head, staring blankly ahead still, trying to slow his pulse. It’d been more than that, and they both knew it.
Wordlessly, Minho lowered himself onto the bed as well, sliding his legs beneath the covers and shifting so that he was on his back facing Jisung. He reached out an arm and managed a tiny smile. “Come here,” he said simply.
Jisung wiggled forward and pressed himself into Minho’s side, thankfully not his injured side, so he could bury his face in Minho’s chest and breathe in his familiar scent. He stayed this way for a long time, trembling like he was freezing, waiting for his racing thoughts to pump the brakes. He lay there for what could’ve been an hour as Minho ran his fingernails through Jisung’s hair.
Eventually, Jisung’s chest loosened. He slid away from Minho, who rolled onto his side so they were face to face.
Minho’s lips turned up into a sleepy, cat-like smile that made Jisung’s heart flutter.
“I’m sorry,” Jisung said, managing an embarrassed grin. He wiped some built up tears on the back of his wrist, thankful that he could pluck something other than nonsense from his stormy mind. “You must be confused.”
Minho shrugged his injured shoulder up and down. “I’m in no rush,” he murmured, and something fond sparkled in his eyes. “Just nice to be next to you.”
Jisung’s belly clenched, and he bit down on his tongue to resist leaning forward and kissing him again. He sighed, folding an arm protectively over his chest, and thought of Sunny. He’d let her down immeasurably, more than he’d ever wanted to let down anyone. He’d cheated on her.
The worst part was, he felt…relieved. Never in his life had kissing someone felt so right as kissing Minho had. The warmth and happiness spreading across his skin just made more guilt and turmoil unfold beneath it.
“I cheated on her,” Jisung said, searching Minho’s eyes worriedly. “What’ve I done?”
Minho didn’t answer. He just waited, watching Jisung thoughtfully.
“She doesn’t deserve this.” Jisung gulped, relieved the panic was caged-out for the time being. “She doesn’t deserve to be anyone’s second best. And neither do you.”
Minho’s eyebrow twitched upward. “Am I?” he asked softly.
Jisung settled into the quiet thrum of his own heart. “No,” he whispered, blinking sleepily as they gazed at one another. He’d never been more sure of himself. “You’re the only one I want. It’s only you.”
Minho’s eyes flared wide, crinkled, and then squeezed shut, his lips pursed into a little pout. Jisung watched with his breath held as a tear streaked from the corner of Minho’s eye, across the bridge of his nose.
“I’m sorry,” Jisung said uselessly, wiping the tear away with his thumb.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Minho whispered, blinking a few times as though to steady himself. “I don’t care how we got here. I’m just happy we’re here.”
Jisung sighed, the weight of the situation beginning to settle down on him. He’d just kissed Minho, confessed his feelings for Minho even, after adamantly claiming to be in love with Sunny. He felt like such a fool. Not just because he’d lied to Minho and Sunny, but because he’d lied to himself.
He liked Minho. He liked him so, so much.
What that meant for their friendship and their future, for Jisung’s life , he didn’t have room to contemplate yet. All he knew was he’d wronged Sunny, and he needed to end things with her before she was hurt any further.
“Fuck,” Jisung sighed. “I need to break up with my girlfriend.”
“Mmm.” Minho arched a brow, a cunning smile making his eyes twinkle. “You think?”
“Shut up.” Jisung punched him in the chest, and Minho’s grin broadened. “I feel like a piece of shit.”
“Go easy on yourself,” Minho suggested. “It’s hard, figuring out who we’re attracted to. Nothing simple about it.”
The words, while straightforward, made Jisung’s shoulders relax. He got unsteadily to his feet and shuffled to the door, where he retrieved his fallen jacket.
Minho followed him at a distance, seemingly sensing a shift in atmosphere, and dawdled by the mini fridge as Jisung zipped his jacket.
Then they stood a few strides apart, watching each other with stupid half-concealed smiles, unsure how to say goodbye.
“Uh.” Jisung allowed an awkward laugh. “I’ll, um, text you.”
“Cool,” Minho said. His eyes glimmered as he pursed his lips, and Jisung’s heart squeezed. “I’ll text you back.”
Jisung couldn’t help himself; he inched forward, pulled Minho’s wrist towards him so he was close enough to touch, and then cupped his cheeks again, pressing a kiss to those soft, plump lips.
Minho kissed him back so much gentler than before, his hands sitting warmly on Jisung’s hips as they idly slotted their lips together, feeling each other. When Jisung broke the kiss, he studied the pretty blush on Minho’s cheeks, unable to contain his own grin. “Bye,” he whispered, thumbing at Minho’s bottom lip, incredulous that he was touching Minho’s mouth.
“Byebye,” Minho hummed, and Jisung pulled away, though it was as counterintuitive as forcing apart magnets. He left with one more shy smile, closing the door to the Hub behind him, and began walking towards Changbin’s car with a spring in his step and a tangle of emotions tied to the flutter of his heart.
~
It didn’t take long for the distracting afterglow of kissing Minho to fade and be fully replaced by a swirl of panic and doubt.
Perhaps it’d been hasty of Jisung to tell Minho he was the only one he wanted. It felt true, in the moment, and Jisung knew it probably was true. Every time he remembered the feeling of Minho’s mouth against his, Minho’s skin, hot and soft beneath his fingers, Jisung’s stomach somersaulted for seconds. It’d felt right, and physical intimacy had never felt right to Jisung before.
But wanting to kiss Minho was different from wanting to spin his life upside down and actually pursue something with him.
Maybe it was pathetic and close-minded of him, but Jisung didn’t want to be gay. He didn’t want to be different. He didn’t want to have to worry about coming out to his parents or how they would react to not just one, but two of their sons being anything but straight. He didn’t want to have to shut out the idea of a marriage with a woman and naturally born children. He didn’t want to think about public displays of affection, the way people would stare at two boys kissing or holding hands. It was all just hard, and Jisung liked to keep his life as simple and tidy as possible because the inside of his mind was so far on the opposite end of the spectrum.
Was that what this was? Was Jisung gay? He had no idea. The only thing he was sure about was that he’d liked kissing Minho, and that even now, as he climbed the steps back to his apartment, all he wanted to do was go be by Minho’s side again. But it wasn’t like he’d ever had feelings for a guy before. He just liked Minho . The way Minho spoke, the way he lived his life and viewed the world, the way he looked. Everything about him.
Now that he was aware of it, it sat upon Jisung heavily, making it difficult to think about anything else. He liked Minho. More than he’d ever liked anyone else. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get Minho’s pink cheeks and sparkling eyes out of his head.
That didn’t change the fact that starting anything with him was a huge decision Jisung was nowhere near ready to make. Especially given the fact that he was still in a relationship with Sunny. His stomach rolled as he remembered this fact once again.
He pushed into his apartment and found Chan and Changbin seated in the living room, Chan in the armchair playing league on his laptop while Changbin sprawled across the couch watching TV. They both looked up, vaguely nodded in Jisung’s direction, and then threw him follow-up glances after observing his shell-shocked facial expression.
“Sung?” Chan said. “You okay?”
Jisung kicked the door shut behind him, running his fingers through his rain-dampened hair. “Is it just you two here?”
“Yep,” Changbin said. “Hyunjin just left.”
Jisung nodded and shuffled over to sit on the couch at Changbin’s feet. Words felt jumpy and sporadic behind his teeth, like he was keeping a dirty secret that would shatter Chan and Changbin’s worlds, and he wasn’t sure if this meant he needed time to marinate or if he should promptly spew his thoughts all over the quiet of their apartment.
He decided he had to start somewhere. “Do you guys think me and Sunny are good together?”
Chan and Changbin exchanged a wary glance. Changbin spoke first, saying in a slightly strained, if you’re really gonna make me say it voice, “Yeah, I mean, as long as you make each other happy. Seems to us like you treat each other well.”
Jisung chewed his lip and flickered his gaze over to monitor Chan’s reaction. “Minho told me he’s into me.”
Chan nodded, like Jisung had just said, it’s nice out today.
Changbin raised one eyebrow, unfazed.
Jisung’s jaw dropped. “Did both of you fucking know?”
Chan burst out laughing, and Changbin threw his head back with a cackle, smacking the back of the couch. Jisung’s ears burned as he asked, “Did he tell you?”
“Well,” Chan said, a squinty, sheepish grin making his dimples show. “He told me right after he made out with me.”
The memory of Minho making out with Chan at Buble’s absolutely dizzied Jisung upon revisiting him. He reeled, blinking at Chan, unsure if he was pissed Chan had gotten to kiss Minho before he did or bewildered as to why Minho had kissed Chan now that Jisung knew the truth about Minho’s feelings.
“Did he really,” Jisung muttered after a short pause filled with smothered laughter. “Did he really make out with you, pull back, and say, I’m into Jisung?”
Chan’s grin widened. “Yes, that’s literally what happened.”
“Why the fuck did he…”
“He said he used me because he was jealous,” Chan explained, closing his laptop and folding his hands on top of it. “Bin has known for weeks, apparently.”
Jisung’s heart skipped a beat. Weeks? How long had Minho been telling people this, anyway? How long had Minho felt this way? The idea of Minho hiding his feelings, even pining for Jisung, made him wrestle with a confusing combination of fondness and guilt. “How’d you find out, Bin?”
“Hyunjin told me,” Changbin admitted. “Apparently Minho told him a long time ago. Don’t tell Minho I know, please, he’ll get pissed at Hyunjin. Wait.” Changbin straightened, squinting. “How are things between you and Minho now? Hyunjin said Minho was really upset last night.”
Jisung paused for a moment, breathing unsteadily. He decided, though, that he was sick of dancing around his truth. Chan and Changbin were his friends, and they would support him before they’d support Sunny, even if he’d fucked up immeasurably. Right?
His voice failed him for several seconds until finally he muttered, his chin tucked, “I’m an idiot. I kissed him.”
Neither of them made a sound, so Jisung risked an upward glance. Chan’s lips were parted slightly, but Changbin’s eyes and mouth were flung wide, his lashes fluttering.
Eventually Changbin blurted, “What about Sunny?”
Jisung shook his head, heat leaking down to his neck and cheeks. “I fucked up.”
“Oh,” Changbin said, disapproval evident in his slackened jaw.
“How was it?” Chan asked, offering a glimmer of a mischievous grin.
Jisung glared at him. “Hyung, I just told you I cheated on my girlfriend.”
“Yeah, but.” Chan shrugged. “I know you, and I know Minho. There’s always been something special there, Sunny or not.”
A sputtering, blushing grin forced Jisung to hide his cheeks with both hands, “Ahhh, really? Why didn’t you say something to me?”
“You never asked,” Chan pointed out. “You’re very adamant about spinning your relationship with Sunny like it has no flaws, Sung. No offense.”
Jisung chewed the inside of his cheek, familiarizing himself with the embarrassment that came with realizing he’d been the last one to notice. Other than Sunny. His stomach rolled with the thought of breaking things off with her.
Then he remembered Sunny saying, just a few days back, that she suspected Minho was jealous of their relationship. When he’d avoided her during his depressive episode, he’d told her he was avoiding everyone, and she’d said, “even Minho?”
Jisung gulped, his ears and neck unbearably hot, as he realized he’d done a pitiful job at convincing everyone except himself that their relationship was fine.
He felt so ashamed. So exposed. He’d packed so much within himself that he’d burst open, and now he was bare and squirming, without even a grain of sand to hide behind.
“Jisung,” Changbin said, tugging on the string that tethered Jisung to earth, to this conversation. “You okay, man?”
Jisung just blinked, vaguely aware his mouth was hanging open. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Honestly, the contrasting feelings of being happy that I kissed Minho and feeling like shit that I cheated on my girlfriend are kind of balancing out.”
“Are you going to break up with her?” asked Changbin. “Because you should break up with her.”
“Yeah.” Jisung huffed out the word around a sigh. “Yeah, I will. I have to.”
Chan and Changbin didn’t offer any more advice than this. Jisung couldn’t read them, exactly; he couldn’t tell if they were disappointed in him or just surprised by what’d transpired. They seemed hesitant, like they didn’t want to involve themselves in the situation any more than they already were. Jisung didn’t blame them. He wished he could uninvolve himself, even though this entire shit show happened because of him.
He felt like such an idiot. An emotionally stunted, foolish, impulsive piece of shit.
It was nine o’clock at night, and Jisung knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink if he put off this conversation with Sunny. So he paced his bedroom, digging deep within himself for the courage to call her up and ask to see her in person.
He didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want to lose her, to no longer talk to her every day. He felt the weight of the decision slowly lowering down on his weary shoulders, demanding he choose between Minho and Sunny, two of the people he cared about the most in the world.
His heart had made the choice for him already. He thought of laying in Minho’s arms, settling against his chest as Minho ran his fingers through Jisung’s hair, and for a moment the crashing waves in his mind stilled.
He couldn’t deny himself any longer. As scary as it was, he knew what he wanted.
He unlocked his phone and noticed he’d received a text from Sunny five minutes ago.
Sunny: My mom just called an ambulance, my dad is going to the ER for a blood clot in his leg.
Sunny: I have no idea what to do Jisungie, I’m so scared
Emotions arose in the back of his throat, and his mind quieted. Jisung’s feelings be damned—Sunny needed him right now.
This prickled at the back of his mind, unsettling him. How was he supposed to end things with her when her family was going through so much?
He could worry about that later. He gave her a call.
“Hey,” he said when she shakily answered. “Are you okay?”
“No,” she whispered, her voice high and pinched. “Can I come over?”
Jisung swallowed. “Sure. Sure, I’ll come pick you up.”
They fell asleep that night intertwined, Sunny’s arms wrapped tightly around herself, soft sobs making her shoulders tremble as he stroked her back and picked his way through the maze of noisy thoughts weaving in and out of his mind.
~
Notes:
WOOHOOOO!!!DFNVDKSGNL;
minho's hot.
Also pls don't spoil on twt lolWE'RE GETTING SOMEWHERE
let me know what you thought! How we feelin???
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 15
Notes:
Hi guys! welcome back~ lino's chapter for belated lino day!!!
here's ch 15, enjoy :))
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
xv. minho
The morning after he and Jisung kissed for the first time, Minho awoke early, rolling out of bed to feed his cats and to dress himself for a grocery shopping trip with Hyunjin.
He was exhausted. He’d tossed and turned for hours the night before, thinking of Jisung, nearly melting into his sheets every time he remembered what’d happened.
Minho could hardly believe it. Even the following morning, a good twelve hours after he’d last seen Jisung, the night before felt like a dream. He’d never been kissed like that before. It’d been like nothing existed to Jisung other than Minho, and nothing existed to Minho other than Jisung. The guy he’d been aching for all summer had kissed him like he couldn’t contain himself, and Minho’s lips tingled each time he remembered.
After all Minho’s worries and doubts, Jisung liked him back. Jisung was going to break up with Sunny. Jisung liked him back.
Minho smiled like an idiot as he pulled his socks on, talking absentmindedly to his cats. “I know,” he said to Doongie, who meowed at him loudly. “I shouldn’t be so happy. I should feel bad for Sunny.”
Doongie meowed again, ramming his head playfully against Minho’s knuckle.
“But right now, I don’t give a shit,” Minho sighed as tied his shoelaces.
He didn’t. He couldn’t give less of a shit. He’d gotten to kiss Jisung, to hear in soft, earnest whispers that Jisung only wanted him, and Minho really didn’t give a flying fuck what happened from now on. He could die happy.
Although, it would be nice if Jisung could text him like he said he would.
During the drive to the store, Hyunjin babbled excitedly about how it was Changbin’s birthday and how he wanted to bring a cake to him as soon as they finished their grocery trip. Minho couldn’t believe it was already almost two weeks into August. Summer was winding down rapidly.
As he and Hyunjin walked up and down the aisles of the grocery store, Hyunjin eyed Minho funnily, a little scowl making his plump lips stick out. “You’re giddy,” Hyunjin accused, grabbing a bundle of asparagus and dropping it into a plastic bag. “Why are you so happy? You have a gunshot wound.”
Minho grinned, amused by himself. He really had been shot and rejected two days before, and now he was barely able to contain his smiles as he stared at shelves full of sliced mushrooms. “Things are looking up for me.”
“Oh?” Hyunjin spun the asparagus around, fingers fiddling with a green twist tie.
Minho darted his eyes around the grocery store, as though Sunny would be lurking around the corner. “Jisung and I made out,” he said, keeping his voice nonchalant as he selected a container of mushrooms.
Hyunjin’s mouth fell open with a tiny squeak. “Are you serious?”
Minho nodded, covering his grin with one hand.
“Holy shit!” Hyunjin clutched at the sides of his face, his eyes gleaming. “How was it? Did he seem hesitant? Did he want to go further? Did you go further? Oh my god, is he into you? Did he say something?”
“Ugh, so many questions,” Minho groaned, beginning to push the cart along just to spite Hyunjin, who walked right alongside Minho with determination.
“Don’t you tease me like this,” Hyunjin said, hanging onto Minho’s elbow. “What happened? Tell me everything. I bet it was hot.”
Minho licked his lips and grabbed a mini jar of peanut butter, not looking Hyunjin’s way. “Yeah, it was hot. Best kiss of my life.”
“Seriously?”
Minho nodded, focusing intently on setting the peanut butter where it wouldn’t squish his or Hyunjin’s produce. “I could feel…” He sighed and smoothed a hand down his face, trying to cover up the warm flush in his cheeks. “I could feel how much he wanted it, you know? There was so much unspoken…” He trailed off again, embarrassed at his inability to describe something as simple as a kiss. “I don’t know. So much unspoken want. It was all so needy and intense and like, I don’t know.” Minho loathed his burning ears. “It was hot.”
“Did he break up with Sunny?”
“He said he was going to,” Minho said with a shrug. “Said he’s only into me.” He tried to hide his smile, but he couldn’t help it, hiding his eyes behind his hand. “Ah, I’m just happy, I don’t know. I don’t want to think about Jisung and Sunny right now.”
“That’s so exciting, Minnie. Wow.” Hyunjin whistled his surprise. “I have to say, I’m shocked. I thought for sure he liked you too, but I also thought he was too far in the closet to do anything about it.”
“It was a rocky road to get to his true feelings,” Minho admitted. “He showed up with the intention of shutting me down and staying with Sunny, but then he came back and kissed me and, and…” He shook his head, unable to relive the moment without warmth pooling in his gut. “I understand what he’s going through, to some degree. It’s hard coming to terms with attraction to a guy, when you’re a guy. Especially when you were brought up by homophobic parents. I get why he needed to be backed into a corner to tell me the truth.”
“Backed into a corner, eh?” Hyunjin said, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Shut up. Don’t make me talk about this any more, I don’t want to get flustered in the middle of Walmart.”
They drove towards 3RACHA’s apartment when they were done, Minho holding Changbin’s ice cream cake in his lap as Hyunjin drove. When they parked, Hyunjin cut the engine and looked over at Minho. “Come on, come in with me. I have to work so I’ll be in and out in like, five minutes.”
“I don’t know,” Minho sighed. Jisung had yet to text him since the night before.
“Don’t you want to see Jisung?”
“Of course,” Minho groaned, letting his head fall back against the headrest. God, he wanted to see Jisung so bad. He urged to begin indulging himself in this new, bizarre reality of being able to kiss Jisung, touch him, and hold him close as he pleased.
Though, he couldn’t be sure Jisung was single yet. Either way, Minho’s heart fluttered at the idea of seeing him again in any capacity.
“Fine,” Minho decided. “Just real quick. Since it’s Changbin’s birthday and I know you won’t shut up about us not getting to hang out with him till later.”
“Yay!” Hyunjin bolted from the car without another word, and Minho followed him, chuckling to himself.
They knocked on the door once they’d scaled the steps, and Minho’s stomach churned as he wondered whether Jisung was home. The door swung open, revealing a sleepy-looking Changbin, who smiled and rubbed his eyes as he saw who’d knocked.
“Hi,” Changbin said, reaching out for a hug before Hyunjin had as much as walked over the threshold.
“Happy birthday, handsome,” Hyunjin said, pushing Changbin back into the apartment with a hug, and Minho smiled as Changbin broke into a sleepy grin over Hyunjin’s shoulder.
“Happy birthday, piggy,” Minho added, stepping in behind Hyunjin and shutting the door behind himself. He scoped the room, trying not to make it too obvious that he was searching for Jisung, when someone padded around the corner into the living room.
Sunny appeared, yawning, wearing tiny cotton shorts and a sports bra with Jisung’s sweatshirt hanging low over one of her shoulders. “Hi guys,” she said, beaming and shuffling forward to pat Changbin’s hair. Hyunjin had retracted from him, casting a wide-eyed glance backwards at Minho. “Happy birthday, Binnie.”
Minho chewed on the tip of his tongue and tried hard not to exhibit a single one of his emotions, even though he was an ugly second away from asking her what the fuck she was doing here in Jisung’s apartment wearing Jisung’s hoodie. The morning after Jisung confessed his feelings to Minho.
So this was what Jisung had done after going home following their heated makeout session, was it?
Minho tried to make peace with the splinter of anger that dug into his chest. His ego stung, and Hyunjin and Changbin’s uncomfortable, watchful gazes were salt in the wound. Just as he started coming up with an excuse to leave early, hopefully one that Hyunjin would catch on to without protest and drive him home, Jisung shuffled around the corner.
His hair was a complete mess, he was wearing nothing but boxers and a big, cozy t-shirt, and his sleepy eyes stretched wide as soon as he saw Minho.
For a split second, the room was silent. Minho averted his eyes sharply from Jisung and turned to Hyunjin. “Jinnie, shall we? We just wanted to give the piglet his cake so he wouldn’t die of hunger before dinnertime.”
“Sure,” Hyunjin said without hesitation, and gratitude for him flared in Minho’s chest. “See you later, babe,” he hummed, kissing Changbin’s cheek. “I’ll be back after my shift.”
“Will you guys come out to a bar with us later?” Sunny asked Minho and Hyunjin, fiddling with the sleeves of her—Jisung’s—sweatshirt. “Changbin, you were thinking the Hub might be fun, right?”
You must be fucking kidding, Minho thought, persistently avoiding Jisung’s gaze even though it might as well have been burning holes in his forehead. “I have plans,” Minho said crisply. “But I’m sure Jinnie would be down, right?”
“Yeah, of course,” Hyunjin said, slipping away from Changbin and towards the door. “Bye, guys!”
“Byeeeeeee,” Minho added with exaggerated enthusiasm, catching Jisung’s eye before he turned around. Jisung looked shocked, pale-faced, and not far from horrified. Minho had no idea what to make of this and had no intention of lingering in the presence of the girl whose boyfriend he’d been all over the night before, so he left without another word.
“Fuck,” Hyunjin said as he fired up his car. “That was awkward as hell. Jisung practically busted a nut when he saw you.”
“That looked more like wanting to kill himself than busting a nut,” Minho said through gritted teeth, chewing on his fingernail with his elbow leaned on the car door. “I can’t fucking believe she slept in his bed last night.” He inhaled in an effort to subdue the jealous tug in his gut that nearly made him sick. “Right out of my arms and into hers, I guess.”
Hyunjin threw Minho a concerned glance after clearly picking up on the tremor in his voice. “It’s complicated, breaking up with someone. You of all people know that.”
Minho chose not to reply.
That afternoon, Minho bartended at the Hub, which he was grateful to be able to do. Now that he was injured and once again unable to dance like usual, Trinity allowed him to pick up tending shifts, and he enjoyed the job well enough. Serving drunk people and focusing on mixing drinks with one hand proved to be an excellent distraction.
Changbin and friends never showed up, to Minho’s relief. He wondered if Jisung talked Sunny out of that one.
His shift ended at ten, and he checked his phone after showering and changing into pajamas. Jisung had texted him only a few hours into his tending shift, and Minho failed to make sense of the gust of emotions that struck him upon reading Jisung’s words.
Jisung: I’m sorry about that. I wanted to do it last night, but she texted me that her dad was in the ER and she needed me. I’m sorry you had to stumble into that situation
Minho groaned, settling backwards onto his mattress. It was a relief to see, in written proof, that Jisung wanted to break up with Sunny. But still, if Sunny was having a difficult medical crisis in the family, who knew how long it’d be before Jisung found it in him to break up with her.
And while Minho didn’t feel like waiting any longer to be with Jisung, he also had no interest in being anyone’s side hoe.
He responded, It’s fine. It was just awkward
There was a knock on the Hub-side door, and Minho called, “Trin?”
“Yeah, can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
Trinity shoved through the door, wiping her brow, her jacket tied around her waist and a cloudy beer bottle in one hand. “Can I have a beer with you, babe? I’m exhausted and I don’t feel like walking home. Should’ve taken my damn car.”
“Sure, have a seat,” he said, patting the mattress by his side and quickly locking his phone. “How was your day?”
Trinity groaned and started wrestling her boots from her feet. “Shitty.”
“Don’t put your stinky feet on my bed, you lumberjack.”
“Fuck you.” She settled back against the wall and dug her socked feet into Minho’s bedding for good measure. “Um, it was a rough night. My mom had to call an ambulance to take my dad to the ER.”
“Oh, shit.” Minho paused, unsure if his feigned surprise was convincing. “I’m sorry, Trin. What happened?”
“Blood clot. Apparently they’re common after surgeries, but it could’ve been life threatening. He’s okay now, still in the hospital but stable.” She took a noisy gulp of her beer. “Sunny and my mom both lost it after he went to the hospital. I’m more worried about them than him today.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He frowned at her nonchalance. He had a feeling she was bottling up her fear as masterfully as he did. “That must’ve been scary.”
“He’s in good hands now.” Trinity shrugged. “How are you feeling, Min? How’s the shoulder?”
“It hurts, but not as bad as it was.”
“You’re really not going to go to the police for someone shooting you?” She wrinkled her nose. “Every day I’m more convinced you’re a glutton for your own death.”
Minho snorted. “He’s powerful and he’d fuck me over if I tried to get into a legal battle with him, Trin.”
“I’m just scared one of these days it’ll go too far, you know? How much worse can it get?”
“I don’t want to know the answer to that question.”
“Mmm.” Trinity knocked back the rest of her beer and sighed, sagging against the bedding and scratching Soonie between his ears when he padded up to the foot of the bed. “Are you still comfortable here? Not craving a bigger fridge or a kitchen?”
“Well,” Minho chuckled. “Those are two different questions, but yeah, I like it here. I like that it’s my space, not anyone else’s, you know?”
“No psychopathic boyfriend lurking around the corner,” Trinity added. “Yeah, I get it. I’m glad you’re enjoying it here. If you get sick of your hot plate though, come stay with me for a few days at a time. I’ll cook you some good shit, we can do each other’s nails and have a movie marathon or something.”
“That’s ridiculous. Like you wear nail polish.”
Trinity snorted and started pushing herself back to her feet, when a knock sounded on the door. “I’ll see who it is.”
Minho nodded, skeptically eyeing the window, always nervous when someone showed up at his door. Trinity peered out the window and hummed, “Oh, it’s just Jisung.”
Oh. “Oh,” Minho said breathlessly, scrambling to stand just as Trinity pulled the door open.
Jisung stood with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and Minho forgot how to speak when he laid eyes on him. He wore black skinny jeans, ripped at the knees and tucked into Doc Martens, and a white tank top cut low around his arms revealing more of his ribcage than Minho cared to see with his girlfriend’s sister standing between them. His dark hair was gelled back, falling in messy strands over half his forehead, and his skin looked so golden and smooth against the stark black and white outfit.
He was dressed for the club. But here he was, knocking on Minho’s door. Looking like that. So many feelings tangled inside Minho that he could only stand dumbly, palms sweating.
“Hi, Trin,” Jisung said, managing a visibly uncomfortable smile as Trinity waved him in. “Sorry to hear about your dad.”
“Ah yeah,” she said, tossing her empty beer into Minho’s recycling bin. “Is what it is.”
Minho glanced at Jisung and found wide, earnest eyes gazing at him, and his chest tightened. “Hi, Jisungie.”
“Hi,” Jisung said, a shy smile lifting his cheeks.
“Anyway, I’d better help them lock up the kitchen,” Trinity sighed, stepping back into her shoes. “Call me if you feel like crashing at my place, alright Minnie Min?”
“Sure, darling, I will.” Minho smacked her ass as she walked away, and Trinity released an erotic moan, swinging her leg up behind her to kick Minho’s ass in return. Jisung watched them with raised brows, grinning tentatively as Trinity left through the Hub door, shutting it behind her as she grumbled about incompetent closers.
Then Jisung and Minho were alone again, a few strides between them.
“Um,” Jisung started.
“You look really hot,” Minho said, then gulped, smiling and staring at the floor when Jisung’s cheeks flushed red. “Uh, sorry. Anyway. I figured you’d be with Bin?”
“I went to a few bars with them,” he said. Minho stared at the delicious curves of his toned arms, the way his biceps and shoulders sloped down to a delicate waist. His gaze lingered on the honey skin of Jisung’s rib cage, then the veins in his forearms, the way his hands were settled on his hips. “Stop staring!” Jisung said, hiding his face behind both hands.
“Sorry,” Minho said, chuckling. “Actually no, I’m not. Not even a little.”
Jisung dropped his hands and began fanning himself, scowling at Minho, though it was more of an indignant pout. “Here I was, thinking you’d be mad at me.”
Oh, right. He’d shared a bed with Sunny, hours after telling Minho how he felt. Right. Minho sighed, moving over to lean against the utility sink, closing the distance between them to a few arms’ lengths. “I was. But I get it. Hard to break someone’s heart when they have a parent in the hospital.”
Jisung nodded, his lower lip tugged beneath his teeth. “Thanks for understanding. I’m…” He trailed off, running his fingers up his arm. “I don’t know what to do, Min.”
Minho narrowed his eyes. He supposed hesitance was to be expected. It wasn’t simple, what was going on between them. But a pang of fear sank through him at the idea that this giddiness could be fleeting.
“Last night was definitely, um. ” Jisung’s voice shook. “It was definitely special.”
“But?” Minho hugged his arms across his chest and tried to keep his thoughts still. That same worried headspace clawed at him, itching to drag him back to the dejection and humiliation he’d felt the day before. He likes you, he tried to remind himself. He said so himself.
“But,” Jisung went on. His eyes brimmed with emotions, pleading and confused among the most obvious. “I don’t know, Min. I cheated on my girlfriend with my best friend. How am I supposed to feel?”
“It’s not about how you’re supposed to feel. How do you feel? We can work from there.”
“I feel…” Jisung shook his head, slick lower lip popping from his teeth as he exhaled. “Scared out of my mind, mostly.”
Minho blinked through the hurt that resurfaced within him. “Scared of what?”
“Losing my two favorite people!” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Sunny is...I mean, I know you’re right. I know I don’t love her like that, but I care about her. And she’s going through a lot right now.”
Minho bit back a petty I’m going through a lot right now too . “I’m not going to talk you into breaking up with your girlfriend, Jisung. This is a fucked up position you’re putting me in.”
“I know! I’m sorry,” Jisung insisted, beginning to pace, boots scuffing the rug they purchased together. “I just...don’t know if I can do this.”
Minho felt the words like a blade, slashing the happiness blooming in his chest at the roots. He tried to keep his voice calm as he asked, “Do what, exactly?”
“This! Us.” He raked his fingers through his hair, brow creased. Minho watched as tears sparkled in Jisung’s eyes. “My parents, I don’t know what they would...I just don’t know .”
“What don’t you know?” Minho stepped forward, sensing the panic threatening to burst from Jisung. He reached out and looped his fingers around Jisung’s wrists. His skin was cool under Minho’s touch. “Look at me, darling.”
Jisung did, lips pursed and tears welling. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, tugging a hand from Minho’s to mop his eyes.
“Talk to me, Sungie. Hey.” He laced their fingers and squeezed. “It’s just me. You know I’ll be your friend no matter what, right?” He wasn't sure if it was true, if he could suck it up and be a supportive best friend if Jisung chose to turn back to Sunny, but he knew Jisung needed reassurance right now.
Jisung nodded, shoulders shaking as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He took a couple deep breaths before going on. “I know how I feel,” he said softly. His round, glistening eyes lifted to look at Minho. “It’s not about that. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before like I do about you.”
Minho could have collapsed with relief. He couldn’t help but smile as he asked, “Isn’t that all that matters?”
Jisung shook his head. “It’s such a fucking risk, though, Min! You’re my best friend. I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that. And I don’t want to hurt Sunny when her family is going through this, and my parents…” His eyes clouded, and Minho gripped his hand again, trying to pull him back to the moment.
“Jisung,” he said. “I know it’s hard not to think about all of them. But it doesn’t matter. Sunny deserves better than to be in a relationship that’s one-sided, and so do you, darling. It’ll just hurt more people in the long run if you’re not honest with yourself.”
Jisung nodded, eyes falling shut. Minho could see defeat and relief battling behind his lids.
“Let’s just try, Sung,” he said, trying to sound calming. “Not for anyone else. Because it’s what we want.”
Jisung just gazed at him, shoulders slumped with exhaustion.
Minho linked both their hands, rubbed his thumbs over Jisung’s knuckles. “I’ll take care of you, baby,” he murmured. “I promise I will.”
Minho saw something wounded and overwhelmingly fond in Jisung’s tearful smile. “I know you will,” he whispered. He detangled their hands, and for a moment Minho feared he’d pull away, but then his palms lifted to cup Minho’s face. Minho’s eyes fluttered shut, chest stormy with warmth and nerves, as Jisung rested his forehead against his and brushed his little nose alongside Minho’s.
They stood this way for a few moments. Minho’s hands rested on Jisung’s waist, thumbing the warm skin that peeked from his low-cut tank. Eventually Minho closed the distance. He kissed Jisung gently, just feeling his lips with his own, reveling in their softness. Jisung released a quiet whimper and eased forward, lifting two arms to wrap around Minho’s neck.
Minho hummed when Jisung’s fingers tangled in his hair, and he licked into Jisung’s mouth, eager to get closer. Jisung’s teeth nipped at Minho’s bottom lip, and he let his mouth fall open, running both hands up Jisung’s bare sides, caressing his jaw, his tear-stained cheeks. Jisung tasted good, like spearmint gum and sugary drinks, and Minho kissed him deeply, so caught up in Jisung that he almost didn’t hear it when the Hub-side door flung open.
“Minho, what the fuck?”
Jisung’s palms came up to push just as Minho jolted backwards, spinning around to see Trinity standing in the doorway, her jaw agape. “Trin,” Minho said, standing in front of Jisung as though to protect him. “Trin, listen to me.”
Trinity clamped her mouth shut, glared at him so vehemently Minho felt a wave of fear, and left, slamming the door shut behind her.
“Oh, fuck,” Jisung said immediately, his voice squeaky.
“I’m gonna go talk to her, okay?” Minho turned around and cupped Jisung’s cheeks, silently demanding he pull himself from wherever his mind was plummeting to.
“She’s gonna tell Sunny,” Jisung whispered, eyes vacant and enormous. “On top of the news about her dad, now…”
“I know. I’ll be right back. I’m gonna see if I can stop her before that happens.” Minho kissed his forehead, having no idea how else to subdue the fear that was surely on the brink of consuming him, and turned on his heel to jog out the Hub-side door.
It was strange weaving in and out of the Thursday night Hub crowd in his pajamas, but the gaggles of drunks were too preoccupied to cast him a second glance. He paid them minimal thought anyway—he’d lost himself in tunnel vision, his eyes fixated on the hall leading to Trinity’s office.
His heart was in his throat. If this news got to Sunny…Minho didn’t want to think about the mental mazes Jisung would have to work through. God, Minho shouldn’t have fucking kissed him again, knowing he was in a relationship.
In a building owned by Sunny’s sister.
Then again, Minho could hardly blame his past self for this one. It was Jisung. Now that he knew Jisung felt the same way, very little stood between Minho and what his heart ached for.
He pounded on Trinity’s office door and licked his lips. “Trin, please let me in.”
He could hear her voice filtering through the wood, muted but undeniably consoling.
“Fuck.” He knocked again, louder now, glaring ahead as a group of backstage dancers gave him a judgmental stare. “Trin, open up, we gotta talk.”
When she didn’t comply, Minho knocked hard for fifteen seconds straight with his good arm, tapping his foot all the while, until finally the door flung open and Minho’s fist nearly hit Trinity’s hand. “God, fine,” she grunted, turning away from the door and walking towards her desk. “Just stop fucking doing that, Jesus.”
“Sorry.” He wasn’t. He shut the door behind him, suddenly feeling a tad overwhelmed being closed into such a small space with Trinity. She was one of his dearest friends, but she didn’t know anything about what he felt for Jisung. Maybe his secrecy had been for obvious reasons, but now he didn’t know how to begin explaining what she’d walked in on. “Did you tell Sunny?”
Trinity closed her laptop with a sharp tap, spun in her office chair to face him head-on, and sent him a blank, uninterested stare. Her nonchalance almost scared him more than her anger. She didn’t seem to care, didn’t seem to have any intention of wasting her time on him. Minho’s stomach rolled, conscious that he’d royally pissed off his boss, the person who owned his living space. “Yes,” she said simply. “Of course I did.”
Minho swallowed. There it was. Sunny knew. “Trin,” he groaned, letting his eyes flutter shut. “This is between Jisung and Sunny.”
“Clearly,” she said, some bite returning to her voice. “It’s not just between Jisung and Sunny. If you sticking your tongue down his throat was any indication.”
“It—okay,” he sighed, twiddling his fingers, trying to control his humming adrenaline. “He wanted to tell her himself, I mean.”
“Minho.” She raised her brows, a deadly impassiveness flashing in her deep green eyes. “Did you pound on my fucking door like an obnoxious child so that you could chastise me for telling my own sister that her boyfriend is cheating on her? Are you an idiot?”
“Yes. No.” He cringed. “Yes, I’m an idiot, no, that’s not why I’m here. Will you let me explain what you saw, please? Between you and me. Again, that’s between Jisung and Sunny. It sucks that she had to hear it from anyone but him, but at least now she knows.”
Trinity’s jaw dropped, her nose crinkling in disgust. “Are you happy about this?”
“No!” Minho wiped his sweaty palms on his flannel pants. “Can you listen to me, please?”
“I don’t really feel like it, Minho,” she snapped, her fingers white on the edge of her desk as she glared at the door. “I guess I just thought you were better than this. I thought you had more respect for your friends than this.” She rolled her head in a circle, blinking and wrinkling her nose. “Of all people to rebound to, Jisung? Sunny’s been in love with him since like her first goddamn week of college. That’s my baby sister, Minho. You fuck her over, you fuck me over.”
He took a deep breath, trying not to let his fear shine through. “I’m sorry, Trin. I never intended to hurt you or Sunny.”
“Then why would you do this?” she demanded, unblinking. “Why—literally minutes after I told you my sister is going through a lot—did you feel up her goddamn boyfriend?”
“It’s—it’s complicated, okay?” He moistened his lips, paralyzed by his own inability to voice what he was feeling. He knew Trin wouldn't admit it, but she was going through a lot, too. With her parent in the hospital, he knew it must've been a punch to the gut for her close friend to pull this. He didn’t want her to be mad at him. He didn’t want to lose her over a guy. Jisung was important, but Trinity was too, and he trembled at the thought of ruining what they had. “Trin…”
She didn’t meet his eyes, instead choosing to screw and unscrew the cap of her water bottle.
He scrambled for words, feeling like his mouth was stuffed with cotton. “I hope you know,” he said, but it came out much meeker than he’d intended. “You’re one of my best and oldest friends. You…” He chewed his lip, wishing she’d look at him. “You helped me get on my feet when I was at my lowest, and you’ve done nothing but help me even more since I left Yonghwa.”
“And this is what you decide to do as thanks,” she spat.
“Listen to me! My point is, Trin, I have loads of respect for you. You’re my boss, for fuck’s sake! You own the room I live in! And Sunny and Jisung’s relationship is always something I’ve respected because they’re both my close friends, too. Do you honestly think I would risk my friendship with you and Jisung’s long-term relationship unless I was absolutely sure of myself?”
Her brows drew together like a stitch was pulled taught. “Sure of yourself? Sure of your thirst for my sister’s boyfriend?”
“I mean.” He swallowed. “Maybe it started with that.”
“This is a pathetic argument, Minho.”
“Trinity.” He forced himself not to look away. “I couldn’t tell you sooner because Sunny’s your sister and I didn’t want to piss you off. I’m into him. I’ve been into him since I met him. I literally have never wanted a guy so bad. Not just like that.” He sighed, unable to stop himself from averting his eyes this time. “I like him a lot, okay?”
The rigidness in her face softened, though her stare remained cold. “Doesn’t excuse sucking face with him when you’re well-aware he’s in a relationship.”
“You know,” Minho said, trying not to sound too passive-aggressive. “He made the choice too. I didn’t force myself on him. He feels the same way. He likes me, too.”
She blinked rapidly, her eyes whirling in their sockets.
Minho managed a small smile. “I told him how I felt, and he shot me down, but then he came back and he—and, we—” He shook the thoughts aside, aware that Trinity didn’t want to hear details. “He was going to break up with her last night, but then your dad went to the ER and he wanted to be there for her.”
She released an exasperated groan. “So, Jisung and you are champions of love and my sick dad is the enemy here?”
“No one is the enemy,” Minho said firmly. “This is just an unfortunate fucking circumstance. Trin, he’s closeted. His parents are homophobic. Is it really that surprising he’d convinced himself that he wasn’t into me, and that he was happy with Sunny?”
Her lips parted, and her forehead smoothed. Oh, he could almost hear her think.
Minho’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “But he’s not a rebound. I would never do you dirty like this over a rebound. He’s…special to me.”
She nodded slowly, tapping her thumb on her water bottle cap, studying Minho like he was an equation she was finally beginning to make sense of. “You really like him, huh?”
He scratched the back of his head and looked at the floor, hoping she wouldn’t notice his burning ears.
“Wow.” She chuckled, and the sound caught him off guard, so he searched her face cautiously. She looked exhausted, but no longer infuriated. “I kind of can’t believe I didn’t notice it sooner. You’re fucking whipped, aren’t you?”
“Oh, shut your mouth,” he said, but he choked out a dry laugh. “Anyway, I’m sorry you had to see that. The plan was for them to break up and then for Jisung and I to start figuring out what the hell is going on between us, but…well, now she knows.”
“I’m not sorry I told her,” Trinity said without hesitating. She even shrugged. “At least now she gets the chance to blame him instead of herself. And now she knows his true nature.”
“What do you mean, his true nature?” Minho asked, mouth twitching into a frown.
“Well, he’s a cheater.”
“And so am I,” Minho said shortly.
“You act like Yonghwa and Sunny were comparable partners!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “There were a million better ways you and Jisung could’ve handled this and you know it.”
“I would never compare Sunny to Yonghwa, Trin, Christ. He cheated because he bottled up his feelings and they blew up in his face, and that doesn’t make him evil. Just like me cheating on Yonghwa didn’t make me evil. Everyone’s got their shit, okay? Jisung never would’ve chosen to hurt Sunny if it could be avoided.”
Trinity nodded, her shoulders rising and falling with a soft, lengthy exhale.
Minho chewed his lip. “Are you gonna throw me onto the street and fire me?”
She glowered at him like that was exactly what she felt like doing. “The 20% of me that hates you right now doesn’t stand much of a chance against the 80% of me that will always love you, you chaotic asshole.”
Minho laughed breathlessly. “Thanks. I love you too.”
Trinity shook her head, her upper face wrinkling once more. “You and Jisung. You and Jisung.”
Minho pursed his lips, bracing himself for more of her wrath but also kind of liking the sound of those words. Me and Jisung.
“Are you sleeping with him?” she asked abruptly, her back straightening, scowl returning. “Oh god, are you?”
“No,” Minho said. His cheeks were once again uncomfortably warm. “We’ve kissed twice in the past two days and that’s it.”
“Okay, okay.” She sighed and waved a dismissive hand. “Now, get out of my office so I can process this shit.”
“You got it, boss.” He reached for the door handle, smirking. “Talk to you later, Trin.”
“Mmm.”
Just as he pushed the handle down, he glanced out the door’s narrow window down the hall and caught sight of something that made his heart stutter to a stop.
Snakeskin boots, clicking down the hall towards Trin’s office. A skin-tight, dark green dress. Wild strawberry curls and glinting sunglasses.
He whirled to face Trinity. “Let me get under your desk now.”
She made a face like she’d tasted something foul. “Are you kidding me? I don’t want you anywhere near my cooch right now, homewrecker.”
“Trin,” he said urgently, ducking beneath the window and rushing to her side. “Yonghwa’s—someone who knows Yonghwa is coming, tell them it’s you who sleeps in the back of the Hub if they ask.”
“Shit, are you serious? Shit.”
Minho wriggled beneath Trinity’s desk, curling up between her knees and the wooden outer edge and planting a hand over his mouth to muffle his breathing, and waited for the seconds to tick by.
A crisp knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” Trinity said, a slight shake to her voice.
“Hello there,” came Mia’s unbothered, cordial British drawl. “This is your establishment?”
“It is,” Trinity replied, neatly resorting to boss mode. “What can I do for you, Miss? That’s a gorgeous dress.”
Minho rolled his eyes. If he weren’t involved in this situation at all, he’d bet on Mia and Trinity sleeping together tonight.
“Oh, thanks, love,” Mia chuckled, her heels clicking against the floor. “Anyway, it’s a lovely bar. There’s a man, a dancer you employ—Lee Minho?”
Minho watched Trinity’s bobbing knee, wide-eyed.
“Yeah,” Trinity said. “He’s a good guy. What about him?”
“Ah, he is, isn’t he,” Mia clucked. “The best. Anyway, he’s an old friend of mine, but I can’t seem to pin down where he’s staying. I’d like to pay him a visit.”
“I see.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“Last I heard, he’s living at the apartment complex on seventh, with his boyfriend,” Trinity said without a hitch. Queen, Minho thought. By claiming to believe he was still with Yonghwa, she was completely removing herself from all accountability and suspicion.
“Ah, no, he’s not there anymore,” Mia said. “Although I would think, as your employee, he’d be obligated to update you on changes to his permanent address?”
“Far from it,” Trinity said smoothly. “Everything’s direct deposit here. I don’t mail him anything. He shows up to work, and that’s enough for me.”
“When does he work next?”
“I’m afraid that’s not my information to share,” she said. “Who knows what sort of woman you are. What sort of intentions you have.”
Mia giggled, and Minho rolled his eyes again. “Of course, I respect your confidentiality.” Her heels clicked closer to Minho’s head, and he heard the skim of her fingers across the desktop. “Here’s my card. Next time you see him, tell him to give me a call. Tell him I know he has the key.”
Minho’s mouth fell open and snapped quickly shut. How did she know he’d taken the key? Did Yonghwa know? Surely not, otherwise he’d change the unit locks and Mia would have no reason to be on Minho’s tail. Was she just assuming?
“What key?” Trinity couldn’t keep the bewilderment from her voice.
“Just a key that he knows a lot of people may want. Tell him to call me, please. Or…” She offered another soft laugh. “I wouldn’t mind if you gave me a call either, Ms. Abernathy.”
“I appreciate it,” Trinity chuckled, thumping her hand lightly over Minho’s head. “Have a good evening, Miss.”
“Toodles.”
As soon as the door fell shut behind Mia, Minho crawled out from under the desk, wincing at his aching knees.
“Jesus,” Trinity groaned, standing and stepping over Minho’s back to glance out the window. “That woman was hotter than the Bahamas.”
“She’s crazy,” Minho said, climbing to his feet and wiping his sweaty brow. “Probably would be a wild one night stand, though.”
“Goddamn.” Then Trinity spun around, her brows furrowed. “What exactly does she want with you? What key was she talking about? Not Yonghwa’s, right?”
“She wants me to work for her. With her. And I have no idea what key she’s talking about. She’s crazy, and I want to avoid her at all costs.” The less Trinity knew the better. He offered a tense smile. “Thanks for covering.”
“Sure. Still pissed at you, but, you know. Happy to help.”
His phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket to read a new text.
Jisung: Trinity told Sunny. I’m on my way to her house right now
Minho exhaled sharply. The fear of crossing paths with Mia again nearly made him forget that Jisung was about to face Sunny, who now knew he’d cheated on her. With Minho.
Everything was going to be different now. Minho knew this, and he was sure Jisung did too. He could only hope that these changes—good or bad—would seem as well worth it to Jisung as they were for Minho.
~
Notes:
SHE KNOWS
Let me know what you thought~ your comments and kudos make my day! as always pls don't spoil on Twt :)
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 16
Summary:
Night sat atop the back yard snugly, but an outside light bathed the groomed grass in harsh yellow. He noticed Sunny a few steps into the shadows, seated on a swing, her feet firmly planted on the ground.
He’d never had to muster more courage in his life. Every performance, every audition, job interview…nothing compared to how terrified he felt shuffling towards the swingset in Sunny’s backyard.
Notes:
Long chapter for you guys! This is one of my favorites.
Enjoy!!!! 💕💕
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
xvi. jisung
Jisung felt like he was about to be sick.
His dinner sat naggingly in the back of his throat. Tension lodged between his lungs and his ribs, pinching his breaths into haggard pants. He tried to ignore every plea from his body that he should get on a plane and exit the country instead of having to face the mess he’d made.
He felt like such an idiot. He was ashamed of his choices, his weaknesses, his narcissistic delusion that he’d skate away from this situation without his life exploding. He felt naive and shameful and embarrassed to show his face to a soul, much less the girl he loved.
He did love her. That was the most painful part.
It was both nightmarish and surreal that two people as wonderful as Sunny and Minho put their hearts on the line for Jisung, and he was stupid enough to stomp on them both in his effort to avoid looking reality in the face.
As he drove Changbin’s car to Sunny’s parents’ house, he debated hitting the highway until all this was far behind him or crashing straight into the nearest tree.
When he’d parked on the street outside the Abernathy’s two-story home, he cut the engine and immediately yearned for its soothing purr. Now he could hear nothing but the storm ricocheting inside his mind. He had no idea how he was going to make it through this conversation without having a panic attack.
He checked his texts with Sunny. She’d said, Trinity told me about you and Minho. He’d eloquently responded, Can we talk, I’ll co e to you
He cringed, shoved all his thoughts to the backburner like he was stuffing an already-overflowed cabinet, and texted Sunny that he was outside. She responded without pause, asking him to come around to the back yard. He exited the BMW, locked it, and shuffled towards the gate. His insides squirmed, fight or flight instincts pumping through him.
Night sat atop the back yard snugly, but an outside light bathed the groomed grass in harsh yellow. He noticed Sunny a few steps into the shadows, seated on a swing, her feet firmly planted on the ground.
He’d never had to muster more courage in his life. Every performance, every audition, job interview…nothing compared to how terrified he felt shuffling towards the swingset in Sunny’s backyard.
When she looked at him, her eyes were already swollen and puffy, and he burst into tears before she could even say anything. “I’m sorry,” he said, folding both hands over his nose. You’re so pathetic, Jisung. “I’m so sorry.”
“Stop,” she said sharply, getting to her feet and stepping into the light. Her chin quivered, and she shook her head jerkily, like her emotions were itching to assume control. “I’m not gonna fucking comfort you right now, Jisung.”
He attempted to slow the spinning of his thoughts, to regain control of his breathing, but he couldn’t do much more than quiet his sobs until his shoulders were silently shaking.
“You’ve said so yourself,” she went on, her lips pressing together as tears welled up in her eyes. “That cheaters are their own level of shitty and amoral.”
He nodded, digging through the sea of nonsense in his brain to try and pick out a string of words to salvage what friendship remained between them. He didn’t want Sunny to hate him. Managing to convince her one way or another would be difficult if he could hardly stop from hating himself. “I stand by that,” he mumbled. “I fucked up, Sunny.”
“No shit!” she yelled. Her shriek boomed throughout the silent night, and Jisung flinched. “No, it’s been a great day! I’m so glad that my dad is in the hospital and now my boyfriend is cheating on me with a male stripper. So glad.”
“He’s—he’s not just—” Jisung licked his lips. Now was not the time to defend Minho. “We kissed, Sunny. That’s it.”
“That’s it,” she echoed, a venomous smile turning up her lips, her eyes wide and glassy. “Don’t lie to my face, Jisung. Don’t tell me you haven’t been emotionally cheating on me for months.”
Panic flared in his chest, and he scrounged for words, but she plowed on.
“I fucking knew it, too,” she hissed, coughing out a high-pitched laugh. “I knew you had something going on behind my back. With all your... space and distance and refusal to do anything sexual. God, how did I not see it!”
He shook his head, chewing the inside of his cheek, his jaw aching from clenching his teeth. “I didn’t see it either. I had no idea.”
“Are you really gonna try and weasel out of getting blamed for this?”
“No,” he said, returning her glare with a defiant stare. “Of course not. I said I fucked up. I’m sorry. But I didn’t know. I was so confused, Sunny! It’s hard because I—I do love you.”
“Shut the fuck up,” she sobbed, clamping a hand over her eyes. “Don’t even say that. If you loved me you wouldn’t do this shit to me.”
“I do, Sunny, but—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” her voice rasped, the yelling and the tears catching in her throat. “We’re done, Jisung. I’m done with you.”
He’d expected that. He nodded, wiping his teary eyes with the heels of both hands.
“This is so shitty,” she laughed incredulously. “God. I thought you were such a good guy.”
He didn’t have the words to defend himself, so he just mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
“I mean, Minho? God, Jisung. Are you gay?”
The question struck him, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He wanted to run and hide, to cover himself, like he’d been stripped bare. “I don’t know.”
“So you threw our relationship away out of sexual curiosity?”
“No,” he said shakily, feeling like a bumbling, ineloquent fool. “I couldn’t make sense of what…what was going on between me and him.”
“What?” Her mouth contorted. “How long have you been with him? Jesus, are you fucking him?”
“No!” He hid his face in his hands, his arms and shoulders twitching as he fought back tears. “No, we kissed last night for the first time and I knew I needed to end things with you before I could hurt you more, but then your dad was in the ER and, and—”
“Maybe you should have fucking ended things before you kissed him?” She laughed again, throwing her arms wide, tears collecting on her upper lip. “Just a thought!”
“It was complicated, okay? He told me he was into me and I went there to reject him because I was committed to you,” Jisung began, struggling to make sense of all that’d happened in the past three days.
“Obviously not.”
“I was,” he insisted, wrapping his arms around himself. “I wanted to be. I don’t know, Sunny! I don’t know what I’m doing, I can’t tell what’s going on in my head half the time, and I thought it would just...I thought I just needed time, you know?”
“You’re not making even a little sense.”
He breathed in deep and fought to arrange his mess of romantic and sexual feelings into an explainable pattern. “I thought I was just uncomfortable with sex, that I’d get into it more with time, because I knew I loved you and wanted a relationship with you. I don’t know if it’s because you’re a girl, o-or—”
“Or because you’re an asshole?”
“Or because Minho…” Jisung trailed off, lost in the maze within his own head.
“What?” she yelled, her voice crackling with restrained energy. “Because Minho’s a sexy stripper with dick sucking lips?”
“Don’t say that about him, Sunny! This isn’t his fault, and it’s not that simple.”
“You fucking cheated on me with him!” she yelled, reaching out and shoving Jisung’s shoulders, forcing him to stumble back a step. “As if I wasn’t already jealous enough that he’s fucking gorgeous and a literal professional dancer and seemed to get you in a way I never could. I mean, fuck, Jisung! I thought you were better than this, I thought you’d never h-hurt me…” She was overcome with sobs, hiding her mouth behind folded hands.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, itching to pull her into his arms. “Sunny, I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot.”
She wiped her nose and shook her head, blowing out a huff of air through puffed out cheeks. “I trusted you. I trusted Minho, too. You both fucking stabbed me in the back.”
“I never wanted to hurt you,” he insisted, although he knew his words were just fuel to the flame. “I was in denial. I tried to talk myself out of what I felt for him, and that was my first mistake.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I know.”
She shook her head, her cheeks peppered with gleaming streaks where the tears dried. “Figure yourself out before you get into a goddamn relationship, Jisung. If you can’t even comprehend whether or not you’re into somebody then Christ knows you’re not even close to mature enough to date anyone. You’re supposed to be an adult.”
He winced. The words hammered a nail deeper into his chest by the second. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he sighed, well-aware he was repeating himself. “And I ended up hurting you more because of it.”
Her upper lip curled into a snarl. “Leave. I have nothing more to say to you.”
So he left, all hopes of kindling a friendship abandoned, and drove home with all his levels disconnected. He didn’t think, wasn’t aware of his surroundings, didn’t cry. He blew two stop signs and nearly rear-ended a pickup truck.
When he was back in his apartment, the panic crushed down on him, crippling his limbs until he was curled up on the floor with his back to the front door and sobs racking through him. His thoughts raced one after another, jagged and harsh. He couldn’t stand himself. He couldn’t stand himself. He’d always claimed to be emotionally intelligent, and yet he’d splintered his life open, crushing valued relationship after valued relationship for no reason other than that he was an idiot.
A door swung open somewhere in the apartment, and then a warm body was rushing towards him, settling onto the ground beside him and wrapping strong arms around Jisung’s trembling shoulders. He recognized Changbin’s scent and leaned into him, sobbing harder, burying his face in Changbin’s chest and unleashing everything that’d wound its way into his headspace.
Changbin patted the back of Jisung’s head and rubbed his back, and Jisung cried, his mind swimming and his limbs numb, vicious thoughts pummeling him until he felt like hurting himself just so he had something else to focus on. This was accompanied by a jolt of fear; the urge to hurt himself wasn’t one he was completely unfamiliar with, but it was always terrifying and intrusive when it showed itself, and he wanted nothing less than to live with that compulsion.
“Jisungie,” Changbin said, all seriousness. “Breathe. Breathe. It’s gonna be okay.”
He sobbed harder, clutched his fingers into Changbin’s shirt. Changbin squeezed him closer, stroked up and down his spine, and kept on whispering, “It’ll be okay, Sungie. I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re home, you’re safe.”
He dimly heard someone moving around in the kitchen, and he looked up, horrified to see Hyunjin bustling around. Hyunjin was a direct connection to Minho, and Jisung’s cup was far too full for him to contemplate facing Minho again. He hid his face in both hands and tried to stop crying, tried to slow his inhales, but before he knew it Hyunjin was settling on his knees across from Changbin and Jisung.
“Here, honey.” Hyunjin rested a warm hand on Jisung’s knee. He glanced up, panicky and embarrassed that anyone was seeing him in this state, and noticed Hyunjin was holding a mug of hot tea and a bowl of ice cream. “I remember when I first realized I was into guys,” Hyunjin said. Jisung looked at him sharply, and Hyunjin allowed a soft smile. “I hooked up with a creepy guy fifteen years older than me and wrapped my mom’s car around a tree trunk. I’d say what you’re going through is normal.”
Jisung smiled, even managed a weak laugh, and took the mug and bowl thankfully.
“We love you,” Hyunjin said firmly, and Jisung blinked through hot tears, shocked by the admission. He and Hyunjin were friends by proximity, but they’d never had deep conversations. “We know you kissed someone else even though you were in a relationship, and we know you are a human being who makes mistakes, and we love you anyway.”
Changbin reached out and slid his hand into Hyunjin’s, squeezed it softly. Jisung watched their intertwined hands with his heart in his throat.
“She went in on you, huh?” Changbin asked, petting the back of Jisung’s hair. “Take what she said with a grain of salt. She was probably pissed as fuck.”
“She was,” Jisung uttered, his voice breathy and shaky. “I hurt her so bad.”
“What’s done is done,” Hyunjin said firmly. “Consider it a lesson learned.”
“What lesson,” Jisung grumbled. “That I’m a fucking idiot?”
“No,” Hyunjin chuckled, tapping the side of Jisung’s ice cream bowl; he remembered its existence and shoveled in a sugary bite. “That you shouldn’t bottle up your feelings.”
“I didn’t even realize that was what I was doing, though,” he said after he’d swallowed. “Not until I’d already come close to losing them both.”
“First of all,” Hyunjin snapped, and Jisung blinked, alarmed by his tone. “You’d have a hard time getting rid of Minho. He’s thought the sun shines out of your ass since, like, May. And Minho barely believes there’s good in the world in the first place.”
Jisung smiled weakly, a twinge of fondness wrapping around his heart.
“Second of all, it’ll be easier now, babe. You’ve broken down a huge wall by going through this. I know it’s painful and confusing now, but if you give yourself time, you’ll be able to explore parts of who you are in ways you never could before.” Hyunjin reached out and bobbed Jisung’s tea bag up and down in its mug, and then he brushed Jisung’s hair behind his ear with a smile. “You deserve it. You deserve to feel like you’re being authentic, and you deserve to be accepted for who you are.”
Jisung hid his face in his hand again, overcome as more sobs bubbled in his chest, and Changbin wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Jinnie,” Changbin chuckled. “You should be a therapist.”
“She said,” Jisung choked out, setting down his tea and rubbing his hands up and down his face. “She said I-I’m not mature enough to date anyone because I can’t even figure out who I’m into. She said I’m a piece of shit and an idiot.”
“Again,” Changbin said, “Grain of salt.”
“Plus that’s not even a fair point,” Hyunjin said, leaning back on his hands and rolling his eyes. “You did figure out who you’re into, and that’s why all of this happened in the first place. It takes a lot of maturity and wisdom to examine a healthy relationship and figure out that it’s not for you. You did that, even if the process got a little fucked up by, like, the extreme sexual tension between you and Minho.”
“Oh my god,” Jisung chuckled, swatting Hyunjin’s extended leg. “I chose it, though. I kissed him. It’s not like I was possessed by some like, sexual tension demon and completely out of control of my actions.”
Although, he thought, that wasn’t that far off.
“You made a mistake,” Hyunjin said. “But now you know why it happened. The next step is learning to forgive yourself.”
“How did you guys know?” he whispered. “That I was talking to Sunny tonight, I mean.”
“Minho told me that Trin passed it on,” Hyunjin said. “Trin is the mama bear type. Not surprising she told Sunny right away.”
A bob of worry jolted through Jisung’s gradually calming sea. “Shit,” he said. “Is Trinity pissed at Minho for this? She isn’t gonna like, fire him or anything is she?”
“Don’t worry about him,” Hyunjin scoffed, like Jisung was making a rookie mistake. “He’s thick-skinned as fuck.”
“I can’t help but worry,” Jisung mumbled, sipping his tea. “It’s Minho.”
Hyunjin raised an eyebrow.
“He’s important,” Jisung whined, hooking his elbow over his eyes and breathing in slowly. “She owns the place he lives at, too, fuck.”
“He’s okay, Sung,” Hyunjin said gently. “Trinity was pissed but she got over it pretty quick, he said. Apparently she understood once he explained that there are actually real feelings between you.”
Jisung swallowed. A strange, electric combination of anxiety and excitement rocked through his belly.
“How do you feel?” Changbin asked, squeezing Jisung’s tense shoulder.
“Better,” he said, sighing heavily. “Could use a fat blunt.”
“That,” Changbin said, patting him on the back. “We can make happen.”
~
The following morning was a Friday, and Jisung felt like he’d been hit by a bus when he tried to roll out of bed. His muscles ached, his eyes were swollen from crying, he didn’t feel well-rested at all, and his mouth was a cracked desert.
He’d been trying not to think about the fact that 3RACHA had a performance that night. His ducks were so far from in a row—instead they were scattered, pecking at one another, quacking out of turn—that he could hardly fathom giving a powerful performance on stage.
Although, maybe performing was what he needed to snap things back into place, if only for a few hours.
He chugged a glass of water in the kitchen, bare feet chilly against cool tile, and thought to glance at the microwave clock. 10:41. He had the day off from the electronics shop. This should be a relaxing day, given he had nothing to do but music.
No part of him felt relaxed, though. Hours without proper work meant hours to contemplate everything that’d happened in the past three days.
A flood of shame washed over him, and his shoulders slumped. He supported himself via the fridge handle. Sunny was no longer his girlfriend. No more good morning texts, cuddle sessions, movie dates. No more Sunny leaping into his arms with sparkling eyes after 3RACHA’s stages. Tears burned in Jisung’s eyes, and he swallowed them back, trying to ground himself before he lost his tether to the comfort of his kitchen.
She’d surely hate him for the rest of her life.
He couldn’t decide if a part of him was relieved. Probably, yes, underneath all the parts of him that felt like shit for cheating on her. As much as it pained him and as much as he wished it didn’t matter so much to him, sex with her hadn’t been comfortable, and he’d never enjoyed getting physical with her unless he tried very hard not to think about what they were doing.
He hadn’t realized he could enjoy physical intimacy until he’d kissed Minho. Kissing Sunny never felt like that. Jisung shivered at the memory of Minho’s lips, so soft and eager against his.
How much did that really mean, though? Was it worth it? Breaking Sunny’s heart, cheating on her, completely ruining chances of keeping her as a friend, while simultaneously changing everything about his relationship with Minho...how could some electric physical chemistry be worth all that?
It was more than physical chemistry, though, and Jisung knew it. It scared him to think about it running so much deeper than that.
Did Minho expect them to dive into some kind of…dating relationship? A commitment? Jisung tensed at the thought. How was he going to tell his parents?
Anxiety ensnared him like painful tendrils tightening around his ribs. He tried to breathe in deep and slow. This part of him, this warm, shining part of him that’d been happier than he knew was possible when Minho kissed him...his parents would probably cut all ties with him if he was honest about it. The idea made him want to bury himself in bed and never emerge.
With shaky fingers, he pulled out his phone and composed a text to his mom. Umma, he wrote. Sunny broke up with me last night. He sent it before the second-guesses could close in.
Minutes later, his phone lit up and buzzed. Incoming call from Umma.
A wave of anxiety coiled around him, tightening his throat until he could hardly breathe, and he declined the call with damp fingers. He leaned against the counter and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. There was no way he was ready to explain this to her. He took a few moments to breathe, to think about something else.
Maybe Sunny had been right. Maybe Jisung was way too immature and self-unaware to get involved with anyone. He leaned heavily against the counter, feeling the weight of those words press down on him like a lingering bruise. Would he have to let Minho go? Tell him he wasn’t ready for anything, that his self esteem was too much of a mess for him to imagine being with anyone right now?
His heart lurched. Would Minho wait for him? He couldn’t ask Minho to wait for him.
“Morning,” Changbin said, materializing out of what looked like thin air and slamming open a cabinet.
“Jesus,” Jisung groaned. “You scared me.”
“Ready for Escapalia tonight, baby?” Changbin whooped, hurling the bag of coffee beans down on the counter like it was a battle axe. “We’re in the big leagues now.”
“Don’t remind me,” Jisung said, pulling his sweatshirt strings together so the hood closed in over his nose. “Not sure how I’m gonna pull something out of my ass for this one.”
“You’ll be fine.” Changbin slapped Jisung’s back encouragingly. “You’ve done it before, you’ll do it again. Does Minho work tonight?”
Jisung froze, eyes wide, unsure what Changbin was implying. “I don’t know.”
“It might be fun if he came to watch,” Changbin said. “You know, just a suggestion. You two are both single now and all.”
“I guess we are,” Jisung sighed, kneading his tense neck muscles. It was a good thing. Now they could pursue something, if they wanted. How was Jisung supposed to know if that was what he wanted? Jisung never knew what he wanted. Sunny’s words echoed through his memory, pinning him down and forcing him to live through them again and again.
If you can’t even comprehend whether or not you’re into somebody then Christ knows you’re not even close to mature enough to date anyone. You’re supposed to be an adult.
The day dragged by sluggishly. Jisung’s concept of time was totally out of whack. He’d spend minutes staring into space, falling down repeated spirals about the fact that Sunny hated him, the fact that he was into guys, what he’d tell his parents, what Minho expected of him. He never knew how much time had passed once he resurfaced from these mental pitfalls.
While he was curled up in bed after taking a long shower, his phone buzzed with an incoming text. He noticed he had two more missed calls from his mom, but the text was from Minho. Seeing their names side-by-side made him exhale unsteadily.
Minho: Hey, is everything okay?
Jisung sighed, feeling a bout of tension ease from his shoulders. He responded, I’ve been better. She broke up with me, which I expected. Just wish she didn’t hate me too much to ever be friends, yknow?
He knew he sounded pathetic and whiny, but that was how he felt, so he sent it. Minho responded just a minute or two later.
Minho: Yeah, it’s not fair that the chance to end things how you wanted got taken away from you. I’m sorry
Jisung smiled, rolled over in bed, and pulled the covers snugly against his shoulders. Minho always had a quiet wisdom about him, understanding people better than he let on. What are you doing tonight? Jisung decided to ask.
Minho took a while to respond this time, and Jisung started to spiral again, wondering if the question had been too forward. Was Minho going to ask him on a date? Oh god, was Jisung supposed to say yes? Were they going to go somewhere public? Was Minho going to kiss him in public? Jisung simply didn’t want any of that. He just wanted his friend, Minho, who he could comfortably hang out with, talk about everything and nothing with, and vibe with like no one else in the world.
Plus, maybe some private makeout sessions. Jisung’s cheeks warmed as he recalled the way Minho’s hands had felt, trailing over Jisung’s ribs.
His phone buzzed. Minho: I work till 9, then I’m free. Escapalia is tonight right?
Jisung replied after a few minutes, not wanting to seem too eager. Yeah. Would you want to come? Our stage is at 10. I understand if you’ll be tired after work though
Minho: I’ll be there
Jisung’s tummy flip flopped. He sighed, locked his phone, and tried to begin hyping himself up for the performance. It was scarier now that he knew Minho was going to be there, although it was also a relief. At least they’d face what they ignited, and begin trying to sort out the mess they made of their friendship.
Escapalia was a local music festival, one held at the music and dance club every year to showcase up-and-coming community acts. 3RACHA performed at the previous Escapalia, but this year was different. This year they’d been selected to close out the show, which was a reward for the most high-potential acts.
In the back of his mind behind a mess of worries, Jisung knew it was going to go fine. He’d be a shivering, twitching nervous wreck beforehand. He’d be loud and jumpy and Chan and Changbin would pretend like they didn’t notice how much of a mess he was. He’d completely doubt his ability to do anything beneath the stage lights, much less deliver a noteworthy performance.
But then he’d get on the stage, something he had yet to understand would possess him, and he’d kill it. He always did.
This time was different, though. Sunny, his number one supporter even before they started dating—a roll of sadness pressed down on him at the reminder of how he’d done her wrong—wasn’t going to be there. His chest ached. He yearned to apologize to her, to beg for her good graces and friendship.
Instead, Minho was going to be there. Minho was single, and Jisung was single, and they liked each other. And they were going to meet up at Escapalia. A shiver of excitement ran down Jisung’s spine.
His physical happiness juxtaposed with his mental melancholy was starting to get extremely disorienting.
He dressed to please that night. He told himself it was because he wanted to impress the crowd, not Minho. Although, remembering the way Minho had stared practically slack-jawed at Jisung’s bare arms the night before was a nudge of motive, undoubtedly. But it was almost seven o’clock and the pre-performance nerves were starting to monopolize his mind, leaving little room for thinking about Minho or Sunny.
He wore a black tank top with a graphic print on the front, decorated with a few rows of silver necklaces. He didn’t often wear earrings other than onstage—he tended to play with them too much and irritate his ears—but tonight he slid in a long, glinting silver pair, one that settled nicely against his neck and jaw. He penciled on the same makeup he always did before a performance: a smudge of black eyeliner across his upper lash line, smoked out and subtle but dark enough to accentuate his eyes beneath the harsh lighting.
He threw a dark purple flannel atop his sleeveless shirt and went with his usual black skinny jeans and Doc Martens. This was Sunny’s favorite flannel on him. Sadness pierced through his swirling nerves, so he replaced the purple flannel with his cherry red one.
When he noticed his mom’s last missed call had an accompanying text of worry, Jisung quickly responded to let her know he was fine and had a big performance tonight. Hopefully that would keep her worries eased until he could figure out a story to tell her.
Changbin drove them downtown, and they parked out back, making their way into the staff-only entrance of the club. They shared a dressing room with a punk rock band and a jazz trio, and Jisung lingered uncomfortably around the edge of the room. He didn’t like how many people were packed into their recharge space.
“Hey,” Chan said, coming over to sit by him. Chan wore a black button up and dark blue jeans, but his shirt was totally unbuttoned. He’d shed his fur coat in favor of preventing pre-performance sweating as long as possible. Jisung glanced at Chan’s exposed abs and chest and remembered when Minho and Chan made out at Buble’s. Did Minho think Chan was hot? Was Minho going to be more impressed with Chan tonight than Jisung?
Jisung mentally gave himself a dizzying slap across the face. Of all things to worry about before a stage, he was concerned about Minho staring at Chan? Good lord.
“Jisung?”
“Sorry, what?” Jisung asked, fidgeting on his stool.
“I said, you feeling alright?” Chan adjusted one of Jisung’s necklaces so the clasp was in the back. “Must be a lot going on in your head.”
“Little bit,” Jisung sighed. He tried to smile. “I’ll be fine, though. I got this.”
“You do. You got this.”
“I can’t believe Sunny isn’t gonna be here,” he said. He avoided Chan’s eyes, nervous that he’d find a trace of pity or judgment there that’d make his imagination run wild. “She’s always been such a big supporter of our performances.”
“What makes you think she isn’t gonna be here?”
Jisung’s heart lurched, and he pierced Chan with a look. “ What? Because, we broke up? Last night?”
“Yeah, but she likes our music regardless of how she feels about you. I wouldn’t be shocked if she swings by. But you’re probably right.” He gave a good-natured shrug. “That’d be nice and awkward if Minho and Sunny ran into each other in the crowd, wouldn’t it?” He giggled.
Jisung glared at him, too flabbergasted to verbally attack him for putting that scenario into the universe.
Nine o’clock came and went, and Jisung grew jumpier upon knowing Minho was off work and probably on his way to the festival. The jazz trio and the punk rock band left the dressing room to perform, leaving 3RACHA alone. Jisung was practically bouncing off walls, pacing in sporadic circles and loudly warming up his vocal chords. Every time he tried to remember his lyrics proactively, he couldn’t recount a single one.
What if he forgot his lyrics on stage again? In front of Minho? He wasn’t sure he could handle the humiliation.
“Slow down, Jisung,” Changbin said at one point from where he was kicked back in his chair. He reached out feebly to try and grab Jisung’s flannel, to no avail. “You’ll wear yourself out.”
“I need to put my pent up energy somewhere or I’ll explode,” Jisung argued, hopping up and down. “Do you want my blood and guts all over you before the performance? Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” Changbin deadpanned, eyes on his phone.
