Chapter Text
“Hyung.”
Minho hums, not lifting his head from where it’s resting on the couch cushion as he’s watching a movie on the television.
“Hyung, seriously.”
Minho hums again, still uninterested.
Hyunjin steps in front of the screen, blocking Minho’s view. “It’s almost seven,” he says. Minho huffs, stretching a leg to kick Hyunjin’s thigh. He misses by a hair’s width. “Come on, you promised me you were going with me.”
“Going where, exactly?” Minho asks, just to be a prick.
Because he knows exactly where Hyunjin is trying to drag him tonight, and it happens to be on a day when Minho has absolutely nothing to do and would really like to stay home — rotting in bed or, in this case, on the couch.
“You know where,” Hyunjin says with a twinge of impatience, crossing his arms and leaning his hips to one side.
“I don’t recall,” he insists.
Hyunjin huffs, stomping away in the direction of his room. “We’re going out at eight thirty,” he announces, waving a hand behind him.
Rolling his eyes, Minho knows that there’s no arguing with Hyunjin when his mind is set on a goal.
This time, the goal involves going to a shady bar, more like a venue, where a rock band will be playing. Minho would never, in his life, step inside a place like this, mingling with people who are so unlike him, if it were his choice. As asserted before, he’s only accompanying Hyunjin because Hyunjin is actually a coward to go by himself and has to drag Minho along on his quests.
In this case, the quest involves meeting the bassist of the band playing at the venue, the opening act for another bigger and more famous band. Apparently, because you can’t trust Hyunjin to tell stories for shit, Hyunjin had met this guy online in some forum about a game, and they had hit it off, only to find out both of them are actually living in the same city, and even more, in neighboring neighborhoods. The guy, some guy called Yen, had invited Hyunjin to watch him play tonight, and that’s it. That’s all Minho knows.
Minho is pretty sure that both of them are about to get murdered in some alleyway. Fortunately, he’s lucky that he’s been brushing up on his taekwondo and boxing classes again in his free time.
With a sigh and a pang of regret for agreeing to go beforehand, Minho takes the remote from the couch and turns off the DVD player, ignoring the voice of Hyunjin in the back of his mind that screams at him whenever he does this because the disc will get scratched if he doesn’t take it out and put it back on it’s folder.
After taking a shower and giving his hair a good scrub with the coconut-scented shampoo, Minho stands in front of his wardrobe, undecided about what the fuck he’s going to wear to a godamn rock concert.
He decides on a white hoodie and some baggy jeans because, really, he has no fucking clothes that could pass and make him fit in. Not even his only black hoodie, because it’s dirty as shit from when he had spilled some soda earlier today, and he wasn’t in the mood to do laundry since tomorrow is laundry day, not today. He hides his hair with a backward hat.
When he comes out of his room, Hyunjin is already dressed as well, looking like a Death Eater. His long hair is brushed back and gelled, his entire outfit is black and shining like faux leather. He even has some black boots on. And makeup. He smells like plastic and musky perfume. Minho’s never seen him like this before.
He can’t hold back his laugh.
“What the fuck are you wearing?”
“I’m trying to fit in,” Hyunjin retorts, flippantly. When his eyes register Minho, he scoffs. “What are you wearing? Have you lost the plot? This is a rock concert.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t spend money buying useless clothes just for this,” Minho shrugs, taking his wallet and phone from the coffee table. “Do you have the address?”
“Of course I do,” Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “I’m not staying close to you, hyung, I’m so sorry. You’re gonna stand out like a sore thumb.”
Minho laughs, walking to the front door first, waiting for Hyunjin to close the balcony door and turn off the lights on his way out.
“So, where are we going again?”
Hyunjin groans, pushing Minho’s shoulder and causing him to stumble a couple of steps back. When he glares back at Hyunjin, he relishes in satisfaction as Hyunjin shrinks on himself and mutters an apology under his breath.
✩ ♬ ₊.💿⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
The venue, as Minho had expected, is a club falling apart at the seams, with a makeshift stage that has a few instruments like guitars and basses resting on supports, and a drum set covered with a white cloth. Surprisingly, it’s bustling with people, making Minho’s way to the bar a bit difficult. However, he manages, handing the bar tab to the bartender and asking for a beer. He gets a few weird looks, with some people staring at him from head to toe, probably wondering why there’s a normie infiltrating their sacred space.
With his bar tab back inside his wallet and beer in hand, Minho tries to find Hyunjin again, only to realize that he probably won’t. Everyone is dressed in black, and everyone has black hair. He could probably recognize him if he got close enough, but honestly, it’s so comfortable back in here.