“Well, sorry to disappoint you, I like my organs where they are. Thank you very much.”
“You’re a little shit. Go take a hit from the band’s stash or something.”
“I’m not a functional high person! I’d probably start hula dancing on stage or something!”
“Your nerves are making me nervous! Take a walk, Jisung.”
Jisung whined but obeyed, exiting the dressing room to go walk up and down the halls instead. He could hear the muffled roar of a hyped crowd on the other side of the wall, and he shook with anticipation. How was he supposed to do this? Twenty-four hours after he’d made out with his best friend and gotten dumped by his girlfriend as a direct result, he was closing out Escapalia? What kind of a sick joke was this?
He shuffled closer to the stage, peering through the ajar door to view the backstage angle of the performance, taking a moment to lose himself in the sound of the rock band’s music. They were good, and the singer had a ton of energy, leaping around the stage and throwing his arms up to hype up the crowd. They’d be a tough act to follow. Jisung’s stomach clenched at the thought.
“Jisung?”
He turned around, sure his ears were deceiving him.
Minho stood at the closest exit, heavy doors falling shut behind him, letting in a waft of summer air. His wet hair was brushed back, some strands falling over half his brow. He wore an oversized button-up, the too-long sleeves hanging over his hands, and he was smiling so softly that Jisung felt like bursting into tears.
“Minho,” Jisung breathed, rooted to the spot. “What...what’re you doing here?”
“You invited me,” Minho scoffed, eyes narrowing, pursed lips betraying his amusement. “You look handsome.”
Warmth flooded Jisung’s skin. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “I meant backstage.”
“Oh.” Minho blinked slowly, flicking his eyes back and forth across the hall. “I’m looking for Hyunjin. He went to give Changbin something. It’s not like I wanted to see you or anything. I forgot you were here, actually. Nice surprise.”
Jisung rolled his eyes, allowing a faint laugh. “Right.”
The twinkle in Minho’s eye dulled. He stepped closer, and Jisung’s pulse reacted right on cue, kicking up the pace and making his mind swim. “Hey,” Minho said, keeping a distance of a few arm’s length, concern visible in the set of his brows. “Are you okay, darling?”
Jisung didn’t think before striding forward and burying himself in Minho’s embrace. He wrapped his arms tightly around Minho’s waist and hid in the familiar warmth of his shoulder, shaky and overwhelmed, yearning for a sense of stability, yearning to be held.
Minho made a faint noise of surprise and then squeezed Jisung closer. His warm breath fanned over the side of Jisung’s neck, who tried to breathe in deep, taking slow lungfuls of the familiar scent of Minho’s cologne—spicy, musky, a dash of citrus. He smelled like Minho. He smelled like home.
“I feel like such a mess,” Jisung whimpered, his lips moving against the collar of Minho’s shirt. “I have so much going on in my head I can’t, I can’t, I—”
“You can,” Minho corrected, rubbing his palm in a heavy circle between Jisung’s shoulder blades. “Try and focus on the moment for a second. Focus on your body. You’re here, with me. Try and relax your shoulders.”
Jisung dropped his shoulders from his ears, breathing slowly all the while.
“You’re a performer,” Minho went on, thumb kneading the tension in Jisung’s back. “And nothing else matters right now, okay? You’re a musician. All this bullshit with Sunny and me and Trin—none of it matters. Do what you were born to do.”
How did he know what Jisung was worried about? How did he always seem to know?
A grounding warmth ebbed through Jisung’s muscles. He was here, with Minho, in their little bubble. Everything else felt far away, muted by an unidentifiable hum, the white noise that encased him whenever he was tuned in to Minho and Minho was tuned in to him.
He heard a door swing open down the hall, and Jisung pulled back from Minho to see Chan, Changbin, and Hyunjin spilling out into the corridor. “I’d better go,” Jisung said, managing a shaky smile. “Thanks. I’m glad you accidentally ran into me.”
Minho offered a cheeky, squinty blink-wink. “Good luck. I’ll see you after.”
Before he could think about it too hard, Jisung grabbed Minho’s shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. Then he jogged off to join Chan and Changbin.
~
The performance might’ve been Jisung’s best ever. He had so much pent up nerves, energy, and distress that he was an unstoppable firecracker, practically dissociating from his own body and moving on autopilot as he spat his lyrics aggressively.
It went by unbelievably fast, forty-five minutes worth of songs blinking by in what felt like three, and Jisung was upset when it was over. He wanted to keep performing all night, to fill the room with his voice and his lyrics and to watch the crowd scream in response.
“Holy shit,” Changbin laughed as they stumbled off the stage, quarter till eleven. The crowd roared and screamed in their wake, and goosebumps and sweat overwhelmed Jisung’s hot skin. “That was insane.”
“We fucking smashed it,” Chan said, breathless, slinging his arms around Jisung and Changbin’s shoulders.
Jisung could’ve wept, he was so relieved. He felt like days’ worth of tension had been released, exploding out of him like fireworks, leaving him spent and fulfilled.
They spent the next five minutes unwinding together, Chan passing around a warm, cheap beer, which Jisung swigged even though he usually didn’t drink. They sang and free-styled a while, milking their performance high while it lasted.
When Hyunjin and Minho arrived, Jisung buried himself in Minho’s arms for minutes, swaying back and forth idly like they were bobbing in waves, Minho’s fingers tracing patterns against Jisung’s back.
“You’re sweaty,” Minho murmured, and Jisung shivered when Minho’s nose brushed his neck. “Gross.”
“Sorry,” Jisung said, trying to pull back. Minho didn’t let him.
3RACHA drove separately from Minho and Hyunjin, who took Hyunjin’s car back to the apartment. Jisung buzzed, knees bobbing, the whole ride home. He ached to be close to Minho again, feeling misaligned and unsettled now that they were apart, even though he’d last seen him five minutes ago. Jisung wanted to lose himself in their bubble, to shut out the rest of the world and just be with him.
His lingering sadness over Sunny, his nerves about the future, his uncertainties about pursuing something with his best friend who was a guy …none of those thoughts could penetrate the giddy veil of a post-performance high.
They made it home by 11:30. Changbin had first dibs on showering, and Jisung went next, followed by Chan. Minho and Hyunjin arrived after all the boys were washed, having stopped by McDonald’s for fries and milkshakes.
The five of them spent a few minutes around the dining room table, dipping fries in shakes and chatting about the performance, but Jisung was distracted by Minho the whole time. They kept exchanging unintentional looks, one catching the other staring and then vice versa, and Minho’s little smirks and red ears made something warm stir in Jisung’s chest.
He was a bit self-conscious now, stripped of his flashy stage get-up and now dressed in a big t-shirt and athletic shorts, and memories of his breakup the night before slipped back into his headspace bit by bit. He wondered if Minho expected him to be unfazed by the breakup. He’d admitted to having feelings for Minho, after all. Why should it matter that he’d gone through something painful with Sunny?
It did matter. It mattered a lot. And Jisung was ashamed that it did. He wasn’t the victim of this situation. It was all his fault. So why was that persistent sadness pushing at his hum of warm joy once again?
Chan went off to his room first, and Changbin and Hyunjin dashed off to theirs, leaving Jisung and Minho alone across a table scattered with empty, grease-stained french fry containers. Minho started cleaning without missing a beat, gathering napkins and stuffing them in the fry boxes, filling the takeout bag with garbage and empty milkshake cups.
“You don’t have to clean,” Jisung said, grabbing the bag from Minho and pouting. “It’s not your house.”
“Yeah, but you cavemen would let garbage pile up if I didn’t,” Minho shot back, smirking at him and snatching the bag back.
“Pshh. We’d clean it eventually.”
“When it started smelling like mold and mouse shit.”
“Maybe.”
“Mhm.” Minho lightly shoved Jisung’s shoulder on his way to the garbage can.
Jisung cleared his throat and moved over to the living room couch, settling beneath a blanket and grabbing for the remote. Minho came and joined him shortly, standing at the edge of the couch and tugging his button-up off tenderly with one arm.
“Right,” Jisung sighed, standing and helping Minho peel off the layer. “You got shot.”
“It happens,” Minho said. Jisung snorted.
“What do you want to watch?” Jisung asked, plopping back onto the couch and holding up the edge of his blanket with a close-lipped smile. Cuddle with me?
“I don’t care,” Minho said. He nestled against the arm of the couch, slid his legs beneath the blanket, and slung an arm around Jisung’s shoulders so casually it made excitement twist in his belly. “James and the Giant Peach.”
“That’s pretty specific for not caring.”
“Just throwing out suggestions.”
“Mmm.” Jisung snuggled up to Minho’s shoulder, settling his cheek against his chest and resting his knees on Minho’s thigh.
They were silent for a moment, Minho’s fingers drawing shapes across Jisung’s bare arm as Jisung flicked absentmindedly through Netflix, more focused on Minho’s steady heartbeat beneath his ear than the TV.
“You were amazing tonight,” Minho said, so softly Jisung almost missed it.
Jisung turned to hide his smile in Minho’s neck with a little whine. “Was I?”
“Don’t act coy,” Minho scoffed, squeezing his arms around Jisung’s middle, pulling him closer. “You’re a little rockstar and you know it.”
“I definitely feel good about how I performed,” Jisung admitted, messing up his hair against Minho’s jaw. “But it’s different coming from you.”
“Oh?”
Jisung blushed, embarrassed about the corner he’d walked himself into. “Shut up,” he mumbled. “Look who’s acting coy now.”
Minho chuckled lightly, and Jisung’s stomach flip flopped when he felt soft lips press against the crown of his head.
A surge of boldness gripped Jisung, and he lifted his head from Minho’s chest so he could look at him properly. Suddenly they were nose to nose, Minho’s dark eyes adorably crossed, and Jisung could only smile and stare, mesmerized by those long lashes, lost in the racing of his own heart.
Minho carded a hand through Jisung’s wet hair and then pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, and so much fondness shot up and down Jisung’s body that he nearly melted on the spot.
Instead he tilted his chin up and kissed Minho on the mouth, gentle and slow, with bated breath and his fingers curled in Minho’s shirt.
When Jisung pulled back, Minho kissed him again, pressing a series of chaste kisses to Jisung’s lips and making him giggle until Minho was forced to dip down and kiss Jisung’s chin instead. “Cute,” Minho whispered, lips tracing Jisung’s jaw.
Jisung’s belly squeezed. “Wow,” was all he managed to say, cupping Minho’s jaw with one hand and guiding their lips together again.
“Hmm?” Minho mumbled between kisses, brushing his nose against Jisung’s.
“It’s just us,” Jisung said, pulling back to look into Minho’s eyes. He smoothed his thumb along Minho’s cheekbone. “We’re not breaking any rules this time.”
“I could get used to it,” Minho admitted. Jisung pinched his reddening ear, and Minho pouted, mumbling a soft, “Fuck off.”
“Ahhhh,” Jisung said around a grin, pressing himself forward to kiss Minho’s cheek. “You’re so cute.”
“I’m not cute,” Minho grumbled, but his arms tightened around Jisung’s waist. “I’m dashingly handsome.”
“You’re okay.”
“Okay?”
“A solid 6.5 out of ten.”
“Hey!” Minho shoved Jisung back, but it was a halfhearted attempt with one arm. “Mean!”
Jisung just cackled, rolling backwards off Minho and leaning on the opposite arm of the couch, his arms folded behind his head, his skin thrumming with warmth and excitement. Minho pouted at him, reaching out one hand to tug on Jisung’s ankle. “Come back.”
“Mmm. I can stare at you better from here.” He cracked a grin when Minho’s neck and ears flushed red again. God, he fucking loved making Minho flustered. He didn’t realize how easy it could be, how nothing but a few teasing words could elicit such an adorable response.
“You’re such a pain,” Minho grumbled, tickling Jisung’s foot, who flailed his leg around and screeched in response.
“Hyung!” Jisung wailed, rolling over and kicking at Minho’s thigh. “Stop, stop!”
Minho grunted in pain all of the sudden, and Jisung froze, a rush of cold flooding his veins. He straightened, realizing he’d jostled Minho’s shoulder. “Oh my god, fuck. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Minho ground out, his teeth buried in his bottom lip, his hand clasped over his shoulder.
“Shit,” Jisung said, pulling himself onto his knees and shuffling close enough to cup Minho’s cheeks, to kiss his forehead. “I’m sorry, baby.”
Minho’s eyes softened. He fixed Jisung with such a shy, earnest stare that the tension melted from Jisung’s body. “Baby,” Minho echoed quietly, pursing his lips to conceal a little smile.
Jisung broke into a cocky grin. “D’you like when I call you that?”
“Maybe. No. Yes. Fuck you.” Minho kissed him two, three times, and Jisung couldn’t quite close his eyes, drinking in the image of Minho’s lashes up so close. Minho pulled back and winced, shifting around, tenderly holding his arm. “It’s annoyingly still sensitive.”
“Minho, you got shot like three days ago. Of course it’s still gonna be tender.”
“Annoying,” Minho grumbled. Then he yawned, covering his mouth with one hand, his eyes scrunching up into crescents and a tiny gasp huffing from his throat.
Fuck, he was so cute.
“Are you sleepy?” Jisung asked, leaning against the back of the couch and brushing some of Minho’s messily dried hair from his eyes. Netflix was long forgotten now, untouched on the screen for minutes.
“Mhm. Little bit of a long day.”
Jisung chewed his lip, his worries revisiting him as he pondered his next question. He didn’t want Minho to go home, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to explore fooling around yet either. Would Minho get the wrong idea if he asked him to stay the night?
“Um,” Jisung started, trying to encourage himself to be honest. “Will you stay here?”
Minho lounged against his good arm, elbow propped against the back of the couch. “Do you want me to?”
Jisung nodded, messing with his t-shirt sleeve. “But if you’re sleepy I’m happy to drive you home.”
“I’ll stay,” Minho said softly, reaching out to hold Jisung’s fiddling hand. He smoothed a warm thumb over Jisung’s chilly knuckles.
Jisung averted his eyes to their hands and took a deep breath. “Ah…I almost forgot how overwhelmed I am because tonight has been so much fun.”
Minho nodded. He watched Jisung patiently, their fingers still entangled.
“I just…” Jisung squirmed beneath his blanket. “I don’t know if I’m ready to, to dive into a relationship?” He licked his lips, frantically trying to read Minho’s expression. “I know you’ve waited a long time for this, and I mean, I have too. I don’t want you to think I want to wait because I don’t like you because I do. A lot. I’m just nervous. And I—”
“Jisung, shhh, darling.” Minho smiled his gentle, cat-like smile and rested his hand on Jisung’s foot through the blanket.
Jisung quieted, biting the tip of his tongue.
“I know,” Minho said firmly. “I know what you mean. My expectations are not what you think they are.”
Jisung blinked, convinced he must be bluffing.
“Actually no.” Minho smirked, brushing his own hair from his eyes with a delicate finger. “I expect us to start dating. Immediately. Now.”
Jisung’s eyebrows shot up, his chest constricting.
“And also fucking.”
“Minho—”
“And for you to immediately move on from a five month loving relationship,” Minho went on, scratching his own chin, pouting contemplatively. “And for me to immediately move on from a year and a half abusive relationship.”
Jisung’s face relaxed, and he even allowed a grin.
“Also, for us to seamlessly transition from being friends to being romantic in a matter of hours. And for you to immediately become cool with this new aspect of your identity. Now!” Minho snapped his fingers like a genie and grinned, an impish twinkle in his eyes.
“Okay,” Jisung chuckled, lightly kicking at Minho’s knee. “I get it. Maybe my assumptions were a little ridiculous.”
Minho averted his eyes then, fingers fiddling with his own hair. “I’m...sort of scared too, you know?”
Jisung watched him, wide-eyed and silent.
“I don’t want to mess this up either,” he admitted, stubbornly looking at Jisung’s knees. “I’ve never really met anyone like you. Or had a friend like you.” His ears were a dark, radiant shade of pink. “That’s why I sat on it for so long. I don’t want to misstep and make you uncomfortable or anything.”
Jisung’s heart practically sang. “How long?” he asked, allowing an evil grin.
Minho glared at him, but a smirk pulled across his lips. “How long have I had feelings for you?”
Jisung nodded shyly, something about the phrasing making his breath hitch.
“Hmmm.” Minho frowned, blinking up at the ceiling. Jisung took him in for a moment, enraptured by the lazy way he lounged against the couch, his loose, open posture, his messy hair falling into his eyes.
He couldn’t believe Minho was into him. That he was into Minho. And here they were, sitting together comfortably, discussing what they felt for each other.
“Well,” Minho went on, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I definitely thought you were hot the first time I saw you. But I knew you had a girlfriend, so I didn’t really let my mind go further than that.”
Jisung took a moment to reel with surprise, shocked that he’d charmed Minho so early. Jisung knew he tended to make an abrasive first impression.
“It took a few weeks for me to realize I was feeling things,” Minho went on, so matter-of-fact and monotone. “It just grew from there, I don’t know. I tried not to be into you.”
“Me too,” Jisung said with a laugh. “Damn, we suck at self-control.”
“Not our fault it became impossible to lie to ourselves anymore.”
Jisung licked his lips, processing the weight of that statement.
“How was last night?” Minho asked, hesitance returning to his voice. “Was it rough?”
“It was rough.” Jisung sighed. His arms came up to hug his knees, where he rested his chin. “She was really upset.”
“Mmm.”
“What about Trinity?” Jisung asked, determined not to linger on Sunny’s reaction. “What did she have to say?”
“She was pissed for a while. Still is, kind of. But I explained the whole story and she settled down a bit.” Minho shrugged one shoulder. “She was shocked she hadn’t noticed sooner.”
“That’s how I feel, too.”
Minho yawned again, sagging against the back of the couch, and Jisung suggested they get ready for bed. They made their way to Jisung’s room, and he noticed Sunny’s spare toothbrush on his dresser, so he promptly threw it away and went to unpackage a new one for Minho, his head spinning from the implications.
Jisung used the bathroom first, brushed his teeth and washed his face, and then turned it over to Minho and went to snuggle up in bed. He scrolled through his phone and noticed his mom had texted him again.
Call me when you can, honey. I’m worried about you. Love you, hope you are not too heartbroken.
Jisung squeezed his eyes shut. Guilt and self-loathing pricked at him naggingly. He responded, I’ll call you soon. But don’t worry, I am okay. He put his phone on the bedside table and tried to pull his thoughts away from his family, his mom.
His brother. What would his brother think, if he knew that Jisung was...well. Not straight? Would he be angry that Jisung was keeping it from their parents? Milking their financial support by lying to them?
Jisung tried not to think about it. There was no use thinking about it.
A few minutes later Minho returned from the bathroom, water clinging to his bangs, dressed in a pair of Jisung’s sweatpants and his own t-shirt. The sweatpants were a little tight, fitting snugly to Minho’s thighs, and Jisung had to remind himself not to stare.
“Do you mind if I sleep without a shirt on?” Minho said, eyes crinkling. “No funny business, I promise.”
Jisung shook his head, patting the bed next to him. Minho reached down with one arm and eased his shirt over his head, sliding it carefully over his wounded shoulder and then tossing it onto the back of the desk chair.
Jisung gulped, unable to tear his eyes away despite the uncomfortable flush that crept across his skin. He’d seen Minho shirtless before, but it was different like this, when they were alone in Jisung’s bedroom about to climb into bed together.
And Minho was so beautiful, with warm ivory skin and a flat, toned stomach. His shoulders were so broad, arm muscles gently curved and flexing as he brushed his hair back.
“Staring,” Minho said, his voice high and soft. He smirked when Jisung glared at him and went on, “It’s okay. You’re allowed to.”
“Come here,” Jisung muttered, burrowing under the covers and hiding his flushed cheeks with his palms.
Minho did, sliding under the sheets, wincing as he carefully maneuvered around his injured shoulder. They curled up facing one another, enjoying their bubble of warmth even though they weren’t touching.
Jisung gazed at him. It was almost hilarious how distant his worries felt when Minho was closeby, like they were in a snowglobe, the rest of the world muted and far off. His eyes explored Minho’s face freely, tracing those soft, tired dark eyes, his plump lips. The cute little mole on the tip of his nose. Jisung couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss it, then he pressed his lips to Minho’s, lingering. He basked in Minho’s sleepy hum before shifting back.
Minho smiled at him, soft and cat-like. “Let’s sleep, darling. I can barely keep my eyes open.”
Jisung agreed, switching off the bedside lamp and snuggling his back up against Minho’s front, putting his circling worries on hold and allowing himself to be lulled to sleep by the soft thud of Minho’s heartbeat.
~
Notes:
Whew!!!!! Finally some happiness for our babies. But of course, not without lingering fear for them both. Did you think I'd make this all sunshine and rainbows? :))
I'm gonna shoot for another update next Thursday, a week from today! I will keep you updated on Twt if I need to take some time before releasing a chapter. But I am very, very excited to share what's to come with you all. we're in MINSUNG TERRITORY now. mwahaha
OK that is all!! farewell
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 17
Summary:
“Can I touch you?” he whispered. Electricity clung to his skin. Was Jisung going to say yes? Was this about to happen?
“Yeah,” Jisung breathed. His fingertips danced over Minho’s ribs. “Can I…”
Minho nodded, hazy. A rush of cool air hit him as his shirt fell to the sheets.
Notes:
Content warning: the most unnecessarily intimate blowjob scene you've ever read
maybe that's a bold statement but this is pretty fuckin unnecessarily intimate
Also I know I said on Twt I'd edit this down and I really tried to but it's still 10,400 words long so....sorry? You're welcome? idk lol
have FUN
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
xvii. minho
Minho shuffled the chicken around in a crackling pan, grateful the maneuver didn’t take too much movement from his injured arm. He’d excitedly offered to cover for one of the Hub’s cooks who was out for the week. Not only was it an excuse to pick up more hours, but it was the perfect opportunity for him to cook in a real, full kitchen. He felt light here, the scents of hot oil and spices and freshly cut vegetables tethering his mind to cooking every time it began to wander.
Jisung had been letting him use their kitchen plentifully. It was sweet of him, even though he benefited from getting to eat whatever Minho cooked. Minho smiled as he thought of Jisung’s eyes lighting up when Minho set dinner on the table for him the night before.
It had been about a week since Escapalia, since Trinity walked in on them and Sunny cut ties with not only Jisung, but also Minho, Hyunjin, and both other members of 3RACHA. Minho didn’t expect that he would miss Sunny at all, after the way he’d come to resent her brightly affectionate presence tucked against Jisung’s side at all times, but he did. He missed his friend Sunny, and he missed the way she brought energy to their circle of friends.
But, as he remembered the way Jisung had kissed him last night, lips sweet with the taste of Minho’s cooking, he knew he wouldn’t change anything about the week before.
Just as he had the thought, the kitchen doors swung open and Trinity walked in, smiling at a server who whisked the tray away from Minho’s counter. Minho glanced at her warily and continued his chopping. Their relationship had been tense since the incident, but he could also sense Trinity moving on with each passing day. He was lucky she was a forgiving person.
“One more order?” she asked, leaning her hip on Minho’s counter.
He hummed, removing the chicken from the pan with tongs. “Just a chicken caesar wrap.”
“Great, we’ll close the kitchen after that. You did good today.”
He smirked at her.
“Don’t say it.”
“You’re welcome.”
Trinity groaned, and Minho giggled. Her scowl softened when she sighed. “How’s your shoulder doing? The crowd misses you out there.”
“Ah.” He grimaced. It made sense; he was one of only two male strippers who worked at the Hub, and he’d built up quite a reputation for himself. “It’s a lot better. I think I’ll be able to start dancing again in another two or three weeks, if I’m careful.”
“Rest up as long as you need. But I’m sure you’re missing the stage, too.”
She was completely right. Minho’s muscles ached to move. Dance was Minho’s safe space, his best talent and greatest joy. He’d been trying not to think about how out of practice he was growing by the hour.
“How are things with, um.” Trinity’s eyebrows raised like she wished she didn’t have to say it. “With Jisung?”
Minho cringed, sprinkling shredded parmesan over the layer of caesar dressing. “You don’t need to ask about him, Trin.”
“I know. But I want to.” She fiddled with the zipper of her leather jacket as she eyed the floor. “You’re my friend and I can tell you’re really happy. Even though, you know.” Her jaw tightened. “Even though it’s directly connected with my sister feeling like absolute shit.”
Minho glanced up from where he was finishing folding over the tortilla. “She’s not doing too well?”
“Better, since dad’s out of the hospital. But she misses her friends. She misses Jisung.”
Minho nodded. He watched the server scoop up the wrap and scurry away, probably sensing the tension in the kitchen.
“I didn’t expect this from him, you know?” Trinity crossed her arms, eyes tired. “He’s a sweet guy. Seems like he could never even hurt a fly. He’d come over for dinners with my family and everything. He’d do the dishes afterwards even when my mom told him not to.”
Minho smiled, hesitant. Some traces of fading jealousy pricked at his heart, but they didn’t hold much to the joy he felt now, or the guilt Trinity’s words unexpectedly brought out in him. “He is a good guy, Trin,” he said gently. “Him kissing me twice while in a relationship doesn’t make him a piece of shit.”
“I was talking to Chan, though. It seems like Jisung has had feelings for you for a long time. Who knows how many months he told Sunny he loved her when he really loved you.”
Minho gulped. He wished he had another salad to make so he didn’t have to look right at her.
“Nobody’s perfect, I guess,” she went on. “He’s my friend, too. But—”
The outside door swung open, and Minho turned just in time to see Jisung stepping in, smiling bright as he looked at Minho. The light in his eyes faded a little when he saw Trinity.
“Hi,” Jisung started, backing towards the door. “Uh, the door to your room was locked, so I figured you would, uh…”
Minho glanced at Trinity and then tried to smile reassuringly at Jisung. “Hi, Sung. We were just about to close up the kitchen.”
“Can I help?”
Before Minho could respond, Trinity was striding forward with a purpose. He thought she’d exit the kitchen and make them close up themselves, but then she paused directly in front of Jisung.
Jisung chewed his bottom lip, shifting as she approached. If Minho weren’t slightly terrified for him he would’ve thought he looked adorable. Trinity towered over Jisung, at least two inches taller than him, and she studied him for a moment before lifting a folded Hub menu from the countertop and smacking Jisung on the back of the head with it.
“Ow!” Jisung whined, blinking and madly flattening his hair where she’d hit him.
Minho blinked, amused but tentative as he watched two of his favorite people.
Trinity dropped the menu. She crossed her arms and glared at Jisung defiantly. “That’s for cheating on my sister. Asshole.”
Jisung nodded, rubbing the back of his head still. “I deserved that.”
“You’re a dick.”
“I...I know.”
“Listen. I know Sunny can be a lot.”
Minho began to wipe down the stove top, trying to pretend like he wasn’t listening intently to Trinity’s words.
“She’s a little bit of an idiot sometimes,” Trinity went on, her voice uneven. “And I don’t doubt she missed about a thousand hints that you were closeted along the way but that doesn’t excuse fucking her over like this. I hope that one day you figure out how to make it up to her because she doesn’t just miss her boyfriend, she misses her friend Jisung who she trusted more than anyone.”
Minho looked up in time to see Jisung nodding, his shoulders slumped.
“And,” Trinity went on, and she turned to jab a finger at Minho before he could avert his eyes. “This kid is a fucking treasure. If you hurt him, I’ll have to kill you. Got it?”
Minho grinned, lightness spreading in his chest.
Jisung’s eyes glimmered as they briefly found Minho’s. He nodded. “I won’t. I promise.”
“Good.” She stormed off, grabbing a key ring off the wall and barreling towards the pantries without another word.
~
Minho was a healthy guy, in general. He ate well, exercised every day, and maintained good hygiene like his life depended on it. But he also had less care for his bodily safety than the average person did.
This was, more than likely, because Minho had survived so much that he had a delusional confidence in his ability to withstand something. He was strong in body and spirit. If something physically traumatizing happened to him, he was good at braving the pain, and he was even better at compartmentalizing the shock.
So now, a week and a half after getting shot, he was much more annoyed that he couldn’t dance than shaken up by what'd happened.
After co-teaching a junior class with Hyunjin, Minho led the kids out of the studio, smiling and thanking the parents as they came in for pick-up. One student, Brody, was a 6-year-old boy who had always been timid, but Minho thought a 6-year-old boy who was in ballet class instead of soccer practice was braver than most people he knew.
Brody was often picked up late. His mom was single and worked overtime most nights, but she was always kind and they loved the kid, so neither of them really minded.
“Minho?” Brody asked Minho in his high, shaky little voice.
Minho stopped swiping through photos of his cats for the 6-year-old to see. “What is it?”
“When are you going to be able to dance again?”
Minho glanced up in time to see Hyunjin pout like he was about to start sobbing. He’d told his students, as well as his coworkers at the Hub, that his sling was due to a dislocated shoulder, but it made sense that Brody wanted to know more. He’d always had a particular interest in Minho.
“Just a few more weeks,” Minho said. “I’ll be healthy in time for the fall recital, I promise.”
“Okay,” Brody said, big blue eyes blinking curiously at Minho’s shoulder. “Does it hurt?”
“Not if I keep it still. Which is why I have to stop myself from dancing, even though I just—” He wiggled dramatically and flung his head back like he was doing a jazz number. “ Want to dance so bad.”
Brody giggled. “Stop, don’t hurt yourself!”
“I won’t. I have the sling to protect me,” he promised, and pointed at the fabric binding his arm. Felix had lent him a sling from one of his old injuries, but Minho only wore it at work to keep questions at bay. “Do you want to sign it?”
“Nobody else has!”
“You can be the first.” It was a sling, not a cast, so surely Brody’s would be the only. But Minho didn’t mind.
Brody nodded, watching as Hyunjin retrieved a sharpie from their attendance clipboard and uncapped it for them.
“Make it big,” Minho challenged him. “You’re the first signature so it should be special.”
“Okay!”
Minho and Hyunjin watched with poorly smothered grins as Brody scribbled out a gigantic B-R-O-D-Y across the sling. “Perfect,” Minho said when he was done. “Thanks, Brody. My sling is way more fun now.”
“I want a sling too so you can sign it,” Brody said, drawing a little smiley face in the “O”.
Hyunjin opened his mouth. “Brody, you don’t want—”
“Sorry I’m late!” Brody’s mom pushed into the studio breathlessly. “Hi, baby!”
“Hi, Mom!”
“Hi, Mrs. Morton.” Hyunjin beamed, always the charmer, and showed Brody to the door. “Have a good night!”
“You too!” she called, and as Brody smiled and waved goodbye, Minho’s heart ached a little.
Hyunjin closed the door behind them and eyed Minho with a knowing smile. “You’re going insane, aren’t you.”
“Insane,” Minho confirmed, sighing. He climbed to his feet, reminding himself not to use his injured arm for balance. “Not being able to dance is making me want to explode.”
“Here.” Hyunjin pulled up his phone and began furiously typing, and Minho wondered if he’d interrupted himself with an urgent social media engagement again. “Here’s a video of a legs-only routine. It’ll probably be boring but at least it’s something, right? I used it to keep moving when I injured my shoulder in high school.”
Minho’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Thanks. You're...an okay human."
Hyunjin rolled his eyes, stuck out his tongue, and moved for the door. “I’m gonna go grocery shopping with Changbin. Why is no one in that apartment competent at shopping or cooking?”
“Because they have me and you to enable their bad habits.”
“True as fuck. Byeeee, honey.”
“Bye Jin.”
Minho sighed again when the door fell shut behind Hyunjin. Then he turned the warm-up music back on, restlessness creeping into his muscles as he pulled up Hyunjin’s video. He held his phone in one hand and kicked his way absentmindedly through the routine, watching himself in the mirror peripherally.
It was so goddamn easy. Way too goddamn easy. He could’ve done this in elementary school.
So Minho amped up the exaggeration of his moves, gliding through each step of his foot and letting the movement travel up him like a body roll. He twirled around between leg movements, crossing his ankles and uncrossing them, allowing the music to carry him.
As he approached the end of the routine, Minho grooved through the simple movements with vigor. He squeaked his shoes against the floor and moved his arms in a criss-cross motion without thinking, and the sling went taught over his wounded skin.
His muscle surged with pain just as the fabric dug into the healing wound, and he yelped aloud, doubling over and clutching his elbow to keep the limb as still as possible. He took a moment to stare down at the worn hardwood floor and catch his breath.
Useless. Stupid. Incompetent.
Frustration ate at him. This routine was so ridiculously easy. And he still managed to hurt himself doing it. Something heavy and difficult to name sank within Minho, and he tried hard not to think about it. The dread, self-distaste, and impatience were making it difficult not to rip the sling off and swing his arms around in massive circles just for the sake of proving he could do it. Pain and injuries be damned.
Minho felt fuzzy-minded and preoccupied as he packed up his things to head home. He made it back to the Hub at 8:30, and only then did he unclog his mind enough to answer his unread messages. Jisung got off his shift two hours prior and asked if Minho wanted to get takeout and watch TV.
They’d been hanging out multiple times a week all summer, hanging out and making out where they'd managed to find alone time in their busy work schedules for the past week, but Minho couldn't help an excited little smile. Minho certainly hadn't gotten used to this feeling yet. Right, he still found himself remembering. Jisung liked him back.
Without a plan in mind, unsure if he had the capacity to hang out but aware hearing Jisung’s voice would help, Minho gave him a call. Jisung answered on the third ring.
“Hey,” came Jisung’s chipper greeting. “What’s up?”
“Hi,” Minho managed, fiddling his fingers around the clammy edges of his phone. “Um. What are you doing?”
“Creating lyrical masterpieces from the comfort of my bed. Thinking about dinner. Are you hungry?”
He quirked a smile and settled back on his mattress, smoothing his hand down Doongie’s back when the shifting bed spooked him. “I could eat. Do you think you could maybe come here? I don’t…” He trailed off, hesitant. I don’t want to be around anyone right now, but you don’t count.
“Sure,” Jisung said when it was clear Minho wasn’t going to continue. “I’ll pick up food on my way. What do you want, Chinese? Korean? Mediterranean? Mexican? Japanese? Sushi? Thai? Burgers and fries?”
“Jisung,” Minho laughed.
“Irish pub food? Shellfish? Italian? Oh, pizza? Oh my god. Empanadas?”
“Sounds like you want empanadas.”
“I haven’t thought about empanadas in weeks and that’s an embarrassment in and of itself.”
“Anything edible sounds good to me.”
“You’re evil for leaving the decision to me and you know it.”
“Just get what you want, darling, and get me the same.”
“Do you know me at all? I don’t know what I want.”
“Except me,” Minho teased. It was a risk, but somehow it felt right.
Jisung let out an embarrassed, husky laugh, but his voice was soft when he said, “Except you. Even though you know I’m indecisive and are making me get dinner anyways.”
“Ugh. You’re useless.”
“ Me? I just listed off so many options! You should be grateful!”
“How about Italian? Then you can get a pizza type of thing if you want. I’m kind of in the mood for pasta.”
“Pasta is like, the only thing I know how to cook, though. Feels kind of stupid to spend money on it.”
“ I’d be getting pasta. Worry about your damn self.”
“Pizza is even easier to cook than pasta! Preheat the oven and stick it in and voila!”
“Fine, pick up sushi. I’ll text you my order.”
“Okay!” Jisung giggled, and Minho smiled. It was a relief to hear his laugh, after a few weeks of such stress for them both. “I’ll be over in a bit.”
“See you soon.”
Minho hung up, and he smiled for a moment as the joy of Jisung’s company lightened the weight on his shoulders. Before he could slip back into a foggy headspace, he showered, changed into a pair of black joggers and a t-shirt, and fed his cats.
There was a knock just as Minho finished giving Soonie his medicine. He went to answer the door, his heart thumping with nervous excitement.
Jisung stood with a big bag of takeout cradled in his arms and a bright smile. Minho stepped to the side, shivering at the gust of chilly air that wafted in behind him.
“Your delivery has arrived,” Jisung said, stepping out of damp boots and shuffling over to sit on the rug next to Minho’s bed. “I don’t think we’ve gotten sushi just the two of us since the first time we hung out.”
“Oh yeah. That was fun.” Minho didn’t mean to sound so monotonous, and Jisung caught on quickly, fixing Minho with a probing stare.
“Uh oh,” Jisung said when Minho didn’t elaborate. “Rough day?”
Minho shrugged and started digging around in the bag for his sushi. He didn’t feel like talking about it. That would only cut down all his efforts of fun for the evening. “Average. How was yours?”
“It was good, actually. Got really inspired at work all of the sudden and got a lot of writing done when I got home.”
“Can I listen?”
“Yeah, one sec.” Jisung flicked through his phone for a while, pulled up the demo, and fished an airpod from his pocket. “My shitty phone speakers won’t do it justice.”
Jisung wore one airpod and Minho wore the other as they listened through the beat and a loose bassline. Jisung talked Minho through the lyrics all the while, half-lounging on the air mattress with his phone notepad pulled up, rapping along to some parts, singing the chorus softly.
Minho just smiled, enamored. Jisung was amazing.
“It’s kind of sad,” Jisung said when the song was over. “That I went through such a messy breakup last week, and I’m stressed as fuck about school starting next week, but all I can think to write about is sunshine and rainbows.”
“Plenty of your songs are angsty,” Minho pointed out. “I think it shows how versatile you are that you’re able to write stuff like this too.”
“You think so?” Jisung looked at him with curious, round eyes. His bangs fell messily over his brow. “I like being able to make stuff that’s uplifting sometimes. It helps me relax, too.”
“Would this just be you? Or Bin and Channie too?”
“Definitely them, too. I’d get sick of hearing my own voice this much,” he chuckled, scrolling up and down the notepad on his phone. “I still have to show it to them, though. Not sure they’ll like it.”
It was sweet of Jisung to show Minho before he’d shown the rest of 3RACHA. Minho smiled, tickled by the feeling of being valued. Of being trusted. “They’ll love it,” he said softly, maybe a bit too late.
Jisung glanced up from his phone with a little smile. “Thanks, hyung. I’m sure I’ll be more confident in it tomorrow.”
“Always how it goes.”
Minho felt Jisung’s eyes on him as he picked his way through his sushi. A warm hand came to rest on his arm, and he looked up, immediately resorting to the defensive. “What?”
Jisung frowned, one elbow leaned on the bed, chopsticks loosely crooked between two fingers. “I don’t know. Something’s...different. Are you sure you’re okay?”
He nodded, though he knew before he’d finished the gesture that Jisung would see right through it. An antsy, frustrated feeling sat persistently on his backburner, hardly quieted by the distracting company of his best friend and favorite person. He knew ignoring it would dull its voice with time, but Jisung wasn’t making that easy. “I’m okay.”
“You can tell me, you know?” Jisung smiled his small, round-cheeked smile, head cocked and eyes bright. “You can tell me anything.”
Minho tried to smile back, but his throat felt tight all of the sudden. “I know. I guess I just…” He thought for a moment, embarrassed by his inability to voice what he was feeling. “I guess I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay,” Jisung said agreeably. He surprised Minho by setting his chopsticks down and dropping a kiss on Minho’s cheek. “What do you want to do, then? Want to watch something?”
“Sure, let me get my laptop.”
After some shuffling, they arranged themselves and Minho’s pillows so they were propped up against the wall, the computer perched in Jisung’s lap. Minho curled up at Jisung’s side, nestled against his collarbone, feeling warm and safe and suddenly very confronted by his emotions.
How did he get so lucky? How did someone like Jisung want someone like Minho? Minho was such a mess, shaken to his core and swimming with negative self-talk just because of a hurt shoulder.
A ways through their second episode, about ten of Jisung’s laughs were accompanied by zero of Minho’s, despite this anime being comedic and one of their favorites. Jisung’s hand crept up to the back of Minho’s neck. “Hey,” Jisung murmured, and his honey voice made Minho melt. “What’s on your mind, baby?”
Minho swallowed, unsure how Jisung had made the leap from obnoxious anime to fragile emotions based on nothing but his silence.
“Whatever it is you’re feeling,” he went on softly. “It’s okay. I got you.”
Minho clenched his eyes shut, loathing the tears that prickled the corners of his eyes. Get a grip, Minho.
Jisung’s arms tightened around Minho, carefully avoiding his right shoulder. “Sometimes it helps to cry it out,” he murmured against Minho’s hair.
“I hate crying,” Minho mumbled in a pinched, squeaky voice.
“Would it help if I cried too? I’m really good at crying.”
Minho managed a weak laugh and took a loose fistful of Jisung’s t-shirt. “I don’t want to be sad,” he said. He had no idea why he was sad. Why was he sad? “You’re here. I want to have fun.”
“You don’t have to be happy for me to enjoy your company. When you’re sad, you’re still you. And I like being able to help you.”
Minho was silent, tears rolling down his face.
Jisung paused the anime so he could talk, squeezing Minho closer still. “Sometimes when I’m upset,” he began. Minho could feel his heartbeat, slow and gentle between their bodies. “It helps me to try and verbalize what I’m feeling. Makes it feel a little bit more logical.”
They were quiet for a few moments, Minho breathing evenly, staring at the paused anime screen and waiting for his tears to dry.
Finally, he murmured, “I guess...I’m having trouble with this injury.”
“Does it still hurt?” Jisung loosened his hold on Minho cautiously.
“No,” Minho rushed to say. “Not really, I just...don’t do well with not being able to dance. It’s really, um. It’s an outlet for me.”
“Ah,” Jisung murmured, and Minho’s stomach flipped when he felt a soft kiss brush against his forehead. “I can’t imagine how frustrating that must be. Especially since you’re still teaching and trying to demonstrate without moving your shoulder.”
“Exactly.” He sighed. He felt a little better already, having told Jisung what was eating at him. He wiped his tears and sniffled. “I know it’s temporary. I’m just impatient. I’m not built for sedentary life.”
Jisung scratched Minho’s back, digging his nails in slightly. “You and I are so different in some ways. Sedentary life is my middle name.”
“Ha.” Minho turned to hide his smile against Jisung’s chest. The scent of his body wash was fresh, like he’d just showered before getting their dinner.
“How can I help?”
“You’re helping right now.”
“Really?”
Minho nodded, craning his neck back so he could smile up at Jisung. He got an enticing angle of Jisung’s chin, nostrils, and eyelashes, and he giggled. “Sexy.”
Jisung looked down, making an intentional double chin and an exaggerated grimace. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Minho laughed louder, wiggling upwards so he could meet him in a gentle kiss. “Sorry,” he mumbled between kisses, closing his eyes with embarrassment as Jisung lifted a hand to wipe Minho’s dried tear tracks. “For being...I don’t know.”
“A human?”
“Yeah. Robot supremacy.”
“Right.” Minho’s stomach fluttered as Jisung leaned in again, soft lips brushing his. He was so close, his warmth, his strong arms, his sweet voice filling what little space remained between them. It was all so overwhelming, almost dizzying.
Minho rested a hand on Jisung’s chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat as they lazily kissed. Jisung’s tongue teased Minho’s bottom lip, and Minho gasped softly, grazing his fingertips up Jisung’s sternum as their tongues entangled.
He tasted the tang of soy sauce, rice, and nori, plus the sweetness of just Jisung. Warmth quickly settled down upon Minho, urging him forward. He leaned closer, lifting a hand to cup Jisung’s jaw, and his breath hitched when he felt teeth tug against his bottom lip.
He met Jisung in a messier kiss, breathing unsteadily and all-too aware of Jisung’s warm hands trailing down his body, one on his back, the other thumbing at the side of his neck.
God, he wanted Jisung to consume him.
At some point Jisung’s hand wandered down to Minho’s leg and squeezed the meat of his thigh, and Minho whimpered aloud, surprised. He blushed furiously when Jisung pulled back to look at him with wide eyes.
“You must be kidding,” Jisung whispered.
“What?”
“You can’t have such fucking sexy legs and also make hot noises when I touch them.”
Minho’s eyebrows shot up. His brain remained awhirl for several seconds. It wasn’t as though he doubted Jisung was attracted to him, but they hadn’t gone past kissing save for the occasional risky under-the-shirt touch. He figured it’d be at least a few weeks until Jisung found it in him to make remarks like that. “You...you think my legs are sexy?”
Jisung looked suddenly sheepish, his bottom lip clamped between his teeth. “Does that bother you?”
“Yeah, I’m very offended. How could you look at me like that?”
Jisung grinned, pulling Minho into a soft kiss that made his head feel light, running his hand down Minho’s thigh all the while. “Sorry,” he mumbled against Minho’s lips. “I’ll be sure to keep those comments to myself.”
“You’re annoying.” Minho flashed a grin before kissing him again, sliding a hand up to root in soft hair. He was already quite addicted to the feeling of tugging on Jisung’s hair, pulling him close and eliciting little gasps in the back of his throat.
Minho quickly lost track of time. He was completely lost in their warm bubble, his fingers lightly tracing the muscles through Jisung’s thin t-shirt, their mouths meeting and disconnecting in a slow, fervent kiss. Jisung’s hand made lazy motions up Minho’s ankle to his knee, over his thigh to his hip, up the curve of his spine and back to his face again. Minho felt adored, every one of Jisung’s soft touches leaving a thrumming trail of heat behind.
Calloused fingers brushed against his cheek, a thumb caressing his temple. Minho couldn’t remember anything else. Even now, all he could think was holy fuck I finally get to make out with him.
Minho was vaguely aware that he was half in Jisung’s lap, every part of his lower body slung over Jisung’s thighs other than his ass, and he thought to check that Jisung was comfortable. He pulled back after they’d been kissing for god knows how long to do so.
Jisung’s eyes were half-lidded and glazed over, lips shining. Minho didn’t give himself a moment to think before he leaned in for another kiss, deep and messy, groaning softly when he felt Jisung’s hand slide down his back to squeeze his ass.
Oh my god, Jisung was squeezing his ass.
Minho bit down on Jisung’s bottom lip hard, maybe to give a bit of push-and-pull after his own obviously flustered reaction, and he grinned when Jisung softly whimpered. “Sorry,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over Jisung’s bottom lip, although they were so close that his fingers touched both their mouths. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” he breathed. “Feels good.”
“I see,” Minho said with a grin. He bent so he could trail his nose across Jisung’s cheek, leaving a few kisses against perfect beauty marks before grazing his teeth along the soft skin beneath Jisung’s jaw. His palm lingered on Jisung’s chest. Boldly, he let his fingertips run one-by-one over where he could feel Jisung’s nipple through his shirt, eliciting a throaty gasp that made Minho chuckle against Jisung’s neck.
“Oh,” Jisung mumbled, his shyness evident in just one syllable. “I’ve never...no one’s ever…”
“Played with your nips?”
“Shut...shut up,” he groaned, burying his face in Minho’s shoulder, who giggled and lifted both arms to loop around Jisung’s neck.
“Sorry,” Minho whispered, kissing the mole between his neck and collarbone. Jisung’s skin was hot, dewy with a layer of sweat. “We can stop. I didn’t mean to push you.”
Jisung rested their foreheads together. Two hands squeezed Minho's ass, lifting him an inch or so from the mattress, and he bit back a moan. “You’re not,” Jisung said, pressing a chaste kiss to Minho’s lips. “I want this too.”
Minho's heart pounded. Jisung’s words inspired something like recklessness in Minho, so he shifted, bracing his arm on Jisung’s shoulder and swinging a leg over his lap to straddle him.
Jisung looked up at him through dark lashes, lips parted. Warmth surged through Minho when he felt Jisung’s hard length under his hips. Jisung was hard. Because of him. He could go mad with this feeling.
Minho rocked down slowly, tracing Jisung’s soft cheek with his nose. “Is this okay?” he asked, movements careful.
Jisung’s vigorous nod nearly knocked their foreheads together. He broke into a shy laugh. “Y-yeah. Sorry.”
Minho grinned, breath hitching when he felt Jisung’s wet lips against his jaw. Strong hands rested on his hips. “Sung,” he whispered. “We can go at your pace, okay? Just stop me if you want to slow down.”
“Okay.” Jisung's lashes fluttered as he lifted his hips up to meet Minho’s.
Minho breathed out shakily, lips brushing Jisung’s. He tangled his fingers in Jisung’s hair and grinded down, slow and controlled, unable to contain his smirk when Jisung whimpered against his lips. “Hmm.” He nipped Jisung’s lip, tugging soft flesh between his teeth. “That feel good, baby?”
Jisung nodded, bangs tickling Minho’s cheek. Minho felt warm all over. It was all so goddamn much, feeling Jisung’s erection through their sweatpants, his fingers firmly gripping Minho’s hips as they rolled together slow, exploring. Jisung kissed him idly as his hands roamed to squeeze Minho’s ass. Minho sighed, high and shaky, and slipped his fingers beneath Jisung’s shirt.
“Can I touch you?” he whispered. Electricity clung to his skin. Was Jisung going to say yes? Was this about to happen?
“Yeah,” Jisung breathed. His fingertips danced over Minho’s ribs. “Can I…”
Minho nodded, hazy. A rush of cool air hit him as his shirt fell to the sheets. He did the same to Jisung, heart thumping at the sight of the half-naked boy beneath him.
Jisung looked up at Minho with shy, shining eyes, teeth gnawing his bottom lip, hair mussed. A rosy flush colored his cheeks and spread down his neck to his bare chest. He was toned, fit, with broad shoulders and prominent pecs that rose and fell with his breaths. Minho stroked his thumb over a tiny beauty mark between his armpit and his nipple. He watched as the muscles tensed there.
His thumbs feathered down Jisung’s chest, traced the pattern of his abs. The urge to get his mouth on all this honey skin was so intense he actually felt saliva pool behind his teeth.
“Shit,” he murmured, knuckles tracing up Jisung’s stomach. He tweaked his nipples gently, listened to his breath hitch. “How’d you get this body?”
Jisung laughed, strained. Minho kissed his cheek and ran his fingers through his hair in case reassurance was what he needed. “You know I work out. Sometimes.”
“Sometimes.” Minho grinned against Jisung’s jaw.
“What, do you not like it?”
“I do,” Minho hummed, open-mouthed kisses tracing Jisung’s neck. “You’re beautiful.”
Jisung’s breath hitched. His cock twitched against Minho’s hip. “R-really?”
“ Yes,” Minho laughed, teeth scraping Jisung’s shoulder. He couldn’t believe Jisung didn’t know it. “So perfect, Sungie.”
Jisung exhaled. His palms followed Minho’s spine and slid back down his sides, thumbs brushing Minho’s nipples and drawing a soft whimper. “Fuck, Minho,” he said, the roughness of his voice shooting straight to Minho’s groin. Their mouths met again, slow but insistent, and Minho wanted to taste as much of him as he could.
Minho rocked his hips down quicker now, spurred on by the feeling of Jisung's fingers digging into his ass, pulling him apart in slow circles. Jisung was fully hard beneath him, cock rubbing against Minho’s, and when Jisung let out a low whimper Minho could only groan into his mouth and leak pathetically in his underwear.
If he nutted like this, humping Jisung’s clothed dick like an animal, he’d never be able to face the world again.
“Sung.” Minho attempted to slow his movements. Jisung guided him forward anyway, heavy breaths hidden in Minho’s neck as he rutted up against him, pulling Minho’s hips down to meet his. The feeling of Jisung using his pliant body to get off made Minho mewl embarrassingly high. “Jisung, baby, baby.”
Jisung grunted, teeth grazing Minho’s earlobe as he slowed.
“If we resituate ourselves,” Minho began, surprised he was able to string a sentence together with the way he was sweating and almost painfully hard. “I could suck you off.”
Jisung pulled back to look at him. His lips shone, eyes dark under upturned brows. Minho panicked for a moment, afraid he’d pushed him, but then Jisung was whispering, “You really want to?”
Minho couldn’t help but smile. He brushed Jisung's hair from his eyes. “Mhm. If you want me to.”
“I—yeah. Yeah, I want you to.” His voice wavered, nerves or excitement or both.
Minho cupped his cheek and planted a tender kiss on his mouth. “Lay down for me, darling.”
Minho slipped backwards off Jisung’s lap, feeling a little embarrassed by how bad his sweats were tenting. But as Jisung laid himself down with his arms lax on either side of his head, eyes leaving hungry trails down Minho’s naked torso to his hard cock, Minho felt considerably better.
“Gorgeous,” Jisung hummed. His fingertips brushed Minho’s stomach, feather-light. “Can’t believe how gorgeous you are.”
Minho’s cheeks burned as he unsuccessfully tried to think of a clever way to hide how shy those words made him. “Thanks,” he whispered, eyes averted.
“Seriously. Have you ever been scouted to model? You’re fucking hot.”
Minho snorted and flicked playfully at Jisung’s nipples, pleased by the soft groan he got in return. “I’m too short to model in this country.”
“That’s dumb. I could stare at your face all day.”
Minho rolled his eyes, blushing nonetheless, and moved to straddle Jisung’s hips. He leaned forward on his good arm and pressed a chaste kiss to Jisung’s pouty mouth. Jisung hummed, calloused fingertips dusting over Minho's naked sides.
It’d been a long time since Minho felt a reverent touch. Warmth coiled in his stomach at the thought of Jisung wanting him.
“Hey,” Minho murmured, shaping the words to Jisung’s lips. “I wanna kiss you all over, can I?”
Jisung laughed. His voice came out caramelized and heavy as he said, “Do it.”
He started with Jisung’s collarbones. He pressed slow, wet kisses there, feeling the protrusions of bone and muscle beneath velvety skin, laying chaste pecks against tiny beauty marks. Next he trailed his tongue up the long muscles of his bicep. Jisung’s breaths were shaky as his fingers played with the roots of Minho’s hair.
He took his time with Jisung’s chest. He let his teeth sink in, leaving little bites along the outer slope of his pectoral, not quite harsh enough to leave a mark. When his tongue laved over a pert nipple, Jisung arched into him, fingers tightening in Minho’s hair. Minho’s cock throbbed as he rolled his hips down to grind against Jisung’s thigh.
“Aha,” he teased, breath fanning across Jisung’s wet nipple. He grinned when Jisung writhed. “Feels good?”
Jisung nodded, watching Minho with glassy eyes. “More?”
Denying him didn’t even cross Minho’s mind. He tongued Jisung’s nipple again, wrapped his lips around it. Jisung muffled a sweet whimper with his hand, and Minho gazed up at him darkly, pressing the flat of his tongue over pebbled skin. “You don’t need to hold back,” he reminded him, lightly teasing his nipple with his teeth. “There’s a whole strip club worth of noise drowning you out.”
Jisung’s grin was shy and rosy-cheeked. “Sorry. I’m not used to...being touched like this I guess.”
Minho’s eyebrows drew together. He shifted, leaving a trail of kisses down the middle of Jisung’s chest. “Like what?”
“Like…” Jisung hissed when Minho drew soft skin between his teeth and left a purple mark just beneath his sternum. “Angh, fuck. Like, like this. I don’t know how to describe it.”
Sweet baby gay, he thought with a smile. Minho traced his nose down the line of Jisung’s abs. He smelled so good, familiar, skin smooth and warm beneath Minho’s parted lips. “Well,” he said, stroking Jisung’s sides and humming when he tensed. “Tickles?”
“Little bit.”
“Mm. Well, you deserve it, darling.” Minho’s eyes fluttered shut as he laid kisses down Jisung’s abs, flicking his tongue out to taste him. “God, I’ve wanted my mouth on you for so long.”
Jisung whined, hips jerking up. “Please…”
Something dark came over Minho, arousal gripping him. He stared at Jisung through his lashes and slid further down so his mouth was level with his waistband. “Please what, sweetheart?”
Jisung’s eyes shone, pleading and embarrassed, as he raked his fingers back through his own hair. Jet black chunks fell messily over his brow. Fuck, he was a goddamn wet dream. Minho wanted to play with him all night. “I dunno,” he admitted, breaking into a gorgeous, timid smile that made Minho’s heart skip a beat. “Just don’t want you to stop.”
Minho kissed the silky skin beneath Jisung’s navel, lips brushing the peach fuzz there. His fingers anchored in the elastic waistband as he murmured, “Can I take these off?”
Jisung nodded. Minho watched his fingers curl in the sheets, biceps flexing.
He tried not to think about how long he’d waited to do this. How this was Jisung, flushed and horny in Minho's bed, a tug of fabric away from being completely naked. Minho kind of wanted to cry. Or cream his pants.
He left kisses as he pulled Jisung’s pants down, molding his lips to his hip bone. His hand came up to palm Jisung’s cock through his boxers, fingers dancing over the wet patch there. He was so hard. All for Minho.
Unable to resist, Minho mouthed at his clothed cock, feeling the length and shape, tasting the precum seeping into the thin fabric. He glanced up to see Jisung’s arm flung across his eyes, abs relaxing and flexing as he rolled his hips in tiny circles, teeth clamping his lip.
Minho’s brain spun with such a filthy conglomeration of things he wanted to do to him that he had to bring himself back down to earth with a slow breath.
“Sung,” he murmured, kissing the head of Jisung’s cock through his underwear. “You want me to keep going?”
“Yes,” Jisung said, peeking out from under his arm.
“Are you sure?” Minho meant it. He knew Jisung was inexperienced, probably sensitive and swimming with nerves.
Jisung smiled. His fingers traced Minho’s cheek, tucked his hair behind his ear. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Minho nodded. He rubbed his palm over Jisung’s cock, felt the way it throbbed at his touch. He kissed his belly and murmured, “Breathe, baby. I’ll make you feel good.”
Jisung breathed, ribs rising and falling. Minho eased his underwear down to his thighs.
It didn’t come to a surprise to Minho that Jisung had a nice dick, flushed and glistening at the tip, curved prettily against his belly. Minho wanted it in his mouth. And in his ass. He also kind of wanted to jerk him off slow and torturous while Jisung bounced on his cock.
Okay, Minho, calm the fuck down.
“Why are you staring,” Jisung whined, legs shifting.
“Sorry,” Minho said. He sat on his heels, thighs caging Jisung’s hips, and took his hard length in his hand. “Hard not to stare at you.”
Jisung’s adam’s apple bobbed up and down. A trickle of sweat inched down his throat.
Minho wanted to make him come so hard he couldn’t move.
He stroked him for a few seconds, getting used to the weight of his cock in his hand and working up some spit in his mouth. Then he pressed himself down like a crouched panther and drooled filthily down the length of him.
“Fuck,” Jisung whispered, going lax against the sheets. His fingers wandered down to weave into Minho’s hair, and Minho took this as encouragement, swiping his tongue over the head of his cock, tasting the saltiness beading there.
He worked his mouth over him slowly, fingers curled around Jisung’s length, stroking the spit and precum up and down. He could feel Jisung’s thighs tense, muscles like taught rubber bands. Minho released his hold on his cock to massage his legs.
“Relax,” he hummed, trailing his tongue down a curved vein and pulling a groan from Jisung.
“Hahhh,” Jisung sighed. He was propped up on his elbows, bottom lip puffy from all his gnawing. His head lolled back when Minho got his mouth around him again. “Minho, fuck.”
Minho hummed and began to suck him off in earnest. He bobbed his head, cheeks hollowed, eyes rolled back at the feeling of Jisung’s cock inside him, gliding along the flat of his tongue.
Jisung’s fingers carded through Minho’s hair, nails scraping his scalp, and Minho couldn’t help but whimper at the feeling. He wondered if Jisung thought he looked pretty like this. If Jisung had imagined this scenario before like Minho had.
It felt completely dream-like and way too real at the same time.
He tongued over all of Jisung, mapping out the shape of his cock, pressing wet lips to his balls and relishing in the way it made him squirm. He wanted to make this last—being able to taste him, breathe in his musky scent, and feel tremors of pleasure move through him—but he could also tell Jisung was starting to fall apart quickly.
“Fuck,” Jisung breathed when Minho popped off and took a moment to jerk him with his hand. Minho beamed maybe a little sadistically at the sight of him flushed from the tips of his ears to his tip of his dick, and Jisung pouted down at him, hips jerking upward. “I’m already close and I feel like you just started, baby…”
“Mm. You said it yourself,” Minho murmured, toying with the slit of Jisung's cock, making another moan catch in his throat. “You’ve never been touched like this before.”
“Aha,” Jisung chuckled, chest flexing as he pushed back his sweaty bangs. “Will you teach me how?”
Minho frowned, dragged a fingertip up the underside of his cock absentmindedly. “How to touch someone?”
Jisung smiled. “How to touch you.”
Minho’s eyes widened. Jisung wanted to touch him. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise given all that Jisung had told him since their first kiss, but hearing him ask so confidently, with an easy smile and his hard dick leaking against Minho’s palm, was different.
“Min?”
“I’ll teach you,” he said, breathing out. He tightened his grip around Jisung’s cock and smirked. “But first let me finish what I started.”
Jisung arched against the blankets as Minho licked over the head of his cock, tongue tracing the ridge there. Minho stalled for a moment, drinking in the sight of him with his head thrown back and his chest heaving. Then he took him into his mouth, nearly popping off him each time he moved upward, lips catching around the crown as he sucked him off ust like he knew would drive him mad.
Jisung was groaning now, teeth bared and eyebrows upturned, arm muscles taught as he tightly gripped Minho’s hair. “Fuck, Minho,” he ground out, rolling his hips forward, dragging his cock against the roof of Minho’s mouth. “Angh, fuck, baby.”
Minho closed his eyes and moved quicker, cheeks sucked in tight as those desperate words dripped like melted sugar from Jisung’s lips.
He lost track of how long he moved like this, jaw relaxed and drool slipping down his chin, wishing he could see properly as he made Jisung fall apart. He popped off and stroked him fast, chin leaned on his hip to watch him.
Jisung moaned throaty and high, muscles bulging as he arched, and Minho laughed darkly. “Jisungie,” he cooed. “You sound so pretty, darling. Such pretty sounds for me.”
Jisung gasped, thighs squeezing around Minho, forehead scrunched. “Min, I-I’m gonna, I—”
“I know,” he murmured, thumb playing with the head of Jisung's cock as he sucked a mark to his hip, eyes trained on his face. “You can come. Let me see you come, baby.”
Jisung released with a final groan, fingers tangling almost painfully in Minho’s hair, nose scrunched and neck craned to the side. He painted himself with cum from his lower belly all the way up to his collarbone, letting out tiny gasps all the while. Minho wished refractory periods didn’t exist so he could make him feel that again. Instead he just watched, soaking in the sight of Jisung bright red and glistening with sweat, catching his breath and letting out a few final spurts of warm, sticky white.
“Hmm,” Minho hummed, stroking his cum-slick fingers up Jisung’s spent cock and grinning when he squirmed. He thought nothing of it as he dipped down and licked up the mess, tongue laving over cum and sweat and trembling abs.
“Oh my god,” Jisung groaned, head falling back as Minho licked him clean. His stomach rose and fell beneath Minho’s tongue. “You’re so fucking hot, shit .”
Minho keened at the breathless words, and only then did he remember his own state, straining and leaking a ridiculous amount in his briefs. He didn’t want to pressure Jisung to return the favor if he wasn’t ready, though, so he laid one last kiss to Jisung’s tummy and rolled onto his uninjured side.
“Wow,” Jisung panted. His neck was craned back, sweat streaking from his hairline to his chest. He turned to look at Minho with a lazy, crooked smile that made him want to moan like he’d been fucked. “Come kiss me.”
Minho did, leaning his bare chest against Jisung’s, tasting the sweat on his upper lip. He made a mental note of Jisung’s willingness to make out with him immediately after he swallowed cum. “How was that?” he asked, teasing.
“Couldn’t you tell?” Jisung kissed his nose, and Minho settled beside him to stretch his arms out while Jisung wrestled his underwear back on.
Disappointment flitted through Minho when it seemed like Jisung was done fooling around. But then Jisung rolled over, rested his cheek on Minho’s pectoral, and slung a leg over his hip, and Minho could hardly find it in him to be disappointed.
Just as Minho’s eyes fell shut, he felt fingertips on his belly, tracing the v-line of his hips.
His lids flew open.
Jisung wiggled back a bit and propped himself up on his elbow so they could look each other in the eyes if they wanted, but he kept his gaze on his hand. His touch feathered up Minho’s side, thumb dipping into his navel, skimming the thin skin over his sternum. A grin tugged up half of Jisung’s mouth when goosebumps prickled over Minho’s chest.
Jisung was petting him. Oh, if only he knew. Minho’s cock betrayed him, twitching with interest in his briefs, but he tried to keep still as Jisung stroked a map of his torso.
“Your skin’s so soft,” Jisung mused, dipping his chin to kiss Minho’s shoulder.
Minho’s exhale quivered.
Jisung’s thumb flicked Minho’s nipple, and he bit his lip to keep from whimpering, but Jisung’s sharp gaze fixed on him. “Does this feel good?”
Minho smiled a little shyly, lifting his good arm to stroke Jisung’s hair. “Yeah.”
Jisung returned his smile. He tweaked Minho’s nipple gently, barely a pinch, but the contact had Minho shifting nonetheless. Normally he wasn’t so sensitive, but this was Jisung touching him. He wondered if he was about to make a massive fool of himself.
Jisung explored Minho’s body slowly, fingertips whispering across naked skin. He circled each of Minho’s nipples like he was feeling their softness, thumbing over the pebbled bud before tugging, getting a feel for the way it made Minho arch. Then his nails scraped down Minho’s stomach, still so gentle, light enough that Minho couldn’t contain a quiet whimper.
“Hah.” Jisung’s teeth glinted as he smirked. Laid another kiss to Minho’s shoulder. “Goosebumps.”
“Shut up,” Minho muttered, rocking his hips up involuntarily. “You’re teasing me.”
“I like it,” Jisung hummed, nosing Minho’s chest. His tongue flicked across Minho’s nipple, making his thighs clench together. “I like the way you react.”
His voice, so low and scratchy, made Minho want to start begging for absolutely no fucking reason. So he took a deep breath and held as still as he could.
“Have you thought about this before?” Jisung asked, teeth catching Minho’s nipple while his hand fit to the curve of his waist.
Are you fucking kidding me, Minho wanted to say. How dare he ask that. “No,” he said, smirking when Jisung pouted. “I’m not interested in you sexually.”
“Ouch,” Jisung said, grinning. “Want me to go?”
It was Minho’s turn to pout. He curled his fingers in Jisung’s hair and murmured, “This is where I want you.”
Jisung kissed his chest. Minho realized his lips were against his heartbeat and melted a little.
“Um.” Jisung smiled, suddenly almost shy. His hand caressed Minho’s ribs. “I want to touch you, but I...don’t know what I’m doing.”
Minho giggled, nervous and excited. “You’ve done a pretty good job working me up so far.”
“Yeah but I’ve never…” Jisung trailed off, lip between his teeth, gaze faraway as he rested his chin on Minho’s bicep.
Minho lightly tugged his hair, nonverbally pulling him back from overthinking. “I know, darling. I’ll talk you through it. But trust yourself too, okay? I’m built the same as you.”
“Everyone likes different stuff though,” Jisung mumbled, burying his face in Minho’s chest. “I’m just nervous. But I wanna. Will you laugh at me if I make a fool of myself?”
Minho couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes.”
“Fuck off,” Jisung whined. But then his lips met Minho’s in a soft kiss and his hand found the waistband of Minho’s sweats, and laughing felt very far off the table.
Jisung shifted onto his side, bare chest pressed to Minho’s shoulder. It was silent save for the brush of skin against fabric as Jisung palmed Minho’s clothed cock.
Minho’s hips lifted into the contact like he’d been tugged up by invisible strings. Jisung’s exhale tickled Minho’s chest, and he applied more pressure now, massaging him. “Hyung,” Jisung whispered, lips moving against Minho’s shoulder. Something about hearing that word now, in this context, made Minho’s ears burn. “What do I do?”
A laugh shuffled out of Minho nervously. He rested his hand over Jisung’s, pressed it down and grinded his hips upward. “Everything you’re doing feels good.”
Jisung bent to tongue Minho’s nipple. Bit down softly as he worked over the shape of his cock through his sweats. A sting of pain bloomed just above Minho’s pec, and he realized Jisung was giving him a hickey.
Minho gasped, head falling back, and then warm fingers slipped beneath his pants and underwear.
“Oh,” Minho breathed, muscles clenching as Jisung stroked down his shaft curiously, just feeling him.
“You okay?” Jisung punctuated the question with a kiss to Minho’s collarbone.
“Yes.” He shifted his hips up. “Help me take these off, Sungie. I have one arm.”
“Right, right.”
After some shuffling, Minho was completely bare and had never felt quite so naked in his life. Jisung sat by his hip and gazed down at him with parted lips, eyes round, not so different from how he’d looked watching the fireworks on the 4th of July. “Your legs,” he murmured, ghosting a hand down Minho’s thigh, squeezing the muscles there. “You’re so beautiful, Min. All of you.”
Minho bit his lip around a whimper. “Stop…”
A knowing glint passed over Jisung’s eyes. He shifted between Minho’s legs, wound an arm beneath his knee to pull his thighs apart. Goosebumps traveled up Minho’s skin at the sight of Jisung sitting where he’d envisioned him a hundred times before.
Then he laid a pattern of slow, open-mouthed kisses to Minho’s thigh, hot tongue grazing sensitive skin.
“Sungie... ah.” He jolted when Jisung’s palm wrapped around his cock, began stroking him idly.
“Stop me if I’m, uh.” Jisung peered at him around his cock, eyes round, sheepish, so cute. “If I’m doing something wrong.”
“Doing wh- ah!” He hadn’t expected it when Jisung licked a warm, wet trail up his cock, and he could only root his fingers in the sheets and try to bring himself back down from cloud nine. “Oh, fuck.”
Jisung laughed softly, laving his tongue over the head, sending pleasure ricocheting up Minho’s body. “Good?”
“Mmm,” Minho uttered, eyes rolling back into his head. Jisung’s mouth was on his cock. His lips felt so good, small and plump and puckered, and the thought of getting to paint them with his release was working him up to an embarrassing degree. He hugged a bundle of blankets to his chest and peered down at Jisung, aiming for nonchalance as he threw his words back at him. “Have you thought about this before?”
Jisung glided wet lips up Minho’s cock. “Yeah.”
Minho almost choked. “Oh.”
Jisung moved skittishly, eyes darting up to check Minho’s reactions, and then sank down, wrapping his lips around Minho’s cock.
Heat swirled in Minho’s gut, building in his groin in the first few seconds that Jisung had him in his mouth. Minho indulged in the sight of him for a moment, lithe figure bent over, broad shoulders sloping to a petite waist and a perky, round ass. He arched prettily, back muscles flexed, probably not even thinking about how he looked as he sucked Minho’s cock.
Minho wove his fingers through Jisung’s soft hair, supporting him rather than guiding him as he bobbed up and down. “Ah,” he breathed out, transfixed at the sight of his cock disappearing in and out of Jisung’s mouth. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”
Jisung moaned, hand fumbling to lace with Minho’s against the sheets. Butterflies swarmed in Minho’s belly.
Jisung popped off his cock and wrapped his lips around just the head, stroking the rest with his free hand and staring up at Minho with glassy eyes. He eased back and grinned, pink cheeks lifting, a strand of spit connecting his red lips to the similar hue of Minho’s cock.
Minho liked him so goddamn much.
“Am I doing okay?” Jisung’s voice was high but gravelly, thick with the efforts of his throat.
“You’re doing great, darling.” Minho loosened his hold on his hair so he could caress his soft cheek. “Look so fucking good like this.”
“It’s kinda fun.” Jisung cut Minho’s laugh short when he took him back into his mouth, bobbing diligently, easing Minho’s cock further down his throat.
“Yeah?” Minho murmured, even though he knew Jisung had aimed for lightheartedness. “You like sucking my cock, Jisungie?”
Jisung whined again, eyebrows stitching together as he jerked Minho off and hollowed his cheeks around him.
“ Fuck,” Minho groaned at the soft, wet feeling. He let his head fall back, the steady surges of pleasure making it hard to stay composed. “Fuck, Sung, ah.”
His peak approached rapidly, spurred on by his inability to look away from Jisung for long. He just looked so incredible like this. He was always handsome, but like this, eyes wide and teary, bare body flexed in the dim lamplight….Minho was in love.
Minho was in love?
He’d have to revisit that thought in the morning when he wasn’t thinking with his dick.
Jisung moved off his dick to nip and kiss his thighs, jacking him off all the while, and Minho’s insides felt molten when he glimpsed Jisung’s eyes trained evenly on his face. “Jisung,” he said, but it came out higher than he’d hoped.
“Close?” Jisung’s lips pressed the word against his inner thigh, fingers tightening around his dick just right.
“ Fuck,” he groaned, and Jisung sped up the movement of his hand. “Jisungie, b-bite me, can you bite me…”
Jisung’s eyes widened, but Minho was too lost in the clouds to worry about being judged. Then Jisung’s sank his teeth into his thigh, sucking the sensitive skin into his mouth.
“Jisung!” He threw his head back, seconds away. “Fuck, I—”
Jisung bit him again, harsher this time, closer to his groin, and then Minho was coming, back bowing, cords snapping within him as the pleasure bubbled over. He whined through it, twitching and sensitive at the feeling of Jisung’s milking him through his orgasm.
For a moment they stayed there, Jisung’s cheek resting peacefully on the meat of Minho’s thigh while he caught his breath. Then Minho noticed he’d blown such a significant load that it was about to drip off his side onto the sheets.
“Ah, shit.” He snapped his arm to his side to save his bedding. “Can you get a washcloth?”
Jisung groaned and buried his face in Minho’s thigh, hair tickling his balls and making Minho squirm. “But m’comfy.”
“If I do it I’ll get cum on the floor.”
“Fine.” Jisung feigned annoyance, eyes rolling back dramatically. Then he kissed Minho’s hipbone and climbed up to obey.
Jisung was hard again. Minho shoved aside all thoughts of round two. It was late, and he was exhausted. Sleepiness coaxed him deeper into the blankets by the second.
Jisung returned to wipe him down with a warm cloth. Minho just watched him, content, gazing up at his sparkling eyes and focused, pouty mouth.
When he was done Jisung flopped down beside him and released a tiny squealing noise. Minho turned to face him, and Jisung cupped Minho’s cheeks, pulled him in for a kiss. He kissed Minho’s lips, his nose, peppered some all over his cheeks, his chin, even his forehead and his eyebrows, so chaste and bouncy and accompanied with soft little sounds that made Minho giggle maniacally.
“Stop,” Minho whined, wrapping his arm around Jisung’s waist anyway. “Tickles.”
“Just wanna give you kisses,” Jisung said with a pout, eyes big and earnest as his nose brushed Minho’s.
Maybe it wasn’t just Minho’s dick that was in love.
He would think about it later.
He kissed Jisung’s nose, who then snuggled forward, face buried in Minho’s chest. “You had fun?” Minho asked, palm gliding down Jisung’s bare back.
“Lots of fun.” Jisung pulled back again, and suddenly his smile was a little sad. Minho frowned automatically. It always sat wrong with him to see sadness in Jisung’s eyes. “I wanted to say….I’m sorry, hyung.”
Minho fished back in his hazy, post-orgasm memory to try and guess what he was apologizing for but came up with nothing but an eloquent, “Huh?”
Jisung dropped his gaze to Minho’s chest. “I feel like an idiot. I’ve never…” he chewed his lip. “I’ve never enjoyed fooling around with someone so much before, and I know I should’ve realized it sooner that I’m. Well.” Jisung’s shoulders rose and fell. “That I’m not straight.”
Minho could see the shame in him, the confusion and the entanglement of his identity. But he was proud of him for saying even that much out loud.
“And,” Jisung went on, looking at Minho with a sad little half-smile. “I hurt you along the way. I was an idiot, and I almost missed my chance with you because of it. I’m sorry.”
Something warm and bubbly fizzed in Minho’s chest. He lifted a weary hand to touch Jisung’s cheek, felt the curve of his growing smile against his palm. “I was never mad,” he admitted. “Just scared we’d stay in the zone we were stuck in.”
Jisung held Minho’s wrist, kissed his palm. “I’m lucky you called me out on my bullshit.”
“Damn right.”
Jisung giggled. Snuggled forward again, wound his strong arms around Minho’s waist. And as Minho buried his face in Jisung’s hair he wondered how long he’d be able to enjoy this feeling of warmth before something came along and turned his life upside down again.
But for tonight he enjoyed himself, worries distant and fuzzy as he held Jisung close.
~
Notes:
Now we all get to live vicariously through minho as he kisses jisung's beauty marks
The goal is to update again next week but ummmm I haven't started the next chapter lol so we'll see. I'll keep you guys updated on Twt!
I hope you liked this one!! it's the first one I've written from top to bottom since I started uploading, so I'm a bit nervous T.T let me know what you thought~ thanks for reading my loves❤️
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 18
Summary:
He’d done his research in the last few weeks. He knew the basics. Lube, lube, lube. So much lube. Prepping. Taking it slow. The prostate, which Jisung could only hope wasn’t impossible to find in someone else. He’d had no luck finding his own when he’d tried.
But Minho was experienced. He’d been with guys so much more confident than Jisung was. Not only was Jisung a virgin, but he was only 20, crawling towards 21. He was short and scrawny, too. Probably so far from Minho’s ideal lay. Was he about to embarrass himself? If he topped, he’d probably bust a nut in five seconds. If he bottomed, he’d probably start screaming in pain and ask to stop. God, he was hopeless.
Notes:
you guys ready? Idk if I'm ready
I squeaked in at 9,800 words are you proud of me for keeping it under 10k? ❤️
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
xviii. jisung
The days leading up to the start of the college semester, Jisung did his best not to think about school. He and Sunny had a class together, and he was dreading that so much that he felt a little dizzy every time he remembered it. He really just wanted to spend as much time with Minho as possible.
Being close to Minho was a rush like Jisung had never felt before. It was...easy. Things fell into place when they were in each other’s orbits, and even though they’d fooled around pretty regularly since the first time, Jisung was still enthralled by the way Minho’s body felt beneath his fingers.
Minho was fucking gorgeous. Jisung had always known that. Cute, too. Handsome in a way that was still intimidating. What Jisung wasn’t as used to was...well, thinking that Minho was mouthwateringly sexy.
He’d spent so long trying to deny how badly he wanted to make Minho feel good. Now that he could, now that he knew Minho wanted him to, Jisung sort of felt like he’d found the door to Narnia right under his own roof.
Jisung did want intimacy. He did want sex. Now that he’d opened the door, he wanted to laugh at his past self for convincing himself otherwise.
Did this mean he was gay? Spiralling thoughts about his sexuality visited him each time he allowed himself a moment of comfort in what he had with Minho. He didn’t want to fool around with other guys, though, and he never really had. He just wanted Minho.
It’d been about two weeks since Sunny broke up with him. Jisung was stressed.
He was stressed because his mom knew that Sunny broke up with him, but when he’d called her to explain, he’d made some bullshit excuse about Sunny dumping him because he was too busy being a part of 3RACHA. The next day his dad had called him, given him a lecture about how career is important but so are girls and so are relationships, and Jisung had bitten his tongue through it.
The question of Minho and Jisung’s “relationship status” plagued Jisung. He often had to remind himself that they weren’t together, Minho wasn’t his boyfriend. Their trips to restaurants and shops weren’t dates. But it’d been two weeks and he was already more comfortable being intimate physically and emotionally with Minho than he had been after six months with Sunny.
He remembered a conversation he’d had with Minho just a few days prior in Jisung’s bed.
“This guy came onto me,” Minho had said. They were playing Little Big Planet emulated on Jisung’s computer, tucked into each other’s arms with a half-eaten bag of Takis between them. “At the Hub this afternoon. Like, tried really hard.”
Jisung snorted. “I bet that happens to you a lot. You work at a strip club, and you’re, you know. Hot as fuck.”
“He was trying to like, get to know me though. He asked all these questions about how I learned to dance, whether I was going to start up again soon, what kind of food I like, all that. He invited me to come home with him in a limo. A fucking limo.”
“Oh.” Jisung winced through the sting that accompanied those words. It wasn’t like he and Minho were together. They were...what, friends? Who made out? And gave each other blowjobs? And held hands and cuddled whenever they were alone and had been stewing with romantic feelings for each other for months?
But they weren’t exclusive. So maybe Minho had gone home with that guy in his limousine, and maybe the guy had kissed Minho just like Jisung did thirty seconds ago, and there was really nothing Jisung could say about it. He’d been the one to say he wanted to wait before they started a commitment, after all.
After a silence, Minho had craned his neck back to look at Jisung and frowned with his red, spicy-tinged lips. “I can practically hear you overthinking.”
“No, I just…” Jisung laughed, though nothing was funny. He drummed his fingers awkwardly where they were resting on Minho’s knee. “Just, um. Good for you.”
Minho’s frown deepened. He poked Jisung’s cheek when he wouldn’t look at him. “Good for me? My god Jisung, could you be more obvious that you’re jealous?”
Jisung flailed a little, nearly knocking over the Takis. “I’m not!”
“You are.” Minho’s eyes glinted. His lips pursed, mischievous and precious.
Jisung groaned, turned to hide his face in his elbow. “Okay, maybe, but...I have no right to be, I know! You can sleep with whoever you want. It’s not like we’re dating.”
Minho went quiet, and Jisung checked his reaction. A dent had formed between Minho’s eyebrows. “Sung,” he said, voice unreadably cold. “You think I went home with him?”
Jisung blinked. Why wouldn’t Minho have gone home with him? He probably wanted sex, and Jisung was slow to be ready, awkward, inexperienced. That guy probably gave better head than Jisung did. “Didn’t you just...did you not imply that?”
Minho’s lips parted. Then he sighed and leaned his head against the headboard, eyes trained on Jisung calmly. “I didn’t. I didn’t want to.”
“Oh.” Jisung chewed his bottom lip.
“Do you want to hook up with other people?” His voice was still cold beneath a layer of teasing.
Jisung shook his head, realizing too late what his reaction might’ve implied. “No, definitely not.”
“I don’t want to hook up with other people either.” Minho offered a sleepy smile. Then he batted Jisung’s shoulder with a sweater paw, dragged his hand down Jisung’s arm, and entangled their fingers inside his sleeve, and Jisung realized that this was stupid, that they already were exclusive, and that he wanted to take Minho on a goddamn date for fuck’s sake.
It was fast, sure, but that wasn’t what scared him. Even though being with Minho made him happy, it also made such a harsh whirlwind of emotions crash around inside his brain that he worried they’d all explode at once.
His brother. What would his brother say? Jisung was seeing a guy too but lying about it to their mom and dad.
Their mom and dad. Would their expressions crumple? Would they clench their teeth and tell Jisung he’d have to figure out college tuition on his own? Would they call him names, tell him he’s a disappointment? Would they ask about grandchildren or god’s will or ask Jisung what he thought about an eternity in hell?
None of them were very religious anymore, Jisung least of all, but he still knew his parents and he knew where their brains would go if— when —he found the guts to tell them what was going on with Minho.
But he didn’t want to stop himself from acting on this. He had always rolled his eyes at the people who said they just knew when something felt right, but...Jisung just knew. He wanted to shower Minho with cringey romantic gestures until he blushed. He wanted to be Minho’s.
As he sat on the studio couch with Changbin finishing up a few lyrics, he realized there was a chance that Changbin had experienced a similar situation with Hyunjin that same summer. So he asked, “Hey, hyung?”
Changbin grunted and pretended to concentrate, pen bouncing on paper.
“Had you been with a guy before Hyunjin?”
Changbin seemed caught off guard by the question. He looked at Jisung with knitted brows and a suspicious frown, and Jisung didn’t blame him; they rarely talked about serious stuff. “Not past drunken kissing, no. Not before Hyunjin.”
“Was it confusing?”
“Uh.” Changbin shifted, tongue pushing at the inside of his cheek, shoulders squared like they did whenever Hyunjin was brought up. “Not really, no. I was confused by how much I liked him because I always thought I was more into girls romantically, but he made it easy. Hyunjin’s really level-headed and knows himself well, and he...I don’t know. He made it easy.”
“Minho is kind of like that too,” Jisung mumbled. He looked at his fidgeting fingers.
“Things seem to be going really well for you two,” Changbin noted. “You’re basically married even though you’re not dating.”
“I’m starting to wish we were, though.”
“Married?”
Jisung couldn’t believe the way his stomach flip flopped. Good god, it’d been two fucking weeks. “No! Dating.” He sighed. Minho would roll his eyes if he knew how much agonizing Jisung was doing over their relationship status. “I think I’m going to ask him next time we hang out.”
“Oh. Good for you. What’s the hold up been?”
Jisung shrugged. “I just got out of a relationship a few weeks ago. Plus…” He couldn’t look at Changbin. He kept his gaze on his bouncing knees as he said, “I guess I feel like if we’re officially together, things will change. Like, PDA, and like...I should tell my parents.”
Changbin made a high-pitched meh sound. “Things will change as much as you want them to change. Minho isn’t gonna make out with you in public if you ask him not to, and he’s not the type of person to get butthurt over someone else’s boundaries.”
Sunny had been. Jisung realized new ways that they’d been incompatible every day.
“And you don’t need to tell your parents if you’re not ready to,” Changbin went on. “You don’t owe them anything.”
“Do your parents know about you and Hyunjin?”
“They know I’ve been seeing a guy, yeah.” Changbin smirked, but Jisung couldn’t tell if he was proud or covering up his discomfort. “They think it’s funny. They’re not malicious with their teasing but I don’t think they’re admitting to themselves it could be serious between me and him.”
“Is it serious?” Jisung gasped with mock incredulity.
“Shut up. Of course it is. You’re too busy fucking Minho to notice.”
Jisung’s cheeks burned as he glared at Changbin, who threw back his head with the giggle of a gremlin and clapped his hands. “You are!”
“No,” he grumbled, tossing a pen at Changbin’s bicep. “Still a virgin.”
“I guarantee you if you asked, Minho would sprint here right now and bend over this desk for you.”
“Shut up!” Jisung’s face felt like it was steaming.
“Are you scared?”
Changbin might’ve been teasing, but Jisung chose to take him seriously. He picked at the frayed corner of his paper and said, “Yeah, a little.”
“Of?”
“I’m a virgin,” Jisung deadpanned. “And Minho is…well, not.”
“Do I need to remind you how whipped he is for you? I really don’t think he cares, Sung.”
“I care, though. I don’t like being bad at things.” Jisung turned wide eyes on him. “Got any advice?”
“Gross, I’m not giving you sex advice.” Changbin resumed scribbling on his paper for about ten seconds before adding, “Flavored lube is the name of the game.”
Jisung’s jaw dropped. “You just told me that you eat Hyunjin’s ass and I want to end my friendship with both of you.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it, bro.”
If Jisung spent the rest of the night unable to stop thinking about what it’d be like to fuck his tongue into Minho’s ass till he cried, nobody needed to know.
~
His first week of classes went...okay.
Sunny, with newly chopped and bleached hair, treated Jisung like he was invisible in their shared class. He didn’t blame her. Still, he wanted to talk to her, tell her how happy he’d been to hear that her dad was doing better, but the one time they made eye contact she hurriedly looked away.
When it was time for Minho to pay another installment of his debt, Jisung went with him. They both wore hoods, masks, and moved away from Yonghwa’s mailbox briskly, and there were no issues. Still, Minho curled up into a ball when they made it back to Jisung’s apartment, and Jisung spent the next few minutes stroking his back and reminding him that he was safe.
His wound was mostly healed, the stitches removed and the sling cast aside. He could even dance now, though his range of motion was still lacking. But Yonghwa had put Minho through a lot. Jisung knew the psychological wounds would linger a lot longer than the physical ones.
“What’s wrong?” Jisung asked as he stepped over the threshold into Minho’s room. Soonie and Doongie lounged on their new cat tree, eyeing Jisung, while Minho paced erratically and jabbed at his phone screen.
“Fucking Trinity Abernathy,” Minho hissed, nearly running into the pole as he paced.
“What happened?”
“She’s giving all her employees health insurance. She sent out a memo. It’s a good plan too. An expensive plan.”
“That bitch.”
Minho glared at him. “That woman can barely afford her condo and she’s giving us all insurance? She can’t afford to give us insurance. She’s crazy. She’s throwing herself under the bus and I don’t want to say that she’s doing it just for me but it’s awfully coincidental that this is happening after I got shot.”
“Baby.”
“Don’t, Jisung.”
“Come here.”
Minho grumbled to himself and threw his phone down on the mattress. Jisung winced as it almost bounced onto the cement floor. “I don’t want to be anyone’s charity case,” he said, stomping up to Soonie and Doongie’s bag of food and rolling it up sharply. “I don’t know why she thinks that this is okay.”
“Hey.” Jisung positioned himself behind Minho’s frantic form. He leaned his chin on his shoulder and wound his arms around his waist, feeling the tension in Minho’s posture diminish at his touch. “You’re not a charity case.” He kissed between Minho’s neck and shoulder, where his cardigan had slid down. “And you’re not Trinity’s only employee. It’s not just you who’s gonna benefit from this. Am I a charity case because the electronics shop gives me an insurance plan?”
“The shop doesn’t give you insurance.”
“It’s...yeah, that’s true, fuck them.”
Minho giggled, leaning the side of his head against Jisung’s.
“It’s okay to accept help, you know?” Jisung squeezed his middle.
“She wants me to get counseling,” Minho said. “She’s been talking to me about it ever since she found out Yonghwa hit me for the first time. Now she’s fucking paying for it.” He groaned. “She’s crazy.”
“I was in therapy for like, the entire time I was a teenager. It can really help some people.”
“I know.” He wrapped his hands around Jisung’s wrists where they were holding Minho’s waist. “Talk therapy helped while I was in rehab too.”
“Well.” Jisung pulled back, waited for Minho to turn around and look at him. “Then why is it Trinity wants you to get counseling and not you want to get counseling?”
Minho shrugged, eyes far away as he chewed his lip. “Because I feel fine.”
“You had a flashback after we went to drop off the payment yesterday.”
“But that was just the situation! I’ve been so happy since I left him.” Minho’s pout turned into a smile, and his hands came to rest on Jisung’s waist. “Might have something to do with a certain cute little loser.”
Jisung grinned, swatting Minho’s hand away when he tried to pinch his nose. “I’m glad you’re happy, but I know you. You don’t tend to process stuff when it happens to you. If this is going to be paid for, it might not hurt to see a professional about what happened. Who knows, maybe you could feel even happier.”
“Impossible,” Minho murmured, smirking. Jisung’s stomach flipped over. “But yes, I know, you’re right. I’ll talk to Trinity about it.”
“And, uh.” Jisung remembered why he’d stopped by in the first place, and nerves rose within him, making it hard to look into Minho’s dark, sparkling eyes. “I hope this doesn’t sound like um, charity either, but uh.”
Jisung could feel Minho’s eyes narrowing, but he plowed on.
“But, um.” He looked up, heart pounding, stomach tense. “Are you free Saturday?”
Minho cocked his head, strands of light brown hair falling over angular brows. “Us hanging out is charity?”
“No! God, no.” Jisung laughed at himself. How pathetic was he, offending the guy he liked while trying to ask him on a date. “Um, no. I meant, I wanna buy you dinner. And maybe we could go hiking? There’s a really pretty forest preserve just like, a forty minute drive away. I bet Changbin or Hyunjin would lend us their car. Um.” Was he rambling? He swallowed down more meaningless words. “What, uh, what do you think?”
Minho’s smile was blinding, nose scrunched, eyes fond little crescents. “My nervous baby,” he cooed, laughing when Jisung whined and hid his face in his hands. “Sounds sorta like you’re asking me on a date.”
Jisung’s heart skipped a beat like it hadn’t been his idea. He peered up at Minho shyly. “What if I am?”
Minho rolled his eyes, still smiling. “Yes, Jisung. Of course I’ll go out with you.”
~
“Hi, Umma.” His phone slipped against his sweaty temple.
“How are you, sweet boy?”
Jisung leaned against the kitchen counter and glanced over at where Minho, Hyunjin, Chan, and Changbin were playing Mortal Kombat in the living room. “I’m good. Hanging out with some friends. How are you?”
“I’m good. Jihyun is coming over this weekend with Hyoyeon for your cousin’s wedding.”
Jisung cringed. Ah yes, his straight brother and his straight Korean girlfriend. “Tell them I say hi. Hope you guys have fun.”
“How are classes going?”
Jisung watched as Minho giggled, got to his feet with his empty glass, and started making his way to the kitchen. He wore one of Jisung’s flannels, an oversized one with the top button undone. It hung off his shoulder slightly, drawing attention to his milky collarbones. He was so cute. So hot. So everything.
“Jisung?” his mom tried again.
Minho walked up to him, kissed the tip of his shoulder. “Who’re you talking to, Jisungie?”
“Who’s that?” His mom’s tone was unreadable.
Jisung blinked out of his trance. “It’s my mom. Mom, it’s my friend Minho.” Jisung’s voice sounded strained even to his own ears. His throat was dry, palms damp.
Minho just hummed, nonchalant as he filled his glass with water. “Tell her I say hi.”
“He says hi,” Jisung said. Minho gave him a flirty little smile and shuffled back to the living room, and Jisung exhaled, his blurred vision focusing.
“I’m glad you have so many great friends there,” his mom said. “Is that the same Minho you said took care of you when you were sad this summer?”
Jisung laughed, nervous but happy as he remembered. “Same Minho, yeah. He’s the best.”
“You didn’t tell me how your classes are going!”
“It’s just the first week, but they’re fine. I think it’s going to be a hard semester.”
“Well, nothing you can’t handle. But let me know if there is anything I can do to support you. Your birthday package might arrive a little early this year.”
Right, his birthday was coming up. He wondered what he and Minho would do. “I can’t wait for the snacks.”
“What makes you think it’s snacks!”
“It’s snacks every year, umma. I love snacks. Please tell me it’s snacks.”
She laughed, and Jisung’s smile was genuine. “You will be pleased with it. Now I’ll let you go hang out with your friends. Bye, sweet boy.”
“Bye, umma. Love you.”
~
Jisung felt full of light as they drove out to the forest preserve. Minho was behind the wheel, sunglasses perched on his nose, his fingers tangled with Jisung’s on the center console. The sweet wind of late summer filtered in the open windows and caressed Jisung’s face, and he smiled to himself.
It was a partly cloudy day on the cusp of September. Jisung went into the day a nervous wreck, wanting so badly for their first official date to be perfect. But when he went to meet up with Minho and found him squatting beside the Hub dumpster dangling a stick in front of a stray cat and making cute little soothing sounds, Jisung couldn’t remember why he’d been nervous at all.
The hiking trail wound around the bottom of a cliff face, the sun winking down at them through a dense coniferous canopy. Minho was in his element. If Jisung had known how much Minho loved being out in the woods, he would’ve taken him here months ago.
“Mountain lions attack from above, you know,” Minho was saying as he grabbed his backpack straps. “They sink their teeth into your neck from behind and completely paralyze you before you can struggle.”
“That’s...really scary.”
“Look, Sungie!” Minho pointed up into the trees, eyes sparkling. “Cedar waxwing!”
Sure enough, the delicate, taupe bird flitted around between two gnarled branches off the cliffside. Jisung ooooh ed and aaaaah ed, mesmerized by the tiny creature, before pulling his gaze away to watch Minho’s face.
“You’re cute,” Jisung said, smirking when Minho glared at him. “Bird nerd.”
“Shush.” Minho pulled the binoculars up from where they hung around his neck so he could watch the cedar waxwing closer. “My grandma and I used to camp all the time when I was little. We’ve always liked birdwatching.”
“Mmm.” Jisung smiled at the thought of young Minho exploring the forest with his hippie grandma. He got Minho talking about his favorite camping spots, but Minho cut off his own babbling every once in a while to stare at the trees and inspect the sighted bird through his binoculars. He was good at identifying them, a fountain of knowledge about the different types.
They walked until their feet were sore, boots sinking into soft dirt. They passed a few groups of people as they hiked, and Minho loosened his hold on their linked hands each time, but Jisung squeezed them back together.
They made their way to a rocky outcropping with a sprawling view of the cliffs and the treetops. They sat side-by-side at the edge of the trail, chins leaned on the guard rail, fingers still intertwined as they took in the view.
“Hmm,” Jisung murmured, watching a hawk’s feathers flicker red and brown in the sunlight. “So beautiful.”
“Hmm,” Minho echoed, shifting closer to him. Jisung closed his eyes and went lax when he felt arms around him, pulling him back against a strong chest. “Not as beautiful as you.”
“That’s a lie,” Jisung grumbled, but he smiled anyway.
“No it’s not.” Minho tightened his hold protectively, and Jisung’s heart fluttered. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
The words wrenched a high squeak from Jisung’s throat. He writhed in Minho’s hold from pure embarrassment. “I’m not.”
“It’s my opinion,” Minho chuckled, a challenge in his voice. His nose brushed the column of Jisung’s neck. “You don’t get to tell me how to feel, sweetheart.”
“Mm.” Jisung hummed when Minho kissed beneath his jaw. His back arched instinctively, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of warm breaths against his ear. “Baby,” he whispered, breath hitching when Minho’s fingers stroked his tummy through his t-shirt. “We’re literally outside.”
“No one’s around.” But Minho made no move to take things further. He was motionless as he held Jisung, hands resting on his waist.
“Places like this always make me wish I could fly,” Jisung said as they looked across the cliffside, mottled with dirt and rocks and foliage. “Dance through the air and just be so high above everything else.”
“Me too. Wish I had big sexy bird wings.”
“You’d look sexy with bird wings.”
“I think I’d want black ones, like a raven’s.”
“You’re not as edgy as you think you are,” Jisung teased, bumping his back against Minho’s chest. “You’d probably have big fluffy snowy owl wings.”
“Ha. Probably.” Minho’s fingers traced down Jisung’s forearm. “Yours would be golden brown. Like honey.”
“Don’t make a sweet joke,” Jisung said, already giggling when Minho kissed his neck, softly pulling the skin into his mouth to taste him. “ Ah, Min.”
“As sweet as you are,” Minho said, “I was thinking more about your skin color. So tan and smooth and pretty.”
Jisung whined softly at the praise. Minho was going to kill him. “You’re really buttering me up today.”
“I like my desserts microwaved with a dollop of butter.”
“You’re so gross. I’m not yours to...cook up and devour.”
“You are,” Minho giggled, a lilt of manic deviance in his voice, but it went deeper when he murmured, “you’re mine.”
Goosebumps prickled on Jisung’s arms. He craned his neck to the side, sighed when Minho kissed the exposed skin. “Yeah,” he responded hazily. “I’m yours.”
Minho breathed out, and Jisung felt the tremor in his exhale right against his pulse point. He turned to nose at Minho’s cheek, whispering, “and you’re mine, aren’t you?”
“No,” Minho said. Somehow, Jisung knew he’d say that. “I’m Soonie and Doongie’s.”
~
They arrived at the restaurant at seven o’clock. As they scrambled from Changbin’s car, Jisung noticed Minho dawdling, staring across the parking lot. Jisung followed his gaze to a woman who was striding away, tall and with clicking heels, her red hair falling in neat curls to her shoulders.
“Min?” Jisung prompted. “Checking out that lady?”
Minho chuckled, tension clearing from his eyes. “Sorry. I thought I recognized her.”
Some of his usual anxiety revisited once they were seated at the restaurant. It was crowded, full of well-dressed families and heterosexual couples, and Jisung kept glancing around nervously. He couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was watching them.
“Jisung,” Minho said, lips stuck out in a cute little pout as he studied the menu. “Should I get the seafood pasta or the Italian sausage lasagna?”
Jisung took a minute just to stare at him. His eyebrows were pinched together, nose crinkled as he squinted down at the menu. He looked up after a few seconds, shaking the hair from his eyes. A knowing smile crept onto his lips. “Something on my face, darling?”
“Oh. What? Sorry.”
They ended up getting both dishes so they could share. Jisung’s anxiety nagged him from an ugly corner of his mind, reminding him of the audience they had every time Minho fed him a forkful of food, but he did his best to keep it contained. None of them mattered. He and Minho were the only two people on this date.
After dinner, Minho drove them to the Hub so they could take care of the cats. Jisung watched fondly as Minho bumped noses with Soonie, speaking with him in a high voice and holding his little paw.
“Bye, baby,” Minho mewled to Soonie, cupping his chin and kissing between his ears. “I’ll be back in the morning, okay?”
“You’re staying the night?”
Minho peered upward, pouting sheepishly. “Oh, is that okay? I should’ve asked.”
“It’s okay.” Jisung’s brain plummeted into the gutter. Minho was staying the night. Did that mean they were about to have sex? He wondered if he was ready to have sex. He wondered if Chan and Changbin were home, whether he could persuade Changbin to go sleep at Hyunjin’s.
“You sure?”
Jisung squashed his thoughts and moved from where he was petting Doongie to wrap his arms around Minho from behind. “Course. I sleep better knowing you’re there to fight off my enemies.”
“Ah.” Minho laughed, high and airy. Jisung thought he might’ve sounded a little nervous. Was his mind going to the same place Jisung’s was?
The drive back to 3RACHA’s apartment was quiet save for the radio. Minho looked sleepy in the passenger seat, and Jisung tried not to feel disappointed. Was he going to be too tired to fool around? He experimentally set his hand on Minho’s knee and thumbed under the hem of his shorts.
Minho drew in a breath, stiffened, and shifted his leg closer to Jisung.
Jisung started to feel slightly terrified after that.
He’d done his research in the last few weeks. He knew the basics. Lube, lube, lube. So much lube. Prepping. Taking it slow. The prostate, which Jisung could only hope wasn’t impossible to find in someone else. He’d had no luck finding his own when he’d tried.
But Minho was experienced. He’d been with guys so much more confident than Jisung was. Not only was Jisung a virgin, but he was only 20, crawling towards 21. He was short and scrawny, too. Probably so far from Minho’s ideal lay. Was he about to embarrass himself? If he topped, he’d probably bust a nut in five seconds. If he bottomed, he’d probably start screaming in pain and ask to stop. God, he was hopeless.
“The light’s green, Sung.”
“Shit, right.”
When they made it back to the apartment, they arrived at a locked door, which meant no one else was home. Jisung let them in and glanced around the apartment warily.
“Changbin is at Hyunjin’s tonight,” Minho commented. “Lix told me.”
“Chan must be at the studio.”
“Mm.”
Minho yawned, stretching his arms. Jisung’s eyes zeroed in on his tummy as his shirt rode up. “Do you mind if I shower? Feel kinda gross from hiking all day.”
“Go ahead. I’ll find us something to watch.”
“Okay.” Minho cupped Jisung’s cheeks and gave him a chaste kiss before shuffling off.
As soon as the water was running, Jisung scampered to his room and made sure there wasn’t anything on the bed. He checked his bedside drawer for condoms and lube and found them where he’d left them that morning. He sniffed his armpits, decided another round of deodorant wouldn’t hurt, and ended up changing out of his hiking clothes into sweatpants and a tank top he knew made his arms look good.
He waited in bed, flicking through Netflix on his laptop, anxious for Minho to return. His nerves were always worse when he was alone, and now was no exception. He and Minho had fooled around several times in the last week. He’d had no issues getting Minho off every single time. Rather quickly, if he did say so himself. But actual sex? That was a completely different ballgame.
But for the first time, Jisung wanted to push past the fear. He wanted this to happen with Minho.
A few minutes later, Minho bounded onto the bed, smelling clean and fresh and dressed in one of Jisung’s big t-shirts. Jisung laughed and pulled Minho close, nuzzling into his wet hair and breathing in the scent of his own shampoo. “Hi,” he said, trailing a hand down Minho’s spine to rest on the small of his back. “Squeaky clean?”
“Mhm.” Minho nestled closer, buried his face in Jisung’s neck. “Thank you for dinner.”
“You already thanked me, angel.”
“I wanted to again. Thanks for today. It was fun.”
“Well, thank you for coming with me.” Jisung scratched Minho’s back, digging his nails in lightly. He’d learned Minho loved gentle, exploratory touches like these. Just like a cat being petted. Minho whimpered, so softly Jisung could barely hear it, and melted against Jisung’s side as he continued to stroke up and down his spine. “You smell good,” Jisung said. He carded his fingers through Minho’s wet hair and inhaled. “Smell like me.”
Minho’s hands found their way under Jisung’s shirt and rested on his sides. “After Soonie and Doongie,” he mumbled, “I’m yours.”
He liked the sound of that.
“Minho,” he said, after a short silence. “I, uh…”
Minho lifted his head to look at him, and Jisung could hardly breathe. He looked a little sleepy, eyes lidded, but his cheeks were rosy from his shower and his wet hair fell in delicate half-circles over his brow and Jisung couldn’t believe how fucking beautiful he was.
That didn’t mean the idea of having sex with him wasn’t scary, though.
“I think,” he started, averting his eyes because it was easier that way. “If you want to, I think I want to…I think I want to.”
Minho put a hand on Jisung’s cheek to force their eyes to meet. He was frowning. “Don’t make me read your mind, darling.”
Jisung sighed. “I think I’m ready,” he said. “To, you know. Do the deed.”
Minho burst out laughing, high and nasally.
Jisung groaned. “ What!”
“Did you really just ask me to do the deed?” Minho’s cackles subsided to giggles. He leaned back against the pillows, eyes twinkling. “You mean you want to fuck?”
“That’s so much less poetic.”
“Whatever you say.” Minho’s smile was a little evil, but thankfully not uncomfortable. He took Jisung’s hand and kissed it. “Are you sure, though? I don’t mind waiting as long as you want to wait.”
“I want to,” he said firmly. “I want my first time to be with you.”
“Took my advice from 4th of July, huh?”
Jisung cringed at the reminder. He’d really asked Minho how to know he was ready to have sex and now here they were, months later, and Jisung was ready to give Minho everything he had.
“Yeah,” he said. “If you’re...okay with that.”
“Pshh.” Minho slung a leg over Jisung’s, settling into his lap and smiling down at him. “I would’ve let you fuck me right there on that couch when we had that conversation.”
“Oh,” Jisung breathed. Warmth danced up and down his body, made more prominent by his nerves. “Is...is that what you want?”
Minho cocked his head. His hands rested on Jisung’s chest.
“For me to be on top,” Jisung clarified.
Minho’s eyebrows shot up. “You want to bottom?”
“Uh, no. I don’t think so. Not yet at least. It seems painful.”
Minho smirked. “It also feels really good when you get past that part.”
Jisung swallowed. God, he wanted to make Minho feel good.
“But that’s fine,” Minho went on, hands sliding up Jisung’s chest. Heat bloomed from the path of his touch. “I’ve waited a long time for you to admit you want to fuck me.”
Jisung breathed out as Minho kissed him, keening when he felt teeth graze his lower lip. Minho rested his forehead against Jisung’s and murmured right against his mouth, “You want to fuck me, Jisungie?”
“Yes,” Jisung whispered. Fuck, he did. He’d wanted to for so long. His hands found Minho’s waist, warm through the thin fabric of Jisung's t-shirt. He slid his palms down to grab his ass. “Please.”
Minho’s kisses were slow and soft. His fingers ran delicate patterns over Jisung’s clothed torso, and he moved his hips with precision and control, shifting his ass against Jisung’s crotch.
Jisung did his best to live in the moment. He concentrated on the wet caress of Minho’s mouth against his, the feeling of Minho’s thick, muscled thighs in his grip. But alarms went off in his brain nonetheless. You’re gonna be terrible at this. You have no idea what you’re doing. It’s so obvious that you’re clueless. Virgin, virgin, virgin, virgin, virg—
Minho leaned back in Jisung’s lap and pulled his own shirt off, leaving his hair disheveled. Jisung drank in the sight of all his flawless skin, the tiny scar on his tummy, the perfect pink shade of his nipples. Jisung thumbed over one, rolled it between his fingers as Minho let out the softest moan.
It was going to be okay. This was Minho. Jisung trusted Minho more than anyone.
Jisung wrapped his arms around Minho’s waist, seeking as much closeness as he could find. He pressed a kiss to his chest, brushed his nose beneath his collarbone. He smelled so fucking good. “I’m about to make such a fool of myself,” he sighed. He wondered if his palms felt clammy against Minho’s back.
Minho laughed. His cheeks were flushed, nose scrunching endearingly. Jisung’s head scrambled into incoherence at the sight. “I’ll help you,” Minho said, running his palms reverently down Jisung’s bare arms.
“Sorry.” Jisung touched the tip of his nose to Minho’s, but kept his eyes shut out of fear Minho would see right into his brain. “I know my inexperience isn’t sexy.”
“It actually kind of is,” Minho said. Jisung opened his eyes with a frown in time to see his favorite smirk. “I like defiling your innocence.”
Jisung hung his jaw. “You’re evil.”
“Don’t act like that’s surprising.” Minho kissed the bridge of Jisung’s nose and shifted off him, laying against the sheets with his hair splayed out. Jisung was so enraptured by his elegant side profile—sweeping lashes and statuesque nose and all—that he didn’t even notice that Minho tugged his own bottoms off.
Minho rolled onto his side to face Jisung, one leg curled beneath the other with his hip popped, half-hard and pouting slightly. Jisung’s hand came up to feel the slope of Minho’s waist.
“Fuck,” Jisung said breathlessly. He took Minho’s cock in a loose grip, teased his thumb over the tip. He watched as those dark, sleepy eyes fluttered shut. “Such a pretty boy.”
Minho hummed, lips making way for a shy, toothy smile. “Jisungie,” he said, and for some reason the sound of his name made heat stir in Jisung’s gut. Minho’s hands fumbled with Jisung’s tank top. “Get naked.”
“Can I get a please?” Jisung smirked to cover up his nerves as he moved to kneel over Minho, straddling him.
Minho rolled obediently onto his back. His hands stroked up Jisung’s thighs, palmed over his hardening cock. “Please?” Minho said softly, biting his bottom lip. “I wanna see you.”
Jisung wasn’t about to say no to that. He ignored his encroaching nerves and shrugged out of his tank top.
When he looked down, Minho was gazing at him, lips parted and wrists limp on either side of his head. He couldn’t describe what he saw in Minho’s eyes. Complete and utter surrender, maybe. Trust. Desire.
“God,” Minho said. Jisung shuddered at the feeling of warm, soft hands scoping his bare abdomen. “I want you so bad.”
Jisung laughed, shy. “Ah, that was your first mistake.”
Minho rolled his eyes dramatically, his fond smile shining through as always. “Not my fault you’re irresistible.”
“You should see yourself,” Jisung mumbled, planting his hands in the bedding so he could bend to kiss Minho’s chest. “All naked and blushing and hard for me.”
“Ahh,” Minho sighed. His fingers tangled in Jisung’s hair. “Just for you.”
Jisung kissed Minho’s nipple, dragged his bottom lip over it, and huffed out a flustered laugh. “Only for me.”
He kept himself distracted by doing what he knew how to do, leaving wet kisses all over Minho’s sensitive tummy and thighs, jacking him off slowly all the while. He loved this part. He loved teasing Minho, mapping out his shivering body with careful touches. It thrilled him to learn Minho’s ins and outs. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to know Minho’s body better than Minho knew it himself.
“Jisung.” Minho’s voice came out shrill. “D’you have lube?”
Jisung froze. Right. Sex. Lube. Virgin. “Yeah.” He grabbed it from the bedside drawer. He could feel Minho’s eyes on him all the while, and he’d never felt more clueless in his life as he returned his hands to Minho’s hips, a bottle of lemon-flavored lube in his clutches.
Minho sat up, and his smile was fond as he pulled Jisung into a gentle kiss. “Nervous?”
“Aha,” Jisung chuckled. Minho shifted onto his knees and tugged Jisung’s pants down, bending to leave kisses as he went. “Pretty fucking nervous, yeah.”
Minho straightened, lips brushing Jisung’s. Jisung watched his long lashes flutter against his cheeks. “Baby,” Minho murmured, fingers wrapping around Jisung’s cock and making his toes curl. He giggled and pried the bottle of lube from Jisung’s tense hold. “You know we don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” Jisung said. “I’m not nervous because I want to back out. I’m scared of being…I dunno.” He cringed. “Lame in the sack.”
“Want me to take the lead?”
Jisung frowned, hissing a little as Minho fisted his cock, the friction long-needed. “I think it’d be less scary to top for my first time.”
“No,” Minho said. His smile this close up was even more breathtaking. “I mean, I could ride you.”
“ Ohhhh, god.” Jisung hadn’t meant for the reaction to come out so guttural. He buried his face in Minho’s shoulder, who laughed sadistically. “I’m gonna die tonight, aren’t I?”
“Mmm,” Minho giggled, scratching his nails through Jisung’s hair and making him whimper. “I’ll go slow.”
“What if I come in thirty seconds?” Jisung hugged Minho’s waist limply.
“Ha.” Minho’s hand wandered down, fingertips brushing over the swell of Jisung’s ass. “I did my first time.”
Jisung pulled back to gawk at him. “Did you really?”
“If you do…” Minho played with the head of Jisung’s cock till he squirmed, then proceeded to grin. “Then I’ll just have to work you up and fuck you again.”
“I’m so glad you like me.”
Minho offered an innocent smile, plopped the bottle of lube in Jisung’s palm, and said, “Let me show you how to open me up.”
Soon Jisung sat, naked, between Minho’s parted legs. He warmed the lube on his fingers as instructed and rubbed his cheek against Minho’s thigh, more to comfort himself than Minho.
“You’re so cute,” Minho said softly.
Jisung pouted. He bit the bullet and reached down to trace Minho’s hole with his index finger, marveling at how it fluttered at his touch. He took a moment just to feel him, to coat the puckered rim with lube before easing a finger inside.
Minho’s sigh bordered on a whimper. Jisung watched his fingers curl in the sheets.
Jisung knew Minho was no virgin. But he was tight. He squeezed around just one finger immediately, sucking him in, and Jisung got to work nuzzling Minho’s thighs, nipping the soft skin there before he dared move further inside him.
“Damn,” he mused, using his free hand to tug at Minho’s cock. “You’re tight.”
Minho keened. He grabbed Jisung’s wrist and eased his hand forward, pulling him further inside. “More, Sungie.”
“Am I hurting you?”
“No,” Minho said, and Jisung’s eyes widened as his finger disappeared down to the knuckle. It was so warm and soft inside him. “It feels good, darling.”
The high, needy sound of Minho’s voice made Jisung groan quietly. He moved slowly, experimenting. He sat on his knees to watch his finger fuck in and out of Minho’s hole, the wet sounds of lube against skin filling the silence between them. “Fuck,” he whispered without realizing it. “Can I add another?”
Minho nodded, biting his lip and stroking his own cock. Jisung wasn’t sure which part of him to stare at.
When he eased two inside, Minho arched against the bedding, sculpted neck on display as he let out a soft moan. Jisung stared. He couldn’t believe he was about to lose his virginity to the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.
“Okay?” he asked, fingers awkwardly still.
Minho smiled, took a hold of Jisung’s wrist and slowly fucked himself with Jisung’s hand. “Curl your fingers up a little, sweetheart. Scissor them apart if you can.”
Jisung did, and the reaction he got was immediate. Minho’s cock twitched against his belly, and a high whimper caught in his throat as he rolled his hips, chasing the feeling. Jisung ran his free hand up Minho’s thigh to his hip and grabbed a handful of his ass, and then he began to move with more confidence, thrusting inside in a slow rhythm.
Being inside Minho, being able to feel his wet hole tighten and twitch around Jisung’s fingers, was somehow euphoric on his own. He was definitely going to bust after thirty seconds of fucking.
When he added a third finger, Minho threw his head back and cried out, high and soft, and Jisung moaned purely as a reflex. He kept his eyes trained on Minho’s face despite the urge to stare at his engulfed fingers. “Baby,” he murmured, sucking the skin of Minho’s thigh into his mouth. “You okay? Fuck, you’re so hot.”
“Ahh,” Minho huffed, gripping at the headboard as he rolled his hips down. His hair clung to his damp brow, bunny teeth gnawing at his plump bottom lip. Jisung had never wanted to fuck someone so bad. “Go slow for a second.”
“Sorry,” Jisung said quickly. He reached up to caress Minho’s side. “Want me to pull out?”
“Fuck, no.” Minho laughed breathlessly, and so did Jisung. He couldn’t believe this was happening. This was happening.
His hand moved down Minho’s arched spine to his ass cheek, which he squeezed, kneading the muscle there. Minho groaned in response, and then Jisung fucked his fingers in at an upward angle, hesitant.
His fingertips brushed something swollen, and Minho jolted like he’d been electrocuted, back bowing and mouth falling open. A glimmer of drool shone at the corner of his mouth. “Ahh, fuck,” Minho groaned, eyes squeezed shut. Jisung could’ve cackled. There it is.
“Good?” he asked shakily, too intrigued to feel embarrassed by how wrecked he sounded. He inched his fingers forward again, massaging the bundle of nerves gently, grinning as Minho spasmed.
“Oh,” Minho gasped, one of his feet resting between Jisung’s shoulder blades, hands tangled in the sheets. His cheeks and ears were so rosy, eyebrows upturned and lips red. Jisung wanted to plow him into the headboard. “Okay, wow.”
“Let me just…” Jisung did it again. He fingered Minho quicker, knuckles catching on his rim, fingertips prodding the most sensitive part inside him. Minho clenched around him with a whine, and Jisung clutched his ass hard, mindlessly sucking marks on his thigh as he watched his face. “Shit,” he breathed out, licking Minho’s inner thigh, biting softly. “You’re perfect.”
“I’m ready,” Minho gasped, chest shaking with his breaths. “Please, baby…”
“This is so fun though,” Jisung said, grinning as he fucked his fingers inside again, again, again.
“Ah, fuck,” Minho groaned, fingers dipping down to weave in Jisung’s hair. “Fuck, fuck, Jisung…”
Jisung exhaled sharply as he continued to finger him, delighted by the tiny squeaks and groans he could elicit with just his fingers. Minho suddenly grabbed the base of his own cock and cried out loudly, his toes curling against Jisung’s back. “Baby, I’m gonna come if you keep at it, slow down!”
“Sorry,” Jisung said, though he wasn’t. He pulled his fingers out, grabbed Minho’s red, leaking cock, and licked a slow stripe up it, smirking as Minho writhed against the sheets.
Minho snuck his hand between Jisung’s tongue and his cockhead with a pout. “Do you not want to fuck?”
Jisung blinked. “Oh, trust me, I do.”
“Come lay down.”
His nervousness revisited for a split second. He was really about to do this. With Minho. His eyes followed as Minho grabbed a condom from the drawer, glanced down at Jisung with a timid smile as he tore into the packaging, and started rolling it over his dick.
“Still nervous?” Minho prompted. His voice was scratchy, tired and fucked out already.
Jisung nodded, but he wasn’t totally sure he meant it. “Just a little. Mostly just wanna fuck you so bad.”
He expected Minho to laugh, but instead he whimpered, gaze averted and cheeks flushed.
Jisung realized he might be in love with him.
Before he could linger on that thought, Minho was straddling him, thighs bared for Jisung to ogle, grip firm as he guided Jisung inside him.
Oh god, here we go.
When his cock breached Minho’s rim, Jisung dug his nails so hard into Minho’s leg it must’ve hurt. Immediately it was all Minho, hot and tight and pulsing around him, and Jisung let out a groan so loud and embarrassing he had to slap a hand over his own mouth.
“Oh, fuck,” he said, blinking the indescribable pleasure and fuzziness from his eyes. He could feel it in his groin, his balls, his lower belly, the goosebumps all over his arms and legs. He was inside Minho.
“Breathe,” Minho giggled, and Jisung met his eyes in a state of near-panic. Fuck, he was beautiful. Those lips, the way his hair fell into his eyes, the broad span of his shoulders. “Relax, love, I got you.”
Love. Jisung stared up at him, trying to steady his own breathing. He was so tight. Jisung was inside Minho, and god, he was so tight. “Please go easy on me,” he managed, grinning shyly. “I’m on the brink.”
“I’ll give you a second.”
Jisung breathed. He held onto Minho’s thighs, thumbs brushing the hickeys and nail marks there. Minho continued to sink down, chin up, staring down his nose with parted lips, eyes lidded. Jisung’s mind was spinning. Minho was perfect. Jisung loved him.
When he bottomed out, they just sat for a moment, Minho’s hands resting on Jisung’s chest, both of them catching their breath as they adjusted to the fit. Jisung forced himself down from the edge by keeping his eyes shut. The image of Minho astride him with Jisung’s cock stretching him open was way too sinful for Jisung to handle with composure. Minho felt unbelievable, so damn tight and slick and warm. He wished he had the words to tell him.
“You feel good,” he managed, opening his eyes hesitantly. “Jesus Christ.”
Minho grinned. He rolled his hips, grinding in a slow circle, pulling a moan from the back of Jisung’s throat. Minho sighed, all the muscles of his abdomen and legs flexing beneath milky skin as he moved over Jisung. His eyes stayed trained on Jisung’s, unblinking.
Jisung didn’t want to blink either. Minho looked like a romantic painting. Thighs spread, pink, glistening hole taking Jisung’s cock, lips parted…there was no way he was real.
Minho picked up the pace gradually. His agonizing circles became swiveling hips, ass grinding against Jisung’s thighs as he fucked himself. He ran his fingers through his hair and laid a hand on Jisung’s chest, tweaking his nipples, and pleasure shot through Jisung like lightning.
“Ah, hah,” Jisung managed, snatching Minho’s wrist. “Oh god, I’m really gonna come if you do anything.”
Minho laughed breathlessly. “Fine, no hands on nips.”
They took it slow for a long time. Minho moved like he was dancing, hands planted behind himself on Jisung’s legs, back arched and hips rotating gracefully in Jisung’s lap. He let out throaty, velvety sounds as he rode him, accompanied by the slick noises of lube on skin.
Jisung ran his hands over every inch of him he could reach. His ankles, knees, hips. His neatly groomed pubic hair and his flushed cock. He took Minho in his hand and stroked him while they grinded together, and Minho threw his head back with a gasp. Jisung watched the pleasure tense in Minho’s neck, roll down through his chest as goosebumps prickled over his skin.
“Fuck, Minho,” Jisung said shakily. He reached around to knead Minho’s ass, digging his fingers into the chub around his thighs. He wanted to feel all of him, to be as close to him as possible. “You’re beautiful, baby.”
Minho keened. His movements became more desperate, thigh muscles bunching as he rocked up and down, taking Jisung’s cock deeper inside him at a new angle that made them both groan. Minho’s nails sank into Jisung’s chest, and the sting of pain made Jisung’s skin feel white hot.
He didn’t deserve this. He’d cheated the system somehow. Karma was rewarding the wrong person.
Minho kept his eyes trained on Jisung calmly, staring through heavy lids despite his red cheeks and shaking, glistening body. When he started to pick up the pace Jisung choked out a high moan, completely overwhelmed by Minho’s warmth enveloping him, tightening around him deliciously.
Minho laughed as Jisung writhed, sadistic as always, and lowered himself to give Jisung a messy kiss. “Feels good, Jisungie?” Minho panted, tongue flicking out against Jisung’s in the minimal space between them. “You like watching me bounce on your cock?”
Jisung whimpered, sweat trickling down his brow. Minho was so close to him, mouth slack and lips shining, leaking cock pressed to Jisung’s belly. God, they could’ve been doing this for months.
“Ah,” Minho grunted, biting his own lip as he lifted himself back up. He bounced quicker, abs and chest flexing. “You’re gorgeous, Sungie. Can’t believe you’re mine.”
Jisung saw stars at the words. He couldn’t contain a low groan, grabbing a tight hold of Minho’s ass to ground himself. “I’m yours,” he said breathlessly. The admission sent a thrill, vulnerable and addictive, from their joined bodies and over his damp skin.
Minho whined in response, murmuring under his breath, “Fuck, you are.” He moved urgently, biceps flexing as he dropped himself up and down, back arched and neck thrown back. His thigh muscles tensed, shadowed in the lamplight as he fucked himself on Jisung’s cock like it was his favorite pastime. Jisung’s eyes flitted desperately back and forth between Minho’s hole and his face. He was totally enraptured by Minho’s pouty mouth, the way he couldn’t seem to contain his high whimpers even as he bit his bottom lip.
When he’d grown used to their rhythm, he grabbed Minho’s hips and thrust upward, drawing a broken moan from Minho’s throat. Jisung couldn’t help but laugh softly. He kept his eyes on Minho’s face and rolled his hips up again, meeting his downward motions with upward ones of his own. Jisung could feel the way Minho clenched around him, his body reacting from the inside out, trying to pull Jisung in even deeper. Minho’s jaw dropped open, and he started to fist his own cock, tiny, gorgeous whimpers falling from his mouth.
“Fuck,” Jisung groaned, eyes rolling back at the feeling. Minho’s hole fluttered in reaction to his voice, relaxing around his cock like he was made for him. “ Fuck, baby.”
“Jisung,” Minho whined, riding him with more vigor. His cock bounced with his movements, thighs jiggling, sweat dripping down his chest. “Jisung, Jisung…”
“Oh my god,” was all he could manage. He ran his palm over Minho’s quivering thigh, laid a ringing slap there. Minho’s resulting moan made all his muscles clench. “You feel good, baby? Hyung likes being filled?”
“F-fuck,” Minho choked out, clapping a hand over his own mouth. He stared at Jisung as he continued to ride him, knees shaking. Tears slid from his glistening eyes. “Please, again…”
Jisung smacked him again, kneaded the meat of his thigh as it reddened, soaking in his choked moans. Then he grabbed Minho’s ass and fucked up into him, deep and slow, nails digging into Minho’s skin as he trembled like it hurt.
He figured he should check.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, breathless, stroking a hand over Minho’s silky skin and wrapping it around his cock.
“No!” Minho sighed, slowing his movements, catching Jisung’s hand to still it. He broke into a bashful chuckle and ran his fingers back through his sweaty hair. “Fuck, I’m close.”
“Me too,” Jisung said. “I have been this whole time, who am I kidding.”
Minho lowered himself onto his elbows to meet Jisung in a soft kiss. “You feel so good,” he said, sounding almost shy. His bangs tangled with Jisung’s. “I want you to be my boyfriend.”
Jisung’s eyes widened. He giggled, so caught off guard that he almost forgot he was balls deep in Minho. “Wasn’t that implied by...wasn't today our first date?”
“I guess I want it to be official.” Minho smiled, lids squeezed sheepishly shut. “This is the worst timing ever, I’m sorry.”
“Best timing ever,” Jisung disagreed. Something light and dreamy fizzled through his veins. He ran a hand down Minho’s spine and slapped his ass, kneaded his curves as Minho whimpered. “I’ll be your boyfriend, hyung.”
“Good,” Minho said. He drew Jisung’s bottom lip between his teeth, impishness flickering in his eyes. “Now make your boyfriend come.”
Jisung took that as a challenge. He wrapped his arms around Minho before he could sit back up and grasped his opposite hips, holding him still as he started to fuck him just like that.
Minho rested his forehead against Jisung’s, lips parted in a silent cry as Jisung fucked him. “Oh fuck,” he whispered. His cock bounced between them, hard and leaking. “Oh, fuck, baby.”
Jisung gritted his teeth and focused. He made himself keep moving despite his straining abs and impending orgasm. He gripped Minho’s ass and pounded into him, pulling his hips up to situate him better, and he knew he’d grazed Minho’s prostate when he elicited a moan so high and strangled that he was momentarily concerned he’d wounded him.
“Don’t stop,” Minho begged, face buried in Jisung’s neck. Jisung could feel him drooling against his throat. “Please, please, Jisungie, don’t—”
The last thing Jisung wanted to do was stop. So he sank his teeth into Minho’s shoulder and kept fucking him, kept at it through his own orgasm, seeing white as the pleasure closed in on him. His release burst within him like a pot boiling over, coursing hot and heavy through his body, emptying his head of all thoughts except fuck, fuck, fuck. He cried out as he grinded deep inside Minho, and then Minho clenched around him, body pulsing as he reached his peak, soft groans and warm cum spilling against Jisung’s skin.
They stayed still for a few moments, Jisung’s cock softening inside Minho while he petted Minho’s back gently, stroking up and down his sweaty skin. Eventually Minho straightened, brows pinched and cheeks flushed as he eased Jisung’s cock from himself.
“Wow,” Jisung murmured.
Minho pulled the condom off Jisung’s cock and started to tie it, but Jisung didn’t miss his little grin. “Doing okay?”
“I feel like a puddle.” He watched Minho, heart in his throat. He couldn’t believe he’d done it. He wasn’t a virgin anymore. All those years of shame and dread and confusion, and just like that, he’d done it. And it had been perfect.
“Mm. A sexy puddle.”
“I—” Jisung caught himself. He’d been a second away from saying I love you.
Minho got up to toss the condom and returned with a handful of tissues. He started to wipe down both their torsos of cum and sweat. “You what, darling?”
Jisung pulled himself together and smiled sleepily. “Just happy. Thanks for…”
Minho arched an eyebrow, eyes sparkling. “You’re not about to thank me for having sex with you, are you?”
Jisung chuckled, hiding his flushed cheeks with both hands. “Ah, no. Well, sorta. For being so gentle with me. Thanks.”
Minho hid his smile by leaning down to give Jisung a kiss, cupping his cheeks all the while. “I’ll always be gentle with you,” he whispered, kissing him again, chaste and barely there. “Come shower with me?” Minho’s tired expression morphed into a smirk. “Maybe we could go again after?”
Joy shot up Jisung’s spine like a drug. He pulled Minho back down for a deeper kiss, tasting his swollen, bitten lips. “What’s the point in showering if we’re just gonna get dirty right after?”
“So I can suck your dick while you’re all wet and hot and soapy?”
“Oh…”
“Yeah?”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
Minho giggled and disappeared into the hallway, still completely naked, and Jisung just watched him go with an exhausted smile and a racing heart.
~
Notes:
YAYYYY FOR OUR BABIES ONLY TOOK THEM 130K FUCKIN WORDS
let me know what you thought!! thank you guys for reading ❤️
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 19
Summary:
Sunny took a sip of coffee with her lips taut. “I hated you, you know.”
Minho nodded. He hadn’t known, but he’d assumed.
Notes:
challenges in this chapter:
-minho looking at jisung's nudes while simultaneously being worried for the safety of their lives
-sunny being a relatable queen while also being rightfully angry abt what happened to her
-not dying while writing the magical phenomenon of jisung eating assthanks for waiting! enjoy!! ❤️
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
xix. minho
When Minho found out Trinity was hooking up with the co-leader of Yonghwa’s gang, they were smoking weed on the balcony of her condo.
He promptly fumbled with his lit joint, dropped it into one of Trinity’s dead plants, set it on fire, and had to run inside to get a glass of water while Trinity cackled like this was the most delightful thing that could’ve happened.
“Trin,” Minho said, standing with an empty glass in hand as the fire fizzled out. “She’s involved with Yonghwa.”
“It’s just sex, Minho. It’s not like I’m gonna pursue anything with her.”
“That’s what you say now,” he grumbled. “Please don’t tell her anything about me.”
“She thinks we barely know each other.” Trinity shrugged, already rolling another joint. She looked rather chipper in her fluffy black bathrobe and crocs. Minho hoped it wasn’t her hookups with an undercover gang leader that were making her happy. “She knows I’m your boss but that’s it.”
“She has a way of squirreling information out of people.” His voice rasped, dry from the weed and from the horrifying bomb Trinity just dropped on him. All the same, Mia was seductive and strategic. He wished this was more surprising. “Don’t tell her I’m dating Jisung.”
“She already knows that.”
Minho’s stomach plummeted like a bird shot from the sky. “ What?”
“She mentioned it to me.” She lifted her hands innocently. “I don’t know how she found out but it wasn’t because of me!”
Minho remembered the weekend before. His first date with Jisung, he could’ve sworn he’d seen Mia outside the restaurant. Was she following him? Had she stumbled across them by chance? He doubted it. Even so, it was bewildering why she was tracking Minho herself instead of paying someone else to do it for her.
He wondered if Yonghwa had Mia’s hands tied somehow. He felt nauseous, unable to take a full breath at the thought of Mia knowing Jisung’s name, what he looked like. How important he was to Minho.
What was he supposed to do, though? Tell Trinity her latest lay was a gang leader? There was a reason Trin didn’t know any details about Yonghwa’s occupation. She was Minho’s boss, and if she found out about his ties to a gang on top of his betrayal to Sunny and his inability to work due to injury, he wouldn’t blame her for letting him go.
But was it worth it to tell her anyway, to keep her safe? Maybe to keep Jisung safe too?
“Minho? You’re looking a little pale there, kid.”
He pulled himself from the clouds before her suspicions could rise further. “What did she say about Jisung, exactly?”
“Just that she’s glad you’ve moved on. That she’s heard of him because of 3RACHA. She said Yonghwa was a real piece of shit and that you deserved better.”
Minho rolled his eyes. That fake bitch. “Did you play dumb?”
“I said I didn’t know anything about who you were dating. We don’t need Yonghwa going psycho on your new boyfriend.”
Minho exhaled, clinging to a fleeting sense of relief. Hopefully that would save them. “If she asks again, tell her we broke up.” He was certain Mia would be looking for Jisung’s address now. Surely she would assume Minho was staying with him. How was he supposed to protect Jisung from getting involved with all this?
He knew the answer. He had to give Mia whatever she wanted.
Would she threaten to hurt Jisung? Would she go to his college campus, lure him somewhere, and snatch him up when he least expected it? Was that within her power? Minho had known Mia for a long time, and her power had been in flux for the duration. Sometimes she seemed to be able to tweak the infrastructure of society like it was her harp. Sometimes it seemed like she had to beg on the street to keep her head above water.
He had no idea which Mia he was dealing with now.
Feeling an unshakable worry, he told Trinity he’d be right back and ducked inside to give Jisung a call. It was just after dinnertime, and his boyfriend was coming home from his evening classes, probably showering or eating.
Jisung answered on the second ring with an overly theatrical, “Hey there, sunshine.”
Minho’s tense posture slackened at the sound of his voice. He knew Jisung was probably safe, since he was a law-abiding innocent 20-year-old with no ties to Mia’s gang. But he had no idea what Mia was willing to do to manipulate Minho, so it was a relief to hear that Jisung was obliviously cheerful. “Hi. What are you up to?”
“Just got out of the shower, then Chan wants to go to the studio. Aren’t you at Trin’s?”
“Yeah.” He chewed his lip, uncertain what to say. Be careful? Jisung would feel too anxious to leave the house if he knew a gang leader knew his face and name. Watch your back? Minho didn’t know how to protect him, so he stood helplessly, breathing into the phone speaker with his fingernails in his mouth.
“Minho, you okay baby?”
“Yeah.” He flexed his fingers at his side, testing the dull pain that lingered in his shoulder. “Um, are you free tomorrow night?”
“Yes! Class until 3 but then I’m wide open. I miss you.”
Minho could hear the pout in his voice, and it made him giggle through an eye roll. “We hung out yesterday, simp.”
“Shut up! It’s the first day we’ve spent apart since we started dating.”
He wasn’t wrong. Since their first date, they’d seen each other every day. Still, he couldn’t lie; he missed his boyfriend, too. They’d been joined at the hip, quite literally.
Jisung had completely blown Minho’s expectations away when it came to sex. He was, as he was at most things, a natural. Attentive, affectionate, and a fast learner. The nail marks on Minho’s hips were starting to fade, and he wanted them darkened again, wanted the bite of pain that reminded him how much Jisung wanted to be inside him.
“Send me a picture?” he found himself asking. He wanted to see what Jisung looked like right now, freshly showered, wet and flushed pink.
“Huh?”
“You just got out of the shower, right?”
“Oh.” Jisung chuckled, breathy and low. “Yeah, I can do that. What do you wanna see, baby?”
Minho bit his lip and leaned against the wall, hugging himself. “It doesn’t matter. You. Your pretty body.”
Jisung laughed again, audibly flustered. “I will. Then I have to go to the studio though, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I hope you have fun tonight. Tell Channie and Bin I say hi.”
“Mmkay. Bye, angel. Gonna have a mini naked photo sesh just for you.”
Minho beamed. He couldn’t help it. “I can’t wait for the results. Bye darling, talk to you later.”
He’d almost completely forgotten about Mia and Yonghwa during his conversation with Jisung. Ideally, Trinity’s involvement with Mia would not affect Jisung. If Mia threatened Jisung in an effort to get Minho to do something for her, then he would do something for her. It was as simple as that.
But where did it end? How long would she hold this over his head? At what point was he meant to call the police and tell them he and his boyfriend were being terrorized by a gang leader? She hadn’t done anything yet. And it was Yonghwa who had the records of Minho’s involvement, not Mia. As far as he knew.
Minho thought about the storage unit key in his wallet. He wondered if he could put it to use. Was it possible for him to join their game of chess, win his way out of their toxic loop? Destroy all evidence they had against him?
It was a risk. But he’d take as many risks as were necessary if it meant protecting himself and the people he loved.
His phone chimed. He clicked on the message banner right away.
Jisung hadn’t even sent them over snap. There they were, three different attachments, perfectly downloadable. Minho wasn’t sure why he’d signed up for nudes from Han Jisung while at his friend’s house.
Jisung stood in 3RACHA’s bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his hips, loosely hanging like one sudden movement would send it tumbling. The mirror selfie showed more than Minho bargained for. Wet, messy hair, one arm holding his phone while the other flexed and brushed his hair back, skin glistening with water droplets. His chest, broad and toned, was littered with fading hickeys. Minho’s favorite was on his pec, almost blending into the pretty mauve shade of his nipple.
Fuck, Minho typed back, gnawing on his lip. My boyfriend is so hot.
The second, Jisung had his hand dipped under the towel, the head of his hard cock peeking out from behind tan fingers. Minho wanted to suck him off so bad.
He nearly dropped his phone when he opened the third.
Jisung stood with his back to the mirror. The towel had slid down his hips a smidge, putting the top few inches of his round ass on display. His waist was so tiny, spine arched and curving prettily up to broad shoulders and taut back muscles. On top of that, he was pouting, cheeks rosy, hair a tousled mess.
Minho drank in his proportions like he’d found an oasis in the desert. Those shoulders. That waist. That ass. Minho wanted to incinerate the towel. He wanted to grab Jisung by the waist, press him to the nearest surface and lick over his tight little hole until he whimpered and writhed and begged for more.
He mentally slowed himself down. He was so greedy when it came to Jisung. Their sex life was satisfying already. They’d been dating for seven days and had fucked almost every one of those days. Minho was more than content with what they had.
That didn’t change the fact that Minho wanted to rail Jisung till his legs gave out. A boy could dream.
Jesus, he typed in response. Your ass is gonna keep me up at night. You’re so sexy.
He considered saying more about how he was starting to get hard in Trinity’s living room, but he decided against riling himself up and went outside to finish smoking on the balcony. He could show Jisung how he felt tomorrow.
~
Minho’s hands were pressed to the Hub-side door, wrists locked in Jisung’s steely grip. His thighs shook, muscles weak at the feeling of Jisung pounding into him, fucking him at a steady, ruthless pace.
He wanted to feel the aftershocks for days. He wanted to bask in the feeling of Jisung inside him, using him to get off, fucking him like their lives depended on it. Jisung was his. Only his.
“Jisung,” Minho whined. He rutted back mindlessly, bouncing his ass against his boyfriend’s bony hips. “Fuck, harder, baby, fuck me harder, please, please—”
Jisung groaned. He dropped Minho’s wrists to grip his ass in both hands, pulling him apart with his thumbs and fucking into him deeper, faster.
“Oh god,” Minho choked out, rooting his fingers in his own hair. Jisung’s bare chest pressed to his back, muscles caging him in against the door. Minho squeaked when he felt teeth against his neck, a tongue laving over the bitten skin. “Oh god, Jisung, fuck.”
“You feel amazing,” Jisung panted, slowing for a few strokes. He sounded distraught, lost in his own pleasure as he sucked a mark on Minho’s shoulder. “You’re so perfect, angel. I wanna make you feel so good.”
Minho bit his lip around a bratty moan. He reached back to tangle his hand in Jisung’s soft hair, breaths shaky as Jisung kept fucking him without pause.
“Ah, Minho,” Jisung groaned against Minho’s jaw. Minho yelped when he felt warm fingers wrap around his cock. “So tight, baby.”
“Jisung, ‘m close.” His head hung between his arms, breaths coming fast and haggard. Jisung’s nails sank into Minho’s ass as he fucked him, wrenching throaty, desperate moans from him, barely containing grunts of his own. “Ah, ah, ah, fuck, I’m—”
His peak was gaining on him, pleasure radiating out from his abused hole, heat pooling in his lower belly every time Jisung’s cock grazed the most sensitive part of him. Jisung must’ve sensed Minho’s orgasm approaching. He reached around to stroke Minho’s cock, playing with the head as he fucked him right where he needed it, and then Minho came with a drawn-out cry. He fucked himself back on Jisung’s stilled hips, spine arched, filthy whimpers spilling from his bitten lips.
“Keep going,” he ordered, twitching from the feeling of his boyfriend’s cock still hard inside him.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Jisung didn’t hold back. He wrapped one arm around Minho’s waist and the other across his neck and shoulders, forearm pressed to his throat, and dragged his body to his own chest. Then he fucked him fast and desperate, the filthy noises of skin slapping skin filling the room. Minho could do nothing but wail through it, hands clawing behind him at Jisung’s ass and thighs, oversensitivity burning through him deliciously as Jisung used him like a fleshlight.
Jisung buried his face in Minho’s shoulder and gasped as he came, hips stuttering, cock throbbing inside Minho’s sensitive hole. They stood still, intertwined and catching their breath, before Jisung unwound his arms from Minho’s body and held his hips gently to pull out.
Minho hissed at the sore, empty feeling, then squealed when Jisung slid his fingers over his wet hole. “Stop, baby, sensitive.”
“Can’t help it.” Jisung kissed between Minho’s shoulder blades. “You okay? Did I hurt you?”
Jisung asked that every single time they had sex, without fail. Minho smiled and leaned backwards, feeling sated and fucked out, grateful that his boyfriend’s warm body was still behind him. “You have yet to hurt me, darling. I’m not that fragile.”
“I just wanna make sure. I feel like I get carried away.”
“No.” Minho turned to kiss his cheek, melting against him as Jisung rested his chin on Minho’s shoulder. “Feels good. I think you’ve noticed I like it a little rougher.”
“You’re stronger than me so that helps me feel less like I’m gonna break you.”
“Am I?” Minho used a kleenex to wipe cum from Jisung’s hands and the floor.
“Definitely,” Jisung chuckled, tying and tossing the condom. “You could probably crush my bones with your thighs.”
Minho snorted. “My legs are strong. Your arms are strong.”
“They just look strong. It’s an illusion.” Jisung pulled his sweatpants back on and went to flop onto the couch. The cats emerged from the cat tree to join him, and Jisung said in a soft voice, “Yes babies, your daddies are done fucking now, welcome back.”
“Gross.” Minho pulled on Jisung’s sweatshirt and a pair of boxers before going to snuggle with his boyfriend and his cats. Soonie settled onto Minho’s chest, claws lightly digging into the fabric, while Doongie cuddled up to Jisung’s hip.
This was where Minho belonged.
“So,” Minho said after a comfortable silence. “Today’s September 9th.”
“Mhm.” Jisung stroked Minho’s back slowly, palm gliding down the curve of his spine.
“Hmm.” Minho sighed happily, relaxed by the feeling of being petted.
“Feels good, kitten?”
Minho’s cheeks flamed. Before he could do something embarrassing like moan pathetically, Jisung started laughing, so Minho smacked him in the chest. “Fuck you! Anyway, your birthday is coming, Sungie. What do you wanna do?”
“Oh, right.” Jisung pulled lightly on Minho’s hair. “Well, I wanna spend it with you, if you have time. Do you work? I think it’s a Tuesday.”
“I teach in the morning, but you’ll be at class anyway. My evening is free.” He felt giddy, legs squirming a little, knowing Jisung wanted to spend his 21st birthday with him. “Anything else, though? What do you want as a present?”
“You don’t need to get me anything, Min. You’re trying to pay off debts to a gang leader. Seeing you would be enough.”
“I wanna make it special for you! It’s your 21st.” He laid a kiss on Jisung’s collarbone absentmindedly. “Remember what I wore to Sunny’s 21st?”
“Do I remember?” Jisung tightened his hold around Minho’s shoulders. “I lost my mind when you showed up to Buble’s looking like that. Fuck, you looked so beautiful.”
Minho pulled back to glare at his boyfriend accusingly. Jisung’s returning stare was so wide-eyed, fond, and innocent that Minho momentarily lost his train of thought before saying, “You thought I was beautiful at your girlfriend’s birthday party?”
“Ex-girlfriend.”
“You know what I mean. She was your girlfriend then.”
Jisung scrunched his nose, cringing at himself, and scratched the back of his head. “Well, yeah. Of course I did. I realize now that I have been attracted to you since we met.”
Minho couldn’t conceal his grin. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His smile faded. “Why did you tell me you weren’t into me when I confessed?”
Jisung blinked, teeth working his bottom lip. “I guess we’ve never really...properly talked about all that, huh?”
“Yeah. It doesn’t really matter. I don’t like to dwell on the past, but.” He shrugged. “I’m curious.”
“That’s fair. I have taken you on kind of an emotional roller coaster.” Jisung linked their fingers, and Soonie slinked back to the cat tree, bored. “I’m sorry for…”
“Don’t,” Minho said. He squeezed Jisung’s hand. “I don’t hold it against you. Again, I’m just curious.”
Jisung leaned his head back on the arm of the couch, half of his mouth pulling up. The sight of his cocky smile always made Minho’s insides turn to jelly, but he had no idea why he was seeing it now. “Were you jealous that night?”
Minho’s stomach swooped, embarrassment making him kick Jisung’s thigh and wriggle away. “Hey! I’m asking the questions!”
“I’m not making fun!” Jisung laughed, grabbing Minho’s foot and tugging him close, entangling their legs. His smile became hesitant, eyes brimming with something Minho couldn’t name. “It was hard seeing you sad that night, and I couldn’t figure out why, and then you ignored me.”
“Ah.” It felt like so long ago. Minho couldn’t believe it’d been just over a month. “Yeah I was jealous.” He averted his eyes when he saw Jisung’s pout. “Really jealous. I…I was being dumb and horny and wanted your attention, but you were making out with her and barely even looked at me. Your loss, though.” He smirked. “That cat outfit was hot as fuck and you missed out on it.”
Jisung laughed, gummy smile taking Minho’s breath away. “I’m glad you see it that way. I was the one being dumb, not you. I don’t know why I didn’t see it earlier.” He shook his head, looking down at their fingers while he played with Minho’s. “I wasn’t letting myself be gay.”
Minho nodded. His heart pounded, though he wasn’t sure why.
“I don’t know if that’s what I am,” he went on. “I’m trying not to dwell on it too much. It’s confusing because I’ve never liked a boy before you, but I’ve also never liked somebody as much as you, so does my past even mean anything? Who knows.”
“You don’t have to label yourself.”
“I know.” He sighed. “I didn’t tell you at first because I thought it was impossible you felt the same, and then when you told me you did, I didn’t want to accept that us being together was a possibility. Because I knew I wanted it, but I was scared.”
Minho nodded again.
“Did that make sense?”
“Yeah. Why did you think it was impossible for me to be into you?”
“Well…” Jisung gestured vaguely to Minho like that was enough explanation. “You’re literally the hottest person I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“And you’re older. You’ve been out since you were like, ten. I’m a confused, noncommittal mess in comparison.”
“You’re not, darling. You’re dating me. You’re in a queer relationship.” Minho raised his eyebrows, and something like dread rolled over in his gut. “Do you feel like you aren’t ready to be in a queer relationship?”
Jisung’s eyes widened, mouth falling open. He shifted upright. “I want this. I want to be with you.”
“Okay.” Minho smiled softly, feathering his thumb across Jisung’s cheek. “I don’t want you to feel stressed about labeling it or coming out or, whatever.”
“Baby, I’m always stressing about something. I’d rather be stressed with you than stressed without you.” He beamed, charming and slightly obnoxious, before sighing again. “It does stress me out that my family doesn’t know. I’m trying not to obsess over that.”
“I had an idea about that actually.” Jisung raised his eyebrows, an unspoken invitation for Minho to continue. “Have you thought about maybe telling your brother? Jae, I mean. Not Jihyun.”
Jisung’s eyes narrowed, lips parting to make way for bared teeth. “You think I should tell my brother who was disowned for being gay that I am in a relationship with a man?”
“It might bring you some peace, Sungie. I bet Jae will react a lot better than you’re thinking he will. He’s gay. You honestly think he’d be mad at his own little brother for also being gay? Or, queer?”
“He was disowned. He had to build up a life for himself with nothing. And I’ve been riding on Mom and Dad’s money for ten years since that happened. Wouldn’t you be pissed at me if you were him?”
“Baby.” Minho took Jisung’s hands firmly in his. “You were eleven. And your parents didn’t stop lying to you about it for two more years after that. Were you, at thirteen, supposed to yell, fuck you Mom and Dad, if you’re gonna disown him you have to disown me too? Jae never would’ve expected you to do that.”
Jisung smiled weakly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re probably right.”