His phone vibrates on his back pocket. He takes it, pulling it open, checking the text Hyunjin had just sent him, telling him he’s near the stage, on the left side.
Minho squeezes between the people, apologizing loudly whenever he notices black eyeliner-rimmed eyes glaring at him. By the grace of god, Hyunjin is waving at Minho, jumping in place to get his attention. So, Minho squishes himself between more people clad in black outfits until he reaches his roommate.
“God, where were you?” Hyunjin screams over the loud music.
Minho raises his beer, taking a swig just for show. Hyunjin scowls, probably mad that Minho got a beer and not some other kind of drink for them to share. Minho can’t be blamed for liking beer, meanwhile Hyunjin finds it disgusting.
An acquired taste, that’s what drinking beer is.
Minho crosses his arms, waiting, bored out of his mind. When he finishes his bottle, he shoves it into Hyunjin’s hand and retrieves his phone from his back pocket, just to have something to do. The song playing is kind of shit, with more screams than voices. No one is dancing; some are moving their heads to the beat and singing but still staying in place.
Raising one eyebrow, Hyunjin observes as Minho groans and pockets his useless phone, itching to do something other than stand and wait like a moron.
“You’re owing me so fucking much after this,” Minho yells at him.
Hyunjin purses his lips, tilting his head tauntingly from side to side.
Minho is about to retort when the crowd suddenly makes a collective whooping noise, and people come onto the stage, taking the instruments. The guy on the drums grabs the cloth, sits on the stool, opens a laptop, hits the pedal, making a sound that echoes loudly in the venue. Minho can’t really see him from this distance.
The second guy stands right in front of Minho and Hyunjin, taking the bass and pulling the strap over his shoulder. Hyunjin gasps, both of his hands suddenly gripping the fabric of Minho’s sleeves. That must be Yen then. He looks good, so much better than Minho had imagined he would, with black and orange hair, a piercing on his lips. He smiles brightly at the crowd. It seems like he hasn’t noticed Hyunjin yet in front of him.
The other guy, whom Minho can’t really see either, stands on the other corner of the stage, securing a guitar over his shoulder and strumming the chords lightly. He hums into the mic, and the crowd vibrates.
Minho snorts because, really, are they impressed by this?
The last guy appears, taking the last guitar at the center of the stage and bringing a mic with him, securing it on the mic stand.
“Good evening, everyone,” the guitar guy far away speaks with a honeyed voice. From what Minho can see, he’s dressed much like Minho, with a light-colored hoodie and baggy jeans. “We are Paul’s Basement. Let’s start this, shall we?”
The crowd makes a commotion again, someone behind Minho pushing him forward and sending him stumbling over the edge of the stage. It digs into his lower stomach.
Minho closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, trying to contain his grimace. Oh no, oh hell no.
He spins around, attempting to leave, but the sound of drumsticks and counting sparks a frenzy in the crowd. He gets shoved back to the edge, cornered with nowhere to escape.
He realizes he’s standing right in front of the main vocalist.
Sounds explode from everywhere as soon as the counting stops — laughter booms from the speakers, a guitar being strummed right after. Everyone around Minho is screaming, caught in the sudden infectious energy.
Oh my god.
Yen begins to sing softly into the mic, and Minho, overwhelmed by the sensory barrage, can’t help but be fixated on the guy in front of him. He watches as skilled fingers dance along the guitar arm, the pick moving with precision over the strings.
From this angle, Minho can’t see much of his face. Even if he raises his head, the only thing in his field of vision is the guy’s chin and neck adorned by a black choker. His clothes are similar to what everyone else is wearing, except he’s not wearing pants. Oh no, he’s wearing thigh-high socks with knee-high boots, and shorts, leaving a strip of skin right in front of Minho’s eyes.
Minho snaps his eyes back up when the guy starts singing, dropping the guitar and taking the mic in his hand, bringing it closer to his face. The stand almost hits Minho in the stomach.
And oh, the guy. Is he rapping? It seems like he is kind of rapping.
Minho knows this song, of course. Hyunjin listens to it sometimes on the studio’s stereo when they are warming up, and he’s heard it on the radio countless times as well.
He’s left surprised since he thought they would be playing a much heavier song. He recognizes that the arrangement is not the usual for the song, but alas, that’s a nice surprise. The guy is rapping smoothly in English, his voice high — it’s nice. There’s a pause, where he sings on almost to none instrumental, picking his guitar back, and then, oh. The song explodes. The guitars kick in, at the same time the drums double the tempo, and the bass is so loud it makes Minho’s heart tremble.