Minho lifted Jisung’s hands and kissed both of them. “I’m not trying to push you to come out. You can come out to whoever you want to, whenever you want to. That’s not my decision. But if it’s stressing you out that your family doesn’t know, for your sake it might feel like a weight lifted to tell Jae. You never know. It might bring you closer together.”
Jisung continued to gaze at him. After a while Minho squirmed under his stare and Jisung smirked. “How did I get so lucky?”
“Stop.”
“My boyfriend is the sweetest thing.”
“ Stop.” Minho leaned forward anyway, settling back onto Jisung’s chest. “We got sidetracked. What do you want me to wear for your birthday?”
“Is that...is that where that was going?”
~
“Good morning.” Minho murmured against the back of Jisung’s neck, nose brushing warm, almost hot skin. “Happy birthday, darling.”
“Mmm.” Jisung didn’t move.
“I have to go teach now, but I’ll be back after, okay?”
“Mmm.”
Minho tried to keep his laugh silent. He squeezed his boyfriend’s sleeping form gently and rolled out of bed to get ready for the day.
~
“Jisung is going to be home in, like.” Hyunjin’s hair fanned out like a collapsing umbrella as he whirled to look at the stovetop clock. “Not even an hour.”
“It’ll be done.” Minho was confident. Or choosing to be confident instead of nervous. He maneuvered Hyunjin out of the way so he could throw the octopus guts in the trash. “Be a good kitchen wench and take out the garbage for me, Hyunjinnie.”
“I’m not your kitchen wench! And that’s disgusting, it looks like you just committed murder and are asking me to be your accomplice.”
“I didn’t murder anything. Just ripped out its guts with my bare hands.”
“It smells!”
“Stop whining and take out the trash. Jump in with it while you’re at it.”
“Ugh, you’re so mean to me!” Hyunjin took the trash and scurried away, squealing and holding his nose as he went.
Minho washed the octopus as quickly as he could, kneading the rubbery meat while keeping the pot of water in his peripheral. It was going to be a stretch to do the aglio e olio last without overcooking the octopus. Thankfully he’d baked and refrigerated the cheesecake the night before, since Felix was kind enough to offer his kitchen and his baking supplies.
Jisung thought they were having an average night together, maybe that they’d pick up takeout, and Minho couldn’t wait to surprise him. It’d been a little expensive to get the octopus, but nothing Minho’s budget couldn’t handle. He still felt guilty for not getting a proper gift for his boyfriend, though.
He loathed his stupid fucking ex. If he didn’t owe Yonghwa money, he’d be able to shower Jisung with gifts and take him on cute dates like he wanted to. In the three weeks they’d been an official couple, they’d made a point to pay for themselves most of the time because it made Minho uncomfortable when other people paid for him, but he wanted to be able to treat Jisung sometimes too.
He hoped tonight would demonstrate just how much he wanted to take care of Jisung.
Chan shuffled into the kitchen with sky-high bedhead and a wrinkled nose. “Good morning.”
“It’s 4PM,” Minho said, uncaring that he was being snippy. He manhandled the octopus towards the pot of boiling water.
“Woah, that looks like a whole fucking octopus. Why are you and Hyunjin here and neither of your significant others?”
When Minho was too preoccupied to answer, Hyunjin looked up from where he was fitting a new garbage bag in the can and said, “It’s Jisung’s birthday, so I stupidly signed up to be Minho’s servant.”
“Oh shit, it’s Sungie’s birthday.” Chan threw his head back like this was terrible news. “The headphones I ordered for him aren’t here yet, dammit.”
“Someone dropped off a package like an hour ago,” Hyunjin noted. “Might’ve been that.”
“Thanks.”
Minho smiled to himself. Jisung really was so loved.
Hyunjin turned on music while they worked, selecting Dua Lipa’s Future Nostalgia album and wiggling his hips joyfully as he salted the pasta water. The music put Minho at ease, and he wiggled too. He was glad he had Hyunjin.
Five minutes till five, the octopus was nicely cooked and plated, and Minho asked Hyunjin to get the cheesecake out of the fridge while he stirred a sauce into the pasta. Hyunjin set the cheesecake on the kitchen table, adjusted the positioning three times so that the chocolate drizzle would be at an optimal angle when Jisung walked in, and got their sparkling grape juice out of the fridge.
“Aw, my sober besties,” Hyunjin said as he placed the bottle next to the cheesecake.
Minho chuckled under his breath and stepped away from the stove. “I think it’s done. A miracle.”
Hyunjin got to work helping Chan clumsily wrap Jisung’s headphones, and Minho trotted off to put some cute clothes on. He’d decided on a shiny, silvery blue button-up that clung to his chest and shoulders like silk, his favorite black dress pants that made his ass look amazing, and dangling silver earrings. He hurriedly brushed on some mascara too, and when he was done with that and Jisung still wasn’t home, he used his fingertip to tap some gold highlight on his cheekbones, nose, and eyelids.
His tummy squeezed at the thought of how Jisung might react to all this.
Just as he finished, he heard the front door swing open. Changbin and Jisung spilled into the quiet apartment and started yelling about how good it smelled, and Minho emerged from the bathroom hesitantly, feeling a little bit nervous now that his boyfriend was here and their friends were here to witness all his embarrassing romanticism.
“Is that octopus? And cheesecake? ” Jisung was demanding as Minho rounded the corner. Jisung stood with his back to Minho, facing Changbin, Chan, and Hyunjin, staring at the kitchen table setup. “Is this for me?”
Minho crossed his arms and leaned against the archway. Hyunjin jutted his chin over Jisung’s shoulder, who spun around.
Jisung looked like he’d rolled out of bed late for class that morning. He wore his oversized black hoodie and Minho’s pajama sweatpants, and his hair was a mess. If he wasn’t in Minho’s arms in the next ten seconds he might lose his mind. Jisung gazed at Minho with parted lips, round cheeks lifting into a grin. His voice came out soft as he asked, “Did you make all this?”
Minho fumbled for a sarcastic comment to hide the way he felt suddenly emotional. “Nah, I ordered it from UberEats.”
Jisung cocked his head and glowered at him as their friends snickered, but a knowing smile played at his lips.
“Happy birthday,” Minho said, shuffling forward, determinedly ignoring his friends’ watchful gazes.
Jisung giggled and closed the distance between them. He sank into Minho’s arms and hid away there, face pressed to Minho’s neck, murmuring his thanks. Minho grabbed a handful of his oversized hoodie and pulled him as close as he could. He smelled like clean laundry and cheap deodorant and Minho’s favorite person.
When Hyunjin and Changbin started awwwww ing, Minho flipped them off over Jisung’s shoulder, and Hyunjin said, “Let me take a picture of you guys!”
Jisung turned around in Minho’s arms, who lowered his embrace to encircle his boyfriend’s middle. “I look like a potato who rolled into someone else’s pajamas and Minho looks like the god of love and beauty, please do not.”
Minho giggled into Jisung’s neck, laid a kiss there. “You look so cute, baby.”
“Just stand so you’re mostly covering up your hot boyfriend and then no one will be able to tell that you look like a mess in comparison,” Hyunjin suggested.
So they posed like that, Minho’s arms wrapped around Jisung from behind, Jisung’s comfy form leaned against Minho’s chest. It was their first picture together as a couple other than dumb selfies neither of them sent to anyone. Minho asked Hyunjin to send it to him, secretly thankful Hyunjin had taken the initiative to get a couple photo.
Hyunjin swept Chan and Changbin out of the apartment, saying they could hang out with Felix at his place, and Jisung turned back around in Minho’s arms to kiss him.
They kissed for a while, slow and chaste, Jisung’s hands cupping Minho’s jaw while Minho felt the comfy fabric enveloping Jisung’s little body. His boyfriend was so soft. Soft lips, soft clothes, soft skin. Minho couldn’t help the little shiver that ran through him as he carded his fingers through Jisung’s hair, fingertips brushing his ear.
Jisung kissed him and then murmured against his lips, “You look stunning.” He pouted. “I have to pee so bad.”
Minho rolled his eyes and slapped Jisung’s ass lightly. “No one told you that you had to stand here for two minutes kissing me. Go pee.”
“ You told me. By wearing this.” Jisung sighed as he ran his palms down Minho’s chest, slid them around to scope his waist. “Should I change really quick? We look like we’re going to different parties.”
“Do whatever you want. It’s your birthday.”
Jisung kissed him yet again and then jogged off to the bathroom.
He ended up staying in his comfy clothes, to Minho’s delight. They were mostly silent throughout dinner as they devoured the octopus and pasta, save for Jisung frequently throwing his head back to rave passionately about the delicious meal. While Minho sliced the cheesecake, Jisung stood to pull a bottle of wine from the fridge.
Minho’s eyebrows shot up. “Wine?”
“Oh.” Jisung’s hands fiddled with the corkscrew. “Do you mind if I drink? I don’t have to, if it—”
“No, go ahead.” Minho smiled. He really didn’t mind. He worked at a club; he was used to seeing people drink. “You can drink whenever you want to, you know.”
“I don’t like drinking,” Jisung said as he sat back down with his filled glass. “But it’s my 21st birthday so I kind of feel like I should at least have one drink.”
Jisung made his way through his wine with a couple of nose crinkles followed by the occasional appreciative hum. Soon after Minho was curled up in Jisung’s bed, scrolling on his phone while he waited for Jisung to get out of the shower.
An unexpected name popped up on his phone while he was waiting.
Sunny: Hi, are you free to get coffee sometime this week?
Minho blinked. His first instinct was that this was a mistake. Sunny had messaged the wrong person. His second instinct was that she was going to kill him.
Sunny and Minho hadn’t interacted once since the morning of Changbin’s birthday. Based on Trinity’s descriptions, Sunny thought Minho was a traitor and the scum of the earth. He wondered why she’d chosen Jisung’s birthday to reach out to him. He wondered what she could possibly gain from meeting up with him after what’d happened.
When Jisung came back from the shower, he whined a little that Minho wasn’t ogling his naked post-shower body, so Minho looked up from his phone and said, “Sunny just texted me.”
Jisung’s smile faltered. He pulled his towel tighter around his waist, and Minho glanced appreciatively at the v-line of his hips. “What did she say?”
“She asked if I’m free to get coffee this week.” Minho shrugged, and typed back a quick, Hi, Sunny. Sure, what days work for you?
He had a pair of gang leaders on his ass. Sunny didn’t scare him.
So he tossed his phone onto the bedside table and swung himself over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Come here, darling.”
Jisung stood stubbornly still, jaw slack. “My ex-girlfriend wants to hang out with you?”
Minho let his arms fall from where they were grabbing for Jisung’s waist and instead crossed them over his chest. “She’s not gonna kill me, Jisung.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. The looks she’s given me in the past three weeks have been pretty murderous.”
“Cafes are public. She’s not gonna strangle me at Starbucks. Plus I could take her.”
“Okay, well that’s true.” Jisung chewed his fingernail, leaning back against the dresser. His damp towel slipped down his hip, and Minho’s eyes clung to his exposed hip bone. “I wonder why she texted you on my birthday.”
“I don’t wanna think about Sunny,” Minho said. “I wanna take care of you.” He got to his feet and walked up to Jisung, fingers gliding over the damp skin of his lower belly. He held his boyfriend’s eyes as he sank to his knees. Jisung bit his lip, fingers settling in Minho’s hair, watching while Minho unwound the towel from his hips.
~
Jisung always took his time prepping Minho. He kept a firm, borderline bruising grip on Minho’s ass, holding him at the edge of the bed as he knelt on the floor and buried his face between Minho’s legs. His tongue left silky, wet trails all around his rim, and Minho could only shake and whimper.
Jisung’s tongue fucked into him slowly, his thumb rubbing over his rim while cooling spit leaked down the cleft of Minho’s ass. Minho’s thighs clenched together as the wet muscle prodded inside him, and Jisung groaned under his breath, eyes dark and narrow as he stared upward, his face glistening with saliva.
It wasn’t the first time they’d done this, but Jisung ate ass like it was a competitive sport. It was becoming overwhelming how fast his boyfriend could work him into a whiny mess.
“Darling,” Minho breathed out as Jisung flattened his tongue over his hole, his balls, gently up his shaft and to the tip of his cock. “ Ah, Jisung, just fuck me already.”
“Mm.” Jisung suckled on his cockhead, blinked innocently, and pulled back with a smirk when Minho writhed. “You said I could do whatever I wanted, though. It’s my birthday.”
Heat danced up Minho’s spine. Whatever he wanted, and he chose this. Minho let his head fall back, going pliant as Jisung kissed wetly down his cock and spread his thighs further to lick him open.
“Ahh,” Minho said, running his fingers through Jisung’s hair. “You’re perfect, fuck.” He hissed when Jisung’s tongue breached his rim with a finger alongside it this time, both fucking him shallow and quick. “Yes,” he moaned, arching against the bedding. “Just like that, baby.”
Jisung kept at it, one finger becoming two, fingertips grazing Minho’s prostate as his tongue’s insistent movements left Minho a wet, twitching mess.
When Jisung finally pushed inside him, he stroked his hands soothingly up Minho’s thighs where they were wrapped around his waist. Jisung lowered himself till their noses were brushing, keening softly as he bottomed out, and Minho wound his arms around Jisung’s neck.
Jisung fucked him slowly, thrusting deep and calculated. Both of them let out nothing but soft moans, lips meeting in languid kisses. Minho could feel Jisung’s heartbeat fluttering against his own bare chest.
“That’s it,” Minho groaned, biting his lip as Jisung rocked inside him. “You always... ngh, fuck, you always make me feel so good.”
Jisung nuzzled his face in Minho’s neck to hide a moan, and it vibrated through Minho, warming him to his core. He knew he wasn’t going to last long this time. It was always hard to slow himself down when his boyfriend was buried inside him.
Soon Jisung grew more desperate, standing up and hooking Minho’s legs over his shoulders so he could fuck him faster. Minho drank in the view, unable to blink as he watched Jisung’s abs, dripping with sweat and flexing with each movement. His gaze was dark under furrowed brows, slick hair falling in his eyes, chest heaving.
“You’re so hot,” Minho whispered. Jisung whined, nails digging into Minho’s thigh, and seeing how far gone Jisung was only pushed Minho closer to the edge. He could feel Jisung’s movements becoming choppier, hips frantic against Minho’s ass. Minho didn’t want him to stop. “Come on, baby,” he said, pumping his own cock, heart racing. “Come for me, Jisungie.”
They came seconds apart, Jisung’s low moans driving Minho to his peak. When they were clean they curled up facing one another, Minho on his back with his neck craned to look Jisung’s way.
Jisung’s palm trailed down Minho’s naked torso. His touch, adoring and painstaking, smoothed from Minho’s throat to his groin. Jisung’s hands were a little rough, but so warm. Minho never wanted him to stop feeling his skin.
His fingernails dug in slightly just below Minho’s bellybutton, scratching him, and Minho whimpered softly. “Gonna make me hard again.”
“You like being pet,” Jisung hummed, stroking Minho’s hip, his thigh. “Don’t you, kitten?”
Minho nodded, too sleepy to convey just how much those words made him blush.
“So pretty,” Jisung said. His fingertips ghosted all the way back up to Minho’s face, and Minho blinked at him, tired and comfortable, as Jisung traced his cheekbone to his hairline. “You’re so handsome, hyung.”
Minho smiled. It was odd, but not in a bad way, these days when Jisung called him hyung. Like he wanted to level with him as his friend. He didn’t just think Minho was good-looking as his lover, he wanted Minho to know that he was objectively handsome. Always had been. As his hyung.
Jisung’s phone started buzzing on the nightstand, and Jisung turned around to look. “Fuck,” he said. “It’s a video call from my mom.”
Minho watched, laughs muffled, as Jisung scrambled around his bedroom like a maniac looking for clothes to put on. “Relax, darling. You can call her back if you don’t cover up your dick in time.”
“Hold on,” Jisung said, stepping into boxers and pulling on his hoodie. He grabbed his phone and left the bedroom with a quick, “Please don’t come out for the next couple of minutes, Min.”
Minho sighed, burrowing under the covers and trying not to think about how much that stung. He’d been a secret lover before without complaint, but not like this. Not with someone he saw himself having an actual future with.
He supposed he could worry about it somewhere down the line.
~
Minho’s insides churned as he approached the warmly lit table next to the window, americano in hand. Sunny looked calm, her young features bathed in early evening light, her little hands wrapped around a hot coffee as she watched him approach.
She looked good. Her hair, normally short and blond, was shorter and blonder, toned a silvery hue that contrasted nicely with her dark eyes. She didn’t smile, but Minho didn’t detect hostility radiating off her like he expected to.
All those months of sagging under all the jealousy he felt for her, and now he only felt pity. He felt bad for how he’d meddled in her relationship, and for how he hadn’t reached out once to apologize since then.
That didn’t mean he regretted it, though.
“Hi,” he said, sliding into the chair across from her.
She mustered a tense smile. “Hi, Minho. How are you?”
“I’m good.” He sipped his americano and regarded her unflinchingly. “How are you? Trinity tells me things are on the upswing with your dad’s health.”
“Yeah, Dad’s doing a lot better.” Sunny searched the room, avoiding Minho’s eyes. “He’s doing well with the chemo. He’s strong.”
“Happy to hear that.” Minho continued to sip, continued not to flinch. He wasn’t the one who requested this meeting, so he wasn’t about to trouble himself with digging for the purpose of it. If she wanted to ask him something, she could do so.
Sunny sighed, chewing her lip. Her manicured fingernails picked at her coffee cup. “Trin says you’re dating Jisung now?”
Minho nodded. He thanked Trinity telepathically. That was one less awkward confession to make.
“You don’t think he’ll do the same thing to you?”
Minho hadn’t expected that. He frowned as he said, “Are you asking if I think he’ll cheat on me because he cheated on you?”
“Yeah!” She laughed, though her eyes appeared hurt, her chin tense. “He was in a six month relationship and he started something with someone else. That doesn’t exactly bode well for him being a promising partner for you.”
“Oh, darling.” Minho tried not to look too venomous as he smiled. “Don’t act like you’re worried about him hurting me.”
Her eyebrows bobbed as she looked down.
“But to answer your question,” he went on, “No. I don’t think he’ll do the same thing to me.” He meant it, too. He knew Jisung felt differently about Minho than he’d felt about anyone before, and he knew how much Jisung regretted what he did to Sunny.
Sunny took a sip of coffee with her lips taut. “I hated you, you know.”
Minho nodded. He hadn’t known, but he’d assumed.
“I’ve never hated someone so much,” she went on. She smiled again, but a softness seeped through her eyes this time. Minho was shocked by the vulnerability he saw there. “I put so much blame on you. I labeled you as this…” her nose wrinkled. “This thirsty skank who seduced my boyfriend and made out with him the night my dad got taken to the ER.”
“Not that far off.”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t fair, though. I blamed you, and I had so much trouble blaming him. I love him…”
Minho stared at her, the present tense ringing strong between them.
“I loved him,” she corrected, swallowing visibly. “And I couldn’t bring myself to accept he would hurt me like that. It was easier to put all the blame on you than to admit the guy I loved really did that to me.”
“You’re valid in hating either of us,” Minho said. “We both fucked you over.” He shifted, wishing she would look away from him. “I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but for the record I am sorry. I could’ve handled it better.”
He watched Sunny’s bottom lip jut out. Her voice trembled, and a tear streaked down her cheek as she asked, “Why’d you do it?”
“Why did I do what?”
“Kiss him!” She reeled herself in, breathing deep and then lowering her volume. “I considered you a friend, Minho. A good friend.”
Despite himself, his heart panged. “I considered you a friend too, Sun. It sounds bad, but…” He contemplated what to say that didn’t make him sound like a complete asshole. “I could tell that he wasn’t happy with you. He really adored you as a friend and enjoyed hanging out with you, but I don’t think he realized that he could have more than that. He was the one holding himself back from having more. Not you.”
“So you kissed him?”
Minho cleared his throat. “He kissed me.”
Sunny’s face fell.
“I think…” Minho thought back to that moment, hazy and adrenaline-fueled as it had been. It felt like yesterday and years ago at the same time. “I think he was afraid he was going to lose me. He rejected me, you know. I told him I had feelings for him and he told me he wanted to be with you, and that he wasn’t interested in me like that.”
“So he lied to both of us, then?”
“To himself,” Minho corrected. “It was about him more than you or me.”
She nodded, though he wasn’t sure she believed him.
“I yelled at him,” Minho admitted, with a faint laugh. “I was a mess, if you can believe that. Crying and telling him to leave me alone and shit.”
“Why?”
“Because I was frustrated, I don’t know.” Minho winced. Maybe desperate and heartbroken were more accurate descriptors. “I could tell that he had feelings for me and was in denial, and so I told him to get the fuck out, and I think he realized that I wasn’t just going to sit back and let things slip back into how they were. Being best friends so he could go back to his gross hetero-facade relationship.” He cringed and added, “No offense.”
“Our relationship wasn’t gross.”
“No,” Minho said firmly. “It wasn’t. But him insisting that he was happy was gross. Because like you said, he lied to us both. Just because he was lying to himself, but still.”
“You were mad too,” she mused. “That’s kind of funny.”
Minho laughed, recalling the way he’d been on the verge of meltdown when Jisung had repeatedly rejected him just over a month ago. It was quite a contrast to the way he’d asked Minho to come down his throat the night before.
Anyway.
“I can’t speak for Jisung,” Minho went on. “And I think it would help both of you to have a conversation with each other, but I will say this. He really wanted to make it work with you. He still cares about you, and I think he would really love to be your friend. He cared about your feelings so much that he was two seconds away from breaking his own heart, and mine, to protect you.”
Sunny bit her bottom lip till it turned white. She wiped her nose as tears dripped from her eyes. “Why couldn’t he tell me?” she whispered shakily. “If he was so unhappy that he cheated, why did he feel like he couldn’t tell me?”
“It’s hard to break someone’s heart when they have a parent in the emergency room.”
“I would’ve rather he was honest with me than to hear from my sister that he was getting hot and heavy with you behind my back!”
Her voice boomed around the small cafe, and some people glanced at them. Sunny’s ears glowed pink.
“I think you should ask him,” Minho said. “That’s why you asked me here today, right? Closure?”
She wiped her tears and sniffled, lips shiny as she exhaled. “I don’t know. I miss my friends. I’ve been studying with Changbin sometimes, but he avoids mentioning Jisung so adamantly that it’s kind of awkward. I miss the group we had this summer.”
Minho chuckled. “Even me?”
“Yeah,” she said, smiling softly. “Even you.” Then she frowned. “I’ve been waiting to say this for more than a month now.”
“What?”
“Fuck you,” she said. “You stole my boyfriend. Fuck you.”
He could see the relief in her posture, shoulders sinking from her ears. Minho smiled. “Sorry. I’m normally a better friend than that, I promise. I just…” he wished he hadn’t started another sentence. He bit the tip of his tongue.
“What?”
Minho shrugged and studied his americano. “I really wanted to tell him how I felt.”
“How did you feel?” she frowned. “Were you in love with him the whole time?”
“No. I didn’t become friends with all of you intending to get with him. Jeez, Sunny, we’ve only been dating for like three weeks. It’s hard to say I’m in love with him even now.”
He totally was in love with Jisung, but thankfully she laughed. “I guess he waited a while to get into another relationship?”
“We both wanted to wait. My ex boyfriend did beat the shit out of me in July. I think we needed some time to figure things out.”
“Oh my god,” Sunny said, blinking rapidly. “Yonghwa. Is he in prison yet?”
Minho snorted. “Thriving and rich as usual. But out of my life, where he belongs.”
For the most part, he reminded himself. Something sour turned over in his gut.
“That’s good.” Her smile was distant, contemplative, as she stared down at her coffee. “I hate that you’re a good guy.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Shut up. You’re such a good guy that you stole my boyfriend six weeks ago and I can’t even bring myself to feel mad at you right now.” She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I always had a feeling you two were more compatible than me and him.”
“It’s hard,” he said simply. “Dating is hard. I really hope you find a guy who’s all in.”
She groaned, rubbing her palms over her eyes and then carefully wiping the mascara she smudged. “God, why the fuck do I always go for the unattainable guys? It’s like, when I could tell Jisung was getting distant, I got more and more invested the more he pulled away. And then I’ve been sleeping around ever since I broke up with him, and these other guys get whipped so fast and to me that’s so unattractive. What’s wrong with me that I fall for the guys who don’t want me?”
“The chase is fun,” Minho said. “I relate. It’s easy to lose interest after that part’s over.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Have you lost interest in him already?”
He tried not to laugh. “Not quite.”
“It sucks,” she sighed. Minho nodded along, even though he wasn’t sure where she was going with this. It was nice talking with Sunny. Bonding with her about boys and life struggles just like they used to. “Finding a guy who is hot, and sweet, and not clingy, and talented as fuck, is not easy. And I found one. But he cheated on me. With a man.”
“Chan is single,” Minho said on a whim.
Sunny’s jaw dropped, but her eyes lit up with aghast glee. “Did you really just suggest that?”
“Well.” He shrugged as Sunny cackled. “I don’t know! Chan is all of those things you listed, and straight.”
“He made out with you at my birthday party.”
“That was just for fun. He identifies as straight. A little hetero island in a flaming queer apartment.”
“No kidding,” she chuckled. She blinked as she thought it over. “That’s probably a terrible idea, though. I mean. Not that he isn’t attractive. He’s very attractive. But like, I doubt he’s into me. And then what if we dated and I’d be at that damn apartment again? Hanging out in Chan’s room and hearing you and Jisung getting busy on the other side of those paper thin walls?” She cringed, teeth on display, but her eyes still glinted with amusement.
Minho was amazed by how maturely she was handling all this, in her own way. “Maybe it is a terrible idea. But if you want to be friends with 3RACHA again, Jisung and I are kind of going to be in front of your face. Just so you’re...I don’t know, prepared for that.”
She nodded. Her eyes grew distant again, chin pinched between her thumb and index as she gazed out the window. “That’s what would be hard,” she admitted. “I want you to be my friend. I want Jisung to be my friend because to be honest, that’s all he was by the end of our relationship. But I think it would be hard to see you two together.”
“We won’t rub it in your face or anything. Jisung…struggled a lot, after you broke up with him. He felt like shit for a long time. He’d be careful if you come around again. He’d want to make sure you felt comfortable.”
She looked down and shook her head almost imperceptibly, like she wanted to delete the words Minho had spoken. “I don’t think I’m ready quite yet,” she mumbled. “I think I...I think I still love him.”
He felt her words in the center of his chest, fishing beneath his sternum and uprooting an ugly, possessive side of him that urged him to lash out. Instead he breathed in, nodded calmly, and said, “I understand.”
She kept her hands tight around her coffee.
“I’m really glad we had this chat,” Minho went on, relieved as his surge of territorial instincts dissipated. “I’ve missed you. It would be cool to hang out again soon. Whenever you’re ready. With Jisung there or without him, either way.”
They said their goodbyes after that. Sunny even gave him a hug and an awkward little wave, hips swaying as she strutted from the coffee shop with her handbag looped over one arm. Minho smiled to himself.
~
When he got back to the Hub that evening, Trinity was waiting for him in his room, feeding his cats but nearly making him jump out of his skin from surprise. “Jesus, where’d you come from?”
She put the cat food away stiffly. He had no idea how to read the blank, exhausted expression on her face. “Yonghwa is a gang leader?”
Minho stared at her, trying to slow his heart rate. He could feel heat rising to his cheeks as another confrontation loomed over him. “What did Mia say?”
“That she is looking for you so that she finds you before Yonghwa does. Because he’s a gang leader. And you stole from him.”
Minho exhaled shakily and went to get a sparkling water from the mini fridge. “Did she mention that she’s a gang leader too?”
“What? No, she said she’s...wait, what?”
Minho looked at her, sipping his water.
She shook her head, green eyes narrow and unblinking. “Why didn’t you tell me that before I fucked her, Minho?”
“Because I didn’t want you to know about Yonghwa! I didn’t want you to know that that’s what I was involved in because I’m your employee, you’re my boss, and there are two fucking gang leaders trying to find me and you’re hiding me in your own goddamn establishment!” He sucked in a straining breath. “I just don’t wanna…” He tried to breathe, but his fingertips felt numb, legs disconnected from his body. “I don’t wanna be on the street again, I don’t want them to, to…”
“Min.” Trinity walked up to him and wrapped him into a hug without hesitation. He clung to her, burying his face in her leather jacket. “Breathe, kiddo. I got you. I’m not gonna throw you on the street.”
He nodded, inhaling deeply. She wasn’t going to throw him out. It would be okay.
“Why did you steal from him?”
He backed away and went to sit on the couch, suddenly exhausted. “I have no idea how Mia knows about that. I took a key. Technically it’s my key so I didn’t even steal.”
“A key to what?”
“His storage unit,” he said. “Off highway 14. The one with all his records of my involvement.”
She brushed her dark bangs back with both hands and paced slowly, hands rooted in her own ponytail. “How involved were you?”
“I’ve witnessed a lot,” he admitted. “I’ve been an accomplice to a lot.”
“Murder?”
“Murder, robbery, smuggling, torture…”
“ Jesus, Minho!”
“You understand why I couldn’t call the cops now?” He smiled dryly. Unexpectedly, it was a relief that she knew now. But he couldn’t fathom why Mia had told her, why it was at all in her favor to involve Trinity in this situation.
“You have the storage unit key,” she said. “Give it to the cops. They can go in and see for themselves.”
“And see what I’ve done too? Fuck no. And the computer has a fingerprint, anyway. I’m not even sure if I’d be able to get in anymore. I bet Yonghwa has removed my biometrics from the login.”
“Wow,” Trinity said. Her skin was waxy, cheeks void of color. “Wow. Okay, well why not give the key to Mia then? Then at least they’ll get off your ass.”
“I don’t trust Mia even a little. She would turn me into the police in a heartbeat, for no reason but to ensure I stay quiet. Plus if I give it to her then I can’t use it myself.”
She squatted to the floor, hands clutching the sides of her face. “You want to use it yourself?”
“I don’t know,” he said quickly. “I see it as my insurance. If I need to, and if the opportunity arises, I could go and get rid of my files. Or try to. It freaks me out that Mia has been on my ass, though. How did she know I took the key? Yonghwa doesn’t even know. If he did, Mia wouldn’t want it so bad because he would’ve changed the locks by now.”
“She doesn’t know,” Trinity said firmly. “She just predicted you’d take it. For insurance, like you said. She’s also convinced you have evidence that he hurt you. She spun it to me like she wants to help you, Min. She wants him in prison and so do you.”
“She did just that,” he said. “Spun it. Don’t trust her, Trin. I’d stop talking to her about all this shit if I were you. I’d stop fucking her if I were you, but I’m not gonna tell you who to sleep with.”
“Ah,” Trinity sighed. She flopped down to sit on her ass. “The sex is good. And the fact that she’s a gang leader just makes her even hotter. I must be psychologically disturbed.”
“Trust me, I get it.”
She eyed him. “If you’re gonna use that key, tell me. I’ll help you.”
His throat felt tight. He’d avoided telling her all this for months, years, only for her to volunteer her help?
Minho didn’t deserve her.
“I don’t want you more involved than you already are,” he said firmly. “But she knows who Jisung is, and she knows who you are, so if she puts me in a tough position I might have to go to the storage unit before she can get the leverage to blackmail me.”
“If that happens,” Trinity said again, leaning forward. “ Tell me.”
Minho nodded, swallowing. “I will.”
~
Notes:
I hoped you like this one! I'm not sure if it was boring or not...a lot happened but it was also more plot-heavy than minsung-heavy. I'm excited that the plot is starting to thicken again!! I love trinity and sunny both so much it's not even funny lol
let me know what you thought~ thank you loves I'll see you next time❤️
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 20
Summary:
Jisung's journey with his sexuality is a winding road.
Notes:
Welcome back!! thanks for waiting ❤️
Some trigger warnings this chapter: homophobia, internalized homophobia, anxiety attacks, anxiety & depression. Just another one of Jisung's chapters lol
This is almost like an inversion of its half-chapter, Ch. 10. :)
Hope you enjoy!!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
xx. jisung
Jisung realized it slowly, as he realized most things.
Minho’s enthusiastic response to a lewd photo of Jisung’s towel-covered ass was the first hint. Next came Minho’s hands, always wandering to Jisung’s butt. When they were fucking, Minho’s hands found purchase on Jisung’s ass nine times out of ten, groping him and massaging him in a manner that could not be completely for physical leverage purposes.
Then it started happening out of the bedroom, too. Minho’s hands found Jisung’s ass throughout the day, playful but purposeful, always giving him light smacks or little teasing pinches as though to remind him, hi, I see your butt, I want to touch it.
Minho wanted to fuck him, didn’t he? He was pretty sure that was what was happening.
It had crossed his mind before, of course. It wasn’t like he disliked the idea. Minho tended to have a more controlling, dominant attitude in the bedroom, and Jisung liked feeling at his mercy. He liked toying with the idea of...well, being a toy.
But he was scared. Of course he was! Jisung hated the unknown, and the few times he’d fingered himself he’d ended up with a sore asshole and lube-coated sheets with no payoff.
He knew he’d have to talk to Minho about it. But he was nervous, and maybe slightly excited, for the evil glint in his boyfriend’s eyes, so he decided to take a while to mentally prepare himself.
To mark the turn of the seasons from summer to fall, Jisung decided to bleach his hair for the first time in a few years. He walked home from the salon with a full head of honey blond hair, spamming Minho with selfies and completely unprepared when an incoming call from Jae lit up his phone.
Jae almost never called, unless it was around a holiday. It was early October, nowhere close to either of their birthdays. Confused, Jisung answered with a soft, “Hello?”
“Hey, little brother.” Jae sounded a bit flustered as he laughed. “Long time no talk!”
“Hi Jae.” Jisung smiled, endeared by the awkwardness in his brother’s voice. Jae had always been more introverted like Jisung. Neither of them were the greatest at reaching out or finding a small-talk rhythm. “What’s up? How have you been?”
“Good! How, uh, how have you been?”
“Pretty good. Junior year is going okay so far.”
“That’s great! Wow, I can’t believe you’re already a junior. Time flies.”
Jisung bit his lip to keep from laughing. “You sound like such an old man, Jae.”
“Well, I’m turning thirty next year! Definitely not a young man.”
“That’s still pretty young. You’re just dramatic.”
Jae chuckled, sounding considerably more relaxed, and his ease spread to Jisung. “Listen, Sung, are you free sometime soon? I know it’s not easy for you to catch a free weekend, but I haven’t seen you since...what, Thanksgiving two years ago? And we don’t even celebrate Thanksgiving?”
Jisung’s shoulders sagged, relieved that Jae had reached out first. He opened his mouth to accept the offer, but then he thought of Minho’s suggestion, and his throat went dry.
Tell him, he nagged himself, but his body froze up at the insistence of his mind. Jisung. Tell him. Tell him.
“Jisung?”
“Uh,” Jisung said, clearing his throat. “Yeah! I’d like that a lot. I’ll definitely have Thanksgiving off from school if that works for you?”
“Thanksgiving works! Adam and I were going to have some friends over for Friendsgiving the day of, if you don’t mind hanging out with some oldies while you’re here. Or you could just fly in on Friday if that’s easier.”
“I don’t mind either way,” Jisung admitted. His knee-jerk instinct was to ask if Minho could come. Minho didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving, but flying out to Chicago for a four-day weekend and not getting to see his boyfriend the whole time didn’t sound ideal.
“Could I bring a friend, maybe?” Jisung asked.
“Oh sure! Are you still seeing that girl from the music program? Sammy, was it?”
Jisung made it to his apartment complex and sat at the foot of their stairs, unwilling to have this conversation with his roommates as potential witnesses despite the chilly breeze. “Sunny,” he said, weighing his options. “No, we broke up a few months back. I’m, uh.” He paused.
Was he really going to do this?
Jae wasn’t going to care, right?
He swallowed, licked his cracked lips, and said, “I’m seeing someone else now, actually.”
“Yeah? Do you want to bring them for Thanksgiving instead?”
Them. Them. Jisung’s heart picked up the pace, but he couldn’t help but grin. Of course Jae wouldn’t assume his partner’s gender. Of course he wouldn’t. “I’d like to,” Jisung said. “If you don’t mind hosting an extra person for the weekend.”
“Are you kidding? I can’t wait. Must be kind of serious, huh? It’s barely October and you’re pretty sure you’ll still be dating at the end of November?” Jae teased.
Jisung scoffed. The idea of his relationship with Minho ending by then hadn’t even crossed his mind. “I guess it is serious, yeah. I’m really excited about…about him.”
Silence rang between them for three long, torturous breaths. Jisung’s chest felt confined and sweaty.
“Holy shit!” Jae suddenly shrieked. “You’re dating a guy! Holy shit! Congratulations!”
Jisung ducked his head, hiding his burning forehead behind his palm and trying to fight back as his imagination concocted shock and horror in his brother’s voice. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “I was scared to tell you.”
“Well, I don’t blame you, our insane fucking parents make it hard not to feel like absolute shit for being into guys! I’m so happy you told me, though. Wow! What’s his name?”
Jisung’s smile widened. Relief bubbled up in him, making him feel light. “Minho. He’s Korean too. I think you’ll like him.”
“That’s so exciting Jisung! And you’re all serious about him and everything! What does he do?”
“He’s a dancer.” Jisung smirked, feeling a little cocky. “He teaches dance and also is a stripper part-time.”
“No way.”
“Yeah!”
“He already sounds cool. It’ll be great to see you both next month! Your uh, our parents don’t know, right?”
“No,” Jisung said. “I…” His voice got caught in his throat for several moments while he imagined what Jae might say. “I’m scared of how they’ll react,” he settled on. “After everything that happened with you, I just don’t know.”
“Yeah,” Jae said, voice calming. “That’s tough. Being the younger kid when your parents reacted so badly to an older sibling coming out. It must’ve been…quite a journey for you, huh?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean.” Now Jae was the one sounding hesitant. “I bet it wasn’t easy figuring out yourself when that was your family’s reaction to me.”
Jisung’s throat felt tight. He picked at the ripped hole in his jeans and studied his shoes, and his voice came out shaky when he said, “Yeah. Wasn’t easy.”
“I’m proud of you,” Jae said. “Really proud.”
Jisung nodded, even though his brother couldn’t see him. He hurriedly wiped his tears away and took a shaky breath. “I thought you’d be mad,” he admitted, although he felt foolish saying it now. “Since I’ve gotten Mom and Dad’s support all these years even though I’m with a guy, too.”
“It’s been ten years,” Jae pointed out. “I don’t even hold bitterness towards them anymore, much less you. They’re the miserable homophobic nutjobs. I feel bad for them, and I don’t need them. Adam and I are a family now, and our dogs, and our friends. And you. And Minho.”
Jisung laughed, but around his tears it was more of a sob. “Am I stupid for hoping they might react differently to me? I agree they’re homophobic nutjobs but...they’re our parents, I don’t know. It’s hard to think of it so cut and dry.”
“I guess there’s a chance. It has been ten years. You plan on telling them, then?”
“I’ll have to think about it,” he admitted. “Every cent of college tuition they pay kind of feels like blood money.”
“Don’t feel guilty. Milk it while you can. I’ll help you with college tuition if they turn on you, though. I promise.”
“Jae.” Jisung nearly started crying again, pressing his hand over his eyes. “You don’t have to.”
“Hey, yes I do. You’re my little brother and if I can help you have an easier young adult life than I had, I’ll do my best.” He laughed, sounding a bit awkward. “Wasn’t ready for this to be such a heart to heart. I’m picking up my dog’s shit from someone’s yard right now.”
Jisung cackled, squeezing his phone slightly. “Thanks. I’m really excited to come for Thanksgiving. Can’t wait for you to meet Minho.”
“Yeah, it’ll be fun! Don’t be a stranger, okay? Talk to you later, kid.”
“Bye, Jae.”
~
Jisung felt powerful.
His conversation with his oldest brother was one he’d been dreading for a long time. He could remember it so clearly, eight years prior when he’d found out Jae was not in prison but was gay and living with his partner in America. He could remember the pain that had plunged through him, the fury and defensiveness that had colored much of the anxiety in his adolescence.
Maybe he’d known, even then, that he would someday be taking the same trek himself.
And now, Jae knew. Jae knew, and he was proud of Jisung. Jisung was going to take Minho with him to Chicago, and he would get to spend a holiday with his boyfriend and a family member. Jisung felt on top of the world.
Of course, he kept his parents in the back of his mind. His coming out journey was nowhere near over; it’d just kicked off. But he chose to celebrate the small victories.
He stepped into Minho’s bedroom, leaving the car running because they were about to head out to dinner. Minho looked up from where he was playing with his cats and gave Jisung a sleepy smile. “Hi, blondie.”
“I came out to my brother,” Jisung said.
Minho’s jaw fell open. “You did?”
Jisung nodded. Tears stung his eyes, but he tried to smile reassuringly. “He was supportive.”
Minho waddled up to him, socks sliding and fluffy hair bouncing, and swept him into a tight hug. Jisung melted into it. “That’s amazing,” Minho whispered, and his soft voice didn’t help Jisung hold back his tears. “You did it. I’m so happy for you.”
Jisung squeezed him close before letting him go, hurriedly wiping his tears. “He said you’re welcome to come with me to Chicago for Thanksgiving. He wants to meet you.”
Minho’s lips parted. “Oh, I don’t know if I can afford a plane ticket, and I don’t really celebrate—”
“Please?” Jisung took his hands. “It would really mean a lot to me if you came. I’ll pay for your plane ticket.”
“Plane tickets are a lot of money, and I don’t wanna owe you, Sungie.”
“Minho.” Jisung pouted. “Are you saying you’re not gonna come?”
“I want to,” he said. “I would love to. I just don’t know if I can afford it.”
“But I can pay for you—”
“I don’t like owing people money, though.”
“You wouldn’t owe me anything! It would be a gift! A gift to me, really. Because I want you there really, really bad. Please, baby?” Jisung puffed out his cheeks, pouted, and mustered up his best puppy dog eyes. He watched Minho’s stony facade begin to crumble.
“We’ll check out the prices,” Minho said, sighing. “Maybe I can pay for half and pay you back for the rest, or something.”
“Yay!” Jisung made two fists and waved them happily like paws. “Okay, let’s go out, shall we? I wanna celebrate.”
~
“You look dumb,” Minho said. A hysterical giggle slipped from his pursed lips. “Wipe your chin, oh my god.”
“I thought you like my messy eating!” Jisung held the melting ice cream cone in front of his mouth to bring attention to his wide, pleading eyes. “Meanie.”
“Thinking your cheeks are cute is not the same as liking your messy eating.”
“You liked it when it was something else dripping down my chin.”
Minho’s jaw fell open, ears reddening at record speed. He glanced around the pavilion outside the ice cream shop, indignant. “How dare you,” he scoffed, but something coquettish warmed his eyes. He pulled his hand from where it was holding Jisung’s to smack his shoulder.
Jisung grinned, heart thumping. He reached for Minho’s hand again and squeezed it tight. Just as he opened his mouth to respond, a voice spoke from several feet away as a couple walked alongside the pavilion.
“Are those two men?”
“Oh, gross.”
Jisung froze. He dropped Minho’s hand and shoved his own in his pockets.
His eyes met an older woman’s as she passed by. Her nose wrinkled as she looked at him. Then her arm tightened around her husband’s and they hurried off.
Jisung looked down at his feet. A ball of anxiety tightened in his stomach, coming on much faster than he was used to. The words, simple as they’d been, echoed in his ears.
Are those two men?
Oh, gross.
“Jisungie.” Minho’s hand rested on Jisung’s shoulder. He flinched at the contact, keeping his eyes averted. “Are you okay?”
He felt like laying down. Are those two men? Oh, gross. His stomach ached, the ice cream suddenly far too sweet on his tongue. He nodded dazedly.
“Hey. Do you want to go home?”
Jisung looked up, feeling frightened, feeling like he was slowly peeling away from his own body. Concern creased Minho’s brow. He looked worried, but unbothered himself. Had he not heard their comment?
Jisung’s train of thought swam through his flooded mind. Gross. Gross. Gross.
“Sungie, come on.” Minho took his hand to guide him towards their car. Jisung dropped his hand after a few steps in that direction. Minho looked at him, visibly hurt as his mouth opened and closed silently.
Guilt stung Jisung. He had no space for it. He kept his eyes down and tried to keep breathing.
Once the car was running, Minho tried to talk, asking Jisung if he was okay again and advising him to breathe when Jisung could only give him one word responses. He started to drive towards the Hub once Jisung’s silence dragged on.
Jisung couldn’t describe what was rushing through his brain. He felt dirty. Gross. Guilty. Had strangers really seen him holding Minho’s hand and thought they were disgusting? Is that really what people thought when they saw Jisung and Minho on the street?
Are those two men? Oh, gross.
Jisung wanted to cover himself. He felt naked, skinned alive, bare in front of a crowd and mocked for what they saw.
He was so lost in his clamorous thoughts that he didn’t realize they’d made it to the Hub. Minho put the car in park and said softly, “Should I drive you home? I can walk back.”
“No,” Jisung said, clearing his throat when his voice cracked. “I can do it.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? You really shut down there.”
“I’m fine.” Jisung unbuckled his seatbelt to switch sides.
As they crossed at the hood of the car, Minho grabbed Jisung’s arms gently, holding him still. “Hey. Look at me.”
Jisung did. He took in Minho’s calm expression, not a sliver of tension on his face other than a tiny dent between his eyebrows. How was he so unbothered? Had he really not heard what those people said about them?
“Homophobic people are the ones who have the problem,” Minho said. The words were firm, but his voice was light. “It takes a real piece of shit to look at two happy people and throw a derogatory comment at them.”
Jisung nodded. He averted his eyes and tried to breathe through the knot in his diaphragm. “I know.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
Jisung shook his head quickly, avoidant. He wanted to put as much space between him and Minho as possible right now. He wanted Minho to stop looking at him with so much concern. Why was Minho so unbothered? Why was Jisung so bothered? Guilt. So much guilt.
“No,” he finally managed. “I think I just need to be alone for a bit.”
“Okay…” Minho sounded uncertain. Jisung stood there like a frozen pole, unbending and awkward. He felt guilty for his avoidance. “I’ll text you?”
“Sure.” Jisung mustered a smile and brushed past Minho to get behind the wheel. They didn’t kiss, didn’t hug. Jisung was grateful Minho didn’t try to.
He drove home hazily. So many thoughts jabbed him, vying for his focus, that he could do nothing but ignore them all.
Soon he was in his bed. He wrapped his weighted blanket around his shoulders and tried to pay attention to his five senses. The baggy material of his hoodie bunched between his body and the sheets, and he couldn’t stop fixating on it, so he peeled it off and flung it to the ground. He could smell the vague stench of weed, either from his own stash or if one of his roommates had smoked that day. It bothered his lungs a little, making it difficult to breathe. Or maybe that was just his arising panic.
His phone lit up where he’d put it on his nightstand.
Minho: Did you get home safe?
Jisung sighed and dragged his arms from his weighted blanket to respond. Yeah, I’m home. Thanks
Guilt pressed down on him, compacting him until he ached. Minho did nothing wrong. Far from it. Jisung had been the one flirting obnoxiously with Minho in public, making jokes about cum dripping down his chin and holding his hand out in the open. Jisung had been the one being disgusting. He couldn’t believe someone had looked at him and said, oh, gross.
Jisung did not want this to be his life.
As soon as he had the thought, he winced and wove his fingers through his hair. A headache throbbed beneath his temples. What kind of a pathetic, cowardly piece of shit was he? One homophobic comment and he was spiralling full-throttle towards panic? Minho hadn’t even flinched from the comment. It didn’t mean anything. Those people didn’t matter. Their opinion really shouldn’t have relevance in Jisung’s life.
So why did he care so much? Why could he not stop thinking about it?
Gross. Gross. Jisung pulled at the roots of his hair. He remembered to breathe.
He couldn’t believe he’d made a joke about cum dripping down his chin, loudly, in public. The way Minho had looked around fearfully, ears reddening, made Jisung’s muscles tense with shame. He’d thought Minho was flustered and cutely teasing, but Jisung had grossed him out. God, why was he so gross?
He pictured himself through the hetero couple’s eyes. Dry, bleached blond hair, hand in hand with a man, giggling and speaking too loudly about something else dripping down his chin. Fuck, he was so stupid. Of course they would be grossed out. Jisung grossed himself out. The ice cream sat in his stomach unsteadily, churning within him and making him all-too aware of the tension in his throat.
Was he going to vomit? Should he get a garbage bin? He couldn’t move.
He remembered to breathe. A bubble of bile caught in his throat. He swallowed. He blinked his tears aside. His fingers were cold and clammy where he pressed them between his knees. His headache intensified. Breathing was not coming naturally. He wondered if he was going to die. He wondered if anyone would care. He pictured Sunny. Christ knows you’re not mature enough to date anyone. You’re supposed to be an adult.
She was right. He wasn’t mature enough to date anyone. He was a child. One homophobic comment and he was a shivering, panicking mess. Why would anyone want to give him the time of day? He was a fucking wreck. He wasn’t worth the trouble. He was a coward.
He’d cheated on her. He was scum.
He devolved into quiet sobs, pulling hard at his hair and trying to keep his breaths coming in between choked tears. He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, victim to his vicious thoughts, until sleep took him.
~
Jisung hated his own brain.
He hated feeling so controlled by his mood. Anxiety and depression walked a blurry line in his life, and he couldn’t be sure where his worries ended and his self-loathing began. Even on his medication, even after five years of therapy as an adolescent, sometimes he just…couldn’t help it. When his mental health plunged, it plunged.
Maybe he was being dramatic. It had only been one day of these feelings, of being unable to get out of bed and struggling to stop his tears from falling. Maybe it was just a bad day.
But god, it was going to happen again. Even if he got through this, it was going to happen again. He was anxious as a child, anxious as a teenager, anxious as an adult. He was doomed to live a life with a brain that picked itself apart, self-destructing slowly but surely. He was so fucking tired of being unhappy. He was so tired of being knocked off his high horse over and over. The happiness never lasted. Never.
When he was sinking through the quicksand of an anxious spiral or a depressive episode, there was usually a thought, or a series of thoughts, plaguing him. This one was especially terrifying.
I need to break up with Minho.
Jisung hated his own brain.
I need to break up with Minho.
He stood in the shower and pressed his palms to his eyes. He thought of his boyfriend. Minho was so brave. He was the strongest person Jisung knew. He had been through more than Jisung could imagine. He had no family, no home. He had been abused for years by those who claimed to love him. When those people called Jisung and Minho gross, Minho hadn’t flinched because Minho had been out since he was ten. He’d probably heard hundreds of comments like that one. Minho was so much stronger than Jisung.
Minho deserved someone who was not ashamed to love him.
Jisung’s tears fell, swept away by the hot shower water. He needed to break up with Minho. But, no. Fuck. No. Jisung groaned under his breath and wiped his swollen, stinging eyes. Why would he break up with Minho? Jisung loved Minho. Jisung loved spending time with him, making him smile, giving him kisses. Having sex with him. Jisung was in love. Why was his brain saying, over and over, that he needed to end the best thing that had ever happened to him?
Christ knows you’re not mature enough to date anyone. You’re supposed to be an adult.
Jisung remembered the way Sunny looked at him these days, throwing him glares like he was a scuff on her shoe. He deserved it. He was dumb and out of touch with his emotions and selfish, and he’d ruined her life. He was pathetic. Sad, anxious. Obsessed with external validation. Unsure of who he really was. A child. Ugly. Talentless. Wannabe rapper.
God. Jisung sighed as he shut the water off.
It was a Friday, which meant Minho was working all day. Classes in the morning, stripping at night. Jisung combed back through their texts together, feeling a heaviness in his chest he couldn’t quite breathe through.
Minho: good morning. Are you feeling okay?
Jisung had responded: I’m okay. Feeling a little bit anxious. Going to spend the day resting.
Minho: ok, I hope you get some good rest. I’m here if you need anything
Jisung had left him on read at eleven that morning, almost eight hours before. Guilt washed through him like he’d swallowed a burning mouthful of it. Poor Minho. Minho was probably wondering if he’d done something wrong, if there was anything he could do to help Jisung.
Jisung didn’t know what he needed. He wanted to sleep. He went to bed at eight o’clock that night, having completely forgotten to eat a meal since breakfast.
~
Saturday morning, Chan knocked on Jisung’s door. He came to sit at the foot of his bed and set a mug of hot tea on the nightstand. Jisung couldn’t read his expression. Was he worried? Irritated? Did he know exactly what was going on in Jisung’s brain? The opposite, maybe?
“What happened, Sung?” Chan smiled, one dimple appearing hesitantly. “You seem a little out of it.”
“I’m okay.” Jisung wiped his eyes, embarrassed that Chan was seeing him in this state. His face was probably swollen, eyes crusty and red-tinged.
“You’re not. It’s okay not to be okay.” Chan laid a hand on Jisung’s shoulder through his quilt. “Come on, sit up. Come on.”
Jisung obeyed, still embarrassed. He took the mug from Chan and sipped slowly. The liquid burned his lips, but the flavor was spicy, sweet, distracting.
Chan’s hand found Jisung’s shoulder again. He squeezed, kneading the muscles wrapped like bands of steel between his stiff neck and shoulder. “Did something happen with Minho?”
Jisung cringed. “Why, have you seen him?”
“He texted me. Told me to check up and make sure you’re taken care of.” Chan shrugged, fingers drumming on his lap. “I didn’t ask questions.”
Jisung sagged, spine slackening. Minho was so sweet. Jisung missed him. His chest ached with the desire to be near him, to curl up in his arms. He would make such a fucking fool of himself if he did, though. He knew it. He would cry and panic and confess to being bothered by something so minuscule and—
“Sungie. I really think it might help to tell me what’s on your mind.” Chan’s eyebrows were upturned as he gazed at Jisung. “I’m happy to listen. I won’t judge.”
Jisung’s thumb traced the ceramic handle of his tea mug. He looked down. “Just a depressive episode, I think,” he mumbled. “Hard to find the motivation to do anything right now.”
“Did you feel triggered by anything?”
Jisung opened his mouth. Snapped it shut. “Nothing really.”
“Nothing really? So sort of something?”
Jisung couldn’t help a nervous, exhausted smile. Chan broke into a wide grin at the sight and said, “Hey, it’s been a while since I’ve seen that smile. There it is.”
“Ah.” Jisung licked his cracked lips and scratched his head. “Someone…made a comment about me and Min the other day. About us being two men together. I guess it kind of set me off.”
“Shit.” Chan’s forehead creased, anger darkening his eyes. “The fact that homophobic people still exist is fucking bewildering to me.”
“Yeah.” Jisung picked at his quilt. My parents.
“It’s not easy,” Chan said. He shifted, clearly out of his element, and Jisung felt bad for him. Chan wasn’t obligated to mother him just because they lived together. “Being who you are even when society tries to shame you for it. It makes sense that you’re having some anxious thoughts about it.”
“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” Jisung sighed.
“What do you mean?”
“Like…” Jisung shook his head, trying to slow the garbled voices in his brain. I need to break up with Minho. “This isn’t what happiness was supposed to feel like. I was so happy with him, but now…” He gulped. “I feel just like I did when I was with Sunny. And when I was a teenager, and a kid. Why can’t I just fucking… relax? Enjoy the moment?”
“Sung.” Chan crossed his arms. “Let me tell you, you are nothing like how you were when you were with Sunny.”
“I felt like this.”
“That’s because you have anxiety. You’ll be anxious no matter who you’re with, Sung, or if you’re alone. Just like I’ll have…” he cringed, sucking on his teeth. “Terrible self esteem issues and depression and insomnia no matter who I’m with.”
Jisung smiled weakly.
“Did you honestly think being in a happy relationship would cure your mental illness?” Chan’s grin was soft, hesitant to tease him.
“Of course not. I guess I hoped…” Jisung pondered, trying to really contemplate what Chan was asking. “I hoped my relationship wouldn’t be a source of anxiety. Being with Sunny was such a huge source of stress, and then with Minho it felt so different, but now I’m stressed again, and…”
“What was stressful about being with Sunny?”
“Oh.” Jisung thought back to those days, already more months back than he realized. “Well, she wanted things from me that I couldn’t give her. Sex, and more passion, all that. I was always asking for space from her because she was more attached to me than I was to her.”
“And what’s stressful about being with Minho?”
Jisung compared the two. He sipped his tea, less scalding now, and admitted, “I feel like shit for not being sure about myself and my sexuality. I just feel like…” he breathed until his voice evened out. “I feel like he deserves someone who’s sure.”
“What aren’t you sure about?”
“I don’t know…if I’m gay, or bi, or demisexual or what, and I don’t know how my parents are gonna react, and the tiniest comment made me have a fucking anxiety attack—”
“Okay,” Chan interrupted him. “You’re way too hard on yourself.”
Jisung averted his eyes, ashamed. “I know.”
“I’m serious, Sung. No one is a hundred percent sure about their sexuality! I think. I mean, I can’t speak for everyone. But just because you’re figuring yourself out doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love. You didn’t say a word about not being sure about Minho. It seems to me like you really want to be with him, at the end of the day.”
“I do,” Jisung said. He did. He loved Minho. He knew that well enough. But… “But it’s not that simple. The rest of the world exists, and our relationship exists in the rest of the world. Is he really gonna have to deal with me having a mental breakdown every time someone comments on us being two men?”
Chan eyed him, shoulders falling as he sighed. Jisung winced. He was being so difficult and he knew it.
“I’m sorry,” Jisung went on, wrapping his blankets around his shoulders. “I know you’re right.”
“I think you should talk to him. I can’t really relate to what you’re going through but I bet he’ll have some good insight. No one expects you to be happy all the time, Jisung. It’s okay for life to be an up and down road.”
Jisung thanked him and accepted his goodbye hug. His thoughts continued to flit around annoyingly after Chan left. He doubted Minho would be able to relate. Minho was so self-assured, confident and uncaring of what others thought. Minho would probably think Jisung was a coward. Overthinking needlessly. Wasting his time and energy.
Jisung fell back into bed after that, exhausted.
~
When Jisung asked for space, Minho was excellent at giving it to him.
They’d been texting on and off, Minho inserting words of concern and offering to bring Jisung anything if he needed it. When Jisung insisted he just needed space for a few days, Minho didn’t get butthurt like Sunny did. He patiently kept his distance.
This was a good thing, Jisung supposed, but it also made him feel like shit. He wondered if his boyfriend was losing interest in him because he wasn’t making an effort to spend time with him. Minho deserved better than this.
So Saturday night, forty-eight hours since they’d last parted without as much as a hug, Minho called Jisung.
Jisung was doing laundry, folding his clothes and watching some Netflix show. When his phone lit up with the call, his stomach flipped. The giddiness was there still, underneath the layers of guilt and foggy sadness.
Jisung picked it up with a soft, “Hello?”
“Hey.” Minho sounded surprised, like he hadn’t expected Jisung to pick up. “Hey, it’s you. How are you?”
Jisung was surprised by the smile that pulled at his cheeks. He’d missed that sweet voice. “Hi,” Jisung said. “I’ve been better. How are you? How were your classes?”
“They were fine. Brody’s foot is healed so he came back today. It was good to see him.”
Jisung hummed at the mention of Minho’s favorite student. “I’m glad he’s feeling better.”
“Mm, me too.” Minho went quiet for a few moments, but the silence between them was more tense than awkward. It was tangible that they both had things they wanted to say. “Sungie, I…”
Jisung braced himself. Is he going to break up with me? Is he going to call me a shitty boyfriend? Is he going to mock me for buckling under absolutely no pressure?
“I hope you know,” Minho went on. “You can talk to me about anything. I wish I was better at stuff like this, but I’m not the best at comforting words.”
There it was, a familiar prickle of guilt. Jisung sighed. “I know, baby. I’m sorry. I wish I was better at explaining what I’m feeling.”
“Maybe I could bring you dinner?” Minho sounded hopeful, and it made Jisung’s heart squeeze. “Soup and salad? Or sushi, maybe? I could give you a massage. I…I don’t know.” He trailed off awkwardly, and it made Jisung feel warm. “I’m sorry if I’m imposing.”
“Not at all,” Jisung said. Maybe it would go fine, seeing his boyfriend in person. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to explain the mess of emotions weighing down his headspace, but he knew Minho deserved the effort. “Um, soup and salad does sound good, actually. Do you mind?”
“I don’t mind.” Minho sounded shy. “I have to feed my children before I pick up dinner, but I can be over in an hour?”
“Perfect. I’ll see you soon.”
“See you soon, darling.”
Jisung felt like crying after he hung up. It was so nice to hear Minho’s voice. He was still terrified to face him and confront his worries, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe facing them was what he needed to come to terms with them.
He showered, brushed his teeth, and put his laundry away. He ignored his racing thoughts about what Minho would think.
If he were Minho, and had been out of the closet for twelve years, he would be exasperated as fuck if his adult boyfriend couldn’t get out of his own head about his sexuality. Right? Wouldn’t he?
He wasn’t sure. If it were Minho in a depressive episode, Jisung wasn’t sure what he would do. Realistically, he probably would do anything to support Minho, no matter what was going on inside his head. Did Minho feel the same way about Jisung?
Jisung didn’t want to hurt Minho. He already was hurting Minho. He hated his own brain.
He jumped at the sound of a knock on the door. His heart raced as he pulled it open.
When he looked into Minho’s eyes, so many emotions charged at him he felt like he’d been stampeded.
Minho was so fucking handsome, so impossibly gorgeous and familiar, with dark eyes that held tiny stars and pouty lips Jisung knew were silky soft. He broke into a tentative smile when he looked at Jisung, and Jisung hated himself for wasting even an hour of his life not being close to this man.
“Hey,” Jisung said, breathless. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, darling.” Minho’s small hands fidgeted with the paper bag in his hands. Jisung was so in love he felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. “How are you feeling?”
Jisung grabbed the bag of takeout and set it on the table. He reeled Minho close to him and buried his face in his neck, hugging his shoulders and breathing in his scent. His tense muscles loosened, his posture becoming jelly-like as his boyfriend held him.
“Deja vu,” Minho said against Jisung’s hair, laughing softly.
Guilt wagged its finger at Jisung. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I hate that I get like this.”
“It’s okay, Sungie. Don’t apologize.” Minho squeezed him tighter.
They sat and ate on the couch in silence. Jisung hadn’t realized how hungry he was, mowing through the meal like it was his last. When he was finished he felt refreshed, but still painfully nervous to put his anxieties into words.
He loved Minho. Minho deserved an explanation.
Jisung curled up in a ball in the corner of the couch, knees drawn to his chest, feet pointing at Minho. His boyfriend sat in the opposite corner with an arm slung over the cushions and a curious expression on his face.
Jisung felt like such a shitty partner. He couldn’t believe Minho put up with him.
“It’s been hard,” Jisung said after a pause. “It’s been a rough few days. I push people away when I’m in a rut like this.”
“Should I not have let you?”
“No, you should have. It helps, I think. It’s just hard.” He sighed, exhaling vocally. “I overthink a lot. All the time, but especially in episodes like this. Being around people makes me overthink even more because I overthink how they’re responding to my overthinking.”
“That makes sense.” Minho’s fingers messed with the pillow in his lap. “Do you feel better now than you did two days ago?”
“Yeah, I do. A little.” He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a shitty boyfriend.”
“Taking care of yourself and working through your feelings doesn’t make you a shitty boyfriend.”
“It does, though. I should be able to be there for both of us, you know?” Jisung gulped when his throat tightened. “You deserve better than this.”
Minho’s eyes narrowed slightly. The warmth in his eyes was replaced with something cool, defensive. “It wasn’t a big deal, Sungie. Two days without seeing you weren’t the end of the world.”
Jisung winced. It wasn’t a big deal. Of course. He was just overthinking. Making nothing into something. He looked down at his socked feet and didn’t say anything.
“Hey.” Minho eased forward. He took a gentle hold of Jisung’s foot. “I’m sorry. I know it’s been hard for you. It’s been hard for me, too. I was worried about you.”
“Sorry to make you worry.” Jisung knew before he was done speaking that his apology would annoy Minho, so he bit his tongue. “I hate my stupid brain.”
“Mmm.” Minho squeezed his foot. Jisung glanced up to see his mischievous smirk. “Don’t say that about my favorite brain.”
Jisung laughed, quickly wiping the tears that sprang to his eyes. “Wouldn’t be your favorite if it were torturing you like it’s torturing me.”
“Maybe so.” Minho was quiet for a moment before adding, “I get it. I’ve had my fair share of torture from my brain. It’s really scary.”
Jisung nodded. He watched Minho through blurry tears and chewed a hangnail.
“I think you and I are different,” Minho went on. “When you feel sad or anxious, you feel it so hard, right away. It hits you like a train and knocks you off your feet, and then you process it, and you get back on your feet with time and you end up okay.” He smiled. “I, however, bottle it up until it blows up in my face and something destructive happens. Like drug addiction. Or abusive relationships.”
Jisung hummed, thinking it over. Minho was right.
But Minho experienced stress and anxiety for reasons that made sense. Death in the family, homelessness, abuse. Jisung was just a ball of anxiety constantly because he was wired that way.
“What’s going through your head?” Minho asked softly.
Jisung knew he had to let him in. As ashamed as he was, he knew it would help them both to put what was going on into words. Feeling embarrassed, he tugged at his earlobe and admitted, “I can’t stop thinking about what those people said Thursday.”
Minho nodded. It looked to Jisung like he’d seen that coming.
“I know it shouldn’t matter,” he said. “They’re the ones who are trash, not me. I just feel so…” He dug a hand clumsily through his overfull canister of emotions. He hesitantly settled on, “Guilty.”
“Guilty for what?”
“So many things.” He laughed dryly. “For making a stupid joke about having cum on my chin in public.”
“Oh come on, I loved your joke.”
“For having a fucking mental breakdown over some comment from complete strangers. For avoiding you for two days.” He rested his chin on his knees. “You weren’t even fazed by what they said, and I’m a mess, and it’s embarrassing.”
Minho shifted. He moved his hand from Jisung’s foot to the couch cushions, and Jisung looked up, worried about the lack of contact. Minho’s eyes were clouded as he searched for words. “Just because I react one way doesn’t mean it’s how everyone will react. I’m not disappointed in you for being affected by this, baby. I would never expect you to handle a situation exactly the way I would.”
Jisung nodded, trying to soak in his every word.
“I would never want to date someone like myself,” Minho went on. “I love that you’re sensitive. I think it’s really attractive.”
Jisung stared at him. Warmth washed through his body, tingling his skin and filling his chest with an unexpected lightness. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Minho arched an eyebrow, searching Jisung’s face with a little smile. “Course.”
“Oh.” Jisung tried to hide his blush by itching his nose. “I didn’t realize that.”
“You also identified as straight, like…” Minho checked a nonexistent watch on his wrist and made Jisung giggle. “Two months ago? You’ve never experienced aggressions like that before. I got my fill of breakdowns over other people’s opinions when I was in middle school and high school.”
Jisung’s face fell as his worries resurfaced. “That’s what’s so embarrassing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” Jisung mumbled. “You’re so much more… developed as a queer person than I am. I feel like we’re on such different paths.”
Minho was quiet. Jisung checked his reaction nervously, and his stomach rolled at the sight of Minho’s tense chin. “Different paths?” Minho echoed quietly.
Jisung scrambled to find the right words. He didn’t want to push Minho away, but it was hard when his worries urged him to do just that. When he started his sentence, tears caught in his throat, and he had to sniffle and squeeze his eyes shut for a moment before continuing. “I’m ashamed,” he said. “I’m ashamed of who I am, and I just feel like you deserve better than that.”
Minho shook his head, eyes surprisingly calm. “I’m ashamed of who I am too.”
“You’re not.”
“Sung.” Minho managed a shaky smile. “I am. Not of my sexuality, maybe, but fuck, if I don’t have enough baggage to weigh down a plane. Everyone has their shit.”
“But our relationship,” Jisung argued. “My parents don’t know, and I’m nervous about PDA, and—”
“PDA isn’t important to me. Yonghwa was obsessed with PDA and it was like he was peeing on me in public. It was nasty.”
Jisung chuckled, wiping his tears.
“You came out to your brother this week, darling. You’re really doing an incredible job with your sexuality journey and it’s just started.” Minho cocked his head to meet Jisung’s eyes. He smiled softly, blinking like he did when he was sleepy. “Don’t I deserve to be happy?”
“Of course you do!”
“Well, then I deserve you. Because you make me happy.”
Jisung pouted, tears falling rapidly. He felt disgusting as he hid his runny nose behind his hoodie sleeve.
“If you don’t want to be with me,” Minho started. “That’s—”
“I do.”
“ If you don’t want to, that’s one thing. But I think you do. So don’t worry about figuring out whether you’re… worthy of me.” Minho rolled his eyes with a lighthearted grin. “We both deserve to be happy, and if we can do that for each other, I don’t see the problem.”
Jisung nearly tumbled face first onto the couch in his haste to crawl into Minho’s arms. He slid into his boyfriend’s lap and wrapped around him like a vine, winding his arms around his neck and looping his legs around his waist, stuffing his face into his chest to hide his tears. He felt warm. He felt so fucking relieved.
~
Over the next few days, things crawled upwards for Jisung.
He learned to be honest with his boyfriend about what he was feeling. Rather than being repulsed or bewildered by Jisung’s struggle with his identity, Minho was patient. He always listened well, supported Jisung through his low points, and celebrated the small victories alongside him.
His depressive episode lingered for about two weeks before dissipating into another swing of happiness. Jisung kept Minho close throughout the bout of sadness. Contrary to what he anticipated, it actually helped him to share his space with Minho while he was struggling.
He’d underestimated Minho once again, just like he had underestimated their relationship. He never had to overthink when it came to Minho.
Halfway through October, 3RACHA had their friends over after an early evening performance. Hyunjin, Felix, and Minho sat around with the trio in their living room, passing Chan’s bong between them and cackling at whatever cartoon was on TV.
Jisung always got horny when he was high. Before Minho, that manifested as him fucking his own fist and watching some hentai or another to avoid thinking about how having sex with Sunny made him nervous.
Since Minho, it made him so embarrassingly needy that he was pretty sure they’d have to leave the group at any minute.
“You smell good,” he said dopily. He pulled Minho’s V-neck t-shirt away from his chest and skimmed his nose gently along his collarbone. “Mmm.”
Minho gave a staccato laugh and kissed Jisung’s temple. They were entangled in the arm chair, Minho’s thick thighs covered by nothing by a pair of snug joggers and slung lazily over Jisung’s lap. Jisung could feel the warmth radiating off him. He couldn’t resist smoothing a hand over Minho’s thigh and squeezing, kneading.
Minho giggled. He hid his face by pressing his nose to Jisung’s jaw. “Baby,” he murmured, lips brushing Jisung’s ear. “Stop.”
Jisung was so high, so caught up in his sensory input, that he didn’t even care that all their friends were bearing witness. He wanted to feel more, smell more, taste more. He snaked his arms around Minho’s waist and hoisted him closer, burying his face in the crook of his neck and inhaling again.
“Get a room!” Hyunjin was the first to suggest. “Jisung looks like he’s about to take a bite out of you, Minnie.”
“Mm, fuck off,” Minho said, voice sugary. His dismissal made Jisung melt, as did his fingers carding through Jisung’s hair. “Baby’s just sleepy.”
“No,” Jisung said, voice scratchy from smoke and cottonmouth. “I’m gonna take a bite out of you.”
Minho made Jisung wait, wanting to partake in another smoke session. When Hyunjin stood to drive him and Felix back to their apartment, Jisung practically dragged Minho towards his bedroom.
However, Minho, who was stronger than Jisung despite his insistence that he wasn’t, sidetracked them to the kitchen to get them both water.
Jisung leaned against the fridge, watching with a dumb grin as Minho retrieved the cups from the cabinets and filled them. His boyfriend looked so cute in a big, fuzzy cardigan and soft t-shirt, hair fluffy and eyes bloodshot.
“I love you,” Jisung said.
Minho turned to look at him. He blinked slowly, eyes unfocused. Then a slow, goofy grin crept across his face. “I’m so high. You didn’t just. Did you just?”
“You’re really cute,” Jisung said. His voice sounded funny, none of the vowels coming out quite like he wanted them to. “I love you so much.”
Minho’s giggles were high-pitched and obnoxious. He smacked Jisung’s shoulder with a tiny fist. “I love you too, asshole!”
“Why am I an asshole?” Jisung’s cheeks hurt from how hard he was grinning. He loves me too.
“Because what if you’re just saying that because you’re stoned as fuck?”
“Since the day we started dating,” Jisung clarified. “Uh, I dunno, before that, probably. I’ve loved you.”
Minho glared at him. He lifted his water and chugged it, then handed Jisung his. Jisung chugged it too, his parched throat downing the entire glass in seconds. Then Minho took both their glasses, set them on the counter, and cupped Jisung’s face in his sweater paws to give him a soft kiss.
“You’re a sap,” he said against Jisung’s mouth. He grinned, so much happiness oozing off him that it made Jisung tingle. “Take me to your room and show me you mean it.”
~
Notes:
Thank you for reading!! ❤️ see you next time for more about minho's secret entanglements..
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 21
Summary:
“What are you thinking?” Minho whispered. He didn’t mean for it to come out like a plea, soft and coaxing.
Jisung’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Not much,” he admitted quietly. “Just want you to fuck me.”
Notes:
welcome back!!!
Some CWs for this chapter: light spanking (kinda pushes light), some heavy themes like blackmail, threats of violence, etc.
enjoy ❤️
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
xxi. minho
Minho watched Jisung fumble with his computer monitor.
His boyfriend wore a giant hoodie, one with ink staining the sleeves and a faded cartoon character on the chest. It hit just above his knees. He bent over to plug in a cable somewhere on his desk, but Minho wasn’t watching his hands. The hoodie rode up, revealing smooth thighs and navy blue briefs that clung to his ass. His slender legs parted as he shifted his weight, and Minho had to resist the urge to get up and stick his face in his thigh gap.
“Pretty,” Minho mused to himself.
Jisung whirled to look at him. He glanced at his own bare legs. “Stop,” he whined, toes pointed inward, knees knocking together as he curled into himself. Cute.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before, sweetheart.”
“My legs are sticks.”
Minho wished he was better with words so he could object to that statement—Jisung’s legs were tan, gently muscled, and squishable—but he was so caught up in how cute and shy his boyfriend was being that all he could say was, “Come put your sticks on my face.”