Once more, the guy is singing in a much higher voice than Minho is accustomed to from the original song, even adding some unexpected adlibs.
As if he couldn’t surprise Minho more, his voice suddenly drops, and he starts spitting word after word, his voice modulating with the arrangement of the song.
Minho is sold. He really likes this guy. That’s some significant talent right there. He’s singing like he is three different people.
Everyone is singing along to the song, the sound deafening Minho’s ears. The guy lets his guitar fall back on his back, and suddenly, the song is almost quiet, and the guy crouches. He fucking crouches in front of Minho, giving the perfect view of his face for the first time. His blonde, long hair is pulled back in a ponytail, his eyes are rimmed with black eyeliner. He has piercings — two on one side of his lips, one on the bridge of his nose, and one in his eyebrow, similar to Hyunjin’s.
He looks good, immensely good, for some reason. But what leaves Minho speechless is the expression on his face, a smirk pulled back on his lips as he licks his teeth. He’s looking directly at Minho.
Minho gasps, because why the hell is this guy looking at him instead of singing? And why is his hand reaching towards Minho’s face?
It feels like a whole hour of time, though it probably doesn’t last more than two seconds.
The guy touches Minho’s chin with cold fingers, lifting his head until their eyes meet. Then he winks — he winks at Minho — and leaves his face to raise back to his full height, taking the guitar in his hands once again.
Minho thinks he can hear some laughter around him.
He can’t pay attention to the song anymore. His whole face is burning, embarrassed from being put in the spotlight like this, from being laughed at when he’s not even in his element. He’s an intruder, and they are laughing at him.
The song explodes once again, everyone on the stage turning to stare at each other as they play, but Minho still can’t pay attention.
It ends with another mocking laugh.
Minho wants to flee.
Instead of starting another song, the band takes their time, waving at people, asking questions like, “Are you guys having fun?”
The vocalist in front of him laughs into his mic when the crowd screams in agreement. The sound reverberates through the venue. Minho feels like everyone is still laughing at him.
“Well, well, that’s nice to hear,” vocalist in front of him says in a deep, taunting voice. “That was ’Feel Good Inc.’ We have a short set tonight, so we won’t talk much. The next song, I’m pretty sure everybody here knows!”
The guy on the drums hits his hi-hats, counting.
Minho seizes the opportunity to escape. With determination, he pushes through the shifting crowd, maneuvering his way to the back of the venue. As the sea of people gradually dissipates, and he finds himself with breathing room, Minho almost drops to his knees, his legs feeling strangely wobbly.
Oh god. Oh my fucking god.
What was that.
Minho needs another beer.
Retrieving the wallet from his pocket, he carefully pulls out the crumpled bar tab and practically slams the paper on the bartop, waiting for the bartender to turn his way.
With a cold beer now in hand, Minho takes big gulps, attempting to relieve the way his body is still on fire. As he drinks, his ears slowly unclog, and he can finally hear the music again, this time much clearer without people’s deafening screams around him.
He now recognizes the guy’s voice as he starts rapping once more. It’s another song that Minho vaguely recognizes from somewhere else, but this time, it exudes this sense of sadness and angst — such contrast to the hyped one they sang first.
Minho’s phone vibrates in his pocket — another text from Hyunjin, inquiring about what happened back there and informing him that Yen finally saw him.
Sighing, Minho pockets his phone. He decides to wait until the set is over before informing Hyunjin that he’s heading home. Whether Hyunjin wants to tag along or stay with this Yen guy is entirely his choice.
After half an hour and one more bottle of beer, the band finally concludes their set. They express their gratitude to everyone and leave the stage, making a simple exit.
The crowd begins to dissipate.
A few moments later, Hyunjin plops onto the stool next to him, his breath heavy, a sheen of sweat all across his face.
“Hyung,” Hyunjin gasps, catching his breath, a broad grin spreading across his face, causing his eyes to crinkle with delight. “Hyung, wow.”
Minho silently agrees. Wow, indeed.
“I feel violated,” he mutters instead, his body shuddering as he recalls the vocalist’s daring touch on his chin. “Why me? Out of everyone?”
Hyunjin bursts into laughter, leaning back and lightly tapping his forehead with the heel of his hand.
“What a missed opportunity for a fan and celebrity romance,” he complains, his amusement evident enough to make Minho consider a punch to his stomach. “Are you absolutely sure you’re still straight?”
“Positive,” Minho says without hesitation.