Jisung’s smile took his breath away. Toothy, bow-shaped. Topped off with timid laughter. Messy blond hair fell over averted eyes.
Minho reached a hand out as far as he could and hooked his index finger in Jisung’s hoodie pocket. “Come, come.”
Jisung whined and toppled onto him. He sank into Minho’s arms happily, soft cheek brushing the side of his neck, knees bracketing his hips. His barely-clothed ass sat right in Minho’s lap. He was so warm.
“Babe,” Jisung said. His fingernails, which he’d painted black just that morning, combed through Minho’s hair. “You have to go to work.”
“Come with me.”
“I have homework, though.”
“I wanna dance for you.” Minho pressed his thumbs into Jisung’s narrow hips, feeling his softness, the bones underneath.
Jisung shifted back to look at him. His arms rested on Minho’s shoulders, hood slung crookedly over one shoulder. His cheeks were still a little puffy from the nap they’d just taken.
“Really?” Jisung asked. He smiled, hesitant but with early traces of cockiness. Minho’s favorite.
“Mhm. I know you don’t like clubs but…I want to show you what I can do some time.”
“I didn’t know you wanted me to watch,” Jisung said. “I’d love to.”
“Good.” Minho’s hands roamed higher, slipping under the hem of his hoodie. His fingertips skimmed the waistband of Jisung’s briefs. “You look so cute right now,” he groaned, disliking his own unwillingness to drop it. He buried his face in Jisung’s chest.
Jisung laughed softly and tightened his knees around Minho’s hips. “We really should be productive.”
“But you’re right here,” Minho said, trying not to whine. He snapped Jisung’s underwear waistband lightly before sliding both palms over his ass, pulling him apart tentatively.
It wasn’t like he’d never touched Jisung’s ass before. But it’d always been under the guise of playful teasing, or mindless groping during sex. He nosed shyly at his jaw as he anticipated Jisung’s reaction.
The arch in Jisung’s spine deepened. He kissed Minho with a soft gasp, fingers curling in his shirt.
Oh.
Minho grabbed his ass more firmly. He rolled Jisung’s curves in two hands, feeling how warm his skin was even through the thin fabric of his underwear. Jisung shifted with his movements, pliant, malleable. Eager. He whimpered when Minho’s nails dug into his skin.
Minho wanted to tease him for his desperation, but he didn’t want to break their kiss. Or make Jisung too shy to keep going. So instead he tongued his boyfriend’s plump bottom lip, tugged it with his teeth until Jisung’s fingers tightened enough to stretch Minho’s shirt.
Minho giggled and eased Jisung’s hands from his shirt. “Are you trying to rip my clothes?”
“Sorry,” Jisung said, eyes squeezed shut. His smile was sheepish. “We’ve…never really done this before.”
“I have to go to work,” Minho sighed, infuriated. Of course the one time he found the courage to purposefully fondle Jisung’s ass was right before an eight hour shift.
“You do,” Jisung agreed, certain, but still flustered. Minho squeezed his ass again before giving him a light smack, and Jisung’s eyes fluttered shut.
This was going to be a brutal boner to fight down before walking home.
“You like this?” Minho asked tentatively, sliding his fingers underneath Jisung’s briefs where they clung to his legs. His thighs flexed as he reacted to Minho’s touch.
“Yeah,” Jisung admitted with a huff of laughter. “I do.”
“My birthday’s coming up,” Minho noted.
Jisung wiggled in his lap. “Your birthday present is my ass, you’re welcome.”
“Thank you,” Minho said, grinning and grabbing said ass once more. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Really?” Minho had meant it as a joke, but Jisung sounded shy, almost incredulous. He sat back on Minho’s thighs with his hands in his lap, anxiously chewing his lip.
“There are other dreams and aspirations I have. Buying a car and my own place. Being able to wall twerk.”
“Minho.”
“Tell me what you’re asking, darling.” Minho tried to sound soothing as he thumbed Jisung’s thighs.
Jisung cleared his throat. He didn’t meet Minho’s eyes as he said, “You’re interested in, uh, in…in topping?”
Minho couldn’t help an enormous grin and a little cackle, but he felt bad immediately when Jisung hid behind his hands and toppled off Minho’s lap. “Don’t laugh!”
“Wait, come back, Jisungie.” Minho grabbed Jisung’s waist and manhandled him back to where he was. Jisung’s hands, covered in too-long sweatshirt sleeves, remained clasped over his mouth, so Minho gave him a soft kiss on his nose instead. “Yes,” he said firmly. “I am.”
Jisung’s hands fell away. His cheeks lifted with a nervous smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Minho beamed, ecstatic that Jisung brought up this possibility.
Jisung's little smile became a radiant grin. “Does that mean you know how to regular twerk?”
Minho threw back his head with a laugh, arms propped on the bed behind him. “I’m a stripper, Jisung. Of course I know how to fucking twerk.”
“I was just asking!”
“You’ve seen me ride cock. You know I know how to move my ass.”
“Shut up!” Jisung shoved his palm over Minho’s mouth, muffling his obnoxious laughter and sending them both tumbling back onto the bed.
They made out for another minute or two, Jisung running his nails through Minho’s hair until Minho grew concerned about how much he was fluffing it up and pinned his wrists on either side of his own head. Then he flipped them over, bracketing Jisung against the quilt, and laid a kiss on his forehead before murmuring, “I gotta go.”
Jisung pouted. His golden hair fanned around him prettily, and Minho couldn’t resist stroking a hand through it. “I’ll miss you,” Jisung said, lazily sliding his hands under Minho’s shirt to feel his tummy.
“I’ll be back tomorrow after my classes.” Minho cupped Jisung’s cheek. “Love you.”
“Love you.” Jisung wrapped himself around Minho’s body like a koala.
“I have to go, baby.”
“I’m hugging you goodbye at the door.”
“We are nowhere near the door.”
“So take me to the door.”
Minho groaned, feigning exasperation but scooping up his little monkey nonetheless. He carried Jisung right to the door, ignoring the judgmental retching sounds from Changbin who sat watching TV. Then he set his boyfriend’s bare feet on the ground and gave him one last lingering kiss before leaving.
~
The eight hour shift dragged by.
Minho bounced between bartending, cooking, and dancing, covering whichever shift was needed and leaping at the opportunity for a change of pace. He enjoyed all three roles, dancing most of all, but one can only shake their ass so many times on stage before it gets repetitive.
The Hub had several different settings for its dancers to perform. The cages were Minho’s least favorite; he enjoyed the protection that came with them, but he preferred to mingle with his coworkers when the crowd thinned out or to wander between the poles on the main stage, milking different parts of the audience for tips. The third option was the private rooms, but Minho had stopped doing those sometime during his relationship with Yonghwa and had no intention of resuming. Drunk men got too handsy for his liking.
Being on the main stage was his favorite. He liked the power of drawing all the eyes in the room, but the freedom to turn his back.
He looked good tonight, dressed in geometric velvet suit pieces that didn’t quite cover his back and waist, hair gelled back and jeggings clinging to his thighs. He wasn’t going to take anything off tonight until his set neared its end. Taking his sweet time tended to get him more tips in the long run.
It was almost one in the morning. An hour remained in his shift, and the espresso shot he’d taken at eight o’clock was ebbing from his veins, leaving him worn out and anxious to go to his room and cuddle with his cats.
“You wanna do stage one?” Maeve asked him. They hung around the back of the stage, returning their empty drink trays and preparing to give a finale show.
“I don’t mind either way,” Minho said. He was feeling too tired to be stage one tonight, but Maeve was newer and less confident being out front.
“Isn’t your boyfriend here? Don’t you want to give him a show?”
Minho did a double take. He observed Maeve’s bewilderment, her curled upper lip and squinted eyes, and then spun to stare at the crowd. It was too far away for him to pick out faces. “Jisung is here?”
“That’s why I was waving at you earlier, boo!”
“I thought you were showing me the lipstick print on your tit!” Minho felt very awake now. Jisung was at the club. His sweet little claustrophobic anxious baby was braving the crowd of horny drunk people for him. Minho had to dip his chin to hide a huge smile.
“Oh my god, look at you!” Maeve’s eyes lit up, jaw dropping as she situated the parts of her lace outfit. “I’ve never seen you so nervous before!”
“Shut up. He hates crowds and I want to make this worth it for him. Where’s he sitting?”
“Corner booth across from the kitchen. He’s with your pretty friend with long hair and his jacked boyfriend.”
Minho sighed, relieved that Hyunjin and Changbin accompanied Jisung. He still couldn’t believe he’d offhandedly mentioned he wanted to show Jisung how he could dance, and now here his boyfriend was just a few hours later. Minho was torn between being shocked at the audacity and swept off his feet.
He took stage one, chin held high and hips swaying as he walked, smirking confidently at each face peering up at his own. He’d learned long ago to hide his nerves well, but he couldn’t help the way his composure slipped when his eyes fell on his friends.
Jisung sat in a booth, cheeks round and eyes bright with a tentative smile. His blond hair was styled off his forehead and fell in a graceful arc to his cheekbone on one side. He wore a knit sweater with a huge tear in the shoulder, and Minho wished he were close enough to run his fingers over the tan skin left exposed.
Minho broke into a grin and swept his hair back. He waved.
Jisung waved back. Minho was struck with deja vu.
He couldn’t remember the last time Jisung made him nervous. Never, probably. Other than the terrifying twenty-four hours when Minho confessed his feelings and confronted Jisung about his unclear response. Minho rarely got nervous, much less around the person who made him the most comfortable, but now he kind of felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.
He allowed the heavy, slow electronic beat to carry him as he began.
When he started to move, his nerves took the back seat. His muscle memory guided him to twist around the burlesque pole like he was teasing it, running the cold metal along the underside of his calf before slinking to the edge of the stage. He let his hips take the lead, rolling them with calculated precision and letting his fingers linger on his own crotch. His brain flitted with ways to impress Jisung, features of his own to highlight that he knew his boyfriend loved.
His memory didn’t help. Every part of you is so pretty, Jisung liked to say.
He picked away the pieces of his outfit neatly, untucking his shirt first and winding it up to his chest, giving those behind him a good look at his back, ass, and thighs. Jisung was in front of him though, eyes raking up Minho’s body, lingering on his stomach. He saw his boyfriend moisten his lips.
Minho decided to milk the rest of the crowd for tips, ignoring Jisung in favor of fighting down the arousal kindling in the back of his mind. He worked his way around the pole, grinding his ass against it like it was his lover. As he pushed off to retrieve the cash waving his way, he discarded the pieces over his arms and let them slide to the floor.
When Minho unbuckled the harness across his chest, he lifted his gaze to his friends’ booth again. Jisung was chewing his fingernails, watching Minho without blinking, curled into himself. Flustered and shy. Fuck.
A tingle danced down Minho’s spine. He had Jisung wrapped around his little finger and they both knew it.
For the rest of his routine, Minho kept his eyes trained on Jisung. He discarded his shirt frivolously, whipping it away from his torso with a smirk, and Jisung laughed, hiding behind his hands and fanning his neck.
His pants came away in zippable sections. He took his time, flexing his calves and quads as the fabric peeled away from his skin. Underneath, his snug compression shorts left little to the imagination, and at that point he was so stacked with tips he opted to keep half his pants on to store the cash.
To finish the set Maeve leaped into Minho’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. He buried his face in her tits and allowed her to pour a glass of champagne down his back, wincing as it immediately soaked his shorts and made him sticky, but he was too delighted to do anything but laugh.
He offered his friends a wave and a raised finger, mouthing that he’d be right out before jogging backstage to shower and put real clothes on. He did so quickly, wrapping himself in a robe before darting to his room, where he stowed his cash and jumped in the shower. Minutes later he was wrestling a t-shirt over his head and rushing for the door, anxious to see his friends and make fun of his flustered boyfriend.
He slid into their booth with nothing but a nonchalant smile, and Hyunjin started yelling immediately. “You’re amazing!” he said. “Please smother me with your thighs.”
“Nice job, Minnie Min,” Changbin said, frowning at Hyunjin. “Hey. My thighs are just as thick.”
“Thanks for coming,” Minho said, though by the way Hyunjin grinned at Changbin with sparkling eyes and a giggled of course they are, he was pretty sure neither of them heard him. He turned to Jisung, who was sitting slouched, fiddling with his sleeves.
“Hi,” Minho said.
“Hi,” Jisung said. He hid his face in his hands, a gleam of teeth and a tremor through his shoulders indicating his laughter.
“You actually came.”
“He did,” Hyunjin piped up. “Everywhere. We had to get paper towels from behind the bar.”
Minho turned to Hyunjin, sliding closer to Jisung and winding an arm around his shoulders all the while. “Thanks for cleaning up after my needy baby.”
“Gross,” Jisung groaned, arms encircling Minho’s waist.
“I have to work early,” Hyunjin went on, “and I’m pretty sure you two want to fuck, so we’re gonna head out. Do you guys want a ride back to 3RACHA’s or are you staying here?”
Neither Jisung nor Minho bothered to deny it. Jisung rested his cheek on Minho’s shoulder and innocently blinked up at him as they telepathically communicated about where they wanted to fuck around.
Minho stared at him. His little mouth. His soft cheeks. He brushed some of his honey hair from his eyes.
“Okay,” Changbin declared. “They’re staying here.”
“Thanks for coming guys,” Minho reiterated in case they hadn’t heard him before. He moved his hand down Jisung’s side, squeezing his waist. “See you tomorrow, probably.”
When Changbin and Hyunjin were gone, Minho kissed Jisung’s forehead. “Let’s go, darling. Closing time.”
“Right.”
Minho tugged Jisung to his room by the hand, keeping him anchored close as they made their way to the dissipating finale crowd. Minho’s nerves lingered stubbornly as he noticed how clammy Jisung’s palm was.
Was he about to fuck Jisung?
What if Minho accidentally hurt him? What if Jisung ended up hating bottoming? It had been a long time since Minho topped, and the last thing he wanted was to give his boyfriend a bad experience. Maybe they should talk about it more first.
They stepped into Minho’s room and shut the Hub-side door, muting the club’s hum. Minho twisted the lock.
When he turned to face Jisung, his boyfriend kicked at the ground. His fingers poked from his sweater sleeves and fiddled with his earlobe. Minho hadn’t seen him this nervous in ages.
“Hey,” Minho said. “You okay?”
Jisung laughed, bright and reassuring. Minho could tell he was just feeling shy, not stressed. “Ah, yeah I am. Sorry. I just…”
Minho waited patiently, arms crossed and back propped against the door, as Jisung chewed his lip and kept his eyes on Minho’s slippers.
“This is dumb,” Jisung forewarned. He lifted saucer-shaped eyes to stare at Minho pleadingly.
“What?”
Jisung sucked his lip under his teeth. “Don’t laugh.”
“What is it? Did you really nut in the middle of the club?”
“No,” Jisung said, but he sounded so hesitant that Minho had to laugh. “No, hey! Stop! I just forget sometimes that you’re like…a stripper.”
“Uh-huh,” Minho said, squinting as he tried to pin down where his boyfriend was going with this.
“Like.” Jisung ran two hands back through his hair, sighing heavily. “I have such an inferiority complex sometimes it’s embarrassing.”
Minho frowned. He processed the word inferiority and began brainstorming ways to remind Jisung that he was perfect and deserving of absolutely everything he wanted. He never could express it well enough. “What do you mean?”
“You’re…” Jisung grinned hugely, embarrassed and genuine, and shook his head. “So beautiful already. And you can do that. I’m so comfortable with you now that I forget how intimidating you are.”
“Intimidating?” Minho cocked his head, smirking a little as Jisung cowered slightly.
“Yeah!” The nerves faded from Jisung’s eyes, replaced by something fond, almost nostalgic. “The last time I saw you dance was the day after I met you.”
“Mmm.”
Jisung hid behind his hands again and whined, and Minho cackled before stepping forward and pulling his boyfriend into a hug. He kissed Jisung’s temple and said softly, “It’s okay to admit that you’re overwhelmed by how sexy your boyfriend is.”
“Ahhhh.” Jisung sank into Minho’s chest, wiggling to burrow his face in his neck. “I’m so overwhelmed by how sexy my boyfriend is.”
“Now you know how I feel after you perform.”
“That’s different. That’s rap. I keep my clothes on the whole time.”
“Not in my imagination you don’t.”
Jisung giggled. He pulled back so they were eye to eye, hands resting on either side of Minho’s neck. His gaze flickered down to Minho’s lips.
“What are you thinking?” Minho whispered. He didn’t mean for it to come out like a plea, soft and coaxing.
Jisung’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Not much,” he admitted quietly. “Just want you to fuck me.”
Minho forgot how to breathe. His hands became blocks of ice on Jisung’s waist. His lips parted. He should’ve seen this coming, obviously.
But having Jisung here, in his arms, with big brown eyes overflowing with fondness, asking to be fucked, made Minho completely forget how to form sentences with his voice.
Before Jisung could get insecure, Minho managed a shaky, “Are you sure?”
Jisung nodded. His eyes were hazy as he looked at Minho, jaw just barely slack. Minho could see the shine of spit on his plush bottom lip. “Well.” He wet his lips and grinned, and the brilliance of his smile made Minho’s tummy flutter. “I’m really nervous, but yeah. I’m sure.”
“I’m nervous too,” Minho said. When Jisung shot him an incredulous glare, he laughed and said, “I’m serious!”
“Have you topped before?”
“Yeah, but before Yonghwa. It’s been a long time.”
“Mmm.”
Minho smoothed his hands down to Jisung’s butt, which filled out his jeans so nicely Minho couldn’t resist giving it a squeeze. “I’m surprised,” he confessed.
“Yeah?” Jisung’s smile was lazy, half-dazed, his nose brushing Minho’s. Needy. Minho hoped he could get his nerves out of the way quickly and give his boyfriend what he wanted.
“My ass looked amazing tonight,” Minho went on.
Jisung laughed, letting his forehead fall onto Minho’s shoulder. “You were incredible. If I weren’t so motivated to get fucked I’d be bending you over right now.”
Minho didn’t know how Jisung did that—exhibited all his nervous habits and then whispered poetic filth right in Minho’s ear—but he was glad to hear his routine impressed.
He took a deep breath and decided to ignore his nerves altogether. His fingers skimmed up Jisung’s arms, danced over the stylishly torn fabric of his sweater to dip inside and stroke his soft skin. “This is cute,” he noted. He replaced his fingers with his mouth, pressing a light kiss to Jisung’s collarbone. “You’re cute.”
Jisung hummed. His chest pressed to Minho’s as his back arched. The tip of his nose nuzzled Minho’s neck. “Should we move to the bed?”
In the three months since he’d moved out of Yonghwa’s apartment, Minho had renovated his Hub room considerably. He now had a bed frame, a headboard, and even a curtain draped around the top. He liked feeling tucked away while he slept.
The metal curtain rings scraped as he swept the layer to the side. He eyed Soonie and Doongie, who slept sprawled side by side on the bed with Minho’s lilac blanket tangled between them, looking way too comfortable to disturb.
Jisung giggled and rested his chin on Minho’s shoulder from behind. “We’d be cruel to move them.”
“We would. I’m glad you understand.” Minho turned, squatted, and hiked Jisung up into his arms bridal style, who slapped a hand over his mouth to cover his yelp. “Shut the curtain, will you? I don’t want them to see what I’m about to do to you.”
Jisung stretched over Minho’s shoulder to do so, his sweater riding up and revealing a patch of his tummy. Minho licked his lips.
They settled down on the couch, Jisung perched cutely on Minho’s lap, knees hugging Minho’s hips. When Minho met his eyes he was unprepared for the seriousness there. Jisung's lips parted with a sigh as Minho smoothed his hands beneath his sweater and over the planes of his back.
Their lips met slowly at first. Minho took his time exploring, letting his hands roam. Jisung keened as Minho’s nails traced his ribcage, gasping when his nipples were teased. Minho discarded the sweater and leaned back against the couch for a moment, smirking contentedly as he took in the sight of his shirtless boyfriend astride him.
Jisung flexed his biceps and winked down at Minho obnoxiously, but his cockiness reverted back to shyness when Minho kissed his chest, licked the sweat collecting in his sternum, and sucked the sensitive skin into his mouth hard enough to leave a mark.
“Ah.” Jisung’s hips rolled down. Minho grabbed his ass, digging his nails in and guiding him to grind against him. “Baby,” Jisung whispered, pawing at Minho’s shirt.
When Minho shrugged his shirt off, Jisung met him in an urgent kiss. He licked into Minho’s mouth and wrapped his arms around his neck, whimpering softly as Minho gripped his waist and squeezed. Jisung tasted like fresh toothpaste and smelled like shampoo and aftershave. Minho tingled at the thought of him prettying himself up with him in mind.
He tipped Jisung’s body to the side, quickly stuffing a pillow to the armrest so he’d be comfortable before laying him on his back. Minho wondered if he looked as nervous as he felt. He hid his face by kissing Jisung’s stomach, tracing his nose along the shallow lines of his abs.
An idea dawned on him. He glanced upward, teeth grazing the button of Jisung’s jeans, and asked, “Can I eat you out?”
Jisung laughed breathlessly, his shoulders shaking. A pretty pink flush dusted his chest. “You wanna?”
A hundred memories of fantasizing about just that cycled jarringly behind Minho’s eyes. “Yeah,” he admitted, grinning as he popped the button of his jeans. “Wanna make you squirm.”
“Like you don’t already do that every day.” Jisung pulled his knees up to his chest one by one as Minho tugged his jeans off each foot. A nervous chuckle escaped his swollen lips. “But um, sure. I’m…” He scratched the side of his head, messing up his gelled hair. “I’m nervous.”
“About what?” Minho kissed just beneath his belly button, letting his teeth drag over buttery skin.
“I’ve never been able to make it feel good,” Jisung admitted. “With just myself.”
Minho hummed and palmed Jisung through his underwear. “You’ve tried fingering yourself?”
Jisung nodded, and Minho tried not to get too carried away picturing it. “I couldn’t find my prostate, though. And it hurt like hell. Is it gonna hurt, do you think?”
“Maybe at first,” Minho admitted. He thought back to his first time bottoming. It hadn’t been painful, but he went to town on himself with dildos for months before then, so he couldn't speak for Jisung. “I’ll be gentle, I promise. Tell me if anything I do hurts and I’ll go slower, okay?”
“Okay.” Jisung brushed back Minho’s hair with a timid smile.
“And we can always turn back if you decide you don’t want to.”
“I want to, baby. Come on, lick my ass.”
Minho scoffed and tugged Jisung’s underwear down. “Gross.”
“You’re the one who wanted to— ah.” Jisung sighed when Minho nearly swallowed his dick, sliding his spit-soaked lips over him and tightening his cheeks. He let himself get wet and messy, drooling down Jisung’s cock and using his fingers to stroke his shaft.
“Oh my god,” Jisung gasped. His hand tangled loosely in Minho's hair. “ Shit, Min.”
Minho hummed, pleased, and popped off to dig in the couch cushions for their bottle of mint lube. His heart was racing. He finally was going to wreck Jisung like he’d wanted to since the first time they fooled around. Well, wreck gently. With his utmost comfort in mind.
He bit Jisung’s hip, letting his teeth sink in hard enough to sting before pulling back. “Turn over for me, darling.”
Jisung did, and Minho decided to forsake the back couch cushions completely, tossing them to the floor so Jisung could comfortably bow his legs out like a frog’s. Minho settled between Jisung’s knees and stared down at him, and his mouth went dry.
Fuck.
Jisung had an unreasonably gorgeous body from any angle, visible even when he was drowning in oversized sweatshirts. Like this though, spread open and at Minho’s mercy…his brain couldn’t compute it. Jisung peered shyly behind himself, cheek squished from the angle. Wide shoulders tapered down to a graceful waist, back muscles shifting beneath golden skin. His butt was fucking unbelievable, round and perky and so much fatter than Minho gave it credit for. How could someone have such a tiny waist and such a fat ass? Minho ran a hand up Jisung’s ass and pulled him apart, drinking in the sight of his shaved hole. He thumbed over it and exhaled sharply when it clenched at his light touch.
“Holy fuck,” he muttered, digging his hand into Jisung’s ass till his fingers sank in. “Look at your cute little ass. Fuck, Sungie.”
“Little?” Jisung’s voice sounded high and pinched, and his knees slid further apart against the couch cushions.
“Sorry. You’re little,” Minho corrected. He bent to kiss the small of Jisung’s back. “Your ass is enormous.”
“Are you calling me fat?”
“You’re such a little shit.” Minho smacked his ass, meaning to tease, but Jisung tipped forward onto the pillow to muffle a moan. Minho’s cock twitched. “Oh?”
“Ah,” Jisung chuckled. His back arched, knees spreading further. “Felt nice.”
Minho felt like he’d won a ticket to spend a night in heaven itself. He stroked Jisung’s hip, feeling the heat pulsing off him, before pulling back and smacking him again, a little harder this time. The way his ass jiggled made warmth pool in Minho’s gut.
“Fuck,” Jisung squeaked, high in his throat. Minho thumbed over the reddening mark and dragged his cheeks apart, licking his lips as his hole clenched again. “Min, please.”
Minho could’ve denied him, made him beg and smacked his cute ass till he was shaking, but he didn’t have the patience. Instead he took an asscheek in each hand and lifted his hips. When Jisung’s breath caught in his throat, Minho bent and licked a slow stripe up him from his balls to his hole, letting his tongue just barely dip inside him.
The noise Jisung let out was so sweet and high that Minho couldn’t help his own groan. He massaged Jisung’s ass almost absentmindedly, kneading him with two hands, and laid another ringing slap that made him arch.
He kissed the angry pink mark on Jisung’s asscheek, trailed openmouthed kisses teasingly towards his hole, and then licked over him a second time, slowly again. A third, quicker. Gradually his motions became more purposeful, moving from wet, sweeping licks to deliberate circles around his rim.
Minho knew from personal experience how good getting eaten out could feel, and he did his best to push all the right buttons. He left dark hickeys close to Jisung’s groin, on his cheeks and his smooth upper thighs. He tongued his balls until Jisung was writhing and whimpering. He teased over Jisung’s tight little hole gently, again and again, flicking his tongue against his entrance and prodding at the muscle with his lips but never going past just a flick of his tongue inside him. He didn’t want to hurt him.
“Baby,” Jisung whined, and Minho just grunted, distracted. “I want more, Min…”
Minho hummed, laughing darkly as he let a trickle of drool slide down Jisung’s hole. He smacked his ass again, the hardest one yet, and relished Jisung’s broken moan, no longer muffled by the pillow. “You’ll get more when I decide you deserve more,” Minho said, smacking the other side with his opposite hand. He grabbed Jisung’s ass and jiggled it, watching his rippling curves with his jaw slackened. His pink hole glistened with Minho’s saliva, squeezing around nothing. “Fuck,” he breathed. His fingertips teased over Jisung’s wet entrance.
“Please,” Jisung whined, peeking over his shoulder. Minho had to refrain from gasping at the sight of him. His big, teary eyes pleaded with Minho, rosy cheek smushed against his shoulder. For a moment Minho could only stare at him, but he was broken from his trance when Jisung arched, chest flush to the couch and ass high in the air. “Please…I wanna be fucked.”
The words, quiet and shy as they were, shot a jolt straight through Minho’s core. He dipped down and kissed softly up Jisung’s spine. “I got you, darling,” he murmured, popping open the lube. He poured out so much that it dribbled onto the couch, but they’d fucked around enough times there that they kept expendable blankets over it. He warmed the slick substance while he continued to tease Jisung, leaving slow, hot licks against his entrance, and then he glided two wet fingers over his hole.
“Oh,” Jisung breathed. Minho watched his hands weave in his own hair.
“Okay?” Minho checked, massaging Jisung’s lower back with his free hand.
“Yeah.” Jisung’s voice shook around the syllable.
Minho bit down right where his waist bloomed into the swell of his ass and teased a finger inside him. It slipped in easily. Jisung was soaking wet, practically dripping from Minho’s spit and all the lube, and Minho couldn’t resist leaning in and tracing his rim with the tip of his tongue, tasting the mint lube and grinning when Jisung shivered.
“Fuck,” Jisung gasped, thighs flexing against Minho’s shoulders. “I thought you said it’s been a long time since you’ve done this.”
“I’m no expert,” Minho said, fingertips grazing up Jisung’s cock and making him squirm. “You just have an eatable ass.”
“I think the word is edible.”
Minho spanked him again, and Jisung groaned, fingers tightening in his own hair. He really made it too easy. “Brat,” Minho hummed, and he smiled when Jisung giggled.
Minho dug his thumb into Jisung’s ass where it met his inner thigh and pressed, pulling him open. He kept up his tongue’s movements from his rim to his balls, and then carefully sank in his finger until he was down to the knuckle.
Jisung whimpered but gave no sign of discomfort. Minho began to fuck his finger in and out slowly. Slick, wet sounds filled the air, nearly drowning out the cute little noises Jisung made as he adjusted to the feeling. “Hmm,” Minho hummed, curving his finger downward just slightly. Jisung sucked him in, hot and so tight around him. “You’re doing well,” he breathed, bending to kiss Jisung’s ass cheek, biting softly. “So fucking sexy, Jisung. Christ.”
Jisung moaned at the praise, his hole twitching, and Minho smirked. He should’ve known talking would help him along. He sped up his rhythm, running a hand down Jisung’s ass before smacking it again. His own toes curled at Jisung’s resulting gasp. “My baby,” he cooed, sitting up straight to take in the sight of Jisung’s body spread out for him. “Look at you. Whining and squirming from one finger.”
“Fuck,” Jisung groaned, rocking backwards against Minho’s hand. “Another, please.”
Minho squeezed Jisung’s hip gently, taking a moment to admire the difference in width between his waist and his ass. “Since you asked so nicely.” He pulled out his finger and bent down to lick over Jisung’s slick entrance again, teasing him for a few seconds before sliding his tongue inside him.
Jisung yelped, his hole tightening around Minho’s tongue before relaxing. Minho stroked Jisung’s thigh and fucked his tongue in and out, prodding along his walls for the spot that he knew would pull more sweet noises from him. Jisung liked the feeling of Minho’s tongue; it was obvious by the way he wiggled against him, thighs quivering in Minho’s grip. Minho replaced his tongue with two freshly lube-coated fingers when he figured he was ready, and this time he slid down to the knuckle with less resistance.
“O-oh my god,” Jisung gasped, his voice scratchy. “Oh, fuck.”
“You okay, baby?” Minho reached around him to tug his cock.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Jisung ground out, though he sounded like was forcing out the words. “I think you’re close to…”
Minho fucked in both fingers cautiously, and Jisung spasmed. His hole throbbed around Minho’s fingers as he bucked into Minho’s fist. “Ah, fuck.”
“Yeah?” Minho breathed, biting his bottom lip and staring at the side of Jisung’s face as he thrust two fingers into him, quickening but still careful.
“Ah, baby,” Jisung squeaked, his fingers clutching so hard at his own hair they were turning white. Minho admired the way his back muscles flexed with the movement. “Th-that must be it, huh?”
“Must be,” Minho mused, continuing to finger him, brushing the bundle of nerves with each thrust. He grinned, watching with sadistic glee as his boyfriend writhed and twitched, hips stuttering and lips parted against the pillow. “D’you feel good, Jisungie?”
“Please,” Jisung gasped, eyes squeezed shut. “Min, another, I can take it.”
Minho laid the hardest slap yet on Jisung’s ass, and he jerked, groaning, knees slipping against the blanket. Minho slid his fingers in and out a few more times, teasing his prostate slowly just to see him writhe, before he withdrew them and lathered more lube on three.
Jisung arched impatiently, whining like a spoiled child and practically waving his ass in Minho’s face. Minho hit him again just because he could, and because he wanted to drink up more of Jisung’s cute noises, before pressing a soothing kiss to the reddened skin and easing three fingers past his tight ring of muscle.
Jisung clenched around the intrusion with a hiss. Minho stroked his cock and kissed his back, murmuring against his skin, “Take your time, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.”
“I’m okay,” Jisung ground out. His hole began to loosen around Minho’s fingers as they eased in and out. When Minho prodded his sweet spot again, Jisung screamed, back arching and head lolling backwards. His thighs trembled visibly.
“Too much?” Minho petted his lower belly, idly playing with the head of his cock.
“Fuck.” Jisung’s back relaxed as he got used to the stretch. Minho was careful to avoid his prostate as he slowly glided his digits inside Jisung. He didn’t want to overwhelm him, no matter how tempting it was to pound him where he was most sensitive until he was a drooling, wriggling mess. “No,” Jisung said after a while, voice tired and shaky. “Feels so good.”
“Can’t believe I get to fuck this perfect ass,” Minho muttered, mostly to himself, but Jisung moaned and clenched around him like that was the hottest thing Minho could’ve said. “Yeah? You like hearing how good your tight little hole feels, Jisungie?”
“Oh my god.” Jisung’s head fell between his shoulders. His fingers clutched at the pillow, and he bounced back, encouraging Minho to finger him faster. Minho watched him without blinking, jaw slack as his digits stretched Jisung’s hole. He spanked him again, again, and a third time, taking a rough handful of his asscheek and shaking it up and down lightly. Every touch made Jisung react. Making him feel good was addictive.
“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” Minho breathed, clearing his throat when his voice came out shrill. “With the spanks or my fingers, whatever.”
“No,” Jisung whimpered. “I like it.”
“Yeah?” Minho smoothed his hand down to Jisung’s hip. He smacked his upper thigh, speeding up the pace of his fingers all the while. Then he slapped his ass again, bent down, and slipped his tongue inside underneath his three fingers. More spit mixed with the minty wetness.
A noise, guttural and barely short of unhinged, fell from Jisung’s throat. “Baby,” Jisung wailed, squeezing around Minho’s tongue and fingers. “Baby, I-I’m ready, please…”
Minho hummed and withdrew his tongue. He worked him open for another half minute or so before he pulled out his fingers and kissed Jisung’s asscheek. “Do you want it like this?”
“Oh.” Jisung cleared his throat and caught his breath for a few seconds. He shifted onto his elbows and wiped his eyes with the back of his arm. “No, I wanna see you.”
Minho was glad they were on the same page. He undressed himself and pulled a condom on in a daze, watching as Jisung shifted onto his back and shyly parted his thighs.
Minho situated himself between Jisung’s legs. His boyfriend’s hair was a complete mess, sticking out in a dozen directions from his scrabbling hands tugging at the gelled strands. His cheeks were flushed soft red, lips shining with saliva. His eyes lit up with a nervous smile as they met Minho’s.
“Hey,” Jisung murmured. He rested his palm over Minho’s on his own thigh. “You’re beautiful.”
For a moment Minho just blinked dumbly, glancing down at himself. He’d been so caught up in making Jisung feel good that he almost forgot Jisung was seeing him in a new light for the first time, too. He scratched behind his ear with a quiet laugh. “Thanks.”
“Ready?”
Minho nodded. He planted his hand next to Jisung’s neck, leaning his weight down and kissing his boyfriend’s sweaty forehead. “Are you?”
“Mhm.” He sounded nonchalant, like they were going for a stroll to get coffee instead of doing something very new and slightly terrifying. His confidence relaxed Minho. He shifted forward, guiding his cock to breach Jisung’s entrance.
He wasn’t sure which of them moaned louder. Minho rested his forehead on Jisung’s collarbone and groaned, eyes shut, thinking about anything but Jisung’s sinful whimpers to stave off his building pleasure. Minho had never been inside someone so tight before. Jisung pulsed around him, hole fluttering. Neither of them moved as they both got used to the unbelievable feeling.
“You’re so tight,” Minho whispered, embarrassed by how debauched he sounded already.
“I feel like I’m gonna break in half,” Jisung gritted.
“Want me to pull out?”
“No, just…be gentle.”
“Always.” Minho ignored his maddening desire to fuck into the tight, delicious heat wrapped around him and held perfectly still. He kissed Jisung’s collarbone, neck, and jaw, nipping his sensitive skin and tasting the sheen of sweat there. Jisung melted into the touch, sighing in Minho’s ear. His hole began to relax, shaping to Minho’s cock until he felt comfortable sliding in further.
Jisung’s fingers curled in Minho’s hair and lifted his head till they were nose to nose. Minho met his eyes, forehead propped against Jisung’s, and pressed a kiss to his tense little mouth. The crease between his eyebrows concerned Minho, so he murmured, “Are you okay, darling?”
“I’m okay,” Jisung said. He offered a crooked, flustered smile. Just a moment later, Minho bottomed out, hips flush to Jisung’s, hands sliding calmingly down his stomach. Jisung felt so fucking good, so tight, that Minho couldn’t resist rocking in and out experimentally. Jisung keened softly, one hand tightening in Minho’s hair, the other around the pillow. “Oh, fuck.”
Minho bit his lip and pushed himself up to a kneeling position so he could monitor Jisung’s reactions. He rolled his hips, not even a thrust, grinding into Jisung and watching with bated breath. His boyfriend’s neck arched back, jaw falling open with a broken moan. He looked wrecked already and Minho hadn’t even started.
“Does it hurt?” Minho asked, stroking down Jisung’s chest and thumbing his nipple. “I can’t tell if you’re in pain or not.”
“No,” Jisung breathed. He broke into a gummy smile and smoothed his hair back, and Minho’s heart just about stopped. “It feels crazy.”
“Good crazy?”
“So good,” Jisung said. His voice gave out on the second word, and he hooked a hand under one knee to pull his legs further apart. “I can see why you like it.”
Minho grinned and pressed Jisung’s knees closer to his chest. His boyfriend groaned, throwing his head back from the new angle, and Minho continued his small, experimental movements forward. “That’s it,” Minho said breathlessly, watching his cock slide in and out of Jisung. “You’re doing perfect, baby.”
“Fuck,” Jisung whined. “C-can you go faster?”
Minho exhaled shakily and picked up the pace. He tightened his grip on Jisung’s hips and began to press all the way in and slide all the way out, losing himself in the wet sounds squelching filthily between them.
Jisung’s hand came up to caress Minho’s collarbone, fingertips grazing his sternum. “Min,” he pleaded, pinching Minho’s nipple and making him hiss. “Kiss me.”
Minho crashed their lips together without hesitation. He licked into Jisung’s mouth greedily, cupping his face in one hand, tightening his grip around his thigh so he could pound him faster. Jisung moaned into the kiss and tugged Minho’s hair, his hole quivering around Minho’s cock, taking him perfectly.
Minho thought about the first time they met. He couldn’t believe how far they’d come. His heart raced, something light and intense dancing like a spreading flame in his chest.
Minho’s thrusts gradually sped up as he chased the delicious feeling of slick tightness sucking him in. When he pulled back to look at him, Jisung gazed up at him through tangled blond bangs. His lips were parted, soft moans spilling from him with each thrust. Minho kneaded Jisung’s thigh, pressing it to his belly and thrusting quicker. The slick sounds of sex mixed with their shaky moans.
“Harder,” Jisung whined. His toes curled where they hovered by Minho’s arms. “Baby…”
Minho gritted his teeth. He dug his nails into Jisung’s thigh and slapped the side of his ass, cock throbbing as Jisung whimpered and clenched around him. “Greedy,” he taunted, sliding his hands up to grip Jisung’s ass, lifting him up from the cushions and pulling his body closer to his own. “Does my baby like getting fucked? You like feeling hyung inside you?”
Jisung cried out, head thrust back. He fisted his own cock desperately. “Oh fuck, Minho.”
Minho hit him again, fucking into him harder at the same time. He tugged Jisung’s legs over his shoulders and replaced Jisung’s shaking fingers with his own. He stroked him in time with his thrusts, watching with a smirk as his boyfriend fell apart, fingers curled on either side of his head, jaw slack and forehead scrunched.
“Shit,” Minho groaned, sucking his lip beneath his teeth and blinking the sweat from his eyes. Pleasure built within him rapidly, urging him to mindlessly fuck his way to his release, but he wanted to make sure Jisung got there first. “A-are you close, Sungie?”
“A-ah,” Jisung gasped, head lolling to the side. “Ah, Min, hit me again, please…”
Minho bit back a pathetic moan and hiked Jisung’s leg higher over his shoulder. He kissed the inside of his knee, letting his teeth graze soft skin, and kept his eyes steadily on Jisung’s as he smacked the side of his ass again . He slid his hand up to knead his pec, thrusting slow and deep and grinding right against Jisung’s prostate as he writhed against the couch and gasped for air.
“Minho,” Jisung sobbed, scrabbling at the cushions around him. Tears streaked from his eyes. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna…”
Minho just grunted. He thrusted faster, rough and deep despite his aching muscles, moving his hand from Jisung’s hip to jack him off. Jisung was silent at first, mouth agape and lashes fluttering, but then he released a high, throaty moan that devolved into incoherent cursing while Minho fucked him through his orgasm.
“Fuck,” Minho breathed, watching as spurts of cum painted Jisung’s abs, glistening pearly white on his honey skin. His hole pulsed around Minho, and Minho’s orgasm hit him like a bus. His vision went white as he came, nails digging into Jisung’s hips. Pleasure burst through him in waves. He couldn’t feel anything but his own peak and Jisung’s snug heat around him.
Minho blinked his eyes open moments later. Jisung was still panting beneath him, lips parted, cum-coated belly rising and falling with his gasps. He craned his head to look up at Minho and grinned. They both burst into exhausted, delirious laughter.
Jisung was too jelly-legged to transport himself to the bathroom, so Minho carried him there, even though he felt close to collapsing himself. His boyfriend leaned heavily on the shower wall as Minho rinsed him off, laving soap over his damp skin.
They snuggled up to Soonie and Doongie when they were done, who seemed crabby to be jostled but quickly settled back down once Minho shut the curtain again. Jisung melted against Minho’s chest and hummed softly as Minho pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“That was crazy,” Jisung slurred.
Minho idly remembered it was about three in the morning. That explained why he felt sort of stoned. “Did you like it?”
“Fuck yeah. I was such a mess though. Kind of embarrassing.”
“Hottest mess I’ve ever seen.”
Jisung whined, but it became a giggle when Minho smacked his ass. “Apparently I like being spanked, so that’s…cool.”
“Makes sense for a little brat like you.”
Jisung bit Minho’s shoulder and mumbled, “Mean.”
“You love me.”
“Mmm.” Jisung’s arms, engulfed in one of Minho’s sweatshirts, tightened around Minho’s waist. “I love you so much.”
Something jumped under Minho’s belly button. He smiled as he mumbled against Jisung’s forehead, “Love you too.”
Minho fell asleep only moments later, letting his exhaustion overtake him as he breathed in the scent of Jisung’s hair.
~
Minho watched with satisfaction as his cats enjoyed their dinner. He crumpled up the empty bag of cat food and placed the chip clip on his makeshift countertop, ensuring with a glance at the storage closet that he still had another bag. He tucked the spent bag underneath one arm and shoved out the dumpster-side door. The piercing wind of late October made him shiver.
His birthday and Halloween were going to be a combined get together at Trinity’s condo, which Minho appreciated because he had a double shift scheduled the day he turned 23. This way he could celebrate his favorite holiday with all his favorite people, and his birthday didn’t need to be the center of attention.
Tomorrow, for his actual birthday, Jisung was going to come by and have lunch with him at the Hub. It was all he had time for, but he looked forward to it anyway. He looked forward to anything he and Jisung did together.
After tossing the empty bag of cat food, Minho let the dumpster lid fall shut with a bang. He smiled to himself, thinking about the latest dumb anime he and Jisung were watching, when he heard footfalls round the building corner.
Minho turned around sharply.
A large body pursued him, dressed in black and flicking open a switchblade at their hip. Minho opened his mouth to scream but tensed as a second figure snatched him from behind, arms encasing him and a gloved hand shoving over his mouth. He writhed as a cloth bag slid over his head. His blood pounded in his ears. He kicked behind himself, aiming for his attacker’s shins, but he missed altogether and cried out as his knees were shoved from behind. He fell onto his knees and yelled out for help, for anything, as he felt a zip tie pulling taut around his wrists.
Shit. Shit. He should have been more careful. Should have been more alert. The bag was lifted from his head, and as he blinked his eyes open to see his attacker, a rag was shoved into his mouth. A second rag was tied tight over the top, muffling his yells to quiet whimpers. A set of beefy fingers pulled his hair tight, keeping him from looking anywhere but straight ahead.
His ankles were bound next, and then the bag was thrown over him again. He could do nothing but writhe and thrust his elbows out as he was lifted like a sack of flour and tossed over someone’s shoulder.
~
He wasn’t sure how long he was kept like cargo in the bed of a truck. The rumble of the road made it impossible for him to hear or be heard. The canopy pressed right over his nose, his hot breaths pooling in the woven bag, gag slipping down his throat and tugging the corners of his mouth. His back ached from the misshapen luggage beneath his spine.
All the while, his mind raced. Yonghwa or Mia, Yonghwa or Mia, Yonghwa or Mia?
Of course he’d left his phone, wallet, and knife behind at the Hub. He’d just been taking out the goddamn trash. They knew where he lived. How long had they known? Why now? What did they want with him?
Eventually, the truck came to a halt, the engine going silent. Minho immediately started writhing again. He banged his knees upward onto the bed canopy till they ached, yelling through his gag to the point of nearly choking on it, when the pressure over his nose lifted and arms heaved him up from the truck.
He was set on a chair. His arms and legs were tied there, tight enough for him to feel his pulse rabbiting fearfully against the restraints. The bag flew from his head. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the stale, dimly lit garage around him.
The garage wasn’t enormous. Much of the space other than the pickup truck, which was parked at an angle where he couldn’t see the plates, was taken up by desks and computer equipment. A counter stretched across the back wall, and on the counter, chatting with a masked man and puffing on a cigarette, sat Mia.
Minho growled around his gag like a pissed off animal. He glared at her until she turned his way, and she pushed off the counter with a whimsical smile.
“Hello, dear.” Her suede heels clicked against the concrete as she approached him, hips swaying in black leather pants. Her red curls sat in a neat updo atop her pale forehead. Emerald reading glasses rested on her nose, and her golden green eyes narrowed with a smile. She wore a camo corset over a shoulderless black blouse.
He had to give it to her for doing what she did with style.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” She made a face of disgust as she reached forward with manicured nails to tug the gag off Minho’s face, barely dodging his gnashing teeth as she plucked the spit-soaked rag from his mouth. “Oh, gross.”
Minho spit onto the floor by his side, wincing at the dry taste of soiled cotton. “How am I supposed to drink with my hands tied,” he grumbled, wiping his mouth on his shoulder. “You could’ve cushioned the bed of the truck, at least.”
“Oh, relax. You survived.” She took a drag of her cigarette and stationed herself a few strides from Minho’s knees. She exhaled and regarded him calmly, eyebrows furrowed. “I should’ve figured it out earlier. For weeks I thought you were living at Trinity’s condo right under my nose.”
“We would’ve been roommates.” Minho smirked up at her, the exhilaration of being face to face with her again making him utterly calm. “Trin says you’re a good lay, so I’ll give you that.”
Mia’s eyes fluttered like rolling peridots as she shifted her weight. “I don’t need you or Abernathy to tell me that I’m a good lay. She kept me from parts of her place carefully. Red herring, I suppose.”
Minho’s pulse raced, making dewy sweat form at his hairline. He wondered what would happen now. She knew where he lived. What would her next move be?
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Mia went on. “I need you alive and in one piece. You’ve been very determined to ignore how useful you are, and I’m afraid that chase has to end, sweetheart.”
“I’m not going to do anything for you.”
“You have access to Yonghwa’s storage unit,” Mia said. “I have proof that you do.”
Minho kept his expression carefully impassive.
She laughed, twiddling the cigarette between her fingers as she searched his face. “Your biometrics are still linked to the keypad. I hacked his security server just last week. Yonghwa’s a talented orchestrator, but he’s an idiot when it comes to technology. He probably doesn’t even know how to eliminate your access.”
“Why do you want to get into that unit so badly?” Minho wrinkled his nose at her, idly straining against his ankle ties. “It’s got a computer, but I’m sure the data is backed up somewhere.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said simply. “It’s a surefire way to compile enough evidence to get him locked away for the rest of his life.”
Minho silently processed her words. He thought about Yonghwa, really thought about him, for the first time in weeks. He recalled the punch to his nose. The kick to his ribs. He closed his eyes as he was transported back to the kitchen floor, bleeding and fading as he was stomped into the tile.
Locked away for the rest of his life.
“He’s your partner,” Minho pressed her, still untrusting of her motives. “It can’t be beneficial for you to lose his aid completely.”
Mia chuckled, flicking some loose curls from her eyes and fanning herself delicately. “Please. He’s a tyrant. He has more power than I do and he knows it. He’s a fool. He needs to be stopped before collapses my empire.” She cocked her head. “You and I both want him gone, Minho. There’s nothing but good in this for you.”
“You forget the part where I’d have to work with you,” Minho hissed, bracing himself. He knew she wasn’t going to give up easily. Was she going to torture him? Threaten him, blackmail him like Yonghwa was? “I’m doing my best to disentangle myself from both your bullshit, okay? I don’t care whether Yonghwa gets locked up or not. I’m better off being as disengaged from him as possible.”
“You’ll want to get used to the idea.” She smirked. “You don’t have a choice.”
He stared at her, dry-tongued but unblinking as he waited.
She cleared her throat and lifted her cell phone from her pocket. As she adjusted her glasses, her pale lips pursed into a little smile. “Let’s see…Han Jisung. He was born on September 14th, 2000, in Incheon, South Korea.”
Minho’s heart fell clean through his insides to his stomach.
“He has dual citizenship in the U.S. and Korea. He lived in Malaysia from the ages six to twelve. He has two older brothers, Jaehyo and Jihyun. One lives in Chicago, the other in Incheon, South Korea. He resides with Seo Changbin and Christopher Bang at—”
“Okay,” Minho rasped, trying to inhale but only managing to increase his own nausea. “You’ve made your point.”
“I have his address,” she went on. “His work schedule, his performance schedule. His parents’ and brothers’ addresses. I have access to his academic records and his credit card statement.” She smiled sunnily, looking quite proud of himself. “He’s cute. I’m happy for you.”
“Shut,” Minho growled, “Your ugly fucking mouth.”
“Oh, how rude.” She pouted, a finger prodding the side of her lips coquettishly. “I’d never say something like that to you.”
“You’re literally standing here threatening my boyfriend,” Minho said. His voice shook despite his best efforts to keep it steady. “Don’t even pretend we’re being courteous here.”
“All I want to do is keep things simple,” Mia practically sang, shrugging. “The man who captured you is called Brylo. Not his real name, of course. He’s in with the police. If you inform them of this…” She pondered, frowning tastefully. “ Scenario, then you’ll have no evidence, but if you manage to collect some, Brylo will make sure it hits a dead end with law enforcement.”
Minho breathed out, trying to relax his shoulders. “Okay,” he said, blinking slowly. “Okay. What are you insinuating, exactly? Are you going to kill him if I don’t cooperate?”
He didn’t allow himself to react to this potential scenario. If Jisung’s life was at stake, of course Minho would do anything. Of course he would. He supposed she was right. This did keep things simple.
He felt like a rat, locked in the chamber of a spinning wheel.
“Yes,” she said, and his stomach twisted. “I’ll kill him if you don’t cooperate.”
“What if I tell him to leave the country?” he asked. “Or the city, or whatever?”
“I can track him anywhere, dear.” Her smile broadened. “I even thought of implanting a system in his phone so I’d know if you told him of this scenario, but.” She giggled, nails drumming on her chin. “I don’t think you want to tell him anyway. Wouldn’t do him much good, would it?”
Minho thought of Jisung. What would his gentle, anxious overthinker do with the knowledge that a gang leader was threatening his life? He didn’t even want to contemplate it.
“Mia,” Minho said. He tried to look solemn as he met her eyes even though he desperately wanted to spit in her smug face. “I’ll help you, but please, please let us go when I’ve given you what you want. Jisung is completely innocent. He’s a good kid, he’s…” Minho breathed through a surge of emotion as tears prickled his eyes. “He deserves better than this.”
“Certainly,” she said, but he didn’t know if he believed her. “When Yonghwa is out of the picture, I’ll have no more use for you, dear. You and your little boyfriend can continue to live your lives. This was all simply…a precaution to guarantee I have your support.” She beamed and winked at him. “I’m so glad we are on the same page.”
Minho was silent, dread dragging his head down.
“Yonghwa is leaving town,” Mia went on coolly. “In a month or so. When he’s gone, that’s when I’ll call on you. I’ll have no trouble locating you, so don’t worry. Just sit tight till I pay you another visit.” She blew him a kiss and turned on her heel, strutting for the door. “Toodles. Have a wonderful birthday.”
Minho had no time to process the nausea rising in his throat before a bag was shoved over his head once again.
~
Notes:
what did you guys think of bottom sung??? oh it was so much fun to write
Until next time....TOODLES
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 22
Summary:
the chapter of: something's up with Minho, but also they mostly just love each other and want to rail each other 24/7
Notes:
Welcome back! ❤️
Some CWs*** for this chapter: bondage (light - just some tying up), use of sex toys, overstimulation, light degradation.
Enjoy!!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
xxii. jisung
Jisung was careful about what he gave Minho for his birthday.
Minho lived in the back of a strip club and didn’t have a proper kitchen. His bathroom was basically a raised hose with questionable hot water, a toilet that screamed like it was in pain every time it flushed, and a chipped, paint-splattered utility sink that could hold a small elephant. There were plenty of things Minho needed, but Jisung knew how his boyfriend disliked being bought things. He wouldn’t use the occasion as an excuse to furnish Minho’s home.
He knew Minho well, and he knew that seeing Soonie and Doongie happy and comfortable would be the greatest gift for him. So he bought two cat gifts. A collapsible cat tunnel was the first, since Soonie loved to hang out in small, cozy spaces, much like his dad did. The second was a dancing toy that made sounds and whipped all around the room in a chaotic but safe manner for Doongie, so he could play even when Minho was too tired to play with him.
The third gift was just a little song he wrote. He figured Minho couldn’t get mad at him for a gift that wasn’t materialistic.
It had been something he started working on shortly after Sunny broke up with him. The piece started as a space to make sense of what he was feeling for Minho. When he started writing though, he came to realize how simple it really was. As complicated and daunting as the ripple effect felt, the core of his feelings were plain. Maybe they always had been.
He felt kind of ridiculous as he sat on the arm of Minho’s couch, guitar in hand and lyrics racing in his mind. He felt even more ridiculous when he opened his mouth and started to sing. He couldn’t look at Minho. He couldn’t even open his eyes.
The finished product wasn’t his favorite, or the most polished. The focus shifted from melancholy, representing his confusion and self doubt, to hopeful, and finally to joyful when he admitted in far-too cheesy poetic structure that he was pretty sure he’d found his soulmate and that he had no idea what he’d done to deserve all the love Minho gave him.
When he was done, he didn’t expect Minho to hide his face in his hands and muffle his sobs, knees drawn up to his chest.
“Hey,” Jisung said, setting his guitar down on the floor unwisely. He slid onto the couch and pulled Minho into his arms, squeezing tight. He could only hope these were happy tears. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby. You okay?”
Minho shook his head. He trembled silently, hair tangling against Jisung’s jaw.
“You big softie,” Jisung chuckled, kissing Minho's forehead.
“Thank you,” Minho mumbled, nearly inaudible from his face being pressed into Jisung’s hoodie.
Jisung frowned, holding Minho as close as he could, concerned by the uncharacteristic outburst of emotion. “Of course,” he said, wiping Minho's tears as they continued to fall.
~
The Friday of the Halloween party, Jisung awoke to the sight of Minho’s naked body barely shrouded in a cocoon of sheets. Despite the dropping temperature outside, they were both warm sleepers, and Minho’s skin was toasty when Jisung brushed his fingertips over the slope of his shoulder.
Minho slept with his back to Jisung. The white sheet clung to his waist in an elegant but haphazard fashion. Half his ass and one of his thighs were left exposed, thick bands of muscle curved beneath honey-toned skin. The morning light filtering through Jisung’s blinds painted his messy brown hair in an ethereal glow.
Jisung wound an arm around Minho’s waist. He kissed the back of his neck, smiled when Minho let out a tiny noise in response. He traced a wavy pattern across his thigh muscles, feeling the fine hairs and patches of dry skin.
Every part of him was so beautiful. Jisung pressed his nose between Minho’s shoulder blades and shifted his forward until his hips met Minho’s ass. His cock began to fill out at the feeling of Minho’s supple, strong body against his.
Minho hummed again. “Good morning,” he murmured, scratchy voice squeaking into a cute yawn.
“Morning,” Jisung responded. He kissed Minho’s shoulder and swept the sheets from his ribcage.
“W’time is it?”
Jisung squinted at his bedside clock. “Seven-thirty.” He couldn’t believe he’d naturally woken up this early when Minho didn’t teach till ten, but he wasn’t going to let the opportunity for morning sex slip through his fingers. He stroked Minho’s tummy and murmured, “want to go back to sleep?”
Minho made a noncommittal noise. Then his spine arched, ass pressing to Jisung’s pelvis with more intention, and Jisung smirked as he laid a series of slow, wet kisses to the side of Minho’s neck.
It had been a while since Jisung topped. Since his first time bottoming the week before, they’d repeated the same arrangement several times. Jisung loved when Minho was inside him. He loved feeling small and revered as Minho pressed into him again and again like he craved being as close to Jisung as possible. He loved seeing the hungry, possessive adoration in Minho’s eyes as Jisung fell apart at the seams.
But this…he missed this. He missed being able to work needy, high noises out of Minho. He stroked Minho’s cock slowly and teasingly, a brutal contrast to the way he fucked him open with three fingers.
Minho twisted to muffle his whines in the pillow, and Jisung took that as a personal challenge. He rubbed his prostate just how he liked it and trailed his hand upward to pet his torso lightly, following the dipping motion of his belly as he gasped for air. He cupped Minho’s chest, pressing his palm to his rabbiting heartbeat and plucking at his nipples till he was shaking.
Soon Minho shifted astride him, thighs thick and warm on either side of Jisung’s hips, back facing him, ass on display. Jisung lay against the sheets and watched with his arms on either side of his head. Minho rode him slowly, releasing the softest whimpers, muscles rippling as Jisung’s cock disappeared between his round asscheeks.
It was like Minho was made for him. He felt so fucking good, hot and wet, tightening with sweet moans when Jisung moved inside him just right. Soon Jisung grew impatient with the slow, painstaking pace. He gripped Minho’s ass and guided him up and down, lifting his own hips to meet him halfway.
Minho rode him for a long time, small hands scrabbling at Jisung’s thighs, hole twitching around his cock. When he was awake enough Jisung couldn’t resist shoving Minho forward onto his hands and knees. He took him from behind roughly, one hand pinning Minho’s body to the sheets, the other gripping his hip hard enough to bruise as he fucked him fast and deep.
When Minho inevitably grew too loud for the hour and the thin walls, Jisung dragged him upward. He pressed a hand firmly over his mouth and dug his nails into his thigh, fucking him at an angle he knew made him see sparks. He could feel Minho’s hole loosen greedily with every thrust. His ribs expanded and contracted against Jisung’s chest as the pleasure became too much, and his hot breaths whooshed over Jisung’s knuckles.
Jisung relished the way Minho arched against him and pulled his hair till it hurt. He would’ve let Minho rip him to shreds if he wanted to.
When Minho came, Jisung whispered praises into his neck, nose brushing his earlobe. Minho begged for Jisung’s come, shoving off his body and turning around. Jisung stared, shell shocked, as Minho pulled off the condom and jacked him off, tongue hanging out of his mouth, eyes shiny and pleading.
Watching his cum coat Minho’s gorgeous face from his eyelashes to his chin was the perfect way to start his day, Jisung decided.
~
Jisung was late for class that morning.
Usually he would rather turn around and go back home than draw attention to himself by disrupting a class, but he knew they were doing a group project that day. He had no choice but to shamefully slip into a front row seat while his professor blinked slowly and ignored his existence.
What he didn’t expect was for the professor to waltz right up to him when her explanation was done and say, “You’ll be working with Abernathy for the group project, okay Han?”
Jisung’s muscles steeled. Warmth rapidly pumped behind his ears, under his arms. He glanced over at Sunny, who sat in the front corner with her eyes stubbornly on her pastel pink planner, pen in hand.
“Uh,” Jisung started. “Did she choose that?”
“She offered to take you on, yes. Madigan is absent today, he’ll be your other partner.”
Wow. Jisung processed the fact that Sunny had deliberately selected him as her group member and nodded slowly. “Okay, thanks, professor.”
She nodded and moved back to her desk, kimono spinning.
Jisung eyed the empty desk beside Sunny and collected his things. He was less nervous than he expected to be, knowing she’d initiated this meeting and knowing their third group member wouldn’t be there to witness any awkwardness between them. Still, their previous conversation whirled through his mind like it was a memory as fresh as yesterday.
I thought you were such a good guy.
Christ knows you’re not mature enough to date.
Leave. I have nothing else to say to you.
He swallowed hard and sat down at the desk. The tabletop was smooth and cold beneath his forearms as he set down his books.
Sunny glanced up. It was the first time she’d looked at him without glaring in the last two and a half months. She was so familiar. Her tan little nose, its freckles fading as the summer months stretched behind them. Her cropped blond hair, the staticky cowlick in the back. Her chapstick-sheened lips and her dimples.
Jisung’s heart ached. He’d missed her. He was speechless.
“Hi,” Sunny said, dimples deepening slightly. “I already did most of the work assigning stuff before you got to class. I guess 10:30 is still too early for you, huh?”
Jisung laughed nervously, scratching behind his ear. “Uh, yeah. Still shit at getting out of bed before noon.”
“Mm.” She handed him a sheet of paper, eyes chilly, unreadable. “Let me know what you think about these roles.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He looked over what she’d chosen. She’d split the presentation pretty reasonably, loading a bit more of the actual talking on herself, which he appreciated. She was a natural public speaker, anyway. “Looks good to me.”
“Great.” She turned back to her planner and resumed diligently scribbling in the petals of a flower doodle with her pen. She didn’t look up as she asked, “Are you going to Trinity’s party tonight?”
Jisung snapped his jaw shut before he could snark, it’s Minho’s birthday party. Sunny was being too amicable right now for him to risk bringing up Minho’s name. He knew from Minho’s summary of his meetup with her that Sunny was looking to be friends with them again, so he knew he needed to choose his words carefully.
He owed her that much.
“Yeah,” he said. “Are you?”
“I am.” She clicked her pen and sighed, looking anywhere but at Jisung. “I guess I hoped…this project could help make things less weird between us.”
Jisung was grateful for the buzz of chatting students all around them. No one paid attention as he breathed in slowly and exhaled the swarm of nerves closing in on his throat. “Right,” he said. “Thank you. For…reaching out. It’s good to…” He trailed off, not wanting to piss her off. “It’s good to see you again.”
She looked at him pointedly, untrusting.
“I mean,” he hurried on, “Not that I haven’t been seeing you around for the last few months. But it’s good to, um. Talk to you again.”
She grinned, a dry laugh escaping her lips. Her smile made his heart feel warm. God, he’d missed her. She was so likable, so easy to be around. It was no wonder to Jisung that she’d made him feel so safe in his denial. “You too,” she said, and he was shocked at her agreement. “I like the blond. Hair twins.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, chuckling and running his chipped black nails through his hair. “Thanks. The bleach kind of killed it, though. Not sure how yours is still so healthy.”
“Please, my natural hair is light brown and yours is jet black,” Sunny said, rolling her eyes and crossing her legs. She wore white capri pants, her dusty pink boots buckled just above the ankle. “But mine’s pretty dead too, not gonna lie.”
“Worth it for the aesthetic.”
“I agree. Speaking of.” She twitched her nose as she sniffed, an old habit he’d always thought was cute. “What are you going as tonight?”
“Oh.” Jisung chuckled as he remembered the little blue dress and white stockings he’d originally gotten as a meme. Thankfully his friends were as down for a stupid costume idea as he was. “Um, Bin and Channie and I are going as the Power Puff Girls.”
Sunny’s jaw dropped. Delight glinted in her eyes. “No way.”
“Yeah!” Jisung beamed when Sunny cackled and clapped her hands excitedly. “Chan is wearing a red hoodie and black jeans instead of a dress, though. Loser.”
“Is Minho going as a character too?”
The sound of his boyfriend’s name sent Jisung’s vocabulary running for the hills. “We don’t uh, know each other’s costumes yet.”
“Oh, you’re surprising him.” She nodded, a degree of hurt reappearing in her too-casual smile. “Nice.”
“Yeah.” Jisung twiddled his thumbs, horrified to feel the tension between them re-tightening.
Just as he opened his mouth to scrounge for something to say, Sunny said, “I’m sorry, by the way.”
Jisung stared at her. He was sure he’d misheard. Sunny was apologizing to him?
She cleared her throat and looked down at her toes. “I think I was…overly aggressive towards you. That night.”
Surprise and relief twisted together in Jisung’s throat. He would never be able to live with himself if he started crying in the middle of class.
“Well,” she went on, higher-pitched, lifting a finger. “I should clarify. You’re an asshole for what you did.”
“For sure,” he said weakly.
“But everyone makes mistakes. I was going through a lot, with Dad and everything. But I didn’t think about how hard it must’ve been for you.” She chewed her nails, glancing at the students conversing around them. “With your parents, and your brother, and everything.”
Jisung nodded. He was completely, utterly flabbergasted by her understanding, but he couldn’t let the topic linger on himself without getting emotional, so he deflected. “I heard your dad is doing a lot better.”
“Lots better, yeah.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Yeah!” She smiled, eyes shining as she looked at him, and something deep within him ached. “Minho’s a good guy, you know?”
Jisung held back tears with all the strength in his facial muscles.
“Don’t do the shit to him that you did to me.” Her chin wobbled, voice going quiet. “I’m serious.”
Jisung shook his head quickly, gripping the edge of his desk. “I won’t. Lesson learned, trust me. It’s been…a reality check.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighed. He’d thought long and hard about what he’d say to Sunny if she ever gave him the time of day again, but he hadn’t been prepared for it to be today, in the middle of a morning class. “Well clearly,” he said, “I was in denial.”
Her eyes were round and curious as she watched him.
He ran his fingers through his hair again, skin itching. He didn’t like that this conversation was happening here, but he supposed he’d take whatever opportunity he could get. “I wanted so badly to make it work with you,” he admitted. “But not for the right reasons, which is why it was so shitty of me. It was just…easier to be straight, you know?”
“Yeah. I get that.”
He managed a hesitant smile. “I came out to my brother,” he said, unprepared for the way her face lit up. “Just a few weeks ago. He was supportive.”
“Sungie.” She pouted, eyes sparkling. “That’s awesome.”
He laughed, wiping his eyes of any built-up tears. “It’s been a crazy few months.”
“Sure has.”
“Sunny…” He licked his lips, fear tightening his chest. He didn’t want her to get mad and lash out like she had last time, but he had to say it. “I’m really, really sorry.”
She nodded and looked down. Her voice came out gravelly as she asked, “Was it all an act? The whole time?”
“Our relationship? No,” he said firmly. “God, no. I was happy for a long time. You were a great girlfriend.”
She offered a watery smile. “Wish you’d just told me. That you were into him.”
“I didn’t know,” he said, and winced when she rolled her eyes. “Internalized homophobia runs deep. I just…mentally blocked out the possibility until he told me how he felt, and then it was like my whole identity blew up. It was a mess.”
“How’s it going now?” Her voice shook, like she was forcing herself to ask the question. “Are things good with him?”
He nodded, unsure how to politely express just how good. “Yeah. He’s…yeah. It’s…”
She grinned.
“Ahhh.” He laughed, embarrassed. “I’m really happy with him. I hope that doesn’t make you sad. Or if it does, I hope…not as sad as it used to.”
“Part of me still wishes you were miserable and alone like me,” she said with a weak chuckle. “Sucks that I got the short end of the stick. But like, you’ll always have a place in my heart, you know?” She shrugged. “I’m glad you figured yourself out.”
As Jisung opened his mouth to thank her, the professor approached, eyes narrowed behind horn-rimmed glasses. “How’s the assignment coming, you two?”
“Oh,” Sunny said, clearing her throat and giving her a bright smile. “It’s coming well! I had a question about the research process, actually…”
Jisung watched her, sinking into a grateful smile. He felt a weight lifted that he hadn’t realized was stifling him.
~
Even though Chan, Changbin, and Jisung were getting a good laugh out of how ridiculous they looked, Jisung’s blood raced beneath his costume as he thought of what Minho would think.
The outfit was for Minho. If he was being honest, Chan and Changbin were cover-ups so that in public, everyone would think the costume was just a meme.
Chan looked ridiculous in his red hoodie and black jeans with a big chunky belt. He’d thrown on an orange wig, which was a tangled mess from his efforts to pull it into a ponytail, but the enormous red bow on top effectively indicated who he was dressed as. Chan was just happy to be wearing something comfortable.
Changbin borrowed a snakeskin button-up of Hyunjin’s that didn’t button over his chest and was nearly bursting at the shoulders. He wore a black pencil skirt and tights, and his jaw-length shiny black wig actually looked very pretty on him. Hyunjin wouldn’t stop gushing about how beautiful he looked over facetime.
“Don’t tell Minho I’m going as Buttercup!” Changbin said to Hyunjin. He was seated on the living room couch with Chan, on an overly loud, partially-drunk phone call with his boyfriend. “Jisung wants to surprise him.”
Jisung grinned from where he was looking at himself in the bathroom mirror.
“I won’t!” He heard Hyunjin insist. “I love seeing Minho look like a deer in headlights.”
Jisung silently agreed. He hoped Minho would enjoy this ensemble as much as he predicted. The blue dress was actually very pretty, cinched at his waist with a thin black belt and spilling outward in a ruffled skirt. His bare arms and shoulders were covered up by his electric blue bomber jacket, and his blond hair was pulled up into tiny pigtails, large chunks falling into his eyes.
His thigh high stockings were soft and translucent, clinging to his legs like a second skin and tight enough to dig into the chub of his thighs. The glimmery white fabric drew attention to how tan his legs were, and how short the blue dress was. He wore compression shorts underneath for his own sanity, but he hoped Minho would like the blue lace panties they covered. Even though he’d gotten them online for ten dollars.
He’d never dressed in something so revealing.
A part of him felt shy. Ashamed. He wondered if walking outside in this was equivalent to holding a giant light-up sign that said I’m gay.
But he clung to cold hard logic. His clothes didn’t define him. His sexuality didn’t define him, either. Straight guys could wear this if they wanted to. Not that Jisung was straight. Plus, drag queens faced crowds in outfits more feminine, flashy, and revealing than this all the time. He wondered how they were brave enough to do it.
And…he wasn’t as nervous as he expected to be. It was more thrilling than anything else. He felt powerful.
He spent a couple minutes smoking out his lashline with black pencil liner and brushing on mascara. When he heard a knock on the door, Changbin yelled, “Jisung! Assemble!”
Jisung snickered and put his mascara tube down. He jogged out into the living room, flattening his skirt, heart thumping and palms sweating. What will he think?
They posed, Chan in the middle with his fists on his hips and Changbin and Jisung on either side of him with their arms stretched to fly into the sky, when Hyunjin and Minho stepped into the apartment.
Hyunjin burst into laughter, doubling over and nearly falling to the ground. Minho stood like an ice sculpture, jaw slack and eyes bulging as he unabashedly raked his gaze over Jisung’s body from his pigtails to his white stockings.
Heat spread across Jisung’s exposed skin. He managed a flustered chuckle.
Moments later he realized Minho and Hyunjin were dressed as vampires, and he let his concern with his own appearance diminish in favor of checking out his boyfriend. Minho looked unbelievably handsome in a frilly white button-up with his corset buttoned over the top, all beneath a sweeping black overcoat that looked suspiciously like Trinity’s. His hair, recently dyed a dark brown, was sculpted off his forehead save for one lock that curled down onto his defined eyebrows. Fangs poked from beneath his plush upper lip, from where crimson blood was painted dripping down to his chin.
Oh, fuck. Jisung was going to get fucked.
His thighs flexed as he thought about it.
“Hi, baby,” Hyunjin was saying, collecting himself and pulling Changbin into a hug. “You look sexy.”
Chan turned to look at Jisung and sighed heavily. “Please don’t start railing each other before we even get to the party.”
Jisung flushed, scratching behind his ear and dismissing the request with a laugh. “Oh please…”
Minho strolled towards him without a word, pausing right in front of him and placing a finger beneath his chin. He lifted Jisung’s gaze to meet his own.
Jisung felt completely naked. Strapped down to an operating table and sedated. He practically quivered as he met Minho’s dark, unamused eyes.
“Okay!” Chan said, starting for the door.
Jisung swallowed. Minho’s eyes flicked down to follow the movement of his throat. “We should go,” he said weakly.
Minho nodded. His lips twitched, curling into a smirk. “You look good.”
Jisung’s face grew somehow warmer. “You too.”
Minho cupped his jaw and kissed him suddenly, lips warm and eager, thumbs firm where they cradled his cheeks. Jisung melted when Minho’s hand dropped to run over his waist, down over his ruffled skirt to where the stocking clung to his leg.
Jisung caught a hold of Minho’s hand just as it slipped beneath the tight fabric. “Baby,” Jisung giggled, lacing their fingers.
“ Fuck,” Minho sighed, skimming his opposite fingertips over Jisung’s shaved thigh. “I don’t know how I’m gonna make it through the night.”
“Guys!” Hyunjin snapped them out of it. “Car’s running! Do you want me to lose my precious baby to vehicle theft?”
“I thought I was your precious baby!” Changbin said indignantly, flipping his shiny black bob back with two hands.
“You will if you keep loudly talking about how your car’s running,” Minho shot back, but he peeled away from Jisung anyway, tugging him along by his hand.
Jisung felt bubbly and excited as they made their way to the party. Minho kept a hand on his thigh the entire car ride there, but the weight of his palm didn’t move. It was more reassuring than sexual, just a quiet reminder that he was there and wanted to touch him.
Neither of them wanted to rile each other up too much before the evening started.
Trinity’s condo was spacious for a one-bedroom loft, but the living room and kitchen were overflowing with party guests by the time they arrived. Hyunjin, Changbin, and Chan wasted no time seeking the drink coolers in the kitchen, and Jisung watched the crowd nervously. There were a lot of people, dancing and laughing and drinking, looking like they were having an excellent time and like they couldn’t care less that Jisung was experiencing a fresh wave of anxiety about the tiny little dress he was in.
His stockings felt tight. His belt felt tight. The room felt tight.
And then Minho’s arms were winding around him, loose but warm, and the point of his chin rested on Jisung’s shoulder. “I’ve got you,” Minho said, kissing the side of Jisung’s neck. “And…now you have red lipstick on your neck, sorry.”