“Boring,” Hyunjin declares with a disappointed thumbs down, nearly shoving his fist into Minho’s face in his excitement.
Minho swats away his sweaty hand with a groan. “Please don’t contaminate my face with your hands.”
“Hey—”
“I’m out,” Minho declares, pointing behind him with his thumb. “You coming, or are you staying to meet loverboy?”
“No way, you’re not leaving,” Hyunjin insists, staring pointedly at him. “There’s a party.”
“A party?” Minho repeats. “Is this not a party?”
“Correction, an after-party,” Hyunjin gives him a smirk. “Yen invited me earlier this week. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d refuse. But now that you’re here, you’re not going anywhere. Surprise?”
“Uh,” Minho blinks at him. “Absolutely not. See ya.”
He starts to rise from his stool, but Hyunjin grabs his sleeves, pulling him back down.
“Hyung, please,” Hyunjin pleads, giving him the best puppy eyes he can muster. Minho is immune to this already, only snorting when Hyunjin drops the act. “Are you going to leave me alone, drunk, in a place with people I don’t know?” Hyunjin questions.
Minho raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Oh wow, resorting to guilt tripping now? You’re saying like this isn’t your usual routine every week.”
Hyunjin scoffs, feigning offense.
“Just because you’re boring and only go out if it involves getting laid.”
Minho fixes him with a glare.
“Yeah, and I don’t want to get laid tonight,” he admits.
Hyunjin frowns. “Woah, why not?”
“Because,” Minho squints for a moment, but relents when he realizes he’s still feeling a bit off kilter. “I’m embarrassed, alright? I don’t want people perceiving me.”
Hyunjin struggles to hold back a grin, biting his lips and furrowing his brows like it’s paining him to not laugh out loud at Minho’s suffering. “I did warn you that you’d stand out. In a bad way.”
“Fine, you were right,” Minho concedes mockingly. “I should’ve tried to blend in better. Happy now?”
“Ecstatic.”
“Idiot.”
Hyunjin opens his mouth to retaliate, but closes it right away, straightening his back all of a sudden. “Fuck,” he mutters, his eyes fixed on something over Minho’s shoulder. “Oh fuck. They’re coming.”
“They?”
“The band.”
Minho’s eyes widen as he feels his body freezing in place with dread, his hand clenching into a tight fist.
“The whole band?”
“The whole band,” Hyunjin confirms with a single nod.
Minho’s throat feels dry as he swallows, exhaling through his nose. “Crap.”
He wants another beer.
As if sensing Minho’s unease, Hyunjin turns to him, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “Blondie is staring right at you,” he says oh so casually. “Looks like you’re recognizable even from behind.”
Flushed with embarrassment, Minho closes his eyes, attempting to shield himself from the unwelcome attention. “This fucking hoodie,” he grumbles.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fu—Yen! Over here!”
Minho opens his eyes to see Hyunjin waving enthusiastically, a forced smile on his face. To the untrained eye, it might seem genuine, but Minho can tell. The way Hyunjin’s legs are shaking up and down also gives it away.
There’s no need to turn around, because the whole band is now in Minho’s field of vision. He looks away, focusing his glare on the colorful lights hitting the dirty walls.
“You’re Hyune,” Yen guy says.
“Hyunjin, yeah. That’s me!”
“I’m Jeongin! This is Seungmin, our leader Chan, and Jisung.”
This way, Minho can finally see the other guys up close. Jeongin points as he says their names. Seungmin, the one dressed much like a jock, unnervingly similar to Minho, is leaning over the bar, engaged in conversation with the bartender. The leader is pulling his curly hair back into a ponytail, arms bulging and glistening with sweat. Minho almost rolls his eyes. Is he showing off? It certainly looks like he is.
Finally, there’s Jisung, the damn guy. He’s standing by Chan’s side, arms wrapped awkwardly over his stomach, with his legs pointing inward, pigeon-toed. Despite his body language screaming that he wants to get the fuck out of here as soon as possible, his eyes are fixed on Minho’s face.
Round Bambi eyes. On stage, his eyes were razor-sharp, but now, due to the way he carries himself with less confidence, he appears like an entirely different person. As a dancer, Minho understands that the persona one presents to others when in their element is crucial for being a performer.
One of the best things about being a dancer is enjoying the process of witnessing members of his crew becoming more comfortable with showcasing that part of themselves. Perhaps that’s why he’s so intrigued by Jisung now. Jisung is not a dancer, but that’s precisely what Minho has observed from his years as a performer.