Jisung chuckled, squeezing Minho’s hand and pulling him away from the doorway. He couldn’t remember why they agreed to come to this party. Neither of them drank, Jisung hated crowds, and he was pretty sure they’d both rather be at home making out right now.
“Minnie!” Trinity emerged from a tangle of dancing bodies. She’d gone for a Joker costume, hair sprayed bright green and gelled back, white face paint beginning to trickle from her sweaty brow. Her jaw dropped when she looked at Jisung, and he flushed, wishing he’d stuck with Chan and Changbin so his costume didn’t look quite so… “Wow, Sung. You look hot.”
“Thanks,” Jisung said, the fear in his chest easing in favor of a swell of pride. He giggled when Minho hugged him from behind again. “So do you.”
“Trin!” Sunny appeared over Trinity’s shoulder, panting and radiating a drunken glow. She was dressed as what looked like Tinkerbell, glossy wings strapped to her back and a leafy skirt fluttering around her hips. Her delight was replaced with pure shock when she noticed Minho and Jisung, though. “Holy shit. Hi, guys.”
“Hi,” Jisung said, hoping the lack of lighting hid his reddening cheeks. Minho politely loosened his hold around Jisung’s waist but kept a hand resting on his hip.
“You make such a pretty Bubbles!” Sunny said, leaning her chin on Trinity’s shoulder and nearly spilling her solo cup’s contents. “Where are Bin and Channie?”
“In the kitchen, I think,” Jisung said. His voice came out faint. Warmth was rising rapidly between his shoulder blades and under his jaw, and he suddenly wished Minho would let go of him. He needed to go outside, he realized.
“I’ll go find them,” Sunny said. “Do you guys need anything from the kitchen?”
When they said no, she slipped off, and Trinity and Minho spent a few minutes chatting about some drama that went down with her drunk house guests. Jisung stood like an anxious child, rocking nervously under Minho’s arm and chewing his lip as he scanned the room, taking every idle glance his way as scathing judgment.
Soon Trinity went off to visit with someone else, and Minho pulled Jisung towards the balcony door. Jisung went gratefully, breathing in a rush of cool air as they pulled open the sliding glass and stepped out into the chilly night.
A small group stood on one side of the balcony smoking, so Minho took Jisung to the other, dropping his arm from his shoulders to give him some space.
“Thanks,” Jisung said, sighing and wiping his brow of sweat. “Sorry. I should’ve remembered I hate parties.”
“No worries,” Minho said simply, leaning his hands on the railing and gazing fondly over the dimly lit street. Jisung caught his breath with his back resting on the condo’s brick exterior. Minho looked calm, almost serene, fitting the part of his costume beautifully. The glow of the party cast flickering lights over his nose and cheekbones, and his waist was pulled in at an impossible curve, hugged by the same corset he’d worn the night of Sunny’s birthday party months back.
“You look so hot,” Jisung said. He reached out to lay a hand on Minho’s corset, feeling the way it strained with his breaths.
Minho scoffed, sliding Jisung a look. “We’re really not gonna be here long, are we?”
“That depends,” Jisung said cheekily, holding two hands in a V beneath his chin and kicking up his heel behind him. “How do I look?”
Minho rolled his eyes. “Like a naughty boy who deserves to get tied down and teased till he cries. Next question?”
Jisung’s jaw dropped. He stumbled back to the wall, nearly knocking his head against the brick.
Minho cackled, eyes crinkling with sadistic amusement, and fondness warmed Jisung’s cooling skin. “You set yourself up for that, darling.”
Jisung picked at his skirts, glancing at the crowd of stoners on the opposite side of the balcony. Their conversation was too loud for Jisung’s voice to carry, thankfully, but he still felt timid as he asked, “Do you really like it?”
Minho frowned, cocking his head. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know…” Jisung trailed off, averting his gaze. He didn’t know how to explain this, how he felt more anxious about his outfit than anything he’d ever worn but also so fucking proud of himself for going to a crowded gathering like this. He felt terrified, he felt powerful, he felt sexy. He wasn’t sure how to express that this stupid little Bubbles costume meant something big to him.
Minho shifted, positioning himself between the stoners and Jisung. His arms were crossed, but his smile was soft. “Yeah,” Minho said, warmth glinting in his dark eyes. “You look really beautiful, Jisung.”
He hid his face in his hands and leaned his shoulder against Minho’s chest. “Thanks,” he mumbled.
“So pretty.” Minho flicked one of Jisung’s pigtails and then giggled, probably at the way it flopped around. “Can’t wait to make a mess out of you later.”
Jisung swallowed hard and fought down the rising heat in his lower belly. “We should go inside and socialize for a little bit, shouldn’t we?” Jisung said, stepping back from his boyfriend’s solid, inviting chest.
Minho agreed and took Jisung’s hand to lead him through the crowd.
~
To Jisung’s relief, Trinity brought a smaller crowd up to her loft to play card games, Sunny, Seungmin, and Jisung’s old coworker Jeongin included. He was excited to see Seungmin and Jeongin after a few months away from their company, and amused to see them dressed as Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker. Nerds.
“What are you guys doing here?” Jisung asked as they sat on the foot of Trinity’s bed while she picked a Netflix show and Minho dealt cards across the expanse of Trinity’s king-sized quilt. “How d’you know Trin?”
“Sunny invited me,” Seungmin said, gesturing to where Sunny was chatting with Hyunjin and Changbin by the TV. “We have a few classes together this semester. She mentioned you’d be here, too.”
Jeongin wiggled his eyebrows and jutted his chin at Minho, who continued distributing cards and pretended he couldn’t hear them. “So this is the guy?”
“Oh,” Jisung said, laughing and reaching over to wrap his fingers around his boyfriend’s forearm. He felt proud at the idea of getting to introduce Minho as his boyfriend to his friends. He supposed he’d never really done that before. “Minho, this is Seungmin and Jeongin, my coworkers from the shop. Seungmin studies music at my school too. Guys, this is Minho. My boyfriend.”
Minho’s tiny smirk came first, just for Jisung, before broadening into a polite smile. “Nice to meet you both.”
Jisung anxiously searched Seungmin and Jeongin’s reactions, waiting for them to cast him bewildered glances or ask if he was gay or what had happened with him and Sunny, but they both just smiled and asked Minho what he did for a job.
The party went on without a hitch. Everyone got progressively more drunk except Minho, Chan, and Jisung. Sunny and Changbin were the loudest drunks as usual, sending everyone else into hysterics with their ridiculous antics. Being in the same circle as Sunny again was nice, even though they didn’t interact with each other much. He was sure to keep his displays of affection with Minho to a minimum too.
At one point he followed Sunny’s gaze to his own thigh, which he glanced down at and noticed Minho’s hand was laying there, his pinky poking innocently under Jisung’s stocking.
They excused themselves shortly after that with the reassurance that Chan could drive Changbin and Hyunjin home. They ended up walking in the direction of the Hub, Minho giving Jisung his overcoat when the crisp October air became too much for his thin dress.
Jisung held Minho’s hand happily, enjoying the comfortable silence between them and looking forward to getting held down and fucked into the mattress.
“That went well,” Minho noted, squeezing Jisung’s hand.
“Mhmm,” Jisung agreed.
“Felt kind of good to see Sunny.”
“Yeah?” Jisung watched the side of Minho’s face, curious.
Minho shrugged, smirking. His fangs poked out from his blood red mouth. “Got used to hanging around her and wanting to pull her off you. You’re mine now.”
The blatant possessiveness pulled a startled laugh from Jisung, but warmth rolled in his gut nonetheless. “Excuse me, I belong to me, myself and I.”
“Hmm.” Minho pierced Jisung with a blank look. “We’ll see about that.”
Jisung held his eyes, choosing not to laugh and instead to tighten his grip around Minho’s hand. Minho quickened his steps towards the Hub.
As soon as the door shut behind Jisung, Minho pinned him against it. Jisung went lax and exposed his neck, his heart already racing at the feeling of Minho’s body against him, warm and solid through all his layers of clothes. Minho cupped his jaw and kissed his pulsepoint, hot breaths tickling Jisung’s ear, hand tracing the slope of his waist and squeezing.
Jisung’s fingers laced through Minho’s hair. He bit back a whimper when he felt the faux fangs graze his neck, sharp points teasing sensitive skin. “Oh,” Jisung said, laughing softly. “Could you actually hurt me with those?”
“Of course,” Minho breathed. The cool tip of his nose nudged Jisung’s earlobe, making him shiver. “I could hurt you with my real teeth if I really wanted to.”
“You’re scary,” Jisung teased. Minho pulled back, cupping Jisung’s face and brushing his bangs from his eyes, and Jisung just about became a puddle when Minho broke into a breathless, glowing grin. “But so pretty,” he added.
“No, you,” Minho shot back, licking his lips and stroking Jisung’s cheeks. He was being surprisingly tender, Jisung realized; he’d expected to be tossed around like a ragdoll the moment they found privacy. “I can’t really kiss you with these in,” he went on, pouting.
“Sure you can.” Jisung leaned in and captured his lips, shuddering as the adhered fangs scraped his bottom lip. He wound his arms around Minho’s neck and pressed their chests together, breathing shakily when he felt Minho’s grip tighten around his waist. He grabbed Jisung’s belt and pulled slightly, tugging him forcefully forward and further constricting his little waist.
“Min,” Jisung whispered, shifting uncomfortably as he started to grow hard in his lace panties. “I want…”
“Tell me,” Minho said. He bent to kiss Jisung’s neck again, fangs grazing his collarbone.
“I want you to be rough with me,” he admitted, shy.
Minho groaned softly against Jisung’s throat. Feeling him react so viscerally just to the idea of fucking him made Jisung whine, thighs clenching, knees knocking together. “Can I tie you up?” Minho asked. The wet, hot glide of his tongue swept over Jisung’s jaw, flicking his sensitive earlobe.
“Fuck, yes,” Jisung nearly moaned, grip tightening in Minho’s hair.
“I’m leaving as much of this outfit on as I can.”
Jisung giggled, grabbing Minho’s shoulders as he was lifted off the ground and carried towards the bed.
Nerves swam in Jisung’s muscles as he lay on his back waiting for Minho to return with the bondage ropes. He felt helpless and exposed, something he wasn’t used to. He’d tied Minho up before, but they’d never explored this side of their relationship.
Dressed like this all the while. He gazed down at his own body with fascination, smoothing his hand over the ruffled skirt, shifting his legs and watching his muscles flex beneath the tight stockings. He felt like a meal waiting to be devoured.
When Minho returned, his gaze was surprisingly tentative as he slid the curtain shut and sat beside Jisung’s hip. He bent and kissed Jisung’s tummy through his dress, eyes shut as he murmured, “My pretty boy.”
Jisung sighed, stomach rising and falling against Minho’s mouth. “What’s your favorite part?” he asked, grinning when Minho glowered at him. He was itching for specifics on what Minho liked about this outfit.
“Definitely these,” Minho said. Two hands stroked Jisung’s thighs, nails digging into his skin before dragging down to the tops of his stockings. The spark of pain made Jisung writhe, and something flashed in Minho’s eyes. “I wanna use a massager on you,” he said suddenly, and Jisung’s mouth went dry. “Would you be down for that?”
“Like,” Jisung rasped, cracked lips scrounging uselessly for words for a few seconds as Minho bent down lower to lay a slow, wet kiss to Jisung’s inner thigh. “Like, a vibrator?”
“Mhm.” The tips of Minho’s fangs brushed his thin skin, making his spine jerk. “Wanna tease you.”
Jisung inhaled and exhaled sharply. He was in for it tonight. “Yeah,” he decided, spreading his thighs, pulling one knee up to his chest. “You can.”
“Sit up, darling. Let’s get your jacket off before I get to work.”
Jisung chuckled but did so, letting his jacket fall off the side of the bed and laying back down. Minho hovered over him, reverence glistening in his eyes as he used one hand to trace Jisung’s collarbone, where the dress clung snugly to the muscles of his chest. “So beautiful, Sungie,” he mused, winding his hands behind Jisung to unzip his dress.
Minho removed every layer of clothing slowly, carefully, like he was disassembling a precious piece of machinery. Jisung was soon shivering in nothing but his stockings and his little shorts, which covered up the lace panties. Minho moved to grab one of Jisung’s hands, and Jisung let him. He went pliant as his boyfriend wound the rope around his wrist and the furthest column of the headboard.
When Jisung’s arms were both restrained above his head, loose enough that he could relax them but tight enough that he couldn’t lower them if he tried, Minho reached for one of his ankles. Jisung, wanting Minho to see his cute underwear, protested. “Wait, baby, take off my shorts first.”
Minho arched an eyebrow, unsuccessfully hiding a smirk. He dropped the rope and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of Jisung’s shorts. His fingers were cool against Jisung’s hot abdomen.
When Minho’s eyes fell on the blue lace panties, his lashes fluttered like he was trying to solve a math problem for no less than ten seconds.
Jisung giggled, legs shifting, feet pawing nervously at the sheets. He felt like he was being X-rayed by the intensity of Minho’s gaze. “What?”
“What, he asks,” Minho grumbled, shooting him a glare. Patches of red darkened his cheeks. “This color blue looks really pretty on you.”
Jisung hummed, pleased. “You like it?”
Minho nodded. His eyes followed his fingers, which slowly, very lightly traced the band of Jisung’s panties, gently pressing the lace fabric into his lower belly. Jisung writhed, rocking his hips up to seek friction against his hard cock, but Minho shot him a glare and pressed his hip down into the mattress. “That’s enough of that.”
Jisung pouted, but let his bratty attitude melt away when Minho eased both his knees towards his chest. “What are you…”
“I was gonna tie your ankles to your thighs,” Minho explained, like it was a casual statement about kitchen cabinets. “If that’s okay with you.”
“Oh,” Jisung breathed, his cock twitching in his panties as he thought about what he’d look like, tied with his thighs spread open, stockings digging into his roped legs, getting fucked open with a vibrator. “Yeah…please.”
He eyed the prostate massager that sat atop the quilt as Minho diligently tied his legs open. It didn’t look too intimidating, similar in size to his boyfriend’s cock, but he knew that the vibrations right against his prostate would be intense. He said softly, “Same safe word for me on the bottom?”
Minho smiled at him, warm and fond. He lightly squeezed Jisung’s foot before resuming his tying. “Just say Fate Apocrypha if you want me to stop.”
“God,” Jisung said, chuckling nervously. “We’re fucking nerds.”
“ Sushi and empanadas sounded too much like sex noises,” Minho reminded him.
“You’d think we’d have other options than...sushi, empanadas, and Fate Apocrypha.”
“That’s what you should title your memoir.”
Jisung laughed, relieved at the lapse in tension. Minho finished his knots and sat back to admire his handiwork, unblinking as he traced a heavy hand up Jisung’s spread thigh, thumbing the stockings, his tingling skin, the lace panties. His touch was so close to Jisung’s cock, and Jisung whined, hands fidgeting uselessly where they were tied.
Minho traced his cock with one finger, gaze dark and steady like a hawk’s. “Sensitive?”
“Fuck,” Jisung breathed, toes curling. The rope dug into his thigh pleasantly, making more heat pool in his groin.
Minho hummed, continuing his gentle motions, outlining the shape of Jisung’s cock through the thin lace. “Look at you,” he breathed, circling lightly over the head, rubbing the dampening fabric against Jisung’s slit and making him gasp. He bent to kiss Jisung’s thigh now, fangs and tongue tracing heat onto his skin. “You’re gonna look so pretty when you’re stuffed full.”
Jisung whimpered. He spread his legs open as far as they could go, his hole clenching. “Want that,” he whispered, arching his back, grinding his hips up against Minho’s delicate touch. “I wanna be full, baby…”
Minho groaned, his eyes piercing as he bit down on Jisung’s thigh. His fangs left behind two pin pricks of pain that made a jolt of arousal shock Jisung’s core. “What do you say?”
Jisung stared at him. They looked at each other for a moment, mutually challenging, as Jisung processed that Minho was going to make him beg. “Please,” he breathed, biting his bottom lip and exposing his throat in a way he knew would drive Minho crazy.
Minho shifted the panties to the side of Jisung’s cock. Jisung felt unbelievably shy as Minho unabashedly stared at him, but his anxieties were quickly replaced with need as Minho’s fingers teased over his hole, smirking as it clenched eagerly at the dry touch.
He lathered his fingers in a considerable amount of lube before easing one in. Jisung moaned softly, muscles clenching, letting the euphoria of finally getting penetrated wash through his tense body. Finally, Minho was going to take him apart. He shyly asked for Minho to move another pillow under his head so he could watch better, and Minho grinned as he obeyed.
Minho took his time finger fucking him, stroking his cock slower than he ever had before, drawing tiny, strained whimpers from him and only slipping in a second finger when Jisung was dripping with lube. He picked up the pace after that, angling his wrist and fucking two fingers in and out of him quicker, his eyes trained evenly on Jisung’s face as he fingered him open.
He skipped a third finger in favor of coating the prostate massager in lube. Minho looked completely casual, like he was watering a plant instead of slicking up a toy to fuck Jisung with. Jisung’s spine arched with anticipation, hips rocking upward idly.
Minho smirked at him as he leveled the toy at Jisung’s entrance, teasing the tip over his wet hole. “You want it, baby?”
Jisung nodded hard, gripping onto his restraints for comfort and biting his lip.
“Tell me,” Minho said, voice quiet but firm, low with a hint of danger. “Tell me how much you want it.”
Jisung whimpered, thighs spreading, back bowing further. “Please, Min,” he breathed, embarrassed but completely turned on by how wrecked and submissive he must’ve looked, tied down and begging to be artificially fucked. “Please. Want it so bad.”
Minho slipped the toy inside him. Jisung cried out, hissing at the bulky intrusion, wriggling uncomfortably against the bedding as he worked through the delicious ache. “Okay?” Minho checked, stroking Jisung’s thigh, pulling back the stocking and releasing so it snapped against his skin.
“Ah,” Jisung whimpered, nodding quickly. “Yeah. Fuck, feels amazing.”
“You’re doing so well,” Minho hummed, slowly easing the toy further in, drinking in Jisung’s twitching form and heaving chest with an unwavering gaze. “My perfect little fuckdoll.”
Jisung gasped, unprepared for the way those words made his whole body clench with arousal. Minho had never done much degrading in the bedroom, but it made heat flare beneath Jisung’s skin. “Please,” he sobbed, trying to rock his hips forward. “Your little doll…”
Minho breathed out, something overwhelmed but excited glinting in his eyes. When Jisung didn’t stop rutting upward, Minho laid a slap to his thigh, and Jisung squealed, wriggling against his restraints. “Hold still.”
Jisung tried. He obeyed other than his curling toes and fluttering breaths, but he couldn’t help but arch back when the toy was all the way inside him, pressed snugly against his prostate. “Fuck,” Jisung ground out, lost in the feeling of being so full, so stretched without much prep.
“Okay, baby?”
“Yeah. Are you gonna turn it on?” He wasn’t sure if he was more nervous or excited to feel the vibrations.
Minho slapped his thigh again, harder this time. Jisung moaned, writhing, yelping when his movements made the toy shift and rub against his prostate. “My greedy little whore,” Minho tisked, and Jisung had to gasp to deflect another pathetic moan. “Never grateful for what you have.”
“Please,” Jisung said, groaning when Minho kneaded the stinging skin of his thigh, bent to kiss it, lick it, draw it between his teeth. “ Fuck, please, Min, I wanna feel more…”
Minho grabbed the base of the toy and slid it in and out a few times. Jisung’s eyes rolled back, body spasming at the perfect glide parting his walls. Then Minho flicked a switch and the massager began to buzz, snug against his prostate.
Jisung wailed. He tugged at the rope and arched his back, hips rocking uselessly, thighs clenching together till they closed in on Minho’s shoulders. It was so much, overstimulating and intense right against his g-spot to the point of almost being painful, but the shockwaves of pleasure washing through his body were completely worth it. He felt insane.
“That’s it,” Minho cooed after what felt like minutes of JIsung enduring the consistent vibrations, and his condescending tone made Jisung moan. “You’re taking it so well, baby. That feel good?”
“Yeah,” Jisung managed in a high, strained voice. He remembered to breathe, exhaling shakily through O-shaped lips. Just when he thought he’d adjusted to the vibrations pressed up against his prostate, the steady pleasure overwhelmed him again, coursing outward from his stretched hole in waves. He jerked against the bedding, head thrust back and eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, fuck. ”
“Hmm,” Minho murmured, pulling the toy partially out and then fucking it back inside. Jisung spasmed at the feeling, and so Minho did it again, fucking him with the vibrator slowly, the toy squelching as it slipped past his tight ring of muscle. “Fuck, you’re perfect. Such a perfect little slut.”
Jisung moaned, raising his knees up to his chest to chase the overwhelming, addictive angle. Minho watched him greedily, raw possessiveness glinting in his eyes, drinking in his reactions and smirking the more Jisung squirmed. “Please,” Jisung repeated uselessly, watching through blurry tears as Minho kept pressing the toy into him, gradually faster. “Please, m-more…”
For a while Minho ignored him in favor of fucking the toy in and out slowly, teasing its vibrating head over Jisung’s most sensitive area until he was groaning and thrashing against the ropes, but then Minho shifted. He positioned himself to kneel between Jisung’s legs more properly, and pressed Jisung’s thighs up to his chest with two hands, leaving the massager resting inside him. The lift of his legs made the vibrator rub right against his prostate, and Jisung sobbed, shaking and unable to look at Minho out of fear that the sight of him would make him come on the spot.
“Yeah?” Minho breathed, and suddenly he was grinding against Jisung’s thigh, his hard length rubbing his stockings through leather pants. “Want more, little slut?”
“Oh, fuck, Minho,” Jisung gasped, tears dripping from his clenched eyelids. “Shit…”
Minho flicked the switch again, and the vibrations intensified, making Jisung writhe like he was being tortured. His words became incoherent whimpers, breaths coming rough and quick as the overstimulation tightened into something white hot he’d never felt before. “Minho!” he cried out, blinking his eyes open to watch Minho thrust against his quivering thigh. “Ah, ah, I’m gonna come, I don’t wanna come w-without…”
Minho growled, teeth bared, hair falling into his eyes. He tightened one hand on Jisung’s thigh and kept humping him, using the other to grab the toy and fuck Jisung with it. “Come on, baby,” Minho taunted, motions fast and shallow inside Jisung. “Show me what a good slut you are. Come from having your ass fucked. That’s it.”
Jisung practically screamed, writhing and thrashing against his restraints as his orgasm blazed through him. The pleasure pulsed from his wrecked prostate in waves, making him spasm and jerk like a toy, and he could do nothing but gasp for air and beg for Minho to stop when the overstimulation became painful.
He could only lay there like a pile of rubber as Minho withdrew the vibrator from within him and quietly went to the bathroom to get a wash cloth. Jisung felt like he only had five seconds to catch his breath before Minho was beside him again, quickly untying the ropes from his wrists and ankles and wiping his belly of cum. Jisung hummed happily when Minho finally pulled his weary body into his arms.
“Are you okay?” Minho murmured, stroking a hand through Jisung’s sweaty hair. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah!” Jisung laughed, rolling onto his side to bury his face in Minho’s chest. He kicked off his panties impatiently and slung a stocking-covered leg over Minho’s hip. “That was the hardest I’ve ever come.”
“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”
Minho sounded genuinely worried, so Jisung shifted onto his elbows to frown at him, taking in the guarded look in his eyes. “I would’ve said Fate Apocrypha if I wanted you to stop,” he said. “I loved it.”
Minho’s face relaxed into a tentative smile. “Good.”
“Now…” Jisung was buzzing from the most intense orgasm of his life, physically exhausted but mentally wired, and he wanted to make Minho feel good too. “Can you fuck me, please?”
Minho laughed, fangs somehow only making his smile prettier. “Sure. How do you wanna be?”
“However you want me.”
Minho quickly removed his fangs, breaking the adhesive off and dropping them onto the nightstand. When Jisung asked why, Minho just shrugged and said, “Want to taste you, not glue.” Jisung made fun of him and then joked that he would make that into a song.
Soon they fell into a loosely entangled missionary, Jisung’s arms and legs wrapped around Minho’s body to pull him in as close as possible, Minho moving within him slowly as to not overwhelm him minutes after his last orgasm.
Minho looked into Jisung’s eyes as he fucked him, shoulders tensing to support his weight, lip tugged beneath his teeth. Jisung had never felt so close to someone else, so indescribably intimate and vulnerable. He’d never felt so loved.
He was surprised, after the way Jisung had just been degraded and teased to orgasm while completely tied up, that this was how Minho was choosing to fuck him.
They made out deep and filthy as they fucked, Minho licking the high moans right out of Jisung’s mouth. The stimulation was nowhere as intense as the vibrator, but the contrast was so good. Minho was warm, pulsing within him, nothing separating their bodies but the condom. Jisung wished they could be even closer. He wished he could lay all his pieces at Minho’s feet.
“Fuck,” Minho breathed, grip thightening on Jisung’s thighs as he shifted to fuck him faster. He gazed darkly at Jisung, who could only bite his lip to keep from squealing at the feeling of his boyfriend’s cock teasing his oversensitive prostate. “You feel so good, baby,” Minho ground out, licking his bottom lip and kneading the side of Jisung’s ass.
“Minho,” Jisung whispered. He watched his boyfriend with amazement, enthralled by his shifting muscles, the sweat trickling from his sculpted collarbone, his gorgeous thighs flexing every time he fucked into Jisung. “I w-wanna come again.”
“You think you can?” Minho asked breathlessly. He grabbed Jisung roughly by the hips and began to fuck him faster, forearms bulging as he maneuvered the weight of Jisung’s body.
Jisung gasped, grabbing at the headboard and struggling to keep his eyes on Minho’s. “Shit,” he whined, lowering one hand to quickly pump his own cock, chasing the peak building within him.
Minho threw his head back with a low groan, throat tensing through the wrecked sound, movements inside Jisung speeding up. Jisung’s thighs twitched, stomach rising and falling rapidly, heart pounding. Minho was so beautiful. Minho was his. Minho was his.
“Baby,” Jisung cried out, continuing to stroke himself, gazing up at Minho. “Look at me, angel…”
Minho did, blinking his eyes open to meet Jisung’s. They sparkled, vulnerable, overwhelmed. Scared. So beautiful. He thrusted inside Jisung a few more times before releasing, brows pinched and lips falling open to let out soft, shaky sounds, and Jisung came a second time with Minho’s name caught in his throat.
Minho swept the curtain back to clean up. They showered together once their makeup was wiped off, and Jisung watched Minho closely. He looked tense and tired, contrary to his usual lightheartedness after they fucked. His eyes were unfocused as he gazed over Jisung’s shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Jisung asked, wondering if Minho had a headache or something as they got into bed together.
“Yep,” Minho said.
Jisung frowned, giving Soonie pets when Minho didn’t move from beneath the covers to do even that. “Really?”
Minho closed his eyes and nodded, sagging against his pillow. “Tired.”
Jisung left it at that. Though the more he thought about it, it was sort of unusual that Minho just made love to him like it was the last time they’d see each other. And that he'd burst into tears a few days before when Jisung sang him a silly guitar serenade.
He supposed he would wait to see if his boyfriend’s emotions stayed at the surface. If Minho chose to keep something behind closed doors, Jisung wasn't sure that even he could open them.
~
Notes:
THERE ARE ONLY 3 CHAPTERS LEFT IN COH!!!!!
thank you sm for reading, and see you for the next one ❤️
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 23
Notes:
TRIGGER WARNINGS:
- Character death (minor)
- Blood, graphic depcitions of violence
- Gun violence
- Domestic violence (dreams and flashbacks)
- Depression and anxietyI will star the graphic depictions of violence so you can choose to skip if you wish.
This one has some pretty heavy angst. But if you've made it this far, you are well equipped for this one too :-)
ENJOY❤️
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
xxiii. minho
********TW start
Jisung always emitted a certain radiance.
On bright days, he captured the sun’s natural brilliance like a crystal. Sunshine brought out the natural melanin in his skin, and his teeth were an icy, contrasting white. Even on dreary days he was a beacon of warmth and color. The wind painted his cheeks a pretty shade of peach and fluffed up his thick hair until it was tangled and uncontrollable. When he was displeased with the cold, his little pout and puffy cheeks were enough to make Minho forget about the unpleasant conditions.
Even here, he glowed.
The room was predominantly shadowed. Incoherent voices filled the space between Jisung and Minho, and the overhead light flickered. Minho could see fear flashing in Jisung’s eyes.
His boyfriend stood nervously. His hands fiddled behind his back, oversized hoodie drowning his form, feet scrabbling at the linoleum floor. He watched Minho, seeking comfort. Seeking answers.
A broad figure approached Jisung, his back to Minho. His shadow pooled on the floor between them, twisting as the man turned. Minho recognized the face. Angry, determined, bitter. Familiar. Yonghwa.
Minho tried to tell Jisung to run. He tried to race forward and grab Yonghwa’s shoulder, maybe stick a knife in his back. But his feet were rooted to the ground like they were nailed there, and all he did was stand like a useless block of wood as Yonghwa approached Jisung.
The pure terror in Jisung’s eyes made Minho sick to his stomach. Jisung cowered, two hands raised, crouching as he tried to slink backwards. Yonghwa lashed forward like a tiger. His fist swung. The impact of skin and bone was sickeningly loud, and Jisung cried out, his body jerking.
Minho watched as Jisung fell to the floor. Yonghwa’s feet came down like he was digging a hole with the toe of his boot. His eyes glinted, delighted, maniacal. Excited. Jisung’s forearms came up to protect himself, split lip trembling as he begged Yonghwa to stop. Blood oozed down his chin and from a gash on his cheek.
Minho couldn’t move. He couldn’t close his eyes or open his mouth.
Yonghwa moved like a machine programmed to break someone apart. His movements did not tire, only growing faster, kicks becoming aggressive stomps. Jisung’s struggle diminished. He curled up and took it, his body twitching and rolling like a limp rag, dark blood seeping through the fabric of his hoodie. His face was still, eyes clenched shut.
Yonghwa took a few steps back and removed a gun from his waistband. Minho felt bile rise in his throat, and he tried to scream, felt the sound whoosh through his throat and scrape his vocal chords, but heard nothing but the blare of a gunshot as Yonghwa shot his boyfriend’s limp body. Once, twice, thrice, more times than Minho could count. Jisung jerked, and then blood pooled outward from his body, warm, barely alive, his life bleeding out in front of Minho’s eyes.
********TW end
Minho blinked and sucked in a lungful of air. His scream faltered and became a shaky gasp. He grasped for his bearings. He was in bed, in Jisung’s bed. It was dark. He was bolt upright. His fingers clutched at the sweaty fabric over his chest.
“Min?” That was Jisung’s voice, thick with sleep and confusion. Minho could feel his weight shift on the bed, but he didn’t dare look. His mind whirled, imagination clinging to the vivid image of Jisung bleeding out on the floor.
He couldn’t breathe properly. His fight or flight made cramps ache in both his calves, and bile stirred in his throat. He leapt out of bed and ran for the bathroom.
He locked the door behind him and sat on the edge of the tub with his head in his hands. His chest felt like bolted steel, breaths unable to push past the tension in his torso. He closed his eyes and tried to stop thinking about it. It. The impact of Yonghwa’s relentless kicks. The delight and excitement morphing his familiar face into that of a monster. Minho’s ribs prickled. The ache was old, shadowy like a phantom. He knew it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real, right?
He felt like he was going to throw up. He got on his knees in front of the toilet and tried his best to breathe. He didn’t need to throw up. Nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong.
A soft knock tapped the door. “Minho?”
Minho cleared his throat. His voice was shrill as he said, “I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” Jisung sounded worried. Minho heard his weight slump sleepily against the door.
“Yeah.” Minho breathed out and tried to force the dream down. It stayed stubbornly, adrenaline staining his muscles, nausea prickling at his throat.
“You were yelling,” Jisung said, voice soft.
Minho winced. Had he woken up everyone in the apartment? “Sorry,” he mumbled, pressing his palm to his sweaty forehead. His elbow leaned on the toilet seat, the hard plastic stabilizing.
“What happened, baby?”
Minho breathed, waiting for a shaky sob to settle down. Eventually he said, “Bad dream.”
“Can I come in?”
Minho shook his head even though he knew Jisung couldn’t see him. “I just need a minute.”
Jisung paused, waiting quietly outside the door for a moment, before saying a gentle, “Okay.” He shuffled back to his room.
Minho stayed crouched over the toilet, his left hand gripping his right forearm so tightly that his nails almost broke his skin. He focused on the sting of pain until the urge to vomit gradually subsided.
~
Minho had a powerful mind. It was one of his favorite qualities about himself. He’d been through enough that when fresh, nightmarish trauma arose in his life, he was skilled at numbing himself to it. If he didn’t want to think about something, he wouldn’t. If he wanted to forget about something, he would.
Or…so he thought.
He’d heard the mental health advice before. He knew that vulnerability was strength, or whatever. It wasn’t like he was unaware he was bottling up his emotions, but he didn’t know what else to do. He was afraid of what he would become if he looked them in the face.
He told himself he was protecting Jisung when he began to put distance between them. It was natural—an extra shift or two picked up at the Hub, a few words of encouragement for Jisung to focus on studying for his midterms—but he was sure that Jisung noticed it. They usually never went more than one or two days without seeing each other, and now it was once, maybe twice a week. Jisung sent him regular messages and calls saying he missed him, and Minho did his best to respond earnestly.
He told himself he was protecting Jisung, but he knew that was bullshit. He was protecting himself.
A dark, heavy cloud slipped its way into Minho’s mind. It was quiet, but all-consuming. He had no idea what was going on, but he also knew exactly what it was. He tried not to contemplate his own existence. He was a nameless body incapable of self-reflection. He went as fast as he could, forward, and waited for the pain to stop.
He went through the motions. Work, sleep, eat, take care of the cats, repeat. Sprinkled with occasional doses of do your best to make sure Jisung has no idea what’s going on.
Minho hated himself.
He forgot this, most of the time. There were things he liked about himself. He couldn't remember them right now. He kept busy and focused on making the people he loved happy because that was easier. It was easier to make them happy than to make himself happy. He was complicated, particular. Damaged. Undeserving.
The weeks slipped by monotonously. Minho acted. He acted charming and confident at the Hub. He acted fun and chipper at the dance studio. He acted unbothered, carefree, and normal when he was with his friends and his boyfriend.
He knew there were some clues slipping through the cracks.
“Are you okay?” Jisung asked. They were at the Hub, hanging out for the first time in six days. Jisung sat on the floor playing with Doongie, and Minho cleaned every inch of his room with a laser focus, determined to keep his mind on anything but Jisung.
It was difficult to be so in love with someone who might be killed because of Minho.
He pretended he didn’t know that was a possibility.
“Yep,” Minho said, neatly wiping the surface of his hot plate. He gave Jisung a small, funny smile. “Are you?”
Jisung nodded. He smiled too, but worry shone in his big eyes. “Will you come cuddle?”
Minho hummed. “In a minute.”
He took his time putting the cleaning supplies away, washing his hands, changing his shirt. When he settled on the couch, Jisung snuggled up to him with a happy sigh, arms winding around Minho’s neck.
Minho stifled the urge to squeeze him hard and never let him go.
“I’m worried about you,” Jisung mumbled. Minho felt soft lips shape the words to his shoulder.
Minho scoffed and fell back on his classic, “What use is that?”
Jisung sighed. His impatience made Minho cringe, disliking himself. He wanted to apologize. He knew he was deflecting.
But his jaw remained glued shut when Jisung said, “I wish you would talk to me, that’s all. It’s okay if something is bothering you.”
Minho watched intently as Doongie padded around on the rug.
“You don’t have to be so tough all the time,” Jisung went on. “I can take care of you, too.”
Pain, poignant and sharp, collected behind Minho’s eyes. He blinked back a round of hot tears and relaxed into a tense smile. “I’m okay,” he said, kissing Jisung’s soft hair. “Just feeling a little tired and overworked.”
“Mm. You deserve a vacation.”
Minho laughed. It was easier than agreeing.
Jisung rested his plump cheek on Minho’s chest. “We could go to Hawaii,” he said. “I hear it’s nice this time of year.”
“Let’s go to Fiji,” Minho played along, wrapping his arms around Jisung’s middle. “I’d kill for a virgin pina colada.”
“Let’s go to Egypt. I hear there are pyramids there, or something.”
Minho giggled, his laugh echoing when it spread to Jisung. “There’s definitely a triangular structure of some kind, rumors say.”
“I hear they’re pretty big. Like, taller than you.”
“Seems unlikely.”
Jisung smiled brightly, cheek lifting against Minho’s collarbone. Minho tried to fight off the feeling that he was luring Jisung into a death trap.
~
Minho just wanted Mia to show up. He wanted to get it over with. To get this blackmail bullshit out of his life once and for all. He clung to the chance that Mia would be true to her word and leave them alone after Yonghwa was behind bars.
It was easier than entertaining the possibility that she wouldn’t.
He struggled to eat as the weeks of November dragged by. Working up an appetite felt impossible when he was so on edge, constantly waiting for someone to scoop him up and shove a bag over his head again. He swam in the gradually increasing desire to drink. He craved the dulling of his inner voices. He craved a reliable distraction.
He hated that he hadn’t changed. He was still him. The starving, sick, mindless kid stumbling drunk through the streets. Desperate to be saved, desperate to be loved. He was still him and everything else on the exterior was a lie.
After Jisung’s midterm season, he was thrilled to be able to hang out with Minho more frequently again. He came to the Hub with an agenda, freshly showered and dressed in his favorite jeans, and Minho tried to give him what he wanted. He really did.
When Jisung got into his lap and started palming him through his sweats, lips slick and hot against Minho’s neck, something ugly in Minho reared its head. He froze and eased Jisung’s hand from his crotch.
Jisung pulled back, eyes widening, cheeks darkening with embarrassment. “Are…are you okay?”
Minho nodded, sighed. “Not really in the mood.”
Jisung’s arms hung at his sides. He shifted off Minho and sat stiffly on the couch. His dark eyes, usually sparkling with lightheartedness, were distant and blank as he stared at the wall.
Minho could see it happening. I’m losing him.
It was a relief, as much as it was also Minho’s greatest nightmare.
“What’s going on?” Jisung asked, voice fragile as he turned to face Minho. “Baby?”
Minho shook his head. He leaned forward on his elbows and cradled his face in his hands.
“I-I don’t even remember the last time we had sex,” Jisung said, attempting a dry laugh. “Two weeks? Three?”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s…it’s okay. I’m just worried about you.” Jisung’s hand rested between Minho’s shoulder blades, and he relaxed a little at the contact. “Are you…”
Minho turned to look at him curiously when Jisung trailed off. His boyfriend sat shyly, slouched, teeth gnawing his lip. His eyes met Minho’s timidly when he asked, “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
Minho was sure that hadn’t been what he intended to ask. He shook his head anyway, wringing his hands in his lap, and stammered, “Maybe you could just…”
Jisung watched him, eyes round.
He sniffled and spoke quickly before his tears could make an appearance. “Hold me?”
Jisung wasted no time pulling Minho into his arms. Minho curled up into a protective ball there, forcing his mind to draw a blank, clinging to Jisung’s whispers of, “I’m here, angel. I’m here.”
Minho didn’t deserve Jisung. Jisung’s life was in danger, and it was because of Minho. And Minho didn’t even have the courage to tell him. He watched the thoughts spin in his mind, a useless spectator as he forced his feelings behind their gates.
~
Someone knocked on Minho’s Hub-side door. He was jerked out of a daze, blinking himself back to reality. He had no idea where he was for a few seconds. He tried to ground himself. The Hub. His room. His couch.
Trinity pushed into the room. She approached him with an envelope in hand, her expression blank, observant. Careful. “Letter for you.”
Minho frowned, blinking rapidly. “No one knows I…”
He trailed off. No one knows I live here.
Except…
He raised a hand. “Thanks.”
Trinity pulled it back higher than he could reach. “Minho.”
He stood, trying to look intimidating as he glowered at her petulantly.
She stared back, not one ounce of distaste visible on her face. She looked open, patient.
Minho wanted to fall into her arms and cry.
“What,” he said, snippy. “It’s illegal to keep my mail from me.”
She sighed, exhaustion lowering her shoulders. “She’s got you trapped in something, hasn’t she?”
Minho shook his head urgently, scrambling for a believable lie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Minho. I told you to tell me if you need my help.”
He strolled away from her, pursuing the door with his jaw set, and she snatched the back of his robe. “Hey!”
“Listen to me,” she snapped, storming to the door and standing in front of it with her arms crossed. Determination and a flicker of anger darkened her eyes. “You’re being a little shit, okay?”
“Thanks,” he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Can I have my mail, please?”
“Do you remember the night I met you?”
Minho blinked, completely caught off guard. He searched her face, alarmed to see her chin wobble. He remembered asking her the same question months ago, when she’d told him her dad had cancer. He shook his head blearily because it was true. “No.”
“Right,” she said, voice harsh as she pushed loudly through vague, surfacing emotions. “You were blacked out. A drug addict in an abusive relationship, which you were in denial about, by the way.”
He glared at her, challenging her to get to the point but terrified of what it would be.
“And you know what?” She shrugged. “It took me about a week of knowing you to realize I loved you so fucking much.”
He blinked. “The fuck?”
“You were an asshole. An addict. A mess. And I loved you. Because you’re a good kid, and you never want to hurt anyone except the psychopaths who hurt you first, and you’d rather go down in fucking flames than worry anyone who’s got other shit on their plate. You’re a fucking mess and a little shit and I love you, okay?” Tears streaked from her eyes, and Minho immediately hid his face in his hands, horrified as emotions flooded his eyes and blurred his vision. “So be fucking honest with me.”
He shook his head. His body felt tense, his mind whirling with the urge to fight off this conversation. “I don’t wanna put you in danger,” he whispered.
“Minnie. Come here, hon.”
He slumped into her arms, and she squeezed him hard, holding him up as he went limp as a doll. She held him as he cried, and he spewed complete intrusive nonsense in her ear all the while. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said.
“I know what I’m getting myself into.”
“I don’t want you to throw me out.”
“I would never do that to you.”
“W-what if you get hurt?”
“If I can protect you I will, Minho.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“It’s what friends are for. It’s what family is for.”
“I can’t lose you, too…”
“You won’t, kid. You won’t.”
When he’d worked through the same questions enough times for his mind to slow, they shuffled to sit on the couch side by side. Minho agreed to open the letter together. Trinity read it aloud to him because he could barely see through his tears.
“Minho,” she said. “He leaves Friday, the 26th. M.” Trinity looked up with her brows kneaded tightly. “The fuck does this mean?”
Minho wiped his tears and sighed. “It means Yonghwa leaves town on November 26th so she’ll come get me to break into his storage unit that weekend.”
“Thanksgiving weekend? That’s unfortunate timing.”
Minho’s lungs rejected all air.
Thanksgiving weekend.
“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, letting his face fall into his hands. “Jisung’s gonna fucking break up with me. Fuck.”
“What? What does this have to do with Jisung?”
Minho didn’t speak. His mind was quiet, too. He enjoyed the moment, the silence between them, even though it was born from his brain being completely overloaded. He sighed when he remembered to revisit the question she’d asked. “We have tickets to visit his brother in Chicago that weekend. His brother is his only family member who knows about our relationship.”
“Oh. Well…I imagine if you explain that you’re being blackmailed into doing this by gang leaders, he’ll understand,” she snarked, like it was obvious.
“He doesn’t know,” Minho breathed, trying not to imagine how this conversation with Jisung was going to go. They were meant to leave in three days. He was going to blow off an important family gathering with three days’ notice with no explanation. Jisung was going to break up with him. Minho’s chest tightened, his brain going fuzzy as he considered it.
“What do you mean he doesn’t know?”
“I mean he doesn’t know, Trin,” Minho snapped, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “He has no idea I’m still involved with Mia and Yonghwa.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell him?”
“Because!” He jumped to his feet and began to pace, making Soonie eye him scathingly and dart into his cat tunnel. “Because he’d freak the fuck out, okay? He’s an anxious guy and knowing that I’m involved in that shit would just create more tension between us. I can tell he’s already walking on eggshells around me.”
“He’s probably walking on eggshells just like I was,” Trinity pointed out, standing too and crossing her arms. She was a menacing figure at times, her broad shoulders filling out her leather jacket, dark hair masking the heat of her piercing green eyes. “Min. It doesn’t help to keep the shit you’re going through from the people closest to you. They see right through that bullshit. I did, so Jisung definitely did. So tell him! Otherwise he’ll be even more pissed off.”
Minho shook his head, watching her. He trusted her. He couldn’t contain the words when they slipped out. “They said they’d kill him,” he said, cupping his fingers over his nose.
Trinity’s mouth dropped open, hands finding an incredulous perch on her hips.
“If I don’t do it,” Minho said, muffled and high. “They’ll kill him.”
She stared at him, her jaw working as she floundered for something to say. Eventually she settled on, “No wonder you’ve been going through it.”
“How am I supposed to tell him that I have to work for a gang leader or he’ll be killed?” Minho thrust his arms to both sides, desperate for some kind of alternative solution. “It’ll ruin his trip to see his brother. And his mental health. And our relationship.”
“We have to go to the police, Min.”
“Mia has someone undercover with the police. She made that clear to me. Plus I don’t know anything about her, and I know you don’t either. I don’t have a choice. I literally don’t have a choice.” He breathed hard, letting his eyes squeeze shut. He thought of Jisung, and his heart ached.
He never should’ve thought he could have the guy of his dreams without strings attached. That was too good, too easy. Too perfect for him. He didn’t deserve that.
“What are you gonna do?” she asked after a short silence.
Minho shrugged, voice weak as he said, “I’ll come up with something.”
~
He had no idea how to break the news to Jisung. They’d had tickets for weeks, since before Minho was captured and blackmailed. Minho had practically forgotten about the trip after he’d requested the weekend off from the Hub. The ticket wasn’t refundable. Jisung was going to lose two-hundred dollars because of Minho. This trip was important to Jisung. Minho was the worst boyfriend imaginable. He hadn’t had sex with Jisung in at least two or three weeks. Jisung was probably losing interest in him. Minho was certainly losing interest in himself.
This made sense to Minho. Jisung should lose interest in him. Jisung deserved better than him, anyway.
So he procrastinated. And he ran. He waited a day to face Jisung, shortening the time to two days before their flight, and then finally bit the bullet when he finished an exhausting Hub shift and knew Jisung would still be awake.
He perched on the edge of his bed and called Jisung. His innards felt like tangled wire. He wished he could leave the country and change his name, but instead he sat and listened to the daunting warble from his phone speaker.
“Hello?” Jisung sounded defensive, but hopeful. The combination made Minho ache.
“Hi,” Minho said, swallowing hard. He could feel the words sticking in his throat already. “How are you?”
“I’m okay,” he said, sighing softly. “Miss you.”
Minho blinked back a boomerang of sharp, distasteful thoughts. He missed himself too. “I…”
The words caught on the back of his tongue.
“Minho?”
“I have some bad news,” he forced himself to say. God, he didn’t want to lose Jisung. He didn’t want to hurt him. “I don’t think I can come to Chicago this weekend.”
The silence on the other line made Minho want to hang up and bash his head into a wall.
As the seconds oozed by, Minho felt panic rising in the arteries of his neck. He wiped his sweaty palms on his joggers and opened his mouth to speak, but Jisung said, “Why not?”
Minho took a breath. Here came the lie he’d constructed. “A bunch of girls got sick this week. There’s something going around the Hub and there aren’t enough dancers to cover the weekend while I’m gone. Trinity’s desperate.”
Jisung went quiet again.
“I’m sorry,” Minho said, trying to convey through the tinny microphone just how honest he was about that fact. “I’m sorry, Sung.”
“Why are you lying about this?”
Minho flinched. “I’m not lying.”
Jisung paused. When he spoke again, his voice came out pinched, crackling with emotion. “Are you serious right now?”
“Baby—”
“No. Don’t. Don’t do that.”
Minho’s heart pounded, so quick and painful that he had to press his fingers into the aches between his ribs.
“What the fuck is going on, Min? We’re supposed to leave in two days. Tomorrow now, technically. This isn’t like you.”
“I’ll pay you back for the ticket. I need the money…”
“You just submitted your last payment to Yonghwa. You’re literally out of debt. I expected you to be happy about that. Why are you pretending like you have to work this weekend?” The question was loud and shrill, followed by a soft, “Why don’t you want to come?”
“I do want to,” he insisted, hurriedly wiping his tears. He did want to. “This isn’t about that.”
“That’s such bullshit.”
“I’m sorry, but I—”
“No. No, I need to go. I need to think.”
Minho bit his tongue, waiting helplessly.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Jisung hung up, leaving Minho in silence, his clammy phone pressed to his ear.
~
The next night, Minho finished his shift at eight and began sluggishly vacuuming cat hair. He’d texted Jisung that morning and hadn’t received a response all day, but he didn’t blame him. He deserved as much.
Through his drapes, the streetlight illuminated a delicate snowfall outside. Minho paused his cleaning to float by the window and stare. For a moment he lost himself in the sight of the soft flakes, dancing down from a dark stretch of sky. The quiet outdoors were such a contrast to the pulsing noises of the club behind him.
Someone knocked on the door.
Minho pulled it open numbly, preparing himself for Mia or one of her men. The ball of worry in his chest loosened when his eyes fell on Jisung.
His boyfriend wore his puffy winter jacket and a bright red beanie. White flakes collected on his hat and the lock of gold hair flopping over his forehead. A small, shy smile lifted his rosy cheeks. “Hi.”
“Hey,” Minho said, overwhelmed already. He felt so relieved. Jisung was hanging on to him. He felt so ashamed. Jisung deserved better than him.
He was losing track of what his real thoughts were, and what was twisted by the demons of his past.
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah, yeah of course.” Minho stepped back and leaned against the load bearing pole. He watched as Jisung wiped his boots on the welcome mat and shrugged out of his coat, hanging it up and stuffing his beanie inside the sleeve. Minho had no words, even though his mind spun with hundreds.
Please don’t give up on me. Please run while you can. Please let me try and fix this. Please don’t stop loving me, please, please, please.
Jisung turned to face him, eyes patient, smile strained. “Can we talk?”
A tingle of deja vu intensified Minho’s confusing emotions. He nodded, scrambling to recall the lie that he’d chosen. “Sure.”
“I really want you to come this weekend,” Jisung began, cheeks puffing out as he exhaled. “I’ve been looking forward to introducing you to my brother for a long time.”
Minho nodded. Guilt softened his voice to a meek whisper. “I know.”
“I know you know.” Jisung laughed awkwardly, and Minho loved him for making a last ditch attempt at lightening the situation. “Which is why I know you wouldn’t do this to me over some…staff shortage at the Hub.”
Minho averted his eyes and sighed, relenting under Jisung’s pointed statement. His lie was too thin. He should’ve known. Jisung was his partner, his best friend. His soulmate. Of course he saw through his shit. Trinity was right.
“Will you tell me what’s going on? Please?” Jisung tried to smile, but fear and defensiveness hardened his eyes. Minho had hurt him, and Jisung was giving him the benefit of the doubt. Minho had no idea how many more chances he would get.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. He didn’t want to lose Jisung.
Finally, he admitted, “I have to help someone with something.”
He’d given Jisung the end of the string. Minho braced himself for Jisung to unravel all of him. He tensed like he was fighting to keep an animal inside himself.
Jisung narrowed his eyes. “Help who?”
Minho shook his head. “There’s a reason I can’t be specific.”
“What…” Jisung ran a hand through his hair. He shifted, posture becoming more righteous. “What do you mean? Can you not tell me for some reason?”
There was hurt in his voice, and Minho itched to take it away, but he had no idea how. He only had the resources to make it worse. He gazed at Jisung and shook his head, hoping that his boyfriend could see how serious he was.
“Why not?” Jisung’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. His fingers picked at his opposite sweatshirt sleeves.
Minho urged to spill everything he knew at Jisung’s feet. Two sides of him clawed at one another, begging him to break down and be honest, begging him to push Jisung away and protect him from the truth. He stood in silence and heaved a shaky sigh.
“Something’s been off with you,” Jisung said sharply, like he’d been holding that one back a long time. “For weeks now. Since Halloween.”
Minho kept his gaze down. Please drop it. Please, please drop it.
“Min. Is this why? Is this related to why you’ve been…different?”
Minho’s eyes searched Jisung’s for a few tense seconds, challenging him to back down, but Jisung stared back calmly. Then Minho softened, his shoulders sinking with a sigh. “I guess so.”
Jisung didn’t say anything. Minho didn’t, either. They stood in silence for thirty seconds, maybe a minute, before Jisung said, “That’s it? You guess so? That’s your explanation for why we haven’t had sex in weeks and you can barely look at me?”
Minho looked at him sharply. “Jisung.”
“I mean,” Jisung backpedaled, a nervous smile flitting across his face. He was scared he’d gone too far, Minho could see it. “A-at first I figured the honeymoon stage or whatever was just going away, and that it was normal to stop sleeping together every day or every few days like we did, but then you got really busy with work, and when we do hang out you always find a way to multi-task, and…”
Minho didn’t say anything. He gazed at Jisung’s chest vacantly.
Jisung’s lip wobbled, and his voice was thin as he asked, “Are you not in love with me anymore?”
Minho’s breath was shoved from within him. He strolled forward immediately, all other thoughts vanishing save for the need to get that idea out of Jisung’s head. “I am,” he said, voice as firm as he could make it, hands entangling with Jisung’s. “I’m so in love with you. More than I can express. Trust me.”
Jisung shook his head, breathing in through clenched teeth. “Then what’s the problem? Why…” He pressed the back of his hand to his nose, holding himself together. “Why can’t you tell me what’s happening? I’m scared…”
“Jisung.”
“I feel like I’m losing you…”
“You aren’t. Baby, you aren’t.” Minho squeezed Jisung’s hand tight. He wasn’t sure which of them was shaking. Maybe it was both. “I’m sorry,” he said, redundantly. “I wish I could explain to you what’s going on but I can’t.”
“Why not? Can you at least tell me why not? Or who you’re helping?” The exasperation was thick in Jisung’s voice, a humorless laugh spluttering from him. “I mean, this sucks, Minho!”
“I know it does.” Minho blinked hard as a headache bloomed behind his ears. “I’m trying to protect you. Please trust me.”
“It’s kind of hard to trust you when you’ve been pushing me away so hard,” Jisung said, eyebrows stitching together.
“I know.” Minho sighed and dropped Jisung’s hands to pull at his own hair. “I know, I know.”
He stood that way for a few breaths, letting the strands of hair drag slowly between his fingers. He could feel Jisung’s impatient gaze burning into his shut lids.
Jisung’s next question cracked the silence between them like an eggshell. “Does this have something to do with Yonghwa?”
Minho’s eyes blinked open. He fixed Jisung with a warning look.
“Minho,” Jisung said, taking a step back. “Does it?”
Minho had no idea what to say. He’d lied one too many times. He turned around and started to pace, scrabbling at his own hair just for something to do with his hands.
“Oh my god.” Jisung’s voice grew louder with each word. “Are you still…working with him?”
“No,” Minho said, shaking his head in slow, exaggerated motions. “No, I’m not. I haven’t seen him since I broke up with him.”
“So it doesn’t have to do with him?”
Minho groaned, bracing his hands on the edge of the utility sink and glaring out the window. The snow whipped around like a school of fish caught in a net. “Yonghwa’s organization isn’t just him. I told you he’d make my life hell if I left him, didn’t I?”
“What the fuck?” Jisung’s voice was becoming shrill, panicky. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Jisung.” Minho turned to face him again, teeth grinding together as pent up fear and anger boiled within him. “He’s the leader of a gang. When I keep shit like this from you it’s to keep you safe, always. People who know details always get caught up in his work, even when they don’t mean to.”
“So you decided to just…” Jisung’s lips curled into a harsh frown as he gestured vaguely to Minho’s rigid stance. “Run away from me? Barely hang out with me and not touch me for weeks?”
“I didn’t decide that.”
“Is he making you break up with me?”
“No!” Minho raked a hand impatiently through his hair in an effort to flatten what he’d fluffed. “It’s just…it’s hard, okay? I want to keep this separate from you. I don’t want this part of my life to affect what I have with you.”
“I have news for you,” Jisung snarked. “It’s affecting it.”
Minho slumped against the brick wall, defeated. “I know.”
Jisung took a few paces towards him. He looked like he was making a considerable effort to keep the patience in his voice. “Please give me something to work with here,” he said, eyes round and incredulous. “I just found out my boyfriend is still involved with a gang.”
Minho considered his options. He wanted to keep Jisung safe, above anything else.
But he loved Jisung. He wanted a relationship with him. He wanted Jisung to trust him. There was no way he’d give up on that without at least giving him something to hold on to.
“Yonghwa has a co-leader,” Minho said. “Mia. She found me by hooking up with Trinity. She’s blackmailing me into helping her get Yonghwa imprisoned.”
Jisung nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as he processed. “O...kay.”
“I have access to his storage unit,” Minho went on. The words jumbled together into one long string as he blurted them out. “She sent me a message that Yonghwa is leaving town this weekend, so she’s scooping me up any day now to go to the unit and gather the evidence she needs. She told me after I do that, she’ll leave me alone.”
“Did she threaten to hurt you?” Jisung asked, and Minho winced at the question.
“No,” he admitted, shoulders slackening. “She threatened to hurt you.”
Jisung’s mouth became a small O. Minho watched the fear unfold in his eyes, lashes fluttering with a half-blink. His gaze went glassy.
“I didn’t want to tell you,” Minho rushed to say.
Jisung’s eyes filled with tears as he pinned Minho with a glare. “Don’t you think I deserved to know?”
“No,” Minho snapped, and Jisung flinched. “You deserve the opposite of that. Jesus, Jisung, you think it’s good news? That a gang leader knows who you are and what you mean to me?”
Jisung shook his head. His hands protected his face, shoulders beginning to quiver as he held back a sob. “Why haven’t you gone to the police, Minho?”
“She has a spy there. Like it hadn’t crossed my mind.” He rolled his eyes. He was pissed off and sad. He was terrified that the truth would drive Jisung away. He felt completely out of control. He busied himself by pacing again.
“How long have you known?” Jisung asked. He was clearly working hard to keep his voice steady.
“She told me the terms the day before my birthday.”
“What? ”
Minho turned to see Jisung’s face crumple into one of unmasked horror. Glistening tears streaked from his eyes. “You’ve known for over a month that a gang wants to hurt me and you didn’t tell me? ”
Anger tightened like a crouched predator in Minho’s throat. “Why the fuck would I tell you? It would just scare the shit out of you.”
“No.” The usual sweetness of Jisung’s voice climbed to a yell. “That is not your call. If a gang is threatening my fucking safety then I deserve to know. I deserve to decide what to do, and to help you if I want to. Not to be left in the dark like a fucking child. You've been keeping secrets and avoiding me because you were worried about my anxiety? ”
Minho’s eyes fell shut. Jisung didn’t understand. Jisung was so innocent, so naive.
“Well,” Jisung plowed on, “Like my anxiety hasn’t been through the fucking roof anyway because my boyfriend was clearly going through shit and drifting away from me. Minho, Jesus! You’ve been doing gang work and you didn’t even fucking tell me?”
“Sung. I was trying to keep you safe! I didn’t want you to worry.” Minho’s fight or flight clogged his mind, urging him to match Jisung’s yelling with indignance of his own.
“So you were just going to blow off our Chicago trip with a lie and go break in and enter your psycho ex’s personal property while I was gone,” Jisung said. His eyes sparkled with unhinged, disgusted amusement. “What the fuck, Minho. That’s so fucked up.”
“It’s not like I want to do this! I don’t have a choice!”
Jisung shook his head. His teeth dug into his bottom lip, jaw bulging. “I feel like I don’t even know who you are.”
Minho’s chest felt like it’d been splintered open. He stared at Jisung incredulously, tears building in the back of his throat. “Why the hell are you getting mad at me right now? Everything I’ve done in the last month has been to protect you!”
“Protect me?” Jisung echoed, eyes flitting between Minho’s. His nose wrinkled, forehead creasing. “You left me! You were scared, and unable to work through your shit, and instead of telling me anything about what you were feeling you barely talked to me! Even now you won’t tell me why you’ve been avoiding me, and I’ve just been wondering what I did wrong, and assuming you didn’t l-love me anymore…” He trailed off, sobbing silently and covering his face with his hands. “What the fuck!”
“This isn’t about that,” Minho snapped, indignant. Frightened. “This isn’t about our relationship, Sung. It’s not about my feelings. It doesn’t matter whether I’m in love with you or not—”
Jisung moved for his coat in an instant. “I have to go.”
Anger jolted through Minho. “Oh, grow up.”
Jisung pierced him with a glare. “Don’t be an asshole.”
Minho watched him zip his coat. The heat of his emotions simmered. He looked at Jisung, his favorite person, and wondered how he’d managed to fuck things up so badly. Was Jisung giving up? Had he finally decided Minho was too much of an emotionally stunted, messy, traumatized waste of time?
Fear crawled through him to the tips of his fingers.
“Jisung,” he whispered, throat tight. Don’t go. Don’t go. Please, don’t go.
Jisung shook his head. More tears streaked from his eyes. He wiped them away and pushed out the door.
Minho stood alone in petrified, breathless silence.
His legs burst into motion before his mind could catch up to them.
He almost tripped in his efforts to dash outside, leaving the door swinging open behind him. He caught a hold of his boyfriend’s hand and tugged him to face him.
Jisung’s eyes swam with fear and heartbreak. Minho wanted to throttle himself for hurting him. “Min—”
Minho cupped his jaw and pressed a firm, pleading kiss to his mouth. He stroked his thumbs over Jisung’s chilly cheeks and fought back a strangled sob. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against Jisung’s. It felt so good to be close to him again that he couldn’t help the hot tears from spilling over. “I don’t want to lose you. I’m so sorry.”
Reassuring hands slid over Minho’s. Jisung kissed him back, warm and gentle, full of questions. Minho couldn’t help a relieved whine at his touch. Jisung’s fingers cupped the backs of Minho’s shaky hands as though to hold him steady.
“Please come back,” Minho breathed, melting into the bubble of warmth engulfing them. When he hesitantly opened his eyes, his boyfriend looked calm, patient. He was listening.
Jisung nodded. He laced their fingers and guided Minho back inside the Hub, who realized with a weak laugh that his socks were sinking into a layer of melting snow.
Minho hung his socks on the edge of the utility sink, and Jisung fetched him a fuzzy pair. They sat on the couch together with a thick blanket thrown over them. Minho held a hot mug of tea, and Jisung sat with his hands resting on Minho’s leg through the blanket.
Jisung looked exhausted, and cautious. Minho always admired the way Jisung wore his heart on his sleeve. Emotions were important, and always at the surface, for Jisung. It made sense to Minho why his boyfriend was angry right now.
Minho had let Jisung believe he didn’t love him anymore. He owed it to Jisung to try and explain his mental state ever since the Halloween party.
He took a sip of tea and kept his eyes down. He felt like he weighed a thousand pounds, so he sagged against the couch cushions and said, “I wanted so badly for this to never be a part of my life again.”
Jisung’s thumb stroked Minho’s knee through the layers of fabric.
“I’m so happy with you,” Minho went on. He managed a shadow of a smile. “Never loved someone so much before.”
“Me too,” Jisung whispered.
“When Mia blackmailed me…” He tried to shove the memory down before it could fill every inch of his brainspace. “I was so angry. I was so…ashamed?” He shrugged to alleviate the weight of the word. “I don’t want to be that guy anymore.”
“What guy?”
“Who I am,” Minho said bitterly. “A fucking…homeless addict who commits crimes and fucks gang leaders to survive. A fuck-up.”
“That’s who you were, baby.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” Minho soaked up the familiarity of the pet name and reminded himself that Jisung wasn’t going anywhere. “I feel like…” His chin quivered, and he tried to swallow down the tears, but they pinched his voice into a whimper nonetheless. “I feel like I was thrown back into my traumas all over again.”
Jisung took a hold of his hand and squeezed softly.
“I just wanted to protect you.” He clutched at Jisung’s hand till it started to feel like he was tethered to something other than his haywire emotions. “I knew I had to do whatever she asked me to do because I would do anything for you. You know that, right?” He felt an inexplicable rush as the shield over his chest peeled away and clattered to the floor. He smiled weakly. “I’d do anything for you.”
Jisung nodded. A tear glistened in the outer corner of his eye, but his expression was serene. “Me too.”
“But it was hard. Being around you…pretending everything was fine. You, uh.” Minho laughed, humiliated. “I kind of fall in love with you more every time I see you and that was scary. Because I knew there was a chance you could get hurt, or killed, because of me.”
Jisung cleared his throat. A little smile stretched his dry lips. “Minho, baby.”
Minho hummed.
“Don’t say that. It’s not because of you.”
“It is.”
“No, love.” Jisung shook his head, eyes gently shut. “It’s not your fault. You were alone and scared and needed to survive years ago, and psychopaths took advantage of the fact that you needed them. You’re a victim of blackmail. You’re not a fuck-up.”
Minho processed this. It wasn’t his fault.
It wasn’t his fault.
It wasn’t his fault.
He smiled, a bubble of weary laughter huffing from his chest.
“You’re the strongest person I know,” Jisung said. “Seriously. I’ll never stop being amazed by how strong you are.”
“I’m not,” Minho mumbled. “You were right. I was scared, and I left you to wonder. I should’ve told you.”
“You explained why,” Jisung pointed out. “I feel like a dumbass. I should have realized how traumatizing it would be to get thrown back into gang life. I didn’t think about your perspective. I’m sorry, baby.”
Minho nodded, gratitude blooming like a warm hug against his skin.
“Plus, you were probably right,” Jisung said. “It probably would’ve scared the shit out of me to know the truth and to wait around all month. Jesus, I still can’t believe a gang leader is threatening to hurt me. Holy shit.”
“I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Minho meant it, more than anything. “It’s me she wants, not you. She just needed a way to force my hand.”
“Well. That’s fucked up. I should…I don’t know. Write her a strongly worded email.”
Minho laughed, nasally and a little delirious, and set his tea on the ground so he could slide over into Jisung’s embrace. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For understanding why I’ve been such a mess.”
Jisung’s strong arms hugged Minho tight, pulling him into the warmth of his chest. “I was just afraid. Didn’t want you to leave.”
“Me too.”
The simplicity of it hung in front of Minho, like the fiery cord wrapped around his neck for the last month had peeled off and floated away like a strand of hair caught in the wind. His mind was quiet, his body relaxed. His heart thumped as Jisung kissed his hair.
“It’s not my fault,” he whispered, mostly to himself.
“It’s not your fault,” Jisung agreed.
“I do deserve to be with you.”
“Oh, how the tables have turned.”
Minho giggled. He lifted Jisung’s hand and kissed it before placing it over his cheek. Jisung thumbed the skin there, caressing. “I’m sorry about this weekend,” Minho said. “I really, really wanted to be there. I hate that this is lining up like this.”
“Mm.” Jisung lightly pinched Minho’s cheek. “It’s okay. I know you’d be there if you could.”
“I would.”
“Please be safe,” Jisung said, fear creeping into his voice again. His hand slid down Minho’s side to rest on his waist. “When you do go this weekend. Be careful.”
Minho agreed he would. But now that Jisung knew the truth and still loved him anyway, Minho felt like he could conquer the world. He’d take on Yonghwa in a fist fight right now if it meant he could watch his smug face bleed.
He was so ready to leave this ugly smear on his life behind.
~
Minho sat in the back of a bulletproof limousine, a virgin cocktail in hand. He avoided eye contact with the armed guard seated across from him in favor of daydreaming about the emotional goodbye he’d exchanged with Jisung the morning before.
Jisung was more scared than Minho about his mission this weekend. This wasn’t surprising; Minho had kept the truth from Jisung all month for that very reason. Still, it’d hurt Minho’s heart to see Jisung’s frightened pout, to feel him shaking when they hugged goodbye.
“I don’t like this,” he’d mumbled, not letting Minho pull back from their embrace as they stood at the top of 3RACHA’s apartment stairwell.
“I don’t like it either, darling.”
“I just want you to be where I can protect you.”
Minho smiled through the guilt and sadness that stubbornly revisited him. He couldn’t believe he’d pushed his boyfriend away for so long. Wasted time, wasted energy depriving both of them of what they needed. “This is what I have to do to protect you. ”
“Let me know when you’re home safe after you go.”
“I will.”
Jisung squeezed him tighter. Minho could still feel his warm breath shuddering against the side of his neck.
The limousine was a nice touch. The expedition with a gag and a truckful of cargo had been very Mia, as much as a luxurious limo ride with free drinks and blacked out windows was also very Mia. The armed guard sat with his gun poking intimidatingly from its holster. Minho could see his own phone peeking from the man’s suit jacket pocket.
It wasn’t surprising that the first thing Mia did was take Minho’s phone and wallet to be guarded by her dog with a pistol, but it was annoying nonetheless. He was effectively a human key, taken along to be used and discarded once his purpose was up.
He didn’t feel nervous yet, but he wondered if that would change once faced with Yonghwa’s storage unit. It wasn’t like his ex-boyfriend would be there, but it was a place they’d visited dozens of times together in the past. All his memories here were colored by the thrill of his early relationship with Yonghwa. The adrenaline of breaking the law and being praised by his rich boyfriend for doing so.
Oh, there his nerves were. He sighed as tension rolled in his gut.
They drove an hour before the limo engine shut off. Minho listened to Mia’s heels clicking on asphalt as she emerged from the passenger seat and popped open the back door.
She wore a knee-length pea coat and heeled Timberlands, and the beret on top of her hair almost completely disguised its distinct red. Minho could see his own stiff reflection in the lenses of her sunglasses. She broke into a savvy smile, teeth glinting. “This’ll be fun.”
Minho stepped out of the limousine and glanced around warily. The storage facility sat in a miniature concrete jungle, surrounded on all sides by empty parking lots and huge, nameless warehouses. The highway was close enough to hear but not enough to see, and it hummed with the bustle of nighttime traffic.
Streetlights proved to be their only light source. They shone down on the maze of cargo containers and concrete stairwells, basking Minho, Mia, and the armed guard in lackluster yellow light. Minho felt like a rat in a labyrinth. The soles of his sneakers were thin, giving way to every rock and crack in the concrete beneath his feet.
“Where is Yonghwa?” Minho asked as they strolled along the barren lot. He couldn’t see anything from here past the warehouse, not even a stoplight or a street sign.
“Traveling with his boyfriend,” Mia said simply.
Minho’s eyebrows shot up. He studied the side of her face, which appeared indifferent as she tapped aggressively at the screen of her miniature tablet. “Yonghwa has a new boyfriend?”
Poor guy. Minho felt nothing but pity and fear for whoever had to live that caged life.
“Yes,” Mia said impatiently. She peered over her sunglasses and scanned the area quickly, lips becoming a tense line.
If Minho didn’t know any better, he’d say she looked nervous.
“I see,” Minho said, glancing over Mia’s shoulder at the tablet. She had at least five apps open and toggled between them sporadically. “I hope you have a plan.”
“Of course I have a plan.” She fixed him with a glare, mouth shaping into a lopsided smile. “This may be the most important day in my career. Of course I’ve prepared.”
“How exciting. Good luck on your job interview.”
“Shut up. Don’t make me gag you again.”
He snickered. Part of him hated Mia for what she held over his head, but he got where she was coming from. If he were her, he’d go to extremes to get Yonghwa out of his life, too.
But when he remembered the glassy fear in Jisung’s eyes when he found out the truth, resentment burned in Minho. She’d treated Jisung’s life like it was nothing but a bargaining chip. Jisung, a completely innocent, unrelated kid who did nothing to piss off anyone except start a relationship with Minho.
Minho fought back the tempting spiral of self-loathing and self blame before saying, “Mia, you’ll leave me and Jisung alone after this. Right?”
She turned down a shadowed alley, and Minho followed. They stopped when they made it to the steel keypad outside an inconspicuous garage door. Mia ignored his question and gestured vaguely to the keypad, which was covered by a locked hatch.
Minho crossed his arms. “Mia.”
She rolled her eyes. “What use is it if I tell you again? Like you’ll take my word for it? Yes, Minho, I’ll have no more use for you or your boyfriend once Yonghwa is behind bars.”
“So my lack of involvement and my assurance that Jisung will be safe is completely contingent upon Yonghwa’s arrest,” Minho clarified.
Mia sighed heavily, eyes rolling back. She exchanged an impatient look with her armed guard and offered him an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Not yet.”
“What?” Minho snapped.
“Oh, nothing, he was just offering to grab you and throttle you till you unlock the storage unit.” She smiled symmetrically and removed her sunglasses. “Don’t know why I’m wearing these, it’s fucking night time. Go on, dear. Open it up.”
Minho gritted his teeth and fished the key from his jeans pocket. He unlocked the metal cover easily, revealing the biometric reader and the door switch. The screen was worn from all the times Minho and Yonghwa had done this before.
He pressed his index finger to the biometrics reader and smirked when the door switch popped outward. Yonghwa was an idiot.
He clicked the switch with his knuckle and watched as the garage door began to lift. Mia laughed, tucking a red curl beneath her beret, and sang, “Thanks, Min Min. Wait outside, okay Bry?”
Bry. Minho watched the armed guard closely as he nodded and stationed himself in front of the keypad. Was this Brylo?
Before he could think about it harder, Mia pulled him into the storage unit and hit the switch on the wall, filling the space with light and dragging the garage door shut behind them.
The storage unit had barely changed since Minho was last there. The walls to their left and right were lined with metal shelves, overflowing with burned CDs and withering old binders. They were organized just how Minho hoped they’d be, seeing as he’d organized them himself.
The far wall held the expansive computer set-up, with four monitors and a security camera overhead. The first thing Mia did was tap around on her tablet until the red light on the camera went blank, and then she strolled up to the computer with confidence.
Minho approached the wall of CDs and began running his fingers over them.
“What do you think you’re doing,” Mia said, though she sounded unperturbed as she fit a flash drive into the computer beneath Yonghwa’s desk.
“Saving your ass,” Minho mumbled, easily pulling out a CD binder. Now that was here, Minho sort of couldn’t believe he didn’t come here sooner. All of his records of involvement, and all of Mia’s, were theirs for the taking.
It almost felt…too easy.