“This is my hyung, Minho,” Hyunjin says. “I dragged him here against his will, that’s why he’s dressed like this. Don’t mind him.”
Someone snorts, probably Seungmin. Speaking of him, he finally turns around, handing bottles of water to the other guys.
“You stand out so much in the crowd,” he says, his eyes trailing Minho’s hoodie. “It was funny as hell.”
“It was like a beacon,” Jeongin adds.
Minho kinda wants to disappear. “We’re dressed the same,” he tells Seungmin, as if stating the obvious.
“He’s embarrassed,” Hyunjin says, not helpful at all.
“I’m not embarrassed,” Minho promptly denies.
“Because blondie,” Hyunjin continues, ignoring Minho, wiggling his eyebrows at Jisung, “Flirted with him on stage.”
From the corner of his eyes, Minho catches a subtle change in Jisung’s demeanor. Even under the colorful lights, despite not being that close to each other, he notices Jisung’s cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink, and his eyes momentarily flicker down.
“Oh,” Jisung gasps, hands flying to his face. He touches his cheeks with the water bottle as if attempting to cool them. “I’m so sorry, so sorry. I got... carried away,” he says with a grimace. His bandmates laugh. “Er, Minho-ssi, right?”
“Yeah. I’m probably older than you,” Minho tries to change the subject, even adding, “And older than everyone here.”
“You’re not older than Chan; he’s ancient,” Seungmin says, making Chan choke on the sip of water he’s taking at the moment.
Chan turns to Seungmin, looking scandalized. “I’m three years older than you.”
“See?” Seungmin shrugs. “Proving my point.”
Chan groans, punching Seungmin lightly on the shoulder.
“I’m twenty-four,” Minho says.
As a conversation about ages unfolds, Minho takes a subtle moment to steal a look at Jisung’s figure. His eyes trace the details; the boots, the well-coordinated clothes, the black painted nails, the bleached hair — tied back,with front strands falling delicately on his face, now half covering his black rimmed eyes.
Minho recognizes a pretty boy when he sees one. Jisung is objectively pretty.
“Hey Hyunjin,” Jeongin says, getting Minho’s attention as well, over the distant echoes of laughter from the venue. “We have to go now. I came out here to ask if you’re still up for showing up to the party I mentioned.”
“Of course, of course,” Hyunjin replies, nodding at Jeongin eagerly.
“Okay,” Jeongin smiles, carding a hand through his hair. It stands upright for a second, before flopping back on his forehead. “We’re taking the equipment to the van now. Here, give me your number so I can send you the address.”
Jeongin extends his phone towards Hyunjin, the screen illuminating their faces with a soft glow. As Hyunjin types, Minho looks away, glancing over at Chan again, who’s talking to Seungmin, their heads close to each other. Jisung stands to the side, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.
Hyunjin hands Jeongin his phone back. “See you later?”
Folding the device, Jeongin nods enthusiastically, mirroring Hyunjin’s eagerness. “Yeah, yeah, sure,”
Hyunjin waves as the others begin heading toward the stage to clear it of their instruments to make way for the next band. Amused, Minho observes Hyunjin sighing wistfully, his gaze following Jeongin’s figure.
“Are you already in love with him?”
“Yes,” Hyunjin responds, not missing a beat.
“That’s…“ Minho trails off, then chuckles, unable to hold it back. “I think he’s already in love with you too.”
“Good,” Hyunjin nods. “I’m gonna suck his dick so hard at that party.”
“Geez.”
“Eh?” Hyunjin crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes as he tries to scrutinize Minho. “Why are you acting like a prude, Lee Minho? I’ve caught you with girls on our couch more times than I can count.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he dismisses. “You’re blowing it out of proportion. It wasn’t that many times.”
Hyunjin rolled his eyes dramatically. “Yeah, right. I practically had to fumigate the couch after that one time with the redhead. Are you sure it’s even hygienic for us to sit there anymore?”
“It’s not. Please, do us all a favor and stay in your room from now on.”
Hyunjin scoffs, “You’re such a bitch.”
“Hyunjin-ah.”
“Anyway. Are we walking to this party? I wanna stop at McDonald’s first.”
Minho wrinkled his nose in disapproval. “Disgusting. Let’s go to Subway instead.”
✩ ♬ ₊.💿⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
With a stomach full of food and Sprite, Minho finds himself in the living room of a large house on the outskirts of the neighborhood. Inside, people are already gathered, the loud rock music muffling every attempt at conversation with Hyunjin. Determined to escape the noise, he heads to the spacious kitchen, where drinks are scattered and plastic cups are strewn about. Glancing over his shoulder, he realizes there’s no one in his vicinity, so he heads to open the fridge, and luck is on his side as he discovers unopened beers inside.