He swallowed down his nerves and continued his searching with sweaty fingers. After throwing a stack of binders on the floor he knew had content connected directly to Mia, he froze when he saw a neat black folder with a velvety finish and the words My love scribbled across the front.
Something, hidden deep in the cavern of Minho’s chest, twisted at the sight.
Minho held his breath as he peaked at the contents. The folder contained mostly financial documents—Minho’s old phone bills Yonghwa paid, the receipt for his rehabilitation, even the fucking receipt for adopting Doongie. Fucking asshole. “Let me on the computer after you,” he said calmly. “I got shit of my own to delete.”
“I’ve got it already,” Mia said. “Yee of little faith. Come here.”
Minho did, the matte folder held absentmindedly in the crooks of his arms as he watched the screen. In addition to downloading what she needed, Mia was hacking into Yonghwa’s cloud, not only deleting the files from this computer but from every database he could access. Minho watched with satisfaction as she searched his name, selected the related files, and permanently deleted them from all locations.
“I hope this doesn’t mean the end of our friendship,” Mia said with a pout, batting her eyelashes up at Minho.
“Check if he knows anything about Jisung,” Minho said, ignoring her slimy sarcasm.
She did, and when nothing came up in the database concerning Jisung or his family, Minho breathed out a sigh of relief. As she backspaced through a search of boyfriend though, a series of JPG images blinked across the results, clearly exhibiting someone’s naked body in the thumbnail.
“Hold up,” Minho said, just as Mia said, “Was that someone’s ass?”
“Click on it,” Minho insisted. He had a sickening feeling about this, and nausea rolled in his stomach when the enormous screen was suddenly full of his nudes, his ass on display and his wrecked, mid-sex face fully visible, with a butt plug clearly inside him.
“Can you warn a girl next time? Jesus,” Mia said, rolling her eyes as Minho cursed under his breath. “This is so illegal. Can I take those, too?”
“Fuck no. Delete.” Minho breathed out shakily. He felt sweaty and violated. Yonghwa had been holding onto his nudes this whole time? Disgusting. He made Mia open up the flash drive to show that she hadn’t downloaded the pictures, and then he watched as she deleted them.
He found the same pictures in the black folder as he continued to pick his way through it. There were about a dozen of them in total, and looking at them made Minho feel nauseous. He’d been so excited to share them with Yonghwa when he first took those pictures, and now his psychotic ex had them locked away as physical copies in his creepy vault off the highway. Minho couldn’t fucking wait for him to rot in jail for the rest of his life.
“Alright,” Mia said, ejecting her flash drive and hopping to her feet. “Good work. Ready?”
Minho smiled, actually smiled, and tucked his black folder under his coat. “I’ve got my nudes and my phone bills.”
“Help me carry those binders, will you?”
*********TW
Minho walked towards the pile he’d left, when a sound as loud and explosive as thunder crashed through the garage door. Minho jumped two feet in the air and darted backwards, his heart kicking into overdrive. “Mia?”
Mia drew her handgun calmly, keeping it aimed at the floor as she eyed the door. “I’m opening it.”
“Why the fuck would you open it?” Minho’s voice became a shriek. The sound of the gunshot echoed inside his mind, and his shoulder throbbed. Fear wound around his midriff till his breaths were strained. “Wasn’t that a gunshot?”
“Yes, and we’re fucking cornered in here so we might as well get out while they’re still gaining. Get behind me, Minho.”
Minho did. He shrank behind Mia’s taller form as she mashed the garage door button. An icy rush of November wind filled the storage unit, fluttering the papers Minho had left scattered on the floor.
The first thing he saw was the armed guard, legs flopped out like a child’s, body crumpled. Dark blood pooled from his corpse.
A second gunshot sounded, loud enough for Minho’s ears to start ringing. It ricocheted off the floor inches in front of Mia’s boot. “Come on,” Mia said, snatching Minho’s arm and dragging him out of the unit, despite his sudden inability to move a muscle. “Come on, Minho, we have to run.”
“My phone,” Minho whispered, trotting after Mia in a blurry-minded panic. He stared at the crumpled corpse on the ground. His heart pulsated like it was about to explode. “He has my phone…”
“If you don’t move your legs right now we’re going to fucking die, get it together Lee, come on, come on!” There was no fear in her voice, only cold determination, and Minho had no choice but to turn his back on the dead guard, put his head down, and sprint.
Footsteps struck the concrete behind them in hot pursuit. The sound of men yelling boomed on all sides of them, communicating in broken sentences about where Mia was. Minho and Mia ran side by side, arms pumping, breaths huffing as they sprinted for the nearest road.
“Should we call the police?” Minho said breathlessly.
“No,” Mia said, and for the first time, pure terror made her voice shaky. “No. Yonghwa has someone in with the police.”
“You and Yonghwa both have someone in with the police? The fuck?”
“No,” she said again. Her laughter came out dry, broken and choppy from the force of her running. “I don’t fucking have anyone in with the police, Minho.”
Minho stared at her, wincing and thrusting his arms over his head when someone shot the wall behind him just as they sharply turned a corner. “You were bluffing.”
“Oh, please. I don’t have shit. Of course I was bluffing. No way to kill your boyfriend, either. Surprise!”
“Fuck you,” Minho grunted, biting his lip and running as hard as he could despite his burning lungs. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”
In the midst of it though, he felt relief. She had no way to hurt Jisung. Jisung was safe.
Then Mia screamed out, collapsing to the earth and quickly falling behind Minho.
He turned back, fear and adrenaline bursting in his muscles as he ran back to her. He caught sight of their pursuers, some running overhead atop the cargo units and some sprinting down the alley on their trail. There were at least ten of them.
He noticed the wound on the back of Mia’s thigh. Blood pulsed from it, trickling onto the concrete beneath her. Minho’s mind drew a blank, nothing but high whistling filling his ears. He fell to his knees, hands hovering like disembodied ghosts above her wound.
“Take this,” Mia gasped, hoisting herself onto her elbows and smacking the flash drive into Minho’s hand. “Run. Go.”
“Mia,” he whispered, staring at her through hot tears.
“Get the fuck out of here, Minho!”
He scrambled unsteadily to his feet and ran. He glanced over his shoulder once, and then Mia’s body convulsed through a second gunshot, a third. She went still against the pavement, her beret falling off, red curls spilling free across gray stone.
Minho turned and sprinted with everything he had left.
********TW end
~
If asked to explain how he made it out of the labyrinth of cargo containers and storage units, Minho could not recount it.
He knew the area quite well, which came to his advantage. He was small and quick. He knew how to get to the highway, and he knew how to hide. He hid for the majority of the night. He bided his time alongside the dumpster of one of the streetside warehouses, as quiet and observant as a cat as police cars filtered in and out of the nearby streets. Surely Mia and her guard’s bodies had been found by now.
Surely Minho’s phone and wallet on the guard’s corpse had been found by now.
If asked to explain how he was feeling, Minho couldn’t. He wasn’t feeling. His thoughts were red and blurry, replaced with nothing but the instinct to survive. He needed to hide. He needed to go somewhere that no one was going to find him.
All night, his pulse thumped like heavy footfalls in his throat. His fight or flight did not ebb away. He couldn’t be sure if he was still hearing gunshots or if he was imagining them. His shoulder throbbed, a reminder of how close he’d come, time and time again, to bleeding out.
He thought of Mia. Her red curls tumbling onto the concrete, her hand meeting his in one last attempt to finish what she’d started. He thought of how she had been no one in the end, with nothing but a follower or two and a wild wish to protect herself. Yonghwa had won.
Minho didn’t want to die. He needed to run. He needed to hide.
He didn’t sleep at all, too on edge to let his eyes shut for more than a second or two, but he’d come to a tentative decision. He would get as far away from here as he could. Once there, he’d borrow somebody’s phone, and he’d call the police. No, the police were probably already after him for breaking into Yonghwa’s unit. Yonghwa had a spy with the police. Minho was guilty of breaking in and entering personal property. He tried not to think about that. He needed to run, to hide, to call someone he trusted. He would call Trinity.
No…he didn’t have his phone. He didn’t have her number memorized. He’d call…the Hub. He would call the Hub. He clung to this decision and chanted it to himself to drown out all his other thoughts.
In the morning, Minho decided to hitchhike. He shuffled along the highway at dawn. Peach colored sunlight bled across the empty road, and Minho felt oddly at peace. He didn’t think. He just walked, thumb stretched high in the air, shoulder aching and lungs full of crisp morning air.
His other hand fiddled with the flash drive in his pocket. The evidence that could get Yonghwa put in jail.
He didn’t think. He just chuckled, a weary smile pulling at his lips.
“Free,” Minho hummed to himself. He did a slow little twirl, sneakers scuffing against the road. “I’m freeeeee.”
~
The woman who picked him up drove a Ford truck that seemed about a mile away from bursting into flames. She wore her curly gray hair pulled back by a headband, and she smoked a cigarette with one hand and held a can of Miller lite with the other. Her name was Ryan, her son’s name was Tony, and she thought that Minho was, in her words, a little angel on the side of the road.
He thought of Jisung. The way Jisung would press his lips to Minho’s neck and say, Missed you, angel. He tried not to think about anything.
Ryan agreed to drive him as far as Grand Rapids, which was where she was heading. When she mentioned this, a light bulb went off in Minho’s head.
Trinity and Sunny had a family lake house near that area. He spent a weekend there with Trinity and some friends once, the summer before last. For the winter, Trin’s aunt and uncle shut off all the utilities and closed it, and no one went up there when it was colder. It would be vacant. It would be nearby. He could go there.
The woman dropped him off at a convenience store in town. Having a good memory for roads and directions, Minho knew the general direction of how to get to the Abernathy’s lake house, but he wasn’t sure exactly how to get there. He pushed into the convenience store, preparing to ask the cashier for directions to the neighborhood.
As the glass door eased open, a bell chimed overhead. Minho glanced around the room, searching for the checkout counter, and had to do a double take when he noticed the TV in the corner of the shop.
The screen showed his face, solemn and unsmiling. Some picture taken of him when he was first applying to teach dance. The screen changed to show the side by side pictures of Mia and her armed bodyguard.
It flickered back to Minho’s picture. He made out the words scrolling beneath his face. Wanted on suspicion of first-degree murder.
Minho turned around and walked back out of the shop.
-
Notes:
if COH had a book cover I think I'd want it to be minho twirling around on the side of the road with his thumb in the air singing "I'm freeeeee"
thank you so much for reading. This was a heavy one with a lot of parallels to old chapters and full circle moments. We are winding down!!! I love you all so much, and can't wait to show you what goes on in Jisung's chapter T.T thank you ❤️
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 24
Notes:
trigger warnings...
- alcohol consumption
- Intrusive thoughts
- discussions and fears of MCD (no actual MCD)
- anxiety attacksWelcome back!! this one has a criminal (no pun intended) lack of Minsung but a lot of important stuff happens. Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
xxiv. jisung
“I miss him,” Jisung said. He swirled the pale liquid around, watching fuzzily as it merged with the stray droplets on the sides of his glass. “Wish he could be here.”
Jae was locked in conversation with his friends where they sat on the sofa, so it was Adam who responded to Jisung’s drunken rambling. Adam was warmer and friendlier than Jisung remembered. The last time he’d visited, Jisung recalled being intimidated by his brother’s tall, handsome boyfriend.
Adam’s blue eyes crinkled kindly as he smiled at Jisung, who felt embarrassed to have been heard. He knew designating himself a bottle of wine was a bad idea. “Are you talking about your boyfriend?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Jisung scratched the side of his nose even though there was no itch there. “He’s sick so he couldn’t come.”
“Yeah, I heard. Too bad. Jae and I were really looking forward to meeting him.”
“Really?” Jisung felt a warm, embarrassed flush on top of the alcohol buzz as he thought of Jae and Adam happily discussing his love life.
“Mhm.” Adam grinned in a relaxed, self-assured way. “How’d you two meet, anyway?”
Jisung blinked as he thought. How had they met? God, how much had he drank? He couldn’t believe he’d met Minho for the first time that summer, barely six months ago. “We actually met through my ex-girlfriend. I was dating a girl…uh, Sunny…and her older sister is Minho’s close friend. So yeah.” Jisung hiccuped out a sheepish laugh, wondering if Adam was assuming he was bisexual because of his dating history. Maybe Jisung was bisexual. Probably not.
“Oh yeah? What was your first impression of him?” Adam took a sip of caramel colored whiskey. “I remember I thought Jae hated me at first. He was so aloof.”
“He’s just shy,” Jisung defended, since he knew he gave a similar first impression. “He was probably intimidated by you.”
“He was,” Adam said, and his eyes sparkled as he glanced at someone over Jisung’s shoulder. “Why, did Minho say the same about you?”
“I was really shy around Min at first,” Jisung explained, reminiscing. He’d frozen up that day, when faced with Minho’s messy blue hair, sly smirk, and shockingly inviting energy. “He’s so handsome. Like, the handsomest guy you’ll ever meet. Can’t believe he’s dating me.” He took a hefty gulp of wine, trying not to think about how much he missed his boyfriend. He knew he was drunker than anticipated when his emotions plummeted. Longing and sadness twisted into an anvil that dragged his mood straight down.
It’d only been a day and a half since they last saw each other. But he knew Minho was going to Yonghwa’s storage unit that night, and it was getting harder with every minute Minho didn’t answer his texts for Jisung to hold back his worries.
He took another sip of wine. Minho was going to be fine. It hadn’t even been an hour since he responded. He’d just have to get drunk and forget about the way his stomach plunged every time he contemplated Minho’s position.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Adam said. He shifted to the side of the armchair as Jae flopped down next to him, slinging both legs over Adam’s lap and stealing his whiskey for a sip. Jae looked a lot like Jisung, with big eyes and round cheeks, so Jisung wasn’t used to his neat beard and rows of glinting ear piercings.
“Are we talking about Minho?” Jae asked, slinging an arm around Adam’s shoulder. His red cheeks lifted with a tipsy grin. “I found him on instagram. Why is he dating you?”
“That’s what I just said!” Jisung groaned as Adam smacked Jae’s chest, who threw his head back with a laugh. “Dammit, he’s so out of my league.”
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Jae’s smile faded. “You don’t actually think that, do you? You’re a catch, little Han.”
“I am,” Jisung chanted, refilling his glass ungracefully, spilling some wine onto the back of his hand. “I am. I am a catch.”
“I mean, a whole professional musician,” Jae enthused. “That’s dope.”
“A whole entire musician,” Jisung agreed.
“Do you think, like.” Jae took a swig of his own wine as Jisung gulped more of his. “Do you think you’re gonna marry him?”
Jisung blinked, considering the question. He processed the tang of white wine on his tongue. “Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “Hopefully. I want to. When we’re both financially independent.”
Jae’s jaw dropped, and so did Adam’s. Adam was the first to say, “You’re so young, though! What’s the rush?” followed by Jae saying, “Adam and I aren’t even married.”
“Well,” Jisung said, settling back against his chair with a dopey grin. He thought about it. Marrying Minho. He’d thought about it before, obviously; Minho was his best friend. He was in love with his best friend. He was in love with and had lots of incredible sex with his best friend. Of course he’d thought about it. He never wanted to be with anyone else. He wanted to look up engagement ring prices, like, immediately. God, how much had he drank? “I mean, I know we’ve only been dating for like. A few months. And we’re young, and I’m still in school.”
“Adam and I have been dating for eleven years,” Jae said. “And we’re not married.”
“That’s because I hate the institution of marriage though,” Adam pointed out.
“That’s true.”
“Well, I’m fine with that too,” Jisung slurred, sipping more wine. “I wanna be dating him in eleven years. He changed my life. He’s my soulmate.”
Jae pouted, eyes going shiny as he and Adam said, “awww.”
“We haven’t talked about it or anything.” Jisung sighed, his heart aching. He missed Minho. He wanted to be alone with him, kiss him. Make him smile. “But like. I’m gonna husband the fuck out of him. Give me five years.”
“What if he hates the institution of marriage like my little gremlin?” Jae asked, and Adam pouted, resting his forehead on Jae’s collarbone and quickly melting into sleepy laughter.
Jisung smiled at them fondly before going on. “Then I’ll just date him forever. Same thing, really. Except I wouldn’t get to see him dance on our wedding night. Oh my god, I might get married to a dancer.” Jisung giggled, squeezing the stem of his wine glass so hard he nearly spilled it all over himself. He sighed and added, “Maybe I’m a little drunk.”
“Liquid courage brings out the truth,” Adam said with a whimsical shrug. “Seems like you really love him.”
“I do.” Jisung pouted longingly. He hoped Minho was okay, wherever he was.
~
Jisung awoke with a pounding headache and the taste of bitter regret in his mouth. He was teleported back to dead of the night, when he’d woken up with his insides churning and had no choice but to run to the bathroom and vomit his guts out. It was his first time getting sick from drinking. Why had he drank so much?
Right. Minho. Jisung’s thoughts raced like they were on fast-forward, flitting around in his brain too quickly to keep tabs on. He shifted beneath the satin sheets, grateful that Jae’s guest bed was comfortable, pissed at himself for ruining one of the few mornings he had with his brother. Charley horses tightened in his calves from the residual alcohol. He still felt a little drunk. Maybe quite drunk, actually.
Had he said anything dumb last night? Probably. Jae and Adam and their friends had probably cringed at the drunk 21-year-old interrupting their party. He’d probably been so loud. Jisung was terrible at telling how loud he was sometimes. He’d gone on and on, hadn’t he?
He remembered saying he wanted to marry Minho. That was embarrassing.
Well, true, but. Still embarrassing.
A wave of anxiety washed over Jisung. Minho had been so distant the last month. He was there for Jisung when he needed him, sure. He was still kind and supportive, but…disinterested. He gave the impression that he no longer craved Jisung’s presence. Like Jisung wasn’t as important to him as he used to be. Jisung tried to drag his train of thought in a different direction. His muscles ached, and his mouth tasted foul.
That had been hard. Feeling like Minho was slipping away was hard.
But Minho wasn’t. Jisung thought about the way Minho kissed him the night they fought, hands shaking, tears streaking from his eyes. I don’t want to lose you, he’d said. I’m so sorry.
Jisung tingled at the memory. He knew they’d be okay.
He wished Minho were here, in his arms right now. The bed would feel so much cozier with Minho’s warmth and familiar scent. Minho wasn’t here, though. He was…
Anxiety punched Jisung in the gut. Minho was breaking into Yonghwa’s storage unit.
He flung his arm from the sheets to scramble for his phone. It wasn’t on the nightstand. He groaned and wrapped his arms around his head as it throbbed. He wasn’t sure if he could stand up right now without vomiting. What time was it, anyway? The icy light creeping in through his shut blinds hinted they were well through the morning. He needed to drink water.
He wished Minho were here to take care of him. Minho would bring him water, pull his sore body into his embrace, massage his back and run his fingers through his hair. Jisung tried to think about only this. He imagined himself safe in Minho’s arms, dozing off against his chest. He fought each swirl of anxious thoughts with memories of Minho’s reassuring presence.
At some point, he must’ve fallen back asleep. He awoke later to the sound of someone knocking on his door. “Sung? You alive?”
It was Jae. Jisung smacked his lips, wincing at how bone dry his mouth was. “Barely.”
“I’m bringing you water.”
“Bless your fucking heart.”
Jae laughed. Moments later he pushed through Jisung’s door holding a glass of water and a few little pills. He wore a royal purple robe and fuzzy birkenstock slippers. Jisung envied how alive and comfortable he looked. “Here,” Jae said, wincing as Jisung sat up. “You look like a zombie reincarnated from your own vomit.”
Jisung snorted and took the pills. He felt much better than he did the last two times he woke up; the water hitting his throat didn’t make him want to puke, at least, and his thoughts wheeled at a much more manageable pace.
“Sorry,” Jae said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t have let you drink that much. I forget that you’re only twenty-one sometimes.”
“It’s fine,” Jisung sighed. “I just haven’t drank that many times before. I don’t like how it mixes with my meds.”
“Oh, shit. Right. I’m an idiot.”
“It was my decision, Jae.”
“True. Well, you’re an idiot.”
“There you go.” Jisung wiped his mouth, set the glass down on the nightstand, and flopped back into bed with a groan. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon. Want breakfast? Adam’s making French toast.”
“Oh, fuck yeah. Adam’s the best.”
“I know.” Jae chuckled and shuffled from the room. “There’s a fuzzy robe in your bathroom if you want it.”
~
After taking a shower, brushing his teeth, and chugging another glass of water, Jisung started to feel better. A headache still thudded behind his eyes and made his vision go spotty every time he strained his neck, but he began to see survival in his future.
When he settled down at Jae and Adam’s breakfast bar with a cup of coffee and a plate of French toast in front of him, his eyes zeroed in on his cell phone, left face-down on the arm of the couch.
Minho.
“Oh, fuck,” he said, stumbling off his stool to retrieve his phone. Of course it was dead. He went to plug it in on his nightstand and then began to pace. The sweet and savory smell of French toast was suddenly nauseating.
Adam, none the wiser, set a heated dish of maple syrup in front of Jae with a smile. “Come on, Jisung, your food’s gonna get cold.”
“Just a second.” Jisung jogged back into his room and pressed the power button on the edge of his phone. He didn’t want to look. What if Minho hadn’t answered yet? What if Minho had answered, and needed Jisung’s help, and Jisung was too busy being a drunk mess to respond to him?
His phone was immediately flooded with more notifications than Jisung could remember having in his life. Missed calls. Missed calls? Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin. Trinity. Sunny. His mom. His dad. His brother in Korea. His mom again. Trinity again. Sunny again, Trinity again. Chan again. A random number. The same random number again.
Texts, now. Jisung remembered to breathe. He said, “Oh my fucking god.”
“What’s up?” Jae asked, nonchalant.
Jisung clicked through the texts, his pulse picking up the pace. Chan: what happened to Minho?? Have you seen the news?
Changbin texted their 3RACHA group chat. Sung are you okay? Wtf is happening?
Sunny: oh my god. What is going on? Trin needs to talk to you
His mom even texted him, asking, Why are the police calling me? Why are they calling your father? Call me right now.
Jisung’s mouth slipped open.
The police?
No, no, no. No. He couldn’t be…no. He couldn’t be dead. He wasn’t dead, right? Jisung’s hands began to shake uncontrollably. What did Chan mean? What did Sunny mean? He flipped to Trinity’s text now, which said, call me when you can.
The random numbers. Who had called him from a random number? Was it the police? Was he about to find out that Minho was dead?
“Jisung?” Jae appeared at Jisung’s side. A warm hand fell on his shoulder. “What’s wrong, kid?”
“The police,” Jisung breathed, his voice a raspy flutter. “Why are the police calling me?”
“What?” Jae frowned, but Jisung couldn’t really see him. His vision was beginning to blur. “What’s going on?”
Jisung shook his head. He couldn’t take a proper breath in. He sat down on the edge of his bed and surrendered, putting his face in his hands and watching as his thoughts closed in on him like predators.
What happened to Minho? Where is Minho? Is he hurt? What happened? Does everyone know except me? Do all of my friends know that my boyfriend is dead? My boyfriend is dead. My boyfriend is dead. My—
“Jisung.” Jae sat beside him. His palm was firm against the middle of Jisung’s back. “Breathe. One thing at a time. You’re here, I’m here. You’re safe. Breathe, kiddo.”
Tears started to fall rapidly from Jisung’s eyes, wetting his cheeks and his nose. He was embarrassed that Jae was seeing him like this. He shrank, making himself as small as possible as his thoughts cycled like the repetitive thud of heavy rain. Jae held him through it, rocking him side to side when Jisung’s panicked breaths morphed into sobs.
He didn’t know how long he panicked for. He felt completely exhausted, a decrepit mind bottled in the body of a twenty-one year old.
After what felt like an hour, he pulled back from Jae. Jisung’s mind felt blank, almost serene. He tried to look at the situation objectively.
He needed to find out what the fuck was going on.
“I don’t know,” he whispered, breathing shakily. “I don’t know what happened. I’m worried something happened to Minho.”
“Call and find out,” Jae advised. “We’ll be in the kitchen if you need us.”
He decided to call Trinity first. Her sense of responsibility was reassuring, and if anyone knew what was going on with Minho, it was her. She picked up on the first ring with a monotonous, “Jisung.”
“Hi,” he said, gulping. “What’s going on?”
“I’m at the police station.”
A sob racked through Jisung. He can’t be dead. He’s fine. “Why?”
“They think Minho killed someone.”
Jisung straightened. Pure relief misted through his muscles like laughing gas. He could’ve collapsed. “He’s okay?”
“No one knows where he is. Do you know where he is?”
“No…” Jisung trailed off. Was he the only person who knew about Minho’s…obligations that weekend? He figured now was as good a time to spill as any. If a gang leader was going to hurt him then they were going to hurt him. Protecting Minho was his first priority now. “He was going to Yonghwa’s storage unit this weekend.”
“He told you,” Trinity breathed. “I thought I was the only one who knew.”
“He told me,” Jisung confirmed, sagging. “Fuck, are we sure he’s okay?”
“No. No one knows where he is, Sung. I…” She went silent for a moment. “I know he didn’t do it.”
“Obviously he didn’t do it!” Jisung said indignantly. “Unless it was self defense, but even then…wait.” He tugged at his own hair, trying to ease his fluctuating headache. “Who’s dead? Is it Yonghwa?”
“No. Mia is dead.” Trinity’s voice trembled. A part of Jisung was relieved; the woman who’d threatened him was no longer part of the picture. But a part of him wished it’d been Yonghwa. “And her guard. They got shot outside Yonghwa’s storage unit. Jisung, listen. The police found Minho’s phone and wallet on the guard’s body. Wherever he is, he doesn’t have any identification, any money or any way to contact anyone. We need lawyers, and we need to find him. We gotta get him out of this situation.”
“Okay,” Jisung breathed out, trying to process. “Okay. What do the police want from us? Are they just trying to use us to figure out where he is?”
“Yeah. They have his phone, so they were trying to find you. Apparently your texts with him suggest you know where he is. They were contacting your family and everything.”
“Fuck.” Fuck. They called his family about Minho’s disappearance. Did that mean…
He didn’t have room to shoulder that worry right now. If the police outed him to his parents, that was neither here nor there. He needed to focus on Minho. He asked, “Did you tell them everything you know? About Mia, and Yonghwa?”
“Yes, but they’re saying nothing connects Yonghwa to the scene except that they broke into his unit. Minho is Yonghwa’s perfect scapegoat right now. He’s missing, his information places him at the scene, and he has a personal relationship history with Yonghwa.”
“Can’t they, like…search Yonghwa’s unit and see that Yonghwa’s a fucking gang leader and drug lord and piece of shit?”
“Yonghwa won’t let them. He’s armored with so much legal power right now, and he’s not even in the country. There’s no reason for anyone to suspect he was involved in the shooting. Everything points to Minho.”
“Why would he kill them and then leave all his belongings on their bodies?” Jisung yelled, clamping a hand over his mouth when he realized how this must sound to Jae and Adam. “I mean, seriously though? If he was responsible he would’ve taken his shit and then bolted. That’s ridiculous.”
“I know, I know. Which is why I’m sure he didn’t do it.”
“It’s not like he’s a killer,” Jisung shot back, irked at the insinuation.
“Of course he’s not, Jisung. Of course he’s not.” Her exhale crackled against her phone speaker. “I have a decent lawyer, but I don’t have any proof of the shit Yonghwa put Minho through. I don’t know what to do.”
“I mean. I was there the night he got beat up,” Jisung pointed out. “I could vouch for it. But no pictures means no proof, and my word against Yonghwa’s…”
Voices, low and urgent, approached on Trinity’s end. “They want to talk to you,” she said.
“No. I’ll call them when I’m ready,” he said, stomaching a kick of nerves. “Tell them I’m talking to my brother about getting a lawyer.”
“Roger that.” She hung up.
Jisung returned to the kitchen. Adrenaline flooded his system, making his muscles jumpy. Jae sat at the breakfast bar, Adam standing across from him. They both watched Jisung with wide eyes. The French toast was untouched between them.
“My boyfriend is missing,” Jisung said. “He’s suspected of murder.”
Jae nodded slowly, exchanging a glance with Adam.
“His ex boyfriend is a gangster,” Jisung went on. “He was physically and financially abusive. The person who’s dead is the co-leader of his ex-boyfriend’s gang.”
“Naturally,” Adam said weakly.
“Minho’s phone and wallet were found on the body,” Jisung said. He was both surprised and impressed with his own ability to speak so levelly. “No one knows where he is.”
“Jesus,” Jae said. “You alright?”
“Oh.” Jisung shrugged and kneaded his own shoulder. “Yeah. I’m just glad Minho isn’t hurt, as far as anyone knows. I know he’s not a murderer.”
“You know that?” Adam prodded.
Jisung and Jae both fixed him with accusatory glares, and Adam threw his hands in the air. “Hey, who knows. People do crazy shit to protect themselves. It could’ve been self defense.”
“I have a good lawyer,” Jae said, looking at Jisung. “A really, really good lawyer actually. I’ll call her right now.”
Jisung just nodded, sank down onto the breakfast bar, and began to eat his French toast. It was still warm.
~
Jae and Adam’s lawyer was called Adrianna. Before Jae started his real estate brand, he’d been her office assistant. Adam, in his undergraduate with law school ahead of him, was shadowing a paralegal in her office. This was how Jae and Adam met, and they’d maintained a friendship with Adrianna ever since.
When Jisung first bought tickets for his Chicago getaway, he’d imagined double dates to the Art Institute, hand-holding with hot cups of takeaway coffee, and sex with Minho in their ensuite walk-in shower. Entering an attorney’s office with a lingering hangover on a Saturday afternoon wasn’t close to what he’d had in mind.
Adrianna was age-ambiguous. Her dark hair was slicked into a flawless bun, and garnet red glasses sat on her long nose. She wore a pressed white shirt, the top button popped open to reveal a geometric tattoo on her collarbones. Her black pantsuit matched her pointed, claw-like black nails, and she braced her hands on her desk when Jae, Adam, and Jisung walked into her office.
She regarded Jae solemnly, and Jisung began to question their long-standing friendship. Her lip curled as she said, “This is my day off.”
“But here you are,” Jae pointed out. “Pantsuit on and bun pulling your hair out.”
She continued to glare at him until Jisung was fighting the urge to squirm. Then Adrianna broke into a smile, her eyes twinkling fondly. “It’s good to see you, Han. Been too long. Addie, glad to see you’re still putting up with the office troll.”
Jisung relaxed as Adam and Jae moved around the desk to greet Adrianna with warm hugs. She was short, tiny in fact, nearly half a head shorter than Jae. Her presence gave the opposite impression.
At last the attorney turned to Jisung, who felt small and uneasy under her bold stare. “Who’s this?” she asked, eyes still on Jisung. “The famous brother?”
“Dri,” Jae said, “This is my brother Jisung. Sung, this is Adrianna. An old friend.”
“Pleasure,” Adrianna said crisply. Although she was smiling, her eyes were stern. “Have a seat, boys. I’ve been looking into this Lee Minho situation already.”
Jisung gulped at the sound of his boyfriend’s name and settled into one of the chairs across from her desk. He felt at ease in Adrianna’s presence, despite her brisk, no-nonsense demeanor.
It felt like there was finally a professional on Minho’s side.
“First of all,” she said, shrugging out of her suit jacket and draping it over the back of her chair. She remained standing, staring down at them with her jaw set. “We need Minho. He’s my client, and I need to ask him what happened and what he saw. There’s no chance of dropping his charges without his side of the story.”
“No one knows where he is,” Jae said. “And wherever he is, it’s not anywhere near here.”
“Then that is a problem,” she said simply. “Panicking and running has not helped his case. It was probably the worst thing he could’ve done. They don’t have anything on him but evidence that confirms he was at the scene, and the more he runs, the guiltier he looks.”
Jisung cleared his throat and forced himself to speak up. “Um. If I, uh, could add…”
Adrianna nodded at Jisung invitingly.
“He’s been trying to avoid going to the police ever since I met him,” Jisung said. “The guy on the other side of this mess is a rich and powerful crime boss with spies in with the police and a huge organization of followers, so. He’s probably running because he doesn’t trust the system.”
“Reasonable,” she said. “The system is shit. Luckily, he has a good fucking lawyer. And the Hans on his side. Determined boys, you are.” She cleared her throat and went on before Jisung could get embarrassed by the kind words. “Yonghwa Song, his name is, correct?”
Jisung nodded. He seethed, fists curling as he recalled the night Minho stumbled into his apartment, beaten up from head to toe. “Yes.”
“It’s clear he’s encouraging the police to sweep this under the rug quickly. If Minho is insisting on hiding,” she said, “Then there’s a chance he has something. He broke into Yonghwa’s property, clearly for a purpose.”
“He was being blackmailed,” Jisung said softly.
Adrianna, Adam, and Jae all looked at Jisung.
He shifted, fiddling with his hoodie sleeve. “The woman who died, Mia…she was blackmailing him. Minho and Yonghwa dated for a long time, and Minho still had access to Yonghwa’s storage unit. She blackmailed him into letting her in. She wanted to gather evidence from the storage unit to build a case against Yonghwa, and get him arrested.”
Silence rang through the small office. Adrianna took off her glasses and began to wipe them meticulously with a microfiber cloth.
Jae’s voice was loud and high as he asked, “Jisung, how do you know all this?”
“Minho told me,” Jisung said. “That’s why he couldn’t come this weekend.”
“Why didn’t you call the police!”
“You heard what I said about Yonghwa!” Jisung snapped, running his clammy fingers through his hair.
“Alright,” Adrianna said, shooting Jae a look. “I see this runs a little deeper than a kid being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
They all watched in tense silence as the attorney took a thin laptop from its case and pried it open with her fingernails. Icy rain began to patter on the window over her shoulders.
“So,” Adrianna said, at last taking a seat. “Jisung. What’s your relation to Minho?”
“He’s my boyfriend.”
“And Yonghwa is Minho’s ex-boyfriend.”
“Right.”
“Did their relationship end amicably?”
Jisung’s laugh was dry and sarcastic. “Um, no. Yonghwa was abusive. Minho and I were friends then, and he…Yonghwa used to beat him up. He manipulated Minho into staying with him. Threatening to ruin his life with his criminal record, all that. Even though Minho was barely involved.”
She looked up sharply. “But he was involved?”
Jisung swallowed. His tongue still tasted vaguely like bitter wine. “Um, he was. But it was a long time ago, and only because he had to. He…he’s been trying for a long time to get himself out of Yonghwa’s life.”
“Do we have evidence of his abuse? Pictures of injuries?”
“No.”
“Do you have evidence of Mia’s blackmail? How do you know your boyfriend was forced into this?”
“He told me she threatened to hurt me,” Jisung breathed. Jae’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. “If he didn’t help her get into the unit.”
“Hmm.” The harsh white of the computer screen reflected on the lenses of her glasses. Her fingers clacked rhythmically against the keyboard as she said, “That’s a perfect motive for the prosecutor to latch on to. Best keep that one to yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“She means,” Adam said, “That if Mia was threatening to hurt you, it’s a good motive for Minho to kill her.”
Jisung sat with that thought for a moment. Sweat collected in the creases of his palms. He knew Minho, and he knew Minho wasn’t a killer, but to protect Jisung…
What if he’d actually killed them?
“He didn’t actually kill them,” Adrianna read his mind, continuing to type. She rested her chin on one hand and took a sip from a large, misshapen ceramic mug. “If he had, I see no reason why he’d leave his phone and wallet on the body. The police weren’t on his heels. They haven’t glimpsed him once. If they weren’t chasing him out of the lot, someone was.”
“It’s pretty clear to me that Yonghwa’s followers shot and killed Mia and her guard,” Jisung said, frowning. “And Minho escaped before they could shoot him too.”
“That’s clear to me as well,” Adrianna said. She faced Jisung with a calming, proud smile, and he felt a little breathless as her support sank in. “You can vouch for his character, yes?”
Jisung nodded. A surge of emotion shook him, and he tried to steady himself before speaking. “Yeah. He’s the kindest person I know. He’s been through a lot, and they took advantage of him, but…” He took a shaky breath. “He deserves to be free of this shit.”
“Mm.” She closed her laptop with a light tap. “Unfortunately, without any proof of this illicit organization Yonghwa runs, his alibi checks out. He was in Fiji at the time of the murder.”
“What do we do?” Jisung asked, feeling the weight of that fact.
“I need Minho,” Adrianna said firmly. “We need to hear his side of things. Once I do…” She took off her glasses and scrubbed them with the cloth once again. “He’ll be free of this shit. I assure you.”
~
Jisung spent the bulk of his Saturday on the phone. After giving Chan and Changbin a run-down of the situation, he called Trinity, explaining to her that Adrianna was going to represent Minho and that they needed to find him before Yonghwa could get his hands on him and snuff out his eyewitness. Jisung was going to fly back early, the following morning. Jae was coming with him.
“You don’t have to,” Jisung said, standing in the doorway of Jae and Adam’s bedroom as they packed. “I don’t know how long all of this is gonna take. What if it takes weeks to find him? What if…” He lost his breath. What if we never find him?
Jae walked up to him and rested two hands firmly on his shoulders. He smiled and cupped the side of Jisung’s face lightly. “You’re my brother. I know the police are gonna start grilling you the moment you get back home. I want to be there for you through this.”
“Thanks,” Jisung whispered, trying to smile through a fresh blur of tears. He wiped them aside. “I hope he’s okay.”
“Me too. Sung, you’d better call your parents. They’ll be freaking out.”
He watched Jae return to the bed and resume packing. Jisung stood rigidly, processing his brother’s words. “My parents?” he echoed faintly.
Jae swung to face him, jaw opening and closing. Adam eyed his boyfriend cautiously from the other side of the bed.
Finally Jae said, “They’re not my parents anymore.”
Jisung expected this, knew this. Still, he felt weary under the gravity of that truth. Maybe he’d been in denial for years now. They were barely his parents anymore, either.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to his dad. When Sunny broke up with him, maybe? Three and a half months ago? And his mom…
He loved his mom. She was always there for him, as much as she could be from the other side of the world. He had a good relationship with her. They sent each other gifts and kept in touch every few days.
But she didn’t know that he was in a relationship with a man, and that was pretty much the biggest part of his life right now. He’d been pushing his mom away ever since he and Sunny started to grow apart. Ever since…he started to realize he was gay.
His voice came out faint as he said, “I think I’m gonna tell her.”
Jae dropped his folded pajamas into the suitcase. Adam mumbled, “I’m gonna go let out Francisco.”
Jisung was pretty sure the dog had just gone out five minutes before, but he appreciated the gesture anyway. He stepped into the room and wrung his hands. Jae shifted his weight, fingers fidgeting with the cashmere throw behind him.
“Are you sure?” Jae asked.
Jisung nodded. He wasn’t, but he didn’t feel terrified like he expected to. He felt numb. He felt like he was made of steel as he opened himself up to the one thing he’d been avoiding for years.
“She might be mad,” Jae said. His voice came out thin and patchy. “Might react badly.”
“She might,” Jisung agreed. “But, I don’t know. I have you.” He laughed awkwardly, itching behind his ear. “I know it’s…been a while since I’ve seen you, but. You’re the family I want in the long run.”
Jae looked down as tears spilled from his eyes. He wiped them hurriedly, and fondness warmed Jisung. “That’s how I feel too,” Jae admitted, pressing his sleeve over his eyes. “But I don’t want you to have to go through what I went through.”
“I have you though,” Jisung said again. “And I don’t want this anymore. I lie to her every time I talk to her because she doesn’t know I’m with Minho. I’m sick of…all this built up shame over what makes me happy.”
And he wasn’t afraid. He had no idea how his mother was going to react, but he didn’t care. Perhaps it was the numbness of Minho being on the run and suspected of murder, or the joy of knowing he had the support of Jae and Adam no matter what.
He had no energy to spend on fearing for anyone but Minho right now.
“Plus,” Jisung said with a chuckle. “The police probably outed me to her anyways.”
“Yeah, it doesn’t really go in your favor that your boyfriend is a murder suspect.”
Jisung gave a noncommittal meh that made Jae cackle. “I don’t know,” Jisung said, grinning crookedly. “I’d say that’s a pretty minor detail.”
“C’mere.” Jae drew Jisung into a hug. They squeezed each other tight for a moment, and Jae patted Jisung on the back before holding him at an arm’s length. “Good luck, little Han. Don’t let her make you feel like shit for being truthful.”
“Thanks.” Jisung smiled, determination squaring his shoulders. He went into his bedroom, shut the door, and pressed his mom’s contact.
~
“Jisung?” she sounded frantic. “Jesus, I have been so worried. Jesus. Are you okay?”
Immediately, the pressure of tears rose in Jisung’s throat. Her fear was tangible, bleeding through the phone speaker.
His mom loved him.
Was he about to lose her?
“Hi umma,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. He sat gingerly on the foot of the bed and tried to focus on quelling her worries for now. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m visiting Jae in Chicago.”
She was quiet for a moment. He could hear his pulse echoing in the muggy space between his face and his cell phone. It felt good to feel her processing that fact. I’m on good terms with Jae.
“Jae?” she asked. “Your brother?”
“Yes,” Jisung said. “I spent Thanksgiving with him and Adam.”
“I didn’t realize…” She trailed off. He could hear the confusion and surprise in her voice, and he tried not to feel guilty for recklessly dragging her emotions around. “I didn’t realize you still talked to him.”
“Of course,” Jisung said flatly. “He’s my brother.”
“I see,” she said, clearing her throat. Jisung winced at that response. “The police called me earlier today.”
“About Minho?” Jisung guessed.
“Yes. They were trying to get into contact with you. Jisung, they said…” she huffed. “They said he’s wanted for murder. Is that the kind of friend you want to associate yourself with? Did he really kill those poor people?”
“No,” Jisung said. “No, umma, he didn’t kill them. He’s innocent.”
“How do you know?”
Jisung breathed out a stream of hot air through his nose. When he swallowed, his dry tongue fumbled against the roof of his mouth. Then he said, “Because I love him.”
“You love him?” He was surprised to hear endearment lightening her tone. “He’s a good friend?”
“No.” Jisung shook his head and hiked his legs up so he was curled up into a ball, seated on the edge of the bed. “He’s my boyfriend. We’re together.”
“Is this some kind of joke?”
He laughed, quickly losing grasp of his brain to mouth filter. Adrenaline and frustration built up inside him. She was homophobic. She was his mom, and had raised him and loved him, but she was homophobic and she’d lied to him about Jae for years. And she’d disowned Jae.
He wanted to dare her to disown him, too.
“No,” he said simply. “He’s my boyfriend. He’s not guilty of this and I’m going to court to testify, probably. He’s innocent.”
“Jisung. You’re not only telling me that you’re gay, but that you’re in a relationship with a criminal? Are you serious?”
“Umma.” He took a slow breath and tried to organize his haphazard flow of feelings. “Minho dated someone before me who is a very bad person. I’ve seen Minho beaten, abused, threatened, almost killed…” He wiped his tears, angrily wishing they’d wait to make an appearance so his words could come across with full clarity. “And he’s gotten up through it all because he’s the strongest person I know. I’m telling you this now because I’m sick of hiding it, okay? We’ve been together for months, and I’m going to do whatever the fuck I can to protect him from this shit because I’m in love with him.”
She was silent. Jisung flopped back against the bedding and stared up at the ceiling, his hold on his phone loosening slightly. A few tears trickled from the corners of his eyes to his sweaty hairline. He breathed hard, his chest rising and falling. A satisfied grin curved his mouth. A soft laugh huffed from his throat.
I did it.
“Your relationship with Sunny,” she said slowly. “Was that a lie?”
He couldn’t read her tone of voice, so he opted to run forward with honesty. “No, mom. I dated her just like I told you. The only thing I lied about was why we broke up. I wanted to be with Minho instead.”
“Don’t get caught up in the wrong people and get hurt for it, Jisung. He seems dangerous.”
“He’s not dangerous. He’s just in danger.”
“The slowest member of the herd is just as dangerous as the wolf running behind them,” she said, her voice heavy. “I don’t want to see you hurt, my son.”
He stopped breathing. He replayed her words in his head. She still saw him as her son.
“I won’t get hurt,” he said softly. “I promise.”
She was quiet for a moment before saying, “I need some time to think about all this.”
“O…kay.”
“It’s not as though…” her voice suddenly became shrill, fragile. “It’s not as though I haven’t had my regrets about what happened with Jaehyo.”
Jisung stared at the ceiling like he was trying to see through it. He licked his lips, limbs tensing defensively.
“I don’t…agree with the lifestyle necessarily, but it was your father who hated homosexuals. I don’t like it, but I’m…” she cleared her throat. “I am willing to learn.”
He gritted his teeth and spat out his next words through angry tears. “Where was that attitude when Jae was a nineteen-year-old kid and you disowned him from the family?”
“People change, Jisung.”
“Any time,” Jisung hissed, sitting up and clutching at his hair. “Any time in the last ten years, you could’ve reached out to him to try and make things right. And you lied to me! You fucking told me he was in prison and I was a child! You made me hate my own brother!”
“Watch your tone, Jisung! It took many years for me to realize I’d acted too quickly. It was too late.”
“Damn right,” Jisung said. “It’s too late. Jae told me you should call your parents. Not our parents. He doesn’t even see you as his relatives anymore.”
His mom was quiet.
“And how do you think all that made me feel?” he barreled on, grabbing a fistful of the quilt and squeezing. “Growing up, knowing you and dad would literally toss me out if you knew who I really was?”
“Jisung.”
“You completely ruined my chance at being myself!”
“I’m not having this discussion with you right now,” she said, her voice trembling. “Clearly you’re getting emotional.”
“Yes I’m getting emotional! I’m gay and my parents are homophobic!”
“I’m not…I’m not homophobic.” Her voice broke, cold and shaky like an earthquake beneath the ice. “I said I’m willing to learn.”
“If the guilt of knowing your teenage son was on the streets trying to build a life for himself because you cut ties with him wasn’t enough to teach you you were wrong,” Jisung said, “Then I don’t know if you’re ever going to learn.”
She sighed heavily, the exhale becoming a groan. “Of course I felt guilty! Of course I wished I handled things differently! It’s hard to know, Jisung. When your marriage is falling apart, and when your husband insists being gay is evil, I just…I just wanted him to think I was doing what was right. I wanted to preserve what I could of our family.”
The defeat in her voice made something sharp press into Jisung’s chest. “And Jae was the sacrificial lamb,” he said dryly.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s the weakest excuse I’ve ever heard.”
“I was…homophobic,” she admitted. “It was tidier to look at things black and white with him. There was so much going on with me and your father already.”
“There is no reason to be that hateful,” Jisung said sharply. “There is no reason to abandon your son. You have to be a really selfish person to do that.”
“You can’t begin to understand what we were going through, Han Jisung. Don’t speak to me like you understand.”
“I don’t need to try and understand homophobia,” Jisung shot back. “It’s hateful. That’s that. There is nothing else to it. If you’re different now, okay, great. But even if you’re willing to learn, that doesn’t mean I’m willing to teach you.”
She breathed out sharply. Desperation seeped into her voice. “Jisungie.”
“Umma,” he said, and his chin tensed as tears welled up in his eyes. This was still his mom. This was his mom. He attempted to smother his adrenaline, to think about things in the long run. “I’m…angry, but I still want you to be my mom. I still love you.”
“I love you too.”
He sniffled, clutching his phone as sweat and tears made it slippery. “I think,” he said, “Maybe we both need some time to process this.”
“I think you’re right.”
“I am willing to teach you,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “I just want you to be sure you’re willing to learn.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Okay. Talk soon, son.”
He hung up, and he burst into tears without a second’s pause. Jae was beside him moments later, pulling him into his arms and patting his back while he cried. Jisung mourned both their younger selves as he clung to his brother and let it all out.
In the back of his mind, he had never been more proud of himself.
He’d burst free of the uncomfortable netting that’d been digging into his skin for years. He’d found the courage.
He couldn’t wait to tell Minho.
Fuck. He needed to find Minho.
~
After their flight, Jisung and Jae parted ways so Jae could check into his hotel. Minutes later Jisung stepped into his apartment, shocked to find their living room full of awaiting friends.
Trinity stood in the middle of the room, shoulders tensed to her ears and hair pulled into a greasy braid. Sunny sat on the couch, her knees folded to her chest, beside Changbin, Hyunjin, and Felix. Chan sat in his armchair but sprang to his feet when he caught sight of Jisung.
“Sung,” he said, striding up to him and giving him a quick but firm hug. “Glad you’re back.”
“Me too,” Jisung said, breathless. Their support encircled him like a warm embrace, and he had to excuse himself to his bedroom for a moment to put his bags down and process.
He braced his palms on his dresser and breathed slowly. This was really happening. Minho was really gone, on the run, wanted for murder. Jisung was back home, and Minho wasn’t here. He wasn’t going to walk in the door with a well-timed bizarre joke to ease everyone’s tension. Jisung had no idea if Minho was okay, wherever he was. He could be hurt. Any minute, the police could find his body in a ditch somewhere.
Jisung refused to linger on that possibility. He didn’t have the capacity.
Back in the living room, Trinity spoke stern, fast, and monotone. “We have to find him first,” she said, including Jisung in the conversation with an inquisitive glance as he sat on the floor in front of the couch. “I’m guessing the lawyer is saying the same thing?”
“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. Sunny placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and he tried to soften his posture. “Yeah. Yonghwa is probably looking for him too, so we have to find him first.”
“Does anyone have any ideas where he could be?” Sunny asked. “How much are we telling the police, by the way?”
“We can’t trust the police,” Trinity said firmly. “They could potentially take any information we give them and pass it on to Yonghwa. He has a copper in his organization and I have no doubt in my mind he’s trying to get his hands on Minho above anything else right now.”
“Why?” Hyunjin demanded, long arms thrust out in a frantic shrug. He draped one around Changbin’s shoulders. “Why are you assuming that? Wouldn’t the police finding him do exactly what Yonghwa wants? Why does Yonghwa need to lead his own search brigade?”
“Because, Jin,” Trinity said impatiently. She wound and unwound the tail of her braid around a finger. “Yonghwa killed Mia. Minho’s the witness. He could potentially prove Yonghwa’s guilt and his own innocence.”
“Why are you talking like you were there?” Hyunjin’s hand came to rub his eyes. “We don’t know any more than the police do at this point. Also, didn’t you tell the cops that Yonghwa and Mia were gang leaders blackmailing Minho?”
“Yes, but—”
“Wait,” Jisung interrupted, sucking in a breath. “Trin, you didn’t tell them that Mia was threatening me, right?”
“No,” Trinity said. “My lawyer told me not to. But anyway, yes. But we have no proof of anything, which is why we have to find Minho. Does anyone have any idea where he might be?”
She looked pointedly at Jisung, who let his chin fall onto his knees. He wrapped his wrists around his ankles and stared at the floor.
In the thick silence that settled over the room, Jisung’s brain churned into an ugly, foul mess. They had to look for Minho, but…what if he was hurt? What if they found him dead? What if Yonghwa’s followers got to him, and killed him, and Jisung came across Minho’s corpse, and for the rest of his life Jisung would remember seeing his boyfriend’s dead body—
He hid his face in his palms. Stop, stop, stop.
Sunny’s hand found Jisung’s shoulder again. “Hey,” she said, and squeezed. “It’s okay. We’re here for you, and for him. We’ll find him.”
Jisung nodded. He waited anxiously for someone else to speak, fidgeting as the weight of everyone’s eyes sank onto him. He scratched his ear and forced himself to talk when the room stayed brutally quiet. “What if he’s hurt?” he whispered, looking up at Trinity. “What if he’s dead?”
Trinity shook her head. A flare of emotions lit up her face like she’d been stung. “I’m not entertaining that idea right now.”
He knew he had to try his best to do the same.
~
Jisung would’ve liked to say things happened quickly from then on.
He told the police everything he knew, aside from the details of Mia’s blackmail and Minho’s previous involvement with their gang. He and Jae had regular zoom calls with Adrianna updating her on the police search.
Trinity’s fiery hunger to locate Minho slowly began to decline into exhausted desperation.
Three, four days passed since Jisung got home from Chicago.
Jae decided to fly back, having the reassurance that Jisung had a good support system around him. Jisung encouraged him to do so, knowing Jae needed to get back to work and his boyfriend and their dog, but he wished his brother had stayed. Jisung was mentally declining at a rate he didn’t know how to cope with.
He wasn’t sleeping or eating much. Intrusive thoughts plagued him throughout the night, reminding him that every hour that went by decreased Minho’s odds of being alive. He couldn’t fend off the images solidifying like vivid nightmares behind his eyes.
What if Minho’s last moments were painful? Was he shot, like Mia and her guard? Did Yonghwa beat him up again? Assault him till he was bloody and then put him out of his misery?
Maybe he’s not dead, he’d try to argue with himself. Maybe he’s in hiding.
But how could he slip past the police unnoticed, no one seeing a single glimpse or trace of him, for five days now? How could one guy escape the clutches of the police and an entire gang? It seemed impossible.
The only logical explanation was also the most horrifying. Minho was probably dead. Chances were he would never be found.
For three nights, Jisung overthought and spiraled and cried himself to sleep, feeling weak and unhinged in the weary bundle of his own limbs. He awoke every morning with a single heartbeat of blissful innocence before his memories flew back to him. Minho is gone.
Trinity, thankfully, continued to care for Soonie and Doongie in Minho’s absence. Jisung should have, since the cats were most familiar with him and his presence would probably calm them, but he felt too uneasy in Minho’s Hub room. Their memories there, happy and warm as they’d once been, felt like salt in a fresh wound.
Sunny, Changbin, and Seungmin did what they could to help him with class while he was lagging behind. His brain was way too foggy to attempt piecing together school assignments. He felt like a ghost. His consciousness slowly pulled away from his body, dissociating when the worries became too nauseating. He couldn’t process what was going on.
He was torn between mourning, denial, and hope.
Fear hooked into his nerves, decaying his mood more by the hour. He was terrified and obsessed with the worst case scenario. Even if he could look past his worries and intrusive thoughts, he missed his boyfriend so fucking much.
He just wanted Minho to come home. He clung to the hope that one day he’d wake up in Minho’s arms and this would all be a bad memory, buried in the dust behind them.
But...this was real. Minho was gone. Jisung kept waiting for him to walk in, unbothered and smirking, and kiss Jisung's cheek on his way to make them a snack for a night in watching anime. Jisung couldn't compute the idea of Minho being scared and in pain somewhere, too far away for Jisung to protect him. The reality of Minho's position felt too jarring to be anything but a nightmare.
So, Jisung trudged on in a foggy daze.
On Thursday, the sixth day since Minho went to Yonghwa’s storage unit, Jisung got a call from the detective.
“Hello?” He was already numb to the pressure of speaking with a detective. The first time it’d made his pulse throb anxiously, but now he was just impatient.
“Hi, Jisung, how are you?” Detective Dawes was a relatively kind man, if not a little intense. He seemed committed to finding Minho before jumping to conclusions about his charges, if nothing else.
“Fine,” Jisung said. He’d been laying in bed, texting with Jae and listening to loud music to try and drown out his thoughts.
“Good. Listen, we actually have an interesting lead in the case. I wanted to ask you if you know of any ties Minho might have to the Grand Rapids area?”
Jisung sat upright, staring at his blank computer monitor. His body tensed as he prepared for news, good or bad. “No,” he said, frowning. “Why?”
“Woman came into the station today saying she gave him a ride there. He hitchhiked from the scene of the crime, and she dropped him off at a 7-11.”
“When was this?” Jisung breathed out. “When did she give him a ride?”
“Morning after the murders. She said he was unarmed as far as she could tell, and didn’t see any evidence of injury.”
“Oh.” Jisung’s eyes squeezed shut as he breathed out. Someone had seen Minho alive and unscathed since Friday. He supposed that was good news, although it did nothing to place him in the five days following that morning. “Okay. I guess that’s good.”
“We’ll start searching the area thoroughly. Let me know if you think of any place he might go in that area, or any reason he might’ve chosen to go there.”
“Okay,” Jisung agreed. “Thanks.” He hung up.
He slumped back into bed, exhausted, and lost himself in thoughts of what he would say to Minho if he got to see him again.
~
He wished he’d hugged Minho tighter the last time he’d seen him.
He wished he’d remembered to brush his hair back when he kissed him goodbye the way Minho liked. He wished he’d never fought with him, throwing out ridiculous accusations about Minho not loving him anymore. He couldn’t believe he’d been childish enough to demand why they hadn’t had sex in a few weeks.
Those issues all felt like specks in comparison to the huge, nightmarish web they were caught in now.
He wished he hadn’t let Minho go. He wished he’d gone to the police right away. He should’ve gone the night that Minho came to his doorstep bruised and crying. Definitely the night he showed up with a gunshot wound. Jisung was an idiot. He’d been selfish, and cowardly, and he’d let Minho go. Minho was gone, and Jisung couldn’t save him.
He would give anything to have another moment with him.
Jisung cushioned the repeated, sharp nosedives his mind took inside his skull by swathing himself in happy memories.
He thought about the first time they ever hung out. He remembered the way Minho stubbornly paid for both their sushi, grabbed a handful of chopsticks and soy sauce packets, and rested them on top of Jisung’s head with an impish grin.
He thought about their first date. Minho’s little fingers pointing up through the trees, his eyes round and serious as he explained to Jisung what kinds of birds they were looking at.
The first time they’d had sex. Minho’s sheepish giggles and fluttering lashes as he’d asked Jisung to be his. Their slow kisses in the shower afterwards, Minho’s hands caressing Jisung’s face adoringly. Like he just wanted Jisung to bask in the feeling of being held.
Minho’s eyes, dark and sparkling with unmasked affection, swam in Jisung’s exhausted imagination. Minho’s sweet smile and squeaky belly laugh. His satisfied hums when Jisung pet his back and stroked his hair.
Jisung was terrified that those memories were all he’d ever have of Minho.
The morning after Jisung got the call from the detective, he was in class with Sunny and Changbin. His friends made their way through a worksheet while Jisung stared blankly at the wall, bitterly wishing he’d taken pictures of Minho’s bruises so he could have gotten Yonghwa arrested months before any of this shit happened.
“Jisung." Sunny pulled him from his trance. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he sighed, looking down at his work and attempting to refocus. “Sorry.”
Changbin and Sunny exchanged a look that Jisung pretended not to notice.
“Anything new from the detective?” Changbin tried. “Chan mentioned you talked to him last night, right? Something about a hitchhiking thing?”
“Oh, yeah.” Jisung sighed. “Um, he hitchhiked Saturday morning with a woman to the Grand Rapids area. Dawes wanted to know if I knew why he’d go there.”
“And do you?” Changbin frowned, thick arms crossing over his chest.
“No—”
“Hold the fuck up,” Sunny interrupted him sharply.
Jisung turned to her, eyebrows knitting together. His confusion spiked when he noticed an excited gleam in her eyes. “What?”
“Come on,” Sunny said. She began stuffing her books in her backpack, completely ignoring the fact that they still had thirty minutes left in their class period. “We’re leaving.”
“Don’t we still have class left or am I worse at reading analogue clocks than I thought,” Jisung mumbled.
“Come on, guys, I’ll talk to the professor. We need to go now.”
“Why?” Changbin leaned forward on his forearms and squinted up at her when she got triumphantly to her feet.
Sunny's wide eyes found Jisung's. Her determined expression morphed into a relieved grin. “I think I know where Minho is.”
~
Notes:
OKAY so I think chapter 25 is going to be split - first half from Minho's pov and second half from Jisung's. That way they get the same quantity of POV chapters.
One more!!!! thank you for reading T.T I'm emotionally exhausted from writing this chapter but SO EXCITED that it's time for the finale! See you next time for the ending!
Twt: _crookedtime_
Chapter 25
Notes:
coh finale requires oddinary as bg music stream stream stream!
but also fr, Lonely St. very much fits this fic imothnx for stopping by!!! snuggle in, grab a snack, this is a long one...
HERE WE ARE FRIENDS, IT'S THE FINAL CHAPTERenjoy ❤️
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Compiled COH artwork by Jello!
Book Cover of Minho (Chapter 23): xx
Kissing scene (Chapter 14): xx
Alex's requested guitar scene (Chapter 13): xx
The Bath Tub Chibi (Chapter 8): xx
~
~
xxv. finale
part i. minho
Like a cat, people always called him. Quiet, graceful. Kind of mysterious. He considered it a compliment.
Once when he was in elementary school, Minho didn’t come back to class after recess. He didn’t have a reason in particular, just that the sun was shining and he was enjoying his time outside. He could still remember feeling the springy grass beneath feet and the late summer wind in his hair.
So he stayed outside. He hid, first behind a tree and then up a tree, over a fence through someone’s yard, and then in the park a few blocks down. When his teacher found out he wasn’t with the rest of the class, she nearly had a heart attack, and soon the entire town was notified of his disappearance. Amber alerts went off. The police were called.
His grandma was calm. She told the school he’d probably gone off to play somewhere. She found him herself, in a tree not far from his elementary school playground.
In her sixties, in her two-inch heels, she’d scrambled up the tree and clung to the branch beneath him. She smiled, wide and proud and free of judgment. He remembered wishing he could stay out longer. He didn’t want to go back to class.
She’d called him her little monkey. She didn’t scold him, but he never did it again. He didn’t want her to have to stop her work day and run around town in her heels to track him down again.
He had never been a troublemaker, necessarily. Just a bit…lost in the clouds. In his own world, his grandma liked to say. When he grew tired of a situation, he’d simply get up and quietly move on to a new one, often confusing the hell out of everyone around him as to what he was thinking, or what he was running from.
He hadn’t changed.
Despite his circumstances, Minho was proud of himself. He was alive and free. He had meat on his bones, clean air, a roof over his head. He hadn’t killed Mia. He hadn’t killed her guard, and he hadn’t killed Yonghwa, either.
He was innocent, and knowing that felt good.
But he knew that the truth would only get him so far.
Here, he was backed into a corner. He had no moves left. He could only sit tight and wait for the cops to find him, or Yonghwa, or Trinity’s cousins when they opened the lake house in the spring.
For a moment he’d weighed the option of leaving the country and changing his name, starting fresh. Jisung’s existence made that solution unimaginable. And Soonie and Doongie’s.
When he’d first arrived at the lake house six days prior, it’d been serene. An escape, a haven in the midst of the nightmare he was living. It was a secluded spot, other than a few neighbors down the road; Minho had deduced most of the other lake houses were similarly empty. Not many people visited this area in the wintry months.
The Abernathy’s lake house was charming, old, and nestled at the end of the point. It was surrounded by water on all sides but the drive’s. In November, the normally sun-dappled surface was gloomy, inconspicuous. The lake was still and drab, the water lilies frozen. Minho was glad. No one would think to look for him here.
It hadn’t taken him long to discover there were no utilities at his back. The house was cold, horribly so at night. Thankfully it was well-stocked with thick blankets. The Abernathys had a good supply of bottled water, too, but he was quickly running out of that. He’d eaten the last can of beans the day before, leaving him with a few servings of tuna and a single jar of tomato sauce.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to survive here much longer.
There were no computers and no internet, not that he had his phone with him to check. There was a landline, but no matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t remember Trinity’s or Jisung’s phone number. The only one he knew by heart was his grandma’s.
He was running out of choices.
If he turned himself into the police, he feared Yonghwa would neatly frame him for Mia’s death, dismantle the strength of the flash drive as evidence, and send him away to a life in prison. If Yonghwa got his hands on him first, he’d probably kill him, or use the threat of a murder trial to blackmail him into more gang work.
Somehow though, he wasn’t panicking. There was no use in freaking out.
It was warmer today than it had been since his arrival. Minho shuffled through the Abernathy’s lakeshore backyard, feet crunching over crisp grass. His shoulders were draped in some bathrobe he’d found in a linens closet. He’d collected a stack of twigs and branches, which he built into a neat teepee in the fire pit. They had no shortage of matches in the house, and they had a grill lighter too, which was tucked into the pocket of his robe. Unfortunately the grill itself was out of gas.
He wondered how long he could subsist this way. He could fish, but in a lake with such high traffic in the summer from boats and skiers, he doubted it was a richly populated fish habitat. He could hunt rabbits and squirrels if he had to.
Once the fire was burning, he set a large pot of lake water onto the tripod. He doubted boiling the lake water would make it completely safe to drink, but he would have to try his luck. He only had one more water bottle, and dying of thirst was not on his list of goals.
He only allowed himself to enjoy the fire’s warmth for a few minutes, just long enough to boil the water, before he snuffed it out. He didn’t want to catch anyone’s eye who happened to be scanning the shore.
There was nothing much to do at the lake house, so he found himself sleeping a lot. Being so cold added to his perpetual drowsiness. Even so, on the sixth day, he decided he’d lose his mind if he didn’t see another human face soon. The lake house’s meager book selection didn’t interest him, and he’d never been good at sitting still anyways. Minho was starting to feel stir-crazy.
He wondered how Jisung would cope in a situation like this. He did well with laying around, biding his time writing, singing, or drawing, but the pressure of the law being on his tail would have spiked his anxiety. In this way, they were opposites. The stakes weren’t bothering Minho as much as his boredom.
Jisung. Minho was fighting hard not to let his thoughts linger on Jisung. His boyfriend definitely knew by now that Minho was a wanted murder suspect. Everyone who ever knew Minho was probably aware of the situation. He wondered, like the possibility was winking at him from behind fogged glass, if his life was over. Certainly it would be changed forever, if nothing else.
He felt terrible for worrying Jisung. He couldn’t imagine the anxiety of wondering whether or not Minho was even alive, much less innocent or guilty. He wished that he had some way to get word to Jisung that he was okay. That he was sorry. That he loved him.
He wished Jisung were there beside him. He’d do anything to see his boyfriend smile again. He hated that he’d hurt him the last time they were together.
After setting the boiled water in the three seasons room to cool off, Minho shuffled back into the kitchen. He peered through the front bay window, pleased by the rosy light of the dipping sun, and did a double take when he saw a car pulling up the drive.
Minho froze.
He took a quiet step towards the back door, waiting to see if the car would stop at one of the neighboring houses. It was a black SUV, one that he didn’t recognize.
It passed the nearest house and continued rolling up to the Abernathy’s, headlights beaming.
Minho darted for the back door.
His heart raced as he slipped out the back, patting his jeans pocket to make sure the flash drive was still there. He’d left the pot of boiling water. Someone would immediately know he’d been there. Fuck. He heard the car engine shudder to a stop. He wasted no time jogging towards the water’s edge, keeping low to the ground.
He needed the sun to set quicker. Cover of darkness would be his best friend if Yonghwa or the police were on his heels.
The neighboring house was dark. No outside light, no stir of life inside, not a car parked in front. Minho slinked along the water’s edge, fingers skimming the tips of the grass, and watched the Abernathy’s house as he moved into the adjacent yard.
Automatic outside lights flickered on from his movements, bathing the entire stretch of grass from Minho to the black SUV in harsh orange light.
Minho stared up the narrow path between the two houses. Footsteps rounded the front of the house. The beam of a flashlight slid into view.
He put his head down and sprinted in the opposite direction.
He wove between the next two houses and bolted across the street, not wanting a second instance of automatic outside lights. There were no buildings on the opposite side of the street, only dense bushes and trees that would hopefully be enough cover to shield Minho. He could still see the black car from where he was, so he tried to move silently and keep his head down as he raced alongside the road.
The water’s edge sloped downward towards the lake. Mud, partially frozen but slicker than ice, squelched beneath Minho’s feet, and he gasped when he fell, arms flailing and knees sinking into the swamp. He hissed, hands scrabbling at slippery mud, and clumsily continued to jog as soon as he was back on his feet. The cold dug its claws into his skin, the mud drying into a sheet of grimy dirt from the chilly wind. He peeled off his robe when it kept catching on branches and left it to settle into the thick mud.
He ran for a long time, making his way towards town. After minutes of his lungs burning and his cheeks stinging from the nippy breeze, he took a moment to catch his breath, wincing as his foot squelched around in his muddy shoe.
Here, at the neighborhood’s edge, the road circled around like the paths of a campsite. Tall, papery-barked evergreen trees dotted the area, shrouding Minho in massive shadows. He wondered if he could climb one if he needed to.
An approaching car hummed up the road, and then came the glow of headlights. Minho slunk behind the nearest tree and stood still. He only peeked out when the car was far enough off. It was a police car.
Minho swallowed. His heart pounded at the cage of bones surrounding it. His limbs felt icy, disembodied. Somehow he was too hot and too cold at the same time.
What was he supposed to do? Wait it out? What if the black SUV had been the Abernathy cousins’, and now the lake house was occupied? What if they called the police when they realized someone had broken into their home, and now the authorities knew the exact area Minho was hiding?
He peered around the side of the tree, dirt-caked hands pressed over his sweaty chest. Another police car rolled into the neighborhood. He looked straight ahead of himself, breathing hard, thoughts whirling.
He was cornered. Trapped.
When the car was out of view, he scrambled up the side of the ascending road and ran for a while, keeping the street in his peripheral and ducking behind trees wherever he could. Soon he reached the end of the wooded area, where secluded roads became county roads.
He’d be easier to spot out here.
He emerged from behind the trees cautiously, head swinging side to side, and nearly screamed when the black SUV pulled out from the adjacent road.
He darted back behind the cover of trees. He heard a car door slam, the engine cut off. He rushed down towards the lake once more, shoes sliding on frozen grass and caked mud, twigs snapping underneath his weight. He didn’t have the luxury of sneaking anymore. He needed to run.
As he wove between the trees, his healed shoulder throbbed. His body braced itself, adrenaline rising to the surface, sweat coating his skin. He’d been shot before. He could survive it again. He slid down the incline wildly, heels gouging the dirt, hands grasping for a hold on the trees. He collapsed, stumbling to a halt on his hands and knees, and crawled desperately beneath a large, leafless bush protruding from the edge of the lake.
He sat still for a few breaths, watching the still world on either side of him, the lake at his back. No one was in sight. The wooded area was silent save for the whistle of the wind.
Then flashlights beamed down from the road in a sweeping motion, and a figure wearing an unmistakable uniform strolled into view, peering down at Minho’s hiding spot.
He kept his head down and was perfectly motionless.
“Sir!” somebody yelled from the road.
The officer and Minho both looked that way, the flashlight lifting up to seek whoever had shouted.
“I saw him run that way!” the girl went on, and the officer asked her a few hushed questions before Minho heard his car drive off.
Minho squinted up at the road, trying to ignore the cold mud soaking his jeans. When the coast was clear, he crawled out from under the bush, tiptoeing up towards the road.
A flashlight clicked on from behind the nearest tree.
Minho yelped, throwing his hands in the air and nearly pissing himself.
Standing there, eyes wide, lips parted, was Jisung.
They both darted forward at the same time. Jisung was upon him in an instant, wrapping Minho into his arms. It was a visceral reaction when Minho squeaked, clutched at his boyfriend’s puffy jacket hard enough to rip it, and burst into tears. He hid his face with one hand, using all the strength in his other arm to drag Jisung in as close as possible. He inhaled a deep lungful, breathing in Jisung’s familiar scent.
He clung to Jisung and cried, trembling, unable to loosen his hold. I’m safe, he realized, sobs racking through him almost painfully. He’s here. I’m safe.
“I’ve got you baby,” Jisung whispered, stroking Minho’s hair. His fingers massaged the base of Minho’s skull lightly. “Never letting you go again, I swear.”
“I’m sorry,” Minho whimpered, wrapping his arms around Jisung’s shoulders. He could feel his tears starting to pool in his boyfriend’s collarbone. So many emotions coursed through him, he couldn’t support his own weight anymore. “I shouldn’t have gone.”
“Shhhh. You didn’t do anything wrong. I love you so much. Fuck, I love you.”
Minho cried harder, breaking at the cadence of Jisung’s deep, sweet voice. “M’sorry,” Minho repeated incoherently. His mind raced, tension bleeding from his body like he’d been punctured.
“I’m here.” Soft lips brushed Minho’s hair. “I’m here, angel. I’m gonna keep you safe.”
“Let’s get him into the car,” he dimly heard the girl’s voice say. “We don’t know when the cops will come back.”
He recognized her voice now. Sunny . His friends had come to find him. Minho trembled against Jisung’s chest, thankful and worried at the same time. He wasn’t alone. Finally, he wasn’t alone. But now his friends were in the line of fire too.
Jisung led Minho back to the car by his hand. Minho kept his face averted and tried to focus on his breathing. His feet and fingers ached from crouching in the cold mud, but Jisung’s loose grip around his hand flooded him with warmth. Minho climbed into the back seat of the black SUV and eyed the driver suspiciously.
He nearly shattered like a tipped vase when Trinity turned around to pin him with a sly, familiar grin.
“Oh my god,” Minho groaned, hiding his face in his hands and sagging against the back seat. “Oh my god.”
“Let’s get back to the lake house,” Trinity suggested, putting the car in drive. “We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
~
Back at the Abernathy’s, Minho sat in dazed silence on the edge of the bathtub.
The water Minho boiled was still warm. Jisung knelt in the tub between Minho’s legs and poured it over his skin, gently scrubbing his mud-caked limbs with soapy water. Minho was pliant, watching blearily as his boyfriend washed the mud off his cold skin.
Jisung was in his underwear and a sweatshirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’d forsaken his jeans and socks to keep them dry as muddy water pooled around his feet. He worked diligently, his eyebrows furrowed with focus as he ran attentive hands over Minho’s shins. A tangle of blond hair hung over his eyes, and he kept jerking his head impatiently to clear his vision.
Minho pushed Jisung’s hair from his eyes with damp, pruney fingers. When Jisung looked at him, Minho managed a weak smile.
Jisung took Minho’s hand and kissed the back of it. Then he grabbed a towel and started to dry Minho’s legs, patting and squeezing.
“How’d you know where to find me?” Minho asked.
Jisung used the remaining water to wash the dirt down the drain. Then he stepped around Minho’s body carefully, clambering out of the tub and setting the empty pot on the bathroom sink with a sigh. “The detective called me to ask whether I knew anything that would connect you to this area. Apparently the driver who brought you here mentioned it to the police.”
“Trinity made the connection?” Minho guessed.
“Sunny,” Jisung corrected, a tired smile not touching his eyes. “She figured you’d hide here.”
“Why are the police here? How’d they know…”
“They’re just patrolling the area, I’m sure. Because of the tip from the hitchhiker. Or, hitchhikee.”
Minho grinned, letting his head fall back against the bathroom wall. He shifted to straddle the edge of the tub. “Ah.”
Jisung settled on the cold tile beside the tub and wrapped his arms loosely around Minho’s middle, nuzzling his belly. Minho embraced him, combing his fingers through Jisung’s hair. He could feel Jisung breathe in deeply against Minho’s side.
“Was so worried,” Jisung mumbled, his voice pinched.
Minho nodded, thumbing the nape of Jisung’s neck.
“No one knew if you were okay,” Jisung said. His shoulders shook with an unsteady breath. “I thought you were dead…”
Minho’s eyes fell shut. He exhaled slowly and tried not to think about what he would’ve done, if their roles were switched. “I’m so sorry, darling,” he whispered, rubbing his boyfriend’s tense back. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“Not your fault. That’s not what I mean.” Jisung squeezed Minho’s waist tighter. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
“Safe might be a stretch,” Minho said dryly.
“You’re alive,” Jisung pointed out. “That’s all that matters.”
“Could use a shower,” Minho said with a chuckle. “A hot meal.”
“Only you could go a week without bathing and still look like a model and smell okay.”
“Hm.” Minho smirked and combed his fingers through Jisung’s silky hair. “Can we just stay here forever?”
“In this bathroom?”
“Yeah. Just you and me.”
“Just quietly shitting in each other’s presence and subsisting off drywall dust?”
Minho burst into laughter and pulled Jisung’s warm body closer. “Yeah, that. I don’t wanna go back into the world.”
The weight of his words struck him seconds later when Jisung didn’t respond right away. Jisung was here, but Minho was still on the run. Wanted for murder. What were they supposed to do now?
“I’m gonna protect you,” Jisung said, shifting back. He rested his cheek on Minho’s thigh and smiled up at him sleepily, arm slung across Minho’s lap. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you.”
Minho caressed Jisung’s cheek, fingertips skimming over soft skin. He brushed the edge of his thumb against the tiny mole on his cheek, avoiding Jisung’s dark, sparkly eyes. His heart felt on the brink of bursting, full of happiness and longing. He wasn't sure how much more he could handle.
~
The four of them settled around the fire pit once Minho was dressed in some borrowed sweatpants of Trinity’s cousin. He sat on Jisung’s lap, leaning into the cradle of his chest and watching as Trinity put another pot of water onto the fire to boil some tea. She squatted beside the flames with her palms extended. The heavy orange light brought attention to her sharp nose and cheekbones, and Minho looked at her with his heart in his throat. He would never be able to repay her for all that she’d done for him, generously and selflessly without ever expecting anything in return.
“I can’t believe Mia’s dead,” Trinity said. Her voice was calm but thin, trying not to betray her true feelings.
Minho nodded, even though he could believe it. Mia had always felt enigmatic to him, never really alive in the first place. But Trinity knew her much better than he ever had.
“She wasn’t terrible,” Trinity went on. “A little…psycho, maybe.”
Minho smirked, eyebrows raised.
“But like.” She sighed heavily. “She had a good heart. Hurting people wasn’t her thing.”
“You’re right,” Minho agreed. “She deserved better.”
Jisung cleared his throat and tightened his arms around Minho. “She threatened to kill me, didn’t she? Sounds like hurting people was definitely her thing.”
“She was all talk,” Minho said softly. He messed his hair up against Jisung’s jaw, nose nuzzling the velvety skin of his throat. He smelled good. Minho wanted to take him and run, far away from everything else in the world. “She told me before she died, she was bluffing. She didn’t have any way of hurting you.”
“Oh.” Jisung sighed and scratched between Minho’s shoulder blades lightly. “Sorry, baby. She really pulled a fast one on you.”
Minho snorted. “It’s alright. It’s a relief. The gang doesn’t know anything about you.”
“What happened, Min? How did she die?” Trinity’s eyes glinted with unmasked worry. “Was it you?”
Minho glared at her. Defensiveness made his mood sour. He sat upright to look at Jisung, whose eyes were big and curious, and then at Sunny.
His tongue was dry as he asked, “Do you honestly think I did it?”
“No,” Trinity said. “Of course not. But if your life or Jisung’s were in danger, I wouldn’t put it past you.”
Minho ran his nails through his greasy hair. He probably wouldn’t put it past himself, either. “No. I didn’t do it. Yonghwa’s followers showed up and started shooting at us, and Mia—” He took a deep breath and tried to tug himself back from the memory of red curls tumbling onto the asphalt. The sound of gunfire, loud and invasive. He shivered and said, “I just ran. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I’m so glad you’re alright, Minho.” He could feel Trinity attempting to catch his eye, but he kept his gaze averted. He felt Jisung lean into his shoulder and press a kiss to the back of his neck, and Minho blinked away a fresh onset of tears.
Now that he was in touch with someone from the outside world, it was sinking in. He was on the run. He was suspected of murder. His life was a few steps away from rotting away behind bars.
“Should I order Chipotle?” Sunny asked, poking her lip with a square pink fingernail.
Trinity squinted. “Sunny.”
“Taco Bell, maybe? I think they deliver here.”
“I could eat Taco Bell,” Jisung commented.
“There’s literally a fugitive in our home,” Trinity said.
“He doesn’t have to answer the door!” Sunny made a face at her sister like it was obvious. “I’m hungry, and I bet Min is too.”
“Can I get a Quesarito but substitute the beef with potato?” Minho asked. “Their potatoes are so good.”
“Oh my god, right?” Sunny nodded. “That sounds so good.”
“Sunny, hello?” Trinity waved a hand in front of her sister’s face like she’d gone glassy. “We are breaking the law right now.”
Minho supposed she was right. They were, by definition, harboring a fugitive. “What did you say to the cop?” Minho asked her. “When you steered him away from me earlier.”
“Oh, I just lied,” she said. “I said I’m the girl who lives a few houses down, Angela. But I said I forgot my ID. And I said I saw a suspicious looking guy run into town.”
Minho clucked his tongue. “You’re brilliant.”
She shrugged, smiling, and tapped her feet cheerfully as she scrolled through the Taco Bell menu. “Anyway, Trin, what do you want?”
Trinity sighed heavily. “Crunchwrap supreme. And one of those crunchy orange tacos.”
“Doritos locos!” Sunny threw her head back and cackled. “Crunchy orange tacos. You’re literally seventy-five.”
“Fuck you.”
Twenty minutes later, the four of them ate their food in the candle lit living room. Minho ate ravenously, mowing through his burrito like it was his last meal, forced to flop onto his side and groan through the pain in his stomach when he’d clearly eaten too fast. He slung his legs over Jisung’s lap and looked at him sleepily.
Jisung’s cheeks puffed out around a bite of food. His little nose twitched as he sniffed, and he absentmindedly slung an arm over Minho’s knees and thumbed at the seam of his sweatpants. His warmth encircled Minho like a blanket.
A part of Minho was still convinced this was a dream. That he’d wake up and be alone again, too far away for Jisung to find him.
“I love you,” Minho said softly.
Jisung’s big eyes darted to look at him, the shrinking width of his cheeks going still as he stopped chewing. His little mouth became a hesitant smile. “I love you too.”
Minho pretended Trinity and Sunny couldn’t hear him as he asked, “Did you really think I did it?”
Jisung immediately shook his head and swallowed his bite. “No. Unless you absolutely had to, no. I know you would never.”
The certainty in his voice relaxed Minho’s shoulders. There were people on his side, people who would vouch for him. His fingers slipped into the pockets of his sweats, where he’d moved the flash drive. He rolled it between his fingers.
“I have proof,” he said softly. “I have a flash drive.”
Jisung set his food down and studied Minho’s face carefully. Hesitance shone in his dark eyes, in the dent between his brows. His grip was firm on the side of Minho’s calf. “Proof of what?”
“Every crime Yonghwa has ever committed,” Minho said, and chuckled weakly. “Mia got it from the storage unit before she died.”
“Holy shit,” Trinity interrupted, just as Jisung’s mouth fell open. “You have proof?”
Minho nodded hazily. He felt sleepy and content after eating so much. He wanted to sleep.
He wasn’t a bad person. He didn’t kill Mia. He had proof that he didn’t kill her.
So why did he still feel so…defeated?
Maybe his life had taught him to always anticipate the worst. There was still a chance, larger than slim, that he would end up behind bars. Even now that he was in the arms of the guy he loved and surrounded by people who saw the good in him, he wasn’t guaranteed freedom. Yonghwa always, always found a way to come out on top.
“When did he get like this?” Minho murmured.
“Huh?” Jisung asked intelligently.
“Yonghwa. When did he become so…” He wrinkled his nose. “For lack of a better word, evil? He’s been actively trying to ruin my life for two whole years now.”
“He’s always been like this,” Trinity pointed out. “He was just better at hiding it in the beginning.”
“He’s scared,” Minho said, licking some hot sauce from his bottom lip. “He was always careless with details when it came to me. He’s always known I could take him apart if he gave me the agency to.”
Jisung watched Minho with dark, earnest eyes, listening carefully.
Minho cleared his throat. “I wonder what he would’ve done,” he said. “If he found me before you guys or the cops did. I wonder if he would’ve killed me.”
“Sorry Min, but…” Trinity trailed off for a moment. “Yeah, I think he would’ve.”
Minho nodded. The words splintered through him like a stake, even though he knew she was right. The man who’d claimed to love him for years wouldn’t have bat an eye at killing him in cold blood. Or condemning him to life in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.
Yonghwa had ruined Minho in more ways than he was willing to admit.
“Fuck,” Minho sighed, his lip wobbling. “This sucks, huh?”
“It does,” Jisung said. He reached out to tangle his hand with Minho’s, who forced himself to meet Jisung’s determined gaze. “But you said you have proof. Jae knows a really good lawyer who’s agreed to represent you. I met her, and told her everything I knew. She’s going to get you out of this, Min.”
Minho’s knee-jerk thoughts came one after another, like a ball bouncing down a steep staircase.
I can’t afford a lawyer.
I can’t argue my way out of this.
Yonghwa will win this somehow.
It would be easier for you to have me out of your life anyway.
He sighed heavily and squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t give up hope now. He needed to take on this fight. At this point, it was the only option. Fight or flight was an easy choice when flight meant leaving Jisung behind.
“I’m sorry,” Minho mumbled, sitting up tensely. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his thighs, avoiding all their eyes. “I hate that you three are involved now. I never meant to put this on you.”
“You didn’t,” Sunny spoke up, raising an eyebrow. “We chose to come here.”
Minho mulled over his thoughts, gnawing on his lip. He had the flash drive. He had a lawyer, and a chance to go to the police before Yonghwa found him and killed the truth with him. Every second he waited, he risked the police finding them first and arresting his friends for harboring a fugitive.
He needed to do this part alone.
He took a deep breath and climbed to his feet. “I’ll go to the police station now.”
Jisung sprang up. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Sung,” Trinity said, a hint of warning in her voice. “You know he has to.”
“It’s dangerous,” Jisung blurted, his voice loud and high pitched. “How would you get there? What if the cop who greets you is the guy in Yonghwa’s gang? What if Yonghwa has people patrolling the streets around here? What if they throw out your evidence?”
“Jisung,” Minho started.
“No! I don’t want you to go alone.” Jisung shook his head urgently, tugging his sleeves over his fingertips. “I’ll come with you.”
“You could get in trouble, darling. You’re not supposed to conduct your own searches for me.”
“I know the detective,” Jisung breathed, shoulders rising and falling as he schooled patience into his voice. “Dawes. Let me call him, and tell him that you contacted us from this lake house.”
“Are they gonna arrest Minho?” Sunny asked, frowning. “How does this work?”
“If you call the detective, they’ll send people after me and Yonghwa could get wind of it,” Minho pointed out. “It’s better if I just quietly turn myself in and give them the flash drive. Once they see who Yonghwa is and what he’s done…” He forced the words out, barely believing them himself. “They won’t have enough to hold me there.”
“The system is so fucked,” Trinity pointed out. “Do you really trust the police to handle that evidence carefully? Maybe we should give it directly to Adrianna.”
“Here’s what I’m gonna do.” Minho squeezed his eyes shut, hard, before opening them. He knew a thing or two about the stages of an arrest, as someone who’d been involved in gang work, but he knew he’d have to fake confidence through this. “I’ll go to the station and say I want a lawyer. I’ll contact her when I’m there and wait, with my mouth shut. I’ll give her the flash drive when she gets there and see what she thinks it can do for me. I don’t have to say jack shit to the police if I don’t want to. The lawyer can tell me what to say, and hopefully, they’ll let me go when they realize they don’t have enough evidence to keep me there.”
“That sounds good,” Trinity said. Minho deliberately avoided looking at Jisung, scared of his reaction. “Why didn’t you do that right away, Min?”
He shook his head, letting the question sink in for a moment. “I hate this. It’s not like it’s gonna be sunshine and rainbows. The evidence clearing me is evidence against Yonghwa. That means I’m basically accusing a gang leader of a hundred different crimes. He might fucking kill me for this.”
Jisung’s hand slipped into Minho’s.
“But I don’t have a choice anymore,” he went on. He finally turned to face Jisung and offered as lighthearted of a smile as he could muster. “It’s him or me at this point.”
Jisung crashed into him, wrapping him in a tight hug and hiding his face in Minho’s shoulder. Minho combed his fingers soothingly through Jisung’s hair and breathed him in. “It’ll be okay,” Minho whispered, kissing Jisung’s temple. “I always wiggle my way out somehow.”
“I’m going with you,” Jisung said.
Minho peeled away from their embrace to give him a dirty look. “No you aren’t.”
“Minho.” Jisung’s eyes sparkled with tears, his lips pursing into a pout. “I’m not letting you do this alone.”
“You could get arrested. It’ll go on your record. I’m literally a murder suspect, baby.”
“I don’t give a fuck!” Jisung grabbed both of Minho’s hands. “I don’t give a fuck.”
“I do!”
“Well, you don’t get to choose for me. I’m coming with you.”
“Jisung, no. You aren’t supposed to—”
“Minho.” Tears rolled down Jisung’s cheeks, and Minho’s heart ached. “The last time I let you go off alone, I didn’t see or hear from you for a week. I thought you were dead. I told you I’m never letting you go again. I meant it.”
Minho’s throat tightened. Tears burned in his eyes. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” he whispered, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “I don’t know what’ll happen…”
“You know you’d do the same thing for me,” Jisung said, managing a dry grin around his glistening tears. “C’mon, baby. I’d rather have a criminal record with you than a clean record without you.”
Minho spluttered out a laugh and leaned into Jisung, burying his face in his neck. His heart thudded, full of light. “Thank you,” he mumbled.
Trinity gave Minho Adrianna’s contact information and a thick jacket to brave the cold night. Sunny hugged him goodbye, long and warm and genuine, and told him that she couldn’t wait to see him again when all of this was over.
Jisung and Minho walked down the road hand in hand, cold breaths puffing white and cloudy in front of them.
They’d considered taking the SUV, but it was Sunny’s parents’ and Minho had no intention of getting the Abernathy family further involved. Instead he swung their hands absentmindedly between them and glanced around the street, feeling nervous but invincible at the same time.
“Have you ever been arrested before?” Jisung asked, and then chuckled when Minho shot him a look. “I guess you probably would’ve told me.”
“It’s a valid question,” Minho hummed, and gave his fingers a squeeze. “No, I haven’t. But I’ve come close. A lot of people in Yonghwa’s life have been, and I’ve been there to see the process unfold. Our criminal justice system is a fucking joke.”
Jisung was quiet for a moment, long enough for Minho to worriedly search his face. Then his boyfriend said, “I came out to my mom.”
Minho’s stomach dropped. He blinked, mind reeling, and shuffled to a halt on the asphalt. His voice came out hoarse as he asked, “Seriously?”
Jisung smiled and nodded, cheeks round and rosy. His nonchalance was a good sign, Minho supposed. “Yeah. It…could’ve gone better, but it could’ve gone worse, too. She said she had to think about it, but that she still loves me. I sorta…tore her a new one about Jae. Since she disowned him and didn’t disown me.”
“Good for you,” Minho said. He broke into a tired grin. “Wow. You stood up to her. I’m sorry I…” he trailed off. This wasn’t about him. “Forget it. I’m happy for you, darling.”
“It’s okay,” Jisung clarified with a smirk. Minho couldn’t believe how handsome he was, charming and reassuring in his very Jisung way. “I think I needed to do that part on my own. Part of why I was brave enough to do it was because nothing else in my life mattered.”
“What do you mean?” Minho asked, a bit breathless.
“Well.” Jisung sighed, scratching his head. “I had no way of knowing whether you were alive. Where you were, all that. I didn’t have room to worry about what she thought of me. So I just…didn’t give a fuck. I get what you mean when you say there’s a fine line between being helpless and invincible.”
“Mm.” Minho swayed closer to Jisung and wrapped his arm around his thin waist, hugging him close as they walked. “Proud of you.”
“She now knows that my boyfriend is a murder suspect though, so…”
“Shit, really?”
“Yeah but like. Minor detail. You’ll charm her right over when all this shit is behind us.”
Minho tried to smile, but couldn’t make himself feel it. If. Not when. If.
They made it to the station without a hitch, probably because they looked like two people who had nothing to hide. At the bottom of the concrete steps, Jisung pulled Minho to face him, cupped his cheeks, and kissed him on the mouth.
Minho hummed, surprised, and lifted his hands to brush Jisung’s hair from his eyes. When they parted with a soft sound, Jisung kissed his forehead and mumbled against his hair, “I’ll be with you through all of this. I promise.”
Minho chuckled. He allowed himself to cling to Jisung’s hands for a moment before letting him go.
The police station responded to Minho’s arrival with surprising calm.
He wasn’t sure how to introduce himself, at first. He couldn’t say I’m here to confess, because that certainly wasn’t why he was there. He settled on, “I’m suspected of a crime I didn’t commit. I’m Lee Minho.”
He didn’t get a chance to see what happened to Jisung. Minho was guided to an interrogation room with his hands cuffed, watching over his shoulder as Jisung stood in the middle of the hall and grew smaller and smaller as the distance between them increased. The worry in his eyes haunted Minho as he rounded the corner and was shut into a room alone.
~
What neither Trinity nor Jisung mentioned about this elusive Adrianna was that she was not a lawyer from this state. Thankfully she was licensed in multiple, but it was going to be an entire 24 hours until she could be there to speak with him.
He refused to give the police his flash drive, so therefore, he was looking at a night in a jail cell.
Minho couldn’t begin to describe the panic and claustrophobia that pricked his skin like it was trying to get inside him.
He was lucky not to be put in solitary confinement, or a cell with another person. Still, he could see others through the bars of his cell, feel their piercing eyes lingering on him, pulling him apart like a piece of meat. He felt vulnerable and small as he curled up on his cot and hugged the thin blanket to his chest. It was freezing, a constant draft spilling down from a noisy overhead vent, and strange noises floated between the holding cells. Grunting, spitting, low conversation, sometimes louder shouts.
Every time footsteps approached from down the hall, Minho braced himself for one of Yonghwa’s people to break into his cell and strangle him.
He flickered in and out of sleep, constantly jerked awake by the feeling of unease crawling up the back of his neck. He awoke shivering, blinking through the harsh light filtering from a window somewhere down the hall, and sat bolt upright when he saw the man leaning against the outside of his cell.
Yonghwa stood crookedly, his ankles crossed, a hand on his hip. He wore dark jeans and an expensive looking button up, hair longer than Minho had ever seen it and brushed back. He smiled, condescending and mocking as ever. Minho decided this was a nightmare. He wordlessly turned over in bed until his back was facing his ex’s.
“Oh c’mon, Min, don’t be like that.”
Minho ignored him and peacefully nuzzled into his thin, ratty pillow.
“I’m here to help you.”
Minho’s eyes flew open. He scrambled into a seated position and whipped around to face Yonghwa. “Oh, really? Oh!” He beamed, faking a swoon, holding the back of his hand over his forehead dramatically. “Oh, thank god! I would be lost without my hero!”
“I’m serious, Minho.”
“Admit you killed Mia then,” Minho said simply, slumping back down onto the bed and turning away. “Otherwise go fuck yourself.”
“I can get you out of here. Blame it on one of my guys shooting Mia for breaking in. We can both get out without a scratch.”
Minho pulled his blankets tightly around him and sighed, counting the seconds.
Eventually, because of course he did, Yonghwa spoke up again. “Come on, Min. You know you don’t have a choice.”
“Mmm,” Minho hummed, and smiled to himself. “M’so happy.”
“The fuck? You’re in jail.”
“But m’so happy.”
“This is what you want? Is that why you helped Mia get into our unit?”
Minho rolled his eyes. Our unit. Yonghwa was insane. He couldn’t believe he didn’t see it the minute they met. He sat up and stretched, yawning with a cheerful little squeak. “It’s fun to see you squirm.”
“Squirm?” Yonghwa scoffed. “There’s nothing in this for me but saving time. It wouldn’t be any issue proving you were the murderer and getting you locked away for the rest of your life. You don’t want that, do you?”
“Oh yeah?” Minho grinned, rubbing his eyes. “Have you checked your records recently?”
Yonghwa’s smug expression wavered. His lip curled, and his shoulders rose closer to his ears. “It’s cute that you think you have a chance against me in a legal battle.”
“It’s cute,” Minho shot back, “That you think you have enough against me to push this all the way to trial.”
Yonghwa’s eyes narrowed further. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Minho sank back down into bed, back to Yonghwa, and said nothing.
“Minho, are you tryna get yourself killed?”
Minho didn’t respond.
“You’re literally a rat in a cage. The fuck is your cocky ass expression about?”
Minho closed his eyes and started counting again.
“You’re gonna go to prison for a crime you didn’t commit. All because you’re too fucking arrogant to have a conversation with me.”
Minho said nothing.
Yonghwa smacked the bars of the cell, the sound of flesh on metal ringing through the confined space. “You fucking idiot. Let me help you, Minho.”
He flinched, a spark of fear burning in his chest, but he paid it no mind.
Yonghwa hit the bars again, cursed under his breath, and then turned and walked away. Minho only released the breath he was holding when he heard the door at the end of the hall fall shut.
~
He liked Adrianna the moment he met her. She skipped all pleasantries, leading by stating calmly that she was going to drop all charges against him before they could stain his record, before the District Attorney could even contemplate a trial.
“Tell me what happened,” Adrianna said, sipping a very tall carryout coffee and opening up a yellow notepad. “Be as detailed as you can.”
The interrogation room was small, but Adrianna, despite being short, seemed to fill it to the brim with her presence. She studied him sharply over her glasses when he was quiet for a moment too long.
“Um,” he said, shifting in his chair. He sat on his hands to keep from picking at his dry skin. “Where should I start?”
“The beginning.” She smiled. “Where did you and Yonghwa meet?”
“Oh, god. Um.” Minho swallowed. “A bar. I was homeless at the time. We started dating and living together pretty quick.”
“How did you end up on the streets?”
“I…I.” He looked down at his lap. “My grandma passed away when I was twenty. She raised me, and it was hard on me. I guess I sort of let life slip between my fingers.”
“I see.” Her pen scribbled this way and that with soft scraping sounds. “Did you and Yonghwa have an amicable relationship?”
“At first, yeah. He was abusive for a long time, though. He’s in charge of a lot of organized crime, and our relationship was contingent on me helping him with whatever he asked me to. I did what he wanted, because I needed him. I was…”
“Manipulated,” Adrianna finished his sentence easily.
“Right.” Minho swallowed, dry tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth.
“But eventually you did leave?”
“Yes, about five months ago. He beat me severely enough that I decided I didn’t have a choice, so I left.”
“Do you have evidence of this abuse?”
“I don’t. I wanted to avoid getting into legal shit with him at all costs.” He cringed and thought he’d add, “No offense.”
She ignored that and asked, “How did you end up at the scene of the crime last Friday?”
“Mia, the uh, the dead woman. She told me if I didn’t let her into Yonghwa’s unit, she would kill Jisung. That’s my boyfriend.”
“Right. He’s a sweet kid.”
Minho laughed shyly and scratched behind his ear. “He is.”
“And at the time of the shooting.” She looked at him pointedly, her pen hovering above the page. “What happened?”
He did his best to remember that evening, as fast-paced as it’d been. He stared over Adrianna’s shoulder and thought about Mia’s last moments, the echo of gunshots, the dark red blood pooling onto asphalt. He floundered as he waited for a bout of nausea to subside.
“Take your time,” Adrianna provided, sipping more coffee.
“We broke in,” Minho admitted. “Took a flash drive from his computer. Mia wanted enough evidence to get Yonghwa jailed, so she could be the one in charge of their organization. Then the guard outside got shot, and so we ran away, but then Mia got shot too…” He forced himself to breathe deeply, felt the nourishing air fill him to his fingertips. “She gave me the flash drive. They tried to kill me, too, so I ran. Didn’t stop running till I found someplace to hide.”
“Who?” Adrianna prompted. “Who killed Mia and her guard?”
“Yonghwa’s gang members, I’m sure. They were probably told to patrol the area while Yonghwa was away.”
“How do you know? Do you have proof of this?”
Minho reached under his shirt. He peeled the flash drive from his chest, where he’d taped it just under his arm, and set it onto the table between them. “This is the flash drive Mia took from the unit,” he said, something akin to excitement dancing up his spine.
Adrianna’s eyes widened. She froze him with a bewildered look. “What’s on this flash drive?”
“Accounting records,” Minho said. “Credit card statements. Lists of employees. Bank account history. Proof of his gang, basically.”
Adrianna took the flash drive, her mouth slipping open. She ducked beneath the desk and pulled out a laptop, whispering, “May I?”
“Sure.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes as Adriana scrolled through her laptop, the bright screen reflected on either one of her lenses. Minho’s pulse thudded as he waited, until at last the attorney looked up at him with a tentative smile.
“You’ll be fine,” she said calmly. “Minho. You’ll be fine.”
He blinked, relief rushing through his chest. His throat felt tight as he asked, “How do you know?”
“There’s a record of him purchasing the murder weapon in bulk. The ammunition and everything. And of him hiring people to guard the storage unit. Even the name of the guy in the police who answers to the gang. There’s proof, Minho. There’s proof.”
Minho exhaled through tight lips. He nodded, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “Okay. Okay, that’s good.”
“I need to ask, though…”
He tried to compose himself, tearful lashes blurring his sight.
“Why run?” She frowned, tapping her fingernails on the tabletop. “You’re innocent. You’ve had proof in your pocket all along. Why did you spend the past week running away from a man who had no argument against you?”
He shrugged, blubbering out something between a laugh and a sob. “I was…I was scared.”
He still was. Fuck, he was terrified. Was taking down Yonghwa going to mean the end for him? He remembered the way Yonghwa smacked the bars of his cell earlier and winced.
“I want to promise you something,” Adrianna went on.
Minho gestured weakly for her to continue.
“Even if he escapes this without life in prison,” she said, “I will work with you to get a restraining order.”
Minho hid his eyes in his palm and clenched his jaw till it ached. He tried to keep from crying, but his shoulders trembled anyway.
“I just made a copy of this,” she went on. “I’ll keep one for myself and give the incriminating evidence on Yonghwa to the police. They’ll have no choice but to release you. You are so glaringly innocent, kid. God.” She laughed, her eyes twinkling. “That piece of shit is going to jail.”
“Am I gonna get hurt?” he murmured, his stomach rolling. “I’m going up against a whole fucking gang right now…”
“No. Minho, my job is to clear you. You’re my client. Yonghwa going down is collateral damage, sure, but we can choose to keep the other names to ourselves. Trying to knock out an entire realm of organized crime is above our pay grade.”
He shook his head urgently, feeling his worries peak as she mentioned pay grade. “I can’t afford to pay you, ma’am. I really can’t. I can barely—”
“It’s paid for, Minho. Don’t worry.”
He blinked. Jisung. “By who?”
“Jisung’s brother Jae and his life partner Adam are close friends of mine. They’ve made sure I’m compensated. Don’t worry. They’re very…” she smiled. “Financially well-off. And kind. You’re in good hands.”
He swayed, feeling slightly dizzy. “Um…thank you.”
“I’ll be back in a moment, Minho. I need to get some information to the DA. Hang tight.”
When the door fell shut behind her, Minho sat with his mouth slack. His thoughts were quiet as he found himself face to face with the one situation he’d spent the past two years running away from with all his strength.
Now that he was here…he was going to be free.
He broke into a huge, maniacal grin and let his neck crane back to the ceiling.
~
Minho was released after one night in jail. The police informed him that they didn’t have the evidence to hold him in custody, and that the DA would decide within a few days whether to file the charges. Adrianna was indignant, stating that with the records placing armed gang members with access to the murder weapon at the scene, there was no way it was Minho who was going to be tried for the murder of Mia and her guard.
Detective Dawes handed Minho his phone and wallet. He clutched them both close to his chest, pocketed them, and made his way to the station doors. His brain was silent, spacious. Mindful. Grateful.
As he waited for his phone to boot, he and Adrianna hovered at the door of the police station. She lit a cigarette and lifted her watch to inspect. “If there’s a trial,” she said, exhaling a thin stream of silver. “I’ll be back to represent you. You’ll find out if the charges are going to be filed within the next few days.”
“Okay,” Minho said, shuffling nervously. “Thank you.”
She plucked the cigarette from her mouth and smiled at him sagely. “People like you are the reason I love my work. Systemically oppressed minorities who struggled with addiction and homelessness and nearly received life in prison for a crime they didn’t commit…” She shook her head and glared out across the midday street. “Unfortunately you are not the only one who’s experienced this. I’m glad we could get to the bottom of it.”
Minho gulped and tried to digest her words. He’d never considered himself that way, a person who struggled with addiction and had been oppressed by society’s inability to give him the proper treatment, but…he supposed she was right.
He’d thought running away from Yonghwa would characterize the rest of his life. Now that there was a chance it was ending, that he was free, Minho didn’t know what to say. All he could manage was a weak, “Thanks for your help. Truly.”
“Pleasure.” She strolled towards an approaching taxi and gave him a brisk wave. “Good luck, Minho.”
He stood alone at the top of the station steps, shivering a little as the wind of early December pierced his thick jacket. The sun was bright and gentle on his grimy skin, reminding him that he hadn’t had a proper shower in over a week. He raked his fingers back through his greasy mop of hair. A small crowd bustled along the sidewalk, and the hum of traffic made a part of Minho urge to run away. He imagined the ghost of dangerous eyes following him everywhere he turned wouldn’t disappear overnight.
Minho breathed in a deep, chilly lungful of air. He let it go with a tired smile and murmured, “Cool.”
He shuffled down the steps, daydreaming about getting to hold his cats again.
~
His goal for the evening was to surprise Jisung. He, Sunny, and Trinity had gotten a hotel the night Minho spent in jail, but that morning the college students had gotten a ride back home from Changbin. 3RACHA was performing that evening. As much as he would’ve liked to see Jisung as soon as possible, Minho understood why Jisung needed to begin steering his focus towards music and the stage instead of his boyfriend’s potential murder trial.
When Trinity picked Minho up from the police station, she hugged him so tight that his weak little heart overflowed all over again, but he wiped his tears away before she could notice.
It was only a two hour drive back to the Hub from the police station, but Minho was still antsy he would miss the performance. “Are you sure he doesn’t know I was released already?” Minho asked Trinity as she cruised down the highway. He felt giddy, almost manic with his desire to be back in his room with his cats. “I want to scare the bejeezus out of him.”
“He doesn’t know, Min. Although, you’re a psychopath for not telling him. He’ll probably perform better knowing you’re okay and not in fucking jail.”
“I don’t agree,” Minho said simply, scratching at his itchy scalp with a pout. “He’d be so antsy to come see me again knowing I’m free that he wouldn’t be able to focus on the stage. Trust me.”
“I guess you know better than me.” She cleared her throat and turned down the music, moistening her lips. “You two are…really good together.”
Minho arched an eyebrow and smirked to distract from his reddening ears. “I didn’t ask your opinion, but. Glad you’ve come around.”
“Hey. You did steal my sister’s boyfriend. Made out with him while she was dating him, in fact. In front of my face. The day my dad was in the emergency room.”
“Yes, yes,” he allowed. He picked daintily at a hangnail.
“My baby sister.”
“Yep.”
“Maybe I forgave you too fast for that. But, like.” She chuckled, throaty and exhausted. “I thought there was a chance you were dead last week. Everything else kinda disappeared after that.”
He shot her a concerned glance in time to see her lip wobble. He reached out to her and placed a hand on her shoulder before she could cry in front of him for the second time in a week. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “And thanks. I couldn’t have gotten through this without you.”
She lifted a hand to press over his and squeezed.
~
After taking a long, hot shower, scrubbing every inch of his body, and changing into clean clothes, Minho settled onto the floor of his bedroom. Soonie took his place on his lap, kneading his thigh happily, claws digging in just enough to snag on his pants.
Minho scratched the back of Soonie’s neck with a content grin as he reached out for Doongie, clicking his tongue and making kissy noises. His chest inflated with joy when Doongie butted his fluffy head against Minho’s fist.
There was only one person missing from this picture.
~
The concert hall was the same venue where Minho met Jisung for the first time.
Hyunjin, Felix, and Sunny were waiting for him and Trinity outside, and while Hyunjin’s high pitched sobs when he pulled Minho into his arms were a little melodramatic for Minho’s taste, he was happy to be back with his friends again.
The line to get into the club moved faster than they anticipated, though Minho was antsy, shifting back and forth and glancing around the dark street for suspicious faces.
Once past the bouncer, they took on the growing crowd at the foot of the stage. Sunny led the way, determined as always. She held Minho’s hand and stomped forward, parting the crowd and saying, “Excuse me, thank you, his boyfriend is performing tonight, thank you.”
Minho’s heart pounded, palms sweating as he waited for the boys to emerge. “I don’t wanna mess him up,” he shouted in Sunny’s ear. “What if he sees me and forgets his lyrics?”
“He won’t be able to see you,” Sunny said, glossy lips closing around the straw of her rum and coke. “Too bright on stage and too dark in the audience.”
He hoped she was right.
When the lights dimmed, the crowd’s buzz intensified, drinks thrust up into the foggy nightclub air. Minho gazed up at the stage and grinned as the three boys jogged out into the spotlight.
Jisung looked tired, dark circles under his eyes and a certain tentativeness to his posture, but Minho was sure only those who knew him well could see it. His multicolored, jewel toned bomber jacket drew out the melanin in his skin, and his smile was sleepy and charismatic, taking Minho’s breath away. His chest swelled with pride.
That’s my Jisung, he thought to himself, resting his chin contentedly on his palm. He wondered if seeing Minho again would fill Jisung with the same warmth.
Here, back on the same stage where Minho saw him for the first time, Jisung looked happy. Minho allowed the deja vu to encompass him, basked in it till he was forced to wipe a tear away.
It was time for Minho to face the brighter things ahead of him.
~
part ii. jisung
He performed badly. The worst he’d performed in months, maybe longer than that. He felt like scrubbing his memory clean with alcohol after he jogged off the stage, maybe even shutting himself away for a few days of rehearsal and skill-sharpening after that abomination. He’d messed up his lyrics at least twice.
“That was terrible,” he said, wincing as he massaged the tense band of muscle between his neck and shoulder. He dreaded whatever feedback Chan was about to give him.
“Are you kidding?” Chan pushed open the dressing room door and held it open for the other two, casually spinning his mic with his free hand. “You were on fire.”
“Really?” Jisung frowned, wondering if his self-awareness was really that stunted by stress.
“Yeah!” Changbin peeled off his shirt and began patting his chest and back with a fluffy towel. “You messed up the lyrics like, once. But other than that your energy was really good.”
“Oh.” Jisung sighed heavily, letting some tension seep from his body. “Thank god.”
His feelings were all over the place that day. He’d barely slept the night before in their hotel, tossing and turning as he thought about Minho cold and alone in a jail cell. He’d tried his best to focus on music today, pouring himself into rehearsal with Chan and Changbin, but he’d spent so long checking and rechecking his phone that eventually Chan requested he turn it off.
He couldn’t believe that he’d been perfectly ready to surrender himself to the police for harboring a fugitive the night before. And here he was, back home and simmering with post-stage endorphins, taking a sip of one of Chan’s warm beers.
“Thanks for coming home for this, Sung,” Changbin said, though he kept his eyes averted. He studied the label on the beer can like it was the most intriguing literature he’d read all year. “I know you’re worried about Minho, but we appreciate you focusing on the performance anyway. We wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”
The sentiment, despite Changbin’s discomfort, filled Jisung with a genuine warmth. He deflected by grinning and propping his chin flirtatiously on both palms. “It’s almost like you like me or something.”
“Absolutely not. Get out. We’re replacing you immediately.”
Jisung giggled, smoothing his sweaty hair back. He sat down on a vanity stool and looked in the mirror, wiping some bleeding eyeliner from the inner corner of his eye. The dressing room door swung open over his shoulder.
He watched absentmindedly as Hyunjin’s reflection pushed into the room, sporting a gleeful smile as he approached Changbin. Felix came next, followed by Sunny, then…
Trinity. Trinity?
Jisung sat up so quickly that his stool toppled to the floor. He spun around to face her. Why was she here? She’d promised to stay in Grand Rapids till Minho was free. Was Minho there alone? In jail, friendless, cold, scared?
Just as these questions formed in the back of his throat, a fifth person shuffled into the room behind Trinity.
Jisung did a double take.
Minho was so beautiful. He was sure he’d gazed fondly at his boyfriend a million times by now, but his effortless good looks never failed to stun Jisung to speechlessness. He practically glowed, little patches of red adorning his cheeks, dewy yellow light sparkling in his dark eyes. His plump lips pursed as he fought back a grin.
Dream. This was a dream. Fuck, Jisung never wanted to wake up.
To his embarrassment, a tidal wave of emotions crumpled him, right in front of his friends. He couldn’t help it when he choked on a sob and buried his face in his hands.
Minho closed the space between them with two long strides and wound his arms around Jisung gently. “Hey,” Minho laughed, the tip of his nose skimming Jisung’s neck. “Good job tonight.”
“Am I dreaming?” Jisung whimpered, still hiding behind his hands. He was dimly aware of his friends going awwwww, nearly drowned out by the ringing in his ears.
“Nope.” Minho planted a soft kiss beneath Jisung’s jaw. “Well, I hope not. Otherwise this is a really intense hallucinogenic experience for me.”
Jisung giggled, rooting his fingers in Minho’s soft, fluffy hair. “Oh my god,” he sighed, happily nuzzling Minho’s shoulder. His heart was pounding, making it hard not to lose his footing and melt right into Minho’s chest. “You showered.”
Minho snorted. “Nice to see you too.”
Jisung couldn’t stop laughing, wiping some built up tears. He pulled back so he could look at Minho, smoothing his hands down his boyfriend’s shoulders before holding his face in both hands. He was the most precious like this, in Jisung’s arms, close enough to kiss.
Minho’s eyes shone with familiar, spirited amusement. He looked happy. He looked free.
“What happened?” Jisung pouted, leaning forward to kiss him. He expected it to be chaste, a lighthearted greeting if nothing else, but Minho moaned softly into the contact and lifted his arms to wrap around Jisung’s neck, leaning into him and parting his lips, hot and eager.
Jisung’s uncontrollable grin broke their kiss. He squeezed Minho’s waist, feeling the familiar bumps of his ribs and plushness of his skin. Minho impatiently kissed just above his upper lip as he smiled, then each corner of his mouth, his chin, the little mole on his cheek. “Hi,” Jisung whispered, arching his neck so Minho could pepper kisses all over his cheek. “Hi, baby.”
“Missed you so much,” Minho groaned, letting his forehead fall heavily onto Jisung’s shoulder.
“What happened?” Jisung tried again, wiggling closer till his face was fully buried in Minho’s neck. He breathed in deeply, let his lower lip drag over Minho’s pulse point. “You smell so good.”
“They let me go,” Minho murmured. “After I added the flash drive to the police report.”
Jisung tugged Minho’s head up gently by his hair. They stared at each other for a moment, Jisung searching Minho’s eyes, which crinkled as he fought back a grin. Jisung’s mouth was dry as he asked, “Just…just like that?”
“Well.” Minho grimaced and linked his fingers over the small of Jisung’s back. “The DA has to decide whether there’s sufficient proof to take it to trial, but. I imagine it’ll be Yonghwa’s trial, not mine.”
“Wow,” Jisung breathed. Relief sprinted chaotically through his bloodstream like a torchrunner, and he fought back the urge to race around the room screaming and pumping his fists. This wasn’t about him. So instead he brushed some soft, light brown hair from Minho’s eyes, eliciting a pleased hum. “How do you feel?”
“Mmm.” Minho leaned forward and kissed Jisung again, soft and barely there, more times than Jisung could count. When the feather-light pressure of his lips started to tickle, Jisung giggled, and Minho’s smile was breathtaking through Jisung’s half-shut eyes. “Like I want you to take me home,” Minho admitted, thumbs cradling Jisung’s jaw. “Like I wanna forget the last month.”
Jisung exhaled, fingers digging into Minho’s waist. He bit his lip when Minho’s fingers skimmed beneath his jacket and traced the curve of his biceps. He could feel neediness radiating off Minho, punctuated by the way he dug his nails lightly into Jisung’s pecs. “Mm,” Jisung hummed, slipping his fingers under Minho’s sweater and caressing the warm skin of his hips. “Whatever you want, baby.”
~
When Changbin dropped them off at the Hub, the first thing they did was curl up on the couch in each other’s arms. Minho sat with his thighs in Jisung’s lap, fluffy head tucked under his chin. Jisung couldn’t stop smiling, squealing quietly, and kissing Minho’s hair. Finally , Minho was here with him. Safe.
He tightened his arms around Minho’s waist, still scared he would disappear in a puff of smoke.
“Did you get arrested for harboring a fugitive?” Minho mumbled against Jisung’s throat.
“No,” Jisung chuckled, blockading the anxiety-inducing memory before he could immerse himself in it. “I told them you found me, not the other way around. They didn’t ask too many questions.”
“Luckily you’re cute as fuck. They probably took one look at you and knew you’re an angel.”
Jisung scoffed, embarrassed, and gave Minho’s ass a light smack. “That’s you.”
“Mm.” Minho wiggled out from under Jisung’s chin and swung a leg over his hip to straddle him. Jisung was faced with all the glory of having Minho in his lap, taking in the view of his boyfriend’s flushed grin and soft, sleepy gaze. He lifted a palm to caress Minho’s cheek and cooed when Minho nuzzled into his touch.
“Aren’t you tired?” Jisung whispered.
“No,” Minho said, pouting. His small fingers poked out from his sleeves and pushed up Jisung’s shirt, dancing a delicate pattern over his tummy. “I want you,” he admitted, lashes casting shadows over his cheeks as he shyly looked down. “Missed you so much.”
Jisung breathed out, heart thumping at the words. His abs twitched beneath Minho’s soft touch. His head fell back against the couch when Minho mouthed at his neck, teeth scraping over thin skin.
“I’m sorry,” Minho went on. He dipped his tongue into the hollow of Jisung’s collarbone and made him shiver. “I know I’ve been the worst boyfriend on the planet lately.”
“You’ve had a lot going on,” Jisung laughed, moving his fingers to squeeze Minho’s thighs. His muscles flexed at the contact, and Jisung squeezed harder, digging his fingers into the meat of his legs. “Fuck,” he groaned, smoothing his hands up to Minho’s ass. “Feel like I’m gonna wake up and be back to worrying about you alone in jail.”
“Can’t believe you drove to Grand Rapids to come find me,” Minho whimpered, like Jisung being a passenger in a two hour car ride was the hottest thing he’d ever done. “You crazy fucking man.”
Jisung kissed him again, flicking his tongue out to deepen their kiss, nipping at Minho’s puffy bottom lip. “I’d do anything for you,” he mumbled, slipping his hands under the waistband of Minho’s jeans to palm his ass through his briefs.
“And you walked me right to the police station. I was a fucking murder suspect.”
“An innocent one,” Jisung reminded him, popping the button of Minho’s jeans and dragging the zipper down. Minho sighed, cupping Jisung’s pecs and squeezing, dragging his fingertips over Jisung’s nipples till he hissed, “ Fuck, Minho.”
“You’re amazing,” Minho sighed between wet, greedy kisses to Jisung’s neck. He rolled his hips greedily, grinding against Jisung’s hardening length. “My baby. I love you so much.”
Jisung giggled, flustered from the uncharacteristic affection. “Near-life in prison experiences make you such a romantic.”
“Sorry. I’m being gross, I know.”
“No,” Jisung whined, gripping Minho’s ass and urging him closer. They grinded together slowly, their foreheads pressed together, lips brushing with their shaky breaths. His voice came out soft as he said, “You’re perfect.”
Minho let out a feeble sigh, lashes fluttering. The tips of their noses bumped together, and Jisung nuzzled him before giving him a soft kiss, keeping his eyes wide open. Minho did too, dark, sparkly gaze transparently fond as he stared back at Jisung.
Jisung lost track of how long they kissed like this, unhurried, safe. Minho’s lips were so silky, sensitive enough that he shuddered when Jisung nipped at them. Minho tasted Jisung like he’d been craving him for days, releasing the cutest little noises as their tongues moved together languidly. Jisung drank him up, reacquainting himself with Minho’s quirks and greedily biting, licking, sucking softly down his neck. Panting lightly against Minho’s jaw, Jisung couldn’t help a low moan when Minho’s clothed cock teased over his just right.
Minho tumbled off Jisung’s lap and wrestled his jeans from his legs urgently, throwing them to the floor. Jisung stared, eating up the sight of Minho’s bare legs, the color of honeyed milk and curved with muscle. Deprived, he leapt forward and grabbed Minho’s thighs ceremoniously.
Minho yelped, giggling and relaxing against the arm of the couch as Jisung settled between his bare legs. Jisung wasted no time hooking his arms beneath Minho’s knees and easing them further apart so he could bury his face in Minho’s thigh.
“Mmm,” he hummed, kissing from the bottom of Minho’s briefs to the inside of his knee. He was so warm, skin velvety, pulsing with his scent. He bit down, feeling the tender flesh drag between his teeth and sucking till he left a mauve mark. “Your thighs are the eighth wonder of the world.”
“Shut up.” Minho’s whine sputtered into a flustered giggle. His feet pawed at the couch cushions.
Jisung ran his hand down Minho’s thigh, pressing down on the hickey he’d left. Minho jerked a little, spine arching at the contact, and Jisung peered up to see Minho’s bitten, parted lips shape into the words, “Please, Jisungie.”
“What do you want, baby?” Jisung tried not to show the way the words made him shiver. It’d been a while since he’d gotten to see Minho like this, vulnerable and needy, fully in the moment with him. He smoothed Minho’s sweater up to his sternum, letting his fingertips tease over his sensitive tummy. He couldn’t bite back a sadistic grin when he saw goosebumps rise on Minho’s skin, and he shoved Minho’s shirt up higher to see his nipples harden.
“Stop,” Minho wined, knees drawing together, blocking Jisung’s face from his view.
“Sorry,” Jisung giggled, hooking an arm around both of Minho’s legs and squeezing endearingly. “You’re so beautiful. Wanna see every part of you.”
Minho grumbled to himself, ears and neck flushed red as he tugged his sweater over his head.
Jisung shifted so he could rest his cheek on Minho’s knee. It was clear that Minho had lost weight, at least in his upper half; his arms were a bit slimmer, ribs straining against what used to be soft and plush. Pure red anger blotched Jisung’s mind at the thought of Minho starving and alone, on the run. Scared.
Minho closed in on himself shyly, arms folding over his chest. Jisung made it his personal mission to never stop reminding him how beautiful he was, always.
He ducked down and kissed Minho’s belly, humming happily when Minho’s thighs parted to accommodate him. “Missed you,” he whispered, dancing his tongue up Minho’s stomach. “So pretty, Min.”
Minho’s arms fell to the side with a timid whine, and Jisung attached his mouth to one of his nipples, flicking his tongue over the pink bud and teasing it till it was pert and wet and Minho was writhing beneath him. He took his time with Minho’s chest, knowing how sensitive it was, leaving slow licks and teases of pain where his teeth sank in, just how Minho liked.
When he was done, he sat up to admire the pattern of hickeys all over Minho’s chest, tracing them with his thumb. He spent so long sitting there staring that Minho grew fidgety and impatient. “Jisung,” he urged, scrabbling at the bottom of Jisung’s shirt. “C’mon.”
Jisung grinned, somewhere between proud and guilty of how captivated he was, and peeled his own shirt over his head. Then he rid Minho of his briefs, dragging them down his thighs and humming as he took in the sight of his boyfriend spread out before him, naked and wanting.
“Can I eat you out?” he asked, a suggestive half-grin lifting his cheek against Minho’s naked thigh.
Minho nodded, wiping his nose in a vain effort to hide his blush. “Get the lube.”
“Come to bed, baby.”
Moments later, Jisung swiped the bed curtain to the side to find Minho sprawled out on his belly, one leg crooked beneath him. Jisung grazed a hand up Minho’s thigh, mapping out his silky skin before grabbing his ass and pulling him apart. He cursed under his breath at the sight of his hole. “Jesus,” he sighed, uncapping the lube and pouring a drizzle right over the cleft of his ass. “You’re so sexy.”
When he bent to lick him up, Minho released a symphony of feathery little whines, shifting and rutting against the bedding. Jisung gripped his thighs to hold him still. He pressed him open with two thumbs and teased his tongue over him, feeling his hole clench from the glide. He smacked his ass lightly, then a second time harder, shuddering when the spark of pain dragged a choked moan from Minho’s throat.
“Jisungie,” Minho breathed, arching his back impatiently. “Please…”
Jisung smacked Minho’s thigh, watching as it jiggled from the impact before kneading the flushed skin. He spat onto Minho’s hole and then mouthed over it, using his tongue and his lips to tease his sensitive entrance. He could feel the wet muscle loosen with every touch, attentive as it eagerly fluttered against his tongue, sucking him in. When Jisung stiffened his tongue and slid it inside him, Minho groaned like he was taking a cock, breaths haggard. His hand flailed behind him to take a handful of Jisung’s hair.
Jisung worked him open slowly, losing himself in Minho’s sweet sounds. He played with Minho’s ass with two hands, kneading and squeezing until Minho was bouncing back against Jisung’s tongue and begging for a finger. Jisung fucked his tongue in and out of him deep and thorough, slicking him up. When he was wet enough Jisung crooked a finger alongside his tongue and curled it towards his prostate.
Minho bowed up from the bed, a broken wail catching in his throat. “ Fuck,” he gasped, clenching tight around Jisung’s finger.
Jisung pulled back from Minho’s ass with a smacking sound, licking over his stretched, pulsing entrance and slipping in a second finger. He started to finger fuck him quickly, drinking in the wet sounds of lube and skin and shameless moans, feeling eager to see his cock enveloped in Minho’s heat. He left wet kisses over the curve of his ass all the while, occasionally landing ringing slaps on his thighs, his cock twitching every time Minho clenched around his fingers.
Minho shifted onto his back while Jisung rolled the condom on. Jisung slicked himself up with lube and eased Minho’s legs apart gently. When he positioned himself to push inside, he met Minho’s eyes, suddenly feeling shy.
Minho smiled up at him, lax against the bedding, some hair falling messily over his brows. “Hi.”
Jisung grinned, laughing quietly. He gave Minho’s leg a gentle squeeze and kissed the top of his knee. “You’re precious to me.”
Minho pouted, clearly caught off guard. His eyes sparkled with something, concern, maybe fondness, as they searched Jisung’s. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Jisung leaned down, planting his elbows on either side of Minho and giving him a slow, warm kiss. “Just missed you,” he mumbled, punctuating it with a kiss to the tip of Minho’s nose. “Gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget you were in jail this morning.”
Minho burst into a flurry of giggles, lightly slapping Jisung’s shoulder. “Prove it.”
Jisung bit his own lip, feigning nervousness. “Damn, I’ve set the bar high for myself now.”
“Ha.” Minho combed his fingernails through Jisung’s hair slowly. His expression was calm, utterly serene, lips twitching into a gentle smile. “Just being with you makes me forget the shit I’ve been through.”
Jisung’s heart squeezed like Minho had reached right through his ribs and wrapped his little hands around it. “Me too,” he whispered. He took a hold of Minho’s cock and stroked him slowly, keeping his eyes trained on Minho’s, feeling it with his whole body every time Minho’s lips twitched around a quiet moan.
“Please,” Minho whimpered, fingers tightening in Jisung’s hair. His eyebrows were upturned, lips swollen and glistening. “Fuck me.”
Jisung didn’t waste a single second doing anything but that. Minho moaned, gasping to catch his breath, as he was stretched open. Jisung took in the sight of him with his head spinning. He looked so small like this, toes curled, little fingers digging into the plushness of his thighs, eyes shining with want.
Jisung snapped his hips forward, thrusting in all the way and drawing a broken sound from Minho. “Fuck, ” Jisung whined, grabbing a tight hold of Minho’s thighs and pressing them down as he fucked into him in a slow, deep rhythm.
Minho reached his arms up, eyes blinking with a wordless plea, and Jisung dove down to meet him in an urgent kiss.
They took it slow for a while. Jisung fucked him like he had all the time in the world, drunk with the feeling of Minho so warm and slick, tightening and fluttering around him. Their chests were pressed together, Minho’s pebbled nipples brushing against Jisung’s. Minho’s legs were wrapped tight around Jisung’s waist as he played with the roots of Jisung’s hair, pulling lightly.
Jisung looked at him, awed. He was worried his heart would burst from how much…how much he was feeling. Minho combed his fingers through Jisung’s hair and smiled, eyes sparkling, before murmuring, “You’re so pretty, Jisungie.”
Jisung laughed, leaning down to rest his forehead on Minho’s. “Nowhere near as pretty as you.”
“Yeah?” Minho’s hand came up to grab Jisung’s ass and squeeze, making him moan. “You like how hyung looks stuffed full of your cock?”
“Fuck,” Jisung gritted, planting his hands on the bedding and snapping his hips foreward harder, chasing the feeling of Minho’s tight hole sucking him in. “God, you feel so good, baby.”
Minho arched at the words, one hand scrabbling at the head board. “Harder,” he pleaded, tears welling up behind fluffy lashes. “Please, darling…”
Jisung groaned and sat up, hiking Minho’s thighs over his arms and dragging his body closer. He started to fuck him hard, hips slapping Minho’s ass with every thrust. Minho’s mouth fell open as he was fucked, little whimpers spilling from his swollen lips.
“Oh, fuck,” Jisung breathed, bringing a hand down to slap Minho’s thigh. Minho gasped, hole tightening around him, his cock bouncing against his belly as Jisung fucked him into the mattress. “God, you’re amazing, Minho.”
“M’close,” Minho whined, moving a hand to start pumping himself. His brows were furrowed, eyes teary and overwhelmed, stomach rising and falling rapidly. His chest glistened with sweat, and Jisung couldn’t resist sliding his hand over it, grabbing his peck and twisting his nipple. Minho threw his head back and keened, his eyes squeezed shut as he squeaked, “Oh, fuck, Sungie…”
Jisung pounded him just where he needed it, jaw clenched with determination, fingers digging marks into Minho’s hips. Minho’s mouth fell open in a silent moan, his hand scrambling to hold Jisung’s, and then his body convulsed as his orgasm hit him.
Jisung was embarrassed by how much he loved watching his boyfriend come. Minho was normally so composed, so quiet and mysterious and in control, that it was unearthly to see his walls crumble. His neck arched back with a pretty moan, biceps flexing as he clutched Jisung’s arms, spurts of cum coating his flushed torso.
Jisung stared, watching with a slackened jaw as he continued to pound Minho’s fucked out hole. He was so tight, twitching and hot around him from his orgasm.
“That’s it, baby,” Minho gasped, his voice tired and scratchy. He gazed up at Jisung with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Come for me.”
Jisung finished with Minho’s name on his lips, coming so hard his feet cramped up, releasing a throaty groan against Minho’s jaw. When he realized he’d accidentally drooled on his boyfriend’s neck, he licked it up with a soft apology, making Minho snort.
Through the process of cleaning up, they barely broke contact with each other once. Their hands entangled as they made their way to the bathroom, arms bumping in the shower, chins hooked over shoulders as they washed each other.
After a long shower, they curled up facing one another in Minho’s bed, enjoying the silky feeling of fresh sheets.
Jisung caressed Minho’s cheekbone, whose eyes blinked open, sleepy and curious. Minho’s plush lips crinkled with a tiny smile. “What?”
“Nothing,” he hummed, stroking the wet hair from Minho’s eyes. “Glad you’re back.”
“Me too.” Minho’s eyes grew far away. His pink tongue poked out to lick his lip, bunny teeth digging into his bottom lip.
“Baby?”
Minho shook his head with a smile, but Jisung couldn’t help but think it looked a bit melancholy. “Ah. I was just thinking.”
Jisung hummed, intertwining his fingers with Minho’s between them.
Minho was quiet for a few breaths, cluttered thoughts visibly shifting behind his eyes. “A year ago, I was in rehab.”
Jisung raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. For some reason he’d thought it was longer ago than that. “Last December?”
“Yeah. Last November and December. I got back just before the New Year.”
“Mm.” Jisung smiled, his heart fluttering with pride. Minho was unbelievably strong, so modest and humble. He’d been through so much and still had such a kind heart. He didn’t have the proper words to tell him this, so he just squeezed Minho’s hand and brought it up to his lips for a kiss.
“I was so…” Minho laughed, eyes crinkling, lashes cast down. The sight of his sleepy smile made Jisung’s belly flutter. “I was lost.” He sighed. “Luckily quitting drinking wasn’t as hard for me as it is for some people, but…it took a long time for me to feel like I was strong enough to leave Yonghwa.”
“It’s been quite a year,” Jisung commented.
Minho nodded. He sighed, smoothing his thumb over Jisung’s knuckles. “Yeah. A year ago I was dating him, doing gang work, drinking myself half to death with absolutely no financial independence…” He shyly met Jisung’s eyes. “Meeting you…really turned things around for me.”
Jisung’s heart skipped a beat at the rare sentimental reflection. “Really?”
“Mhm.” Minho smiled, tired eyes flicking back and forth between Jisung’s. “Wish I was better at telling you all the time.”
“You do,” Jisung murmured. “I’ve always felt safe with you. Like you care about me and would never judge me.”
“Oh!” Minho’s sudden outburst made Jisung jump, and Minho broke into an apologetic grin. “How was your trip to Chicago?”
“Really nice,” Jisung admitted. “Jae and Adam are great. I’m excited for you to meet them.”
“Maybe for Christmas,” Minho suggested, a pretty smile unfolding across his pink cheeks.
“Mm.” Jisung pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. “Sounds perfect.”
~
Yonghwa was arrested on the fourth of December, two days after Minho was released.
News of his arrest, his crimes, and his attempt to frame Minho spread rampant through the media. Five others went down with him, the higher-ups in his organization whose names Adrianna had no choice to give to the police in order to clear Minho.
At first, Yonghwa attempted to turn the murder charge around on Minho. But when further investigation led to absolutely no evidence of Minho ever being involved with Yonghwa’s illicit activities, Yonghwa could only flounder and plead guilty to second degree murder.
Yonghwa’s guilty plea cleared Minho’s name, just like that.
It wasn’t so simple for Minho, though.
Before the verdict, Minho was asked to speak as a witness for the prosecution. When he was first informed of this, he’d decided to do it immediately despite Jisung’s insistence that there was no obligation. Minho was adamant that he would do whatever needed to be done to ensure Yonghwa couldn’t slip between the law’s fingers. A free Yonghwa meant a risky life for Minho, and by default for Jisung.
He was anxious for weeks leading up to the trial, in his stoic, Minho way. Jisung was proud of him for seeking comfort from his friends and his boyfriend instead of isolating himself, though.
At the trial, Minho did well, remaining calm and composed as he was grilled with questions from Yonghwa’s defense lawyer. But from the benches Jisung could see nerves crawling through his boyfriend’s faux unbothered posture.
The jury vote was unanimous.
When Yonghwa was sentenced to ten years in prison, Jisung leapt with joy, hands forming delighted fists, grinning as he sought Minho among the crowd. Minho was happy too, laughing like a madman when he stepped out of the courthouse, but he was quiet as Jisung drove them back to the Hub.
“Hey,” Jisung said, reaching across the console to squeeze Minho’s hand. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” Minho said, sounding uncertain. He squeezed Jisung’s hand back, loosening some of his worries. “I’m okay. It’s just…” He trailed off for a moment, and then never went on. Jisung allowed him his silence, figuring he needed time to think about everything that’d happened.
He had no way of fully understanding how complicated all this was for Minho.
Only when they were in bed that night, quietly watching a youtube video on Jisung’s phone while petting Soonie and Doongie between them, did Minho go on. “It’s just that,” Minho said, keeping his gaze firmly on the content of beluga whales, white and blue reflected in his dark eyes. “I think I’ll need some time.”
Jisung, who had no idea what Minho was talking about, frowned and paused the video. “Huh?”
“Yonghwa.” Minho hid his face in Jisung’s chest. “He…”
Jisung realized that Minho was about to express his feelings on the matter and bit his lip to keep quiet, stroking Minho’s bare arm where it peaked from his pajama shirt.
“He made me feel reliant on him for a long time,” Minho said. “He was… grooming me to be too afraid to leave him. And I brushed off most of it, but.” He sighed shakily, curling up into a smaller shape in Jisung’s arms, accidentally easing Soonie closer to Doongie with his foot. “It’s hard not to feel like he’s gonna get me back for this.”
“Understandable.” To say the least, Jisung thought. He was afraid of Yonghwa himself, and had barely met him once. “He’s locked away where he can’t get you, though. He won’t have the power he used to have when he gets out, and you can get a restraining order in ten years if you choose to.” He kissed the top of Minho’s head. “You’re safe,” he said earnestly. “But it’s okay to be scared. I’m scared, too.”
“Mmm.” Minho’s little hand found Jisung’s, warm fingers slipping between his. Jisung hummed at the familiar thud of Minho’s pulse against the dip of his thumb. “I signed up for therapy,” he admitted, and Jisung’s eyebrows shot up. “First appointment is Thursday.”
“Proud of you,” Jisung said honestly. Going to therapy was never an easy choice, especially for someone who hated being vulnerable. “I hope you like it. Or, get some value from it, anyway.”
“I’m happy,” Minho said, catching Jisung off guard. “Maybe that’s why I’m going. Feels easier to talk about stuff when I’m not so sad. I just don’t…” He paused, playing with Jisung’s shirt as he thought. “I don’t wanna process this incorrectly and break down when it catches up to me.”
“It’s probably smart to start unpacking the trauma of witnessing a murder, being accused of it, being released, and then speaking at the trial of the actual killer, yeah.”
Minho snorted. “Casual Tuesday for me.”
Jisung chuckled, kissed Minho’s temple, and lifted the beluga video to press play.
-
-
Eighteen Months Later
After Jisung, Chan, and Changbin were hired to work as a team of producers for a record label, Jisung struggled like hell to get through his last semester of college. Knowing he had a well-paying job lined up made class and homework feel like pulling teeth.
Plus, he’d signed a lease starting right after graduation. So his final semester was spent waiting around to move into an apartment with Minho. With Minho.
The move was relatively seamless. Thankfully, they’d been dating long enough (somewhere between a year and a half and two years now—Jisung was bad at months math) that Minho wasn’t surprised by Jisung’s tendency to be a slob. Still, they had their occasional spat about Jisung leaving the cabinets open, setting greasy pans on the stove and forgetting about them all day, parking his car in Minho’s parking spot…which, by the way, was bullshit because their parking spots were unassigned and perfectly interchangeable.
Jisung thought the way Minho got peeved at him for being sloppy was cute, though. That solidified his inkling that this was the person he was going to spend the rest of his life with.
It was July. Two months after Jisung graduated college and moved into his apartment with Minho. A year after Minho got his full time job teaching dance at a studio downtown.
Two years since Minho left Yonghwa and, if Jisung was being honest, since they started falling in love.
After Yonghwa was sentenced, Minho moved out of his Hub room and into a two-bedroom condo with Trinity upon her lease ending. Jisung lived with just Chan for his senior year. This was following Changbin’s spontaneous decision to move in with Hyunjin, forcing a dismayed Felix to cohabitate with the couple until it became pretty clear to everyone that he loved them almost as much as they loved each other.
Now, Chan had a bachelor pad downtown where he often hosted their group of friends. Trinity was buying a house with Molly, the girl she’d asked to marry her six months before. Sunny was living in Germany for the summer, studying abroad and, as she explained to Jisung, “getting that European dick before I have to face the reality of my student loans.”
And now Minho was here. With Jisung.
Their new place was nicer than the two bedroom Jisung had with Chan earlier that year. It was cozy, with one bedroom and an office Jisung called his “music gremlin cave.” The kitchen was well-equipped and updated, to Minho’s delight, and there were plenty of cozy nooks and crannies for Soonie and Doongie to hide in.
The third cat was still a baby, and Minho was more stressed than Jisung had ever seen him as they made their way through the adoption process. As they sat on their couch filling out paperwork, Minho asked, “What if Soonie and Doongie don’t get along with him?” He watched Jisung with big, genuine eyes. “They’ve been so used to each other for four years now. What if they bully him?”
“They won’t. You’ve met Dori. He’s way less of a pushover than they are.” Jisung wound his arm around Minho’s shoulders and patted the back of his hair absentmindedly, which was now its natural silky black.
“They’re a team of evil demons, though. They could scare off a lion.”
Jisung snorted. Minho pinned him with an unamused glower, and Jisung held up his hands, surrendering to Minho’s insistence that Soonie and Doongie were ferocious beasts.
Minho went to bed early that night, the stress of Dori’s adoption the next morning weighing on him, so Jisung cleaned up in the kitchen and accepted his boyfriend’s sleepy good night kiss. When he was done with the dishes, he settled into his office, coaxing Doongie off his desk so he could boot up his computer and play some video games before bed.
His phone lit up on the desktop, vibrating with a call from his mom.
He picked it up with a tired, “Hi, umma.”
“Hi, Jisung. Sorry to call so late. Have I caught you at a bad time?”
“Nuh-uh, I’m still up.” He stifled a yawn and patted his lap for Doongie to hop up when he wouldn’t stop mewling at his feet. “How are you?”
“I’m good. I won’t keep you long. I know how you love your evenings.”
Jisung smiled, spinning happily in his chair as he stroked between Doongie’s ears. It had taken some time, almost a year of tension and strained talks that often ended in raised voices, but he and his mom were back to the closeness they’d had before he came out.
He knew it wouldn’t be long before he had to tell his dad and brother that he was dating and living with a man, but for now…he figured he’d enjoy the civility he’d built with his mom.
“I wanted to tell you something,” she went on. “And…take it how you will, but. Jihyun and Hyoyeon’s wedding is coming.”
“Right,” Jisung said, cursing himself internally for forgetting to congratulate his brother. “Is there a date set?”
“No, but…your grandma’s ring, do you remember it? The one my dad gave her before he died and before he could marry her?”
Jisung frowned, wondering where she was going with this. Doongie stood, threatening abandonment when Jisung’s pets slowed, so he resumed diligently scratching his neck till Doongie settled back down. “Um, yeah. Why?”
“Hyoyeon didn’t want it. Jihyun got her a different one. I’m just wondering if…” she chuckled, embarrassment coloring her voice, and the blood drained from Jisung’s face as he realized what she was getting at. “I’m not sure if it’s Minho’s style. But he’s a man of taste, so I’m wondering if one day, maybe, he would want to receive it from you.”
Jisung felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs with a power vacuum.
She wanted to pass her mom’s wedding ring down to Jisung. To give to Minho.
He couldn’t contain a flustered laugh, smiling ear to ear at the thought. She was accepting it. His mom was coming to terms with Jisung marrying a man.
Although, when he pushed through a hurricane of adoration and giddiness, he remembered Minho didn’t really wear rings, especially big or flashy ones. “What does it look like?” he asked, chewing on his fingernail.
“I’ll send you a picture. It’s small. Hyoyeon wanted a bigger one. It seems more Minho’s style to me. He has those long silver earrings. This would go nicely with them.”
Jisung bit his lip. His heart skipped, joyous and light like it was riding a gust of wind. “Yeah, let me see. It sounds like he would like it.”
His phone buzzed, so he pulled it from his ear to open up the messaging app, neglecting Doongie long enough that he leapt to the floor. He tapped on the picture from his mom and studied the little silver ring on her writing desk.
It was small, simple, and studded with a tiny blue stone in the center of the band.
Jisung didn’t like to think of himself as a basic bitch who swooned at the sight of the perfect wedding ring, but he couldn’t help the surge of emotion that tugged at his chest. “It’s lovely,” he said breathlessly, saving the picture and sticking it in a folder Minho wouldn’t see. “Thank you, umma. I love it. So will he.”
“You think so? Good. I thought so, too.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll send it this afternoon.”
“Thank you. Love you.”
“Love you too, son. I’ll let you go. Call me when it gets there, okay?”
“Of course. Bye, umma.”
He sat back with his head spinning, fingers flexing excitedly on the arms of his chair. It was still too early, seeing as he and Minho had only just started discussing the subject of marriage. But…maybe next summer on their three year anniversary, he’d ask.
For now, he looked forward to adopting a third baby with his favorite person.
~
“Hurry up,” Minho whined, glancing warily around the grocery store. His small fingers clutched Dori’s cat carrier with knuckle-whitening force. “Dori needs to go home.”
“Dori, or you?” Jisung asked, lifting two brands of the same flavor of tea. “Do you think this is worth $4.99?”
Minho’s chin came to rest on Jisung’s shoulder, heavy and sleepy. His voice was soft as he said, “Yeah, that’s the good shit. Get two boxes.”
“We have so much tea, though,” Jisung sighed, chewing his lip. They’d only come into the store for kitty litter, but this was quickly becoming an undertaking as they continued to realize more necessities missing from their house.
“C’mon.” Minho nuzzled Jisung’s neck with the pointy tip of his nose, drawing a giggle from him. “You know you want it.”
“Please don’t make me make a decision,” Jisung sighed, sagging backward when Minho’s arms wrapped around his middle. “I just know I want this flavor. Jae says it’s really good.”
“Mm.” Minho dropped a kiss on Jisung’s cheek, grabbed one box of the cheaper brand, and let it fall into the shopping basket. “Let’s go, we need toilet paper.”
Dori meowed unhappily from his carrier as they walked, and Minho immediately started cooing, ignoring the curious glances from other shoppers. “I know, I know,” he soothed, walking slower, smoothening his steps. “We’re almost done, baby.”
Jisung let his feet drag as he walked, trailing behind Minho so he could watch him. He looked especially cute today, dressed in a pair of black jeans and a simple white t-shirt. He’d spiffed up a little bit to pick up Dori because he wanted to “dress for the occasion,” and Jisung had made fun of him even though he thought it was painfully cute.
Everything Minho did was so cute to Jisung.
Minho turned, eyebrows furrowed into an angry V. “Three cats and one person are all waiting on you right now.”
“Sorry,” Jisung said with an impish grin, skipping forward and winding his arm around Minho’s waist. “Just wanted to check you out for a second.”
“Pfft.” Minho rolled his eyes, but Jisung smugly grabbed the tip of his reddening ear before letting him go.
They made it to the toilet paper aisle with minimal stress. Jisung grabbed the package so Minho wouldn’t have to carry it in addition to Dori.
Minho looked at him, his puffy lips curved into a little pout. He blinked slowly, owlishly, like he did when he was deep in thought. His chin tipped up to the ceiling. As his lips parted, his lashes fluttered against his brow bone, long and fluffy.
He was so pretty.
“Oh!” Minho made a tiny, triumphant fist. “I know what we need.”
“Hmm?”
Minho continued talking, wide-eyed and earnest, but Jisung just gazed at him. He thought about the conversation he had with his mom the night before. Marriage. In a year, maybe a year from today, he’d ask Minho to marry him. Minho would probably find the anniversary of Dori’s adoption a cuter sentiment than the anniversary of their first date, anyway.
When Jisung kept on staring dumbly, Minho’s shoulders slumped with exasperation. “Are you even listening? Is your hearing failing?”
Jisung dropped the package of toilet paper, which fell to the glossy floor with a thunk. Minho watched it with his jaw indignantly slack. Jisung strolled forward and held Minho’s cheeks, angling their faces to align perfectly, and pressed his lips to his boyfriend’s.
Minho made a faint noise of surprise. His free hand came up to hold Jisung’s waist, a finger winding around his belt loop. Minho’s kisses were always so soft, gentle but purposeful. He always kissed Jisung back like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Jisung pulled back with a grin. Minho’s eyes fluttered, cheeks reddening as he mumbled, “What was that for?”
“Nothing.” Jisung’s hand lifted to skim over Minho’s wrist, the one that held Dori’s carrier. “I’m so happy we have him now.”
Minho’s eyes sparkled, lips tightening into a frown to hide a smile. “Cheesy.”
“What did you remember we needed?”
“Oh…” Minho blinked, scratching behind a glowing ear. “I don’t remember.”
Jisung hid his cocky smirk by giving him another quick kiss, uncaring of the passersby. His movements were smug, like he had the hottest boyfriend in the world—which he did—as he dipped down to snatch up the bundle of toilet paper and sauntered off.
They stood in the checkout line intertwined. Jisung kept his arm securely wrapped around Minho’s waist, enjoying the familiar thrum of his warmth in the chilly store.
After they bought their kitty litter, tea, and toilet paper, Jisung smiled at the cashier and accepted the receipt. He passed it onto Minho, since Jisung always lost receipts or shredded them in his pocket with fidgety fingers.
Minho took the paper with a smile. When it was pocketed he reached a relaxed hand out, palm facing up, for Jisung to hold. “Ready to go home?” he asked.
Jisung returned the smile. He slid his fingers between Minho’s and squeezed. “Yeah.”
-
-
-
The end
Notes:
(ok u can skip this if u don't want to read me being sentimental and cheesy af)
This story ended up being over 600 pages, 1.5 spaced 12 point font. If you read the entire thing....bravo!!! I am so grateful that you invested so much time and emotional energy in this work.
This was a tough story to write for a lot of reasons, but it was also so rewarding. Writing these characters taught me so much about my own mental health, sexuality, and coping mechanisms. This story is a piece of my soul and it still feels very vulnerable to share it with you, but you've been so unbelievably kind and full of love when responding to each chapter.
Like many other fics out there, COH is definitely an anthem of queer love, mental health struggles, overcoming trauma, and finding chosen family. I hope you all feel connected with it too, and can identify with this little world I've created and see it as a safe space to revisit.
I'm just so thankful. I appreciate you coming along on this journey with me. I can't wait to continue contributing to the great minsung archive. You have been so incredible... and I wanted to say THANK YOU!!!
Until next time,
Rooke
(stream maniac)
Twt: _crookedtime_
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