As Minho sips on his drink, his feet tap to the rhythm of the music, and that’s when someone else enters the scene.
Unfortunately, Minho’s luck takes a turn as it’s Jisung who stops in his tracks, noticing Minho lingering in the shadows. Jisung’s eyes widen, and his mouth drops unhinged, but he quickly composes himself.
“Oh, fuck, you scared me,” Jisung yells over the music, reaching up to open one of the cupboards.
Jisung is no longer wearing the black stage outfit, Minho notices the shift to a white shirt engulfing his frame, loose pants, sock-clad feet. Some strands of Jisung’s hair, now down from that ponytail, appear dirty and crusty, possibly from hair products.
“What are you doing here all by yourself?” Jisung yells again as he approaches Minho, or rather the fridge, pulling it open to grab a water bottle.
“Just chilling,” Minho replies, shrugging.
“I get you,” Jisung comments, his voice now at a regular level since he’s closer. “This is really not my thing, so I’m hiding in my room.”
That get’s Minho’s attention, “You live here?”
“Yep,” Jisung nods, taking a big swig of his water.
“Do you know where I can go out to smoke? A balcony, maybe?”
“Smoke?” Jisung glances at him, his eyebrows raising. “Like, cigarettes? Or…“ he trails off, a glint in his eyes. “Or weed?”
Minho holds back a snort, a small grin playing on his lips despite the way he’s abnormally nervous.
“Weed.”
That makes Jisung turn fully to his direction. Under the warm, yellow lights from the kitchen, and this close, Minho swears he can see a blush creeping up on Jisung’s cheek, much like the subtle flush when they were at the venue earlier.
“We can go to my room?” Jisung suggests, though he sounds a bit hesitant, his gaze flickering around the dimly lit kitchen when someone else shows up.
The thump of music echoes through the house, but Minho’s ears seem muffled.
“What?”
Jisung goes still, his hand squeezing the water bottle tightly, causing some of the water to spill on his fingers. “I. I mean—”
“Okay,” Minho interrupts him, not very politely.
From the way Jisung gasps, minutely, just a small intake of breath, Minho wonders if he hasn’t thought about his suggestion at all.
“Okay?”
“Okay,” Minho repeats, his tone purposefully nonchalant. “Sure, lead the way.”
Jisung nods, once, and turns back to the fridge again to grab another water bottle.
“Don’t mind the mess,” Jisung says as he opens his bedroom door and flicks on the light.
Minho hesitates at the threshold, his eyes sweeping over the room.
It looks like a bomb had exploded in here, leaving behind a disarray of chaos. There are more clothes strewn across the floor than there is visible carpet. Cups and plates are scattered on every available surface. The bed is filled with an array of makeup and various beauty products.
“Damn,” Minho blinks, disbelief evident in his voice. “You live like this?!”
Jisung scoffs, urging Minho inside and closing the door behind him. “Stop criticizing my living habits.”
“It is a mess,” Minho says.
“I know,” Jisung concedes, his shoulders slumping.
Minho takes pity on him, laughing and shaking his head.
“I don’t really care,” he says, rolling his eyes playfully.
Jisung sighs, bending down to gather some of the clothes from the floor in his arms.
“Do you have a balcony?” Minho asks, his gaze fixed on the closed drawn curtains.
“No,” Jisung replies, leaving the clothes on a chair. “But it’s fine; I smoke here all the time.”
“You sure?” Minho frowns.
However, Jisung is already pulling the curtains open, allowing the late spring air to sweep inside. “Hm,” he turns around, crossing his arms. “This is awkward.”
Minho finally notices the print on Jisung’s shirt. It’s Britney Spears, holding a snake over her shoulders.
“Put on some music?” Minho suggests, since the distant thumping from the party is now muffled.
Jisung smiles, heading to a shelf filled with CD plastic cases and albums.
“Okay, what do you like?” he asks. “I have so much stuff here; I bet I can find something you like.”
“What kind of music are you into?” Minho retorts, his eyebrows arching slightly.
Jisung glances at him with amused eyes, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. “I asked first.”
Minho purses his lips, briefly weighing the decision to let Jisung delve into his musical preferences. Deciding why not, he shrugs and says, “Well, I like RnB.”
Jisung hums, his eyes sweeping over Minho’s figure. “Yeah, you look like an RnB guy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Minho frowns;
“Hey, I’m into RnB too!“ Jisung exclaims, giving Minho a small laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
That takes Minho by surprise. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” Jisung nods. “I’m pretty eclectic when it comes to music. Music is music. Why not appreciate everything out there?”
“But you’re in a rock band,” Minho argues, more to prolong the conversation than anything else.
“And?” Jisung counters, crossing his arms and leaning against the shelf, challenging Minho to question further.
“Well, it’s just unexpected,” Minho concedes.
“Why the pre-judgment?” Jisung pouts, but it doesn’t sound like he’s upset. “I do appreciate different genres. In fact, I work at a record store, so it’s literally my job to know every artist out there.”
“Oh, you do?”
“Yep,” Jisung confirms with a proud nod.
“Well then,” Minho glances at the shelf, inviting Jisung to make a move. “Put on something you enjoy. Surprise me.”
“Are you sure about that?” Jisung teases.
“Did I stutter?” Minho challenges, raising his eyebrows pointedly.
“Alright, fine,” Jisung mutters, a grin breaking through. “Bossy much.”
As Jisung picks the music, Minho fishes the M&M’s tube from his hoodie pocket, taking one of his pre-rolled joints from inside it. He sits in one of the corners of Jisung’s giant bed, one that’s empty, and lights it up. He’s just finishing the first drag when Jisung finally hits play on his stereo, a familiar beat coursing through the room, making Minho jump in surprise. He looks up at Jisung, who’s actually grinning and wiggling his eyebrows.
“I should’ve expected that,” Minho laughs, pointing at Jisung’s shirt.
Jisung looks down for a moment, then back up like he’s disappointed. “I forgot I was wearing this one.”
Minho takes another drag, leaning on his forearm on the bed to get more comfortable. “Haven’t heard this one in so long,” he admits. “Reminds me of my teenage years. My crew did a dance performance at school and everything.”
“In school uniforms?”
“Yeah,” Minho chuckles.
“Do you still remember it?”
“Don’t even try,” Minho rolls his eyes. “I’m too drunk for all the spinning. I’m gonna fall and hit my head, and you’re gonna have to deal with my body.”
Jisung pouts. “So you’re a dancer.”
“Mhm, I’m just a guy.”
“No, I think it’s really cool,” Jisung says, finally pushing the stuff off of his bed to sit right next to him. “I can’t dance for shit.”
“For some reason, I doubt that,” Minho extends the joint to him. “I just saw you on stage. You move like someone who has some kind of rhythm already.”
That seems like the wrong thing to say because Jisung chokes, white smoke coming out of his lips in short puffs as he coughs.
“Please erase that from your brain,” he says, his voice tight as he grimaces.
“Erase? What?” Minho squints playfully. “The way you pulled my head up and winked at me? Some bold moves you have there.”
Jisung closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, exhaling with a groan. “Don’t tease me.”
“Gave me butterflies,” Minho continues, just to be a little shit. “Made my knees buckle in front of everyone. That was so embarrassing for me.”
Jisung opens one eye, glaring at Minho menacingly, which is not at all when Jisung looks so cute like this.
“That’s your fault for standing in front of me.”
Minho scoffs, taking the joint again. “Way to gaslight me.”
“I’m so sorry,” Jisung says. “I’m sorry I did that, really. I get carried away sometimes. I don’t know what possesses me when I’m performing; I do dumb shit when I’m too excited.”
Minho laughs, shaking his head. “You’re very shy, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Jisung agrees. “I guess music has a way to get me out of my shell.”
Minho hums, taking a drag. “That’s good. I support that, even if it’s at my expense.”
“Hey, fuck off,” Jisung chuckles, pushing Minho’s shoulder playfully. He’s looking at Minho openly now, his eyes shining with something that Minho can’t decipher. The song changes to something softer. “Um…”
Jisung blinks, like he’s expecting something. Minho feels weirdly out of his element, not knowing what to say, so he averts his eyes and stares at the TV perched on Jisung’s dresser.
Jisung makes a sound on the back of his throat, but Minho is already feeling light headed from smoking to pay attention. He laughs instead and hands the joint for Jisung to finish, taking his snapback off and laying down fully on the bed.
Like the walls, the ceiling is adorned with posters, some from bands, some from solo artists Minho recognizes.
“I could never,” he comments, gesturing at the ceiling. Jisung looks down at him, his brows pulled together. “Have posters on my walls. It would feel like I have people staring at me all the time.”
“Why would you even say that,” Jisung says, sounding almost like a complaint, but Minho can tell he’s amused
“Well, it’s true,” Minho says. “I can’t have Usher staring down at me when I’m jacking off.”
As Jisung laughs loudly, throwing his head back, Minho fakes a whole-body shudder, experiencing a similar vision from his neck as he did when Jisung was performing.
In the right lighting, Minho realizes his Adam’s apple is heart-shaped.
“Do you even bring girls here, with all this mess and the posters?”
Jisung looks down at Minho again, this time with his mouth agape, appearing utterly confused. “Uh, I don’t, actually.”
Minho hums. That makes sense. If he were a girl, he would feel so unsettled if this were the room Jisung brought him to hook up.
“I’m gay,” Jisung says.
Minho freezes. One, two heartbeats. For some reason, he feels it pulsating on the roof of his mouth.
“Oh. Really?”
“Yep. We’re all queer in this household,” Jisung continues, sounding amused. “You didn’t know? I thought maybe your friend had mentioned it since they are probably having nasty freak sex right next door.”
Minho grimaces. “Don’t put that image in my head.”
“Just saying!“ Jisung squeaks when Minho tries to halfheartedly kick him.
“So you were flirting with me for real on stage?”
“Yeah?” Jisung purses his lips. “Kinda. Not really? You’re pretty, and my little gay brain did something stupid while high on endorphins. Don’t overthink.”
For a moment, Minho watches as Jisung takes the last drag of the joint, holding the smoke in and blowing out, hiding his face with the white smoke. As it clears out, he blinks, languidly, his mouth still pursed in that pout.
Once again, Minho can’t help but think that Jisung is so cute, even with his tousled, dirty hair and smudged makeup — the subtle streaks and smears of eyeliner going down his cheeks, along with what looks somewhat like glitter coating his eyelids. Not to mention his piercings.
“You think I’m pretty?” he asks instead, careful not to blurt out how he thinks Jisung is the pretty one here.
“You are,” Jisung states like it’s a fact. “You know you are.”
“No, I,” Minho hesitates, grimacing slightly. “People tell me I’m good-looking, sure, but not pretty . It’s the first time someone ever called me that.”
Jisung tilts his head to the side, his eyes scanning over Minho’s face slowly.
“People are not appreciating you the right way, then. You’re beautiful.”
A warm sensation starts making its way, crawling up Minho’s neck and settling on his ears. He scoffs, trying to pretend it didn’t do anything to him. Maybe Jisung is already high enough to not realize that Minho is fucking blushing just from being called beautiful.
“Are you flirting with me again?”
Jisung hums. “Is it working?”
“I’m straight,” Minho blurts out. “Sorry.”
“Oh,” Jisung blinks once more with bloodshot eyes, and then he stiffens, his back going rigid and as straight as a steel rod. “Oh?”
“Yeah, oh.”
Jisung sucks on his bottom lip, finally averting his eyes and focusing on something on his headboard. “Um. This just got three hundred times more awkward.”
Minho sighs inwardly, realizing that he might have unintentionally made the whole situation awkward himself. The room feels a bit heavier, the air charged with an unspoken tension that wasn’t there before.
He watches as Jisung fidgets with the butt of the joint between his fingers, clearly searching for something to say.
Pushing himself up until he’s sitting, Minho brings himself to the same eye level as Jisung. “Sorry if I made it weird,” he offers.
Jisung exhales slowly, his breath faintly touching Minho’s cheek as a small smile stretches across his lips. “Nah, it’s cool. I was the one who misread things,” he chuckles. “We can still be friends, right?”
Minho nods, relieved that Jisung isn’t taking it too hard.
“We’ll surely have to spend time together if those two keep hooking up.”
Jisung grins, and this close, Minho can practically count his eyelashes.
“Promise not to leave me third-wheeling by myself?”
Minho smiles, feeling a bit more at ease. “Deal. Give me your number. We can text each other when we’re in need of a fourth wheel.”
“Sure. Do you have IM?” Jisung asks.
Minho nods. “Of course. Text me your email? Oh, wait. You guys have MySpace, right?”
“Of course we do,” Jisung huffs with a hint of exasperation. “Hold on, let me grab my laptop…“
Jisung jumps off the bed, dragging his feet lazily to his desk. Minho follows his movements with his eyes, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, shaking his head in amusement. Oh, he’s high already, Minho thinks to himself, recognizing the signs of Jisung’s lazy movements. When Jisung turns around, laptop in hand, he giggles, a huge grin spreading across his face that resembles somewhat of a heart.
It makes Minho’s stomach swirl.