side effects

by dqddychann

Summary:

Jisung is a troubled teen. He used to be alone from time to time until time to time became all the time, and now, three years into his training under the musical label JYP, there's nothing he can do anymore to soothe the rumors about himself. Lacking the necessary skills to do anything about it, he instead lives up to his titles and continues to hiss at those who stare.

Minho doesn't know this. Upon arriving at the JYP building for his first day, he just kinda likes him.

Or, Jisung absolutely despises the new trainee, but in contrast, Minho only really wants to get to know him. And he will, because Minho always gets what he wants.

Notes:

switching from wattpad to ao3, i'm scared chat. hope you enjoy this!

Chapter 1: eight is too much

"Haven't I told you already? I said I'd be back home as soon as I could."

Jisung pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut, feeling a stray bead of sweat dribbling down his temple. He pants breathlessly, the remnants of the rehearsing session he just interrupted to answer this call still visible on his beaten body, so he controls his breathing and holds the phone up to his ear with one shaky hand product of the adrenaline that hasn't stopped rushing through his body.

"You said that months ago, Jiji," his mother mumbles on the other side of the line, her voice stooping down a notch in the face of her disappointment. There's a grating ring of pretense to her tone that has Jisung tightening the muscles of his jaw. He can't bear to remain standing for a second longer, so he paces around and squirms on his feet uncomfortably.

If there is one thing Han Jisung hates, it's phone calls. Particularly, with his mother.

"Don't call me that," he grumbles. "I'm busy. Okay? I'm rehearsing. I have to go."

"Jisung, wait."

"I'll, uh, hit you up later, or something."

Not true. But good enough?

His mother's voice echoes through the speaker when he pulls away from the call, but the outlines of her words are only blurry as Jisung hangs up, uninterested. His heart beats rapidly in his chest, quicker than the beat of the music that booms through the wall of the dance hall, where his bandmates are still focused on rehearsals—just like he should be. Except... he isn't, because his mother saw it fit to call him right in the fucking middle. Jisung curses under his breath, a sudden spark of anger ignited inside him in the shape of gritting teeth and a twitching muscle of his jaw.

He's not one to normally interrupt any sessions for phone calls, but when his phone didn't stop ringing, Chan stopped the rehearsal himself to tell him he should probably go get it. Glaringly and visibly annoyed, Jisung stormed out of the dance hall and now is embarrassed to go back inside.

He runs a hand across his hair, feeling the damp ends of his fringe falling over his eyes, trailing across his brows. The weather is especially hot today, and Jisung hates the summer. Maybe more than phone calls, even. The hallway is quiet and empty with only himself to disturb the stagnant air, so he valleys in the quiet hesitantly before he finally turns to go back inside. However, in his haste towards the door, he fails to notice the man that roams the building aimlessly, lost in its ample entirety, right before he crashes into him. Both scramble weightless for an instant.

"Sorry," the stranger immediately apologizes, his voice certainly quiet but not any less solemn as he pulls away to bow at the waist.

Han stumbles back a step due to the force of the collision. Quickly, he looks up, his eyebrows arched atop his forehead.

"Hey," he barks out the pointed word. "Watch your way, asshole."

The man seems shocked straight away, his lips coming to part when he finds himself at a loss for words. Jisung continues to stare at him, not hoping to spark an argument but merely trying to depict the very essence of his annoyance on the look on his face. The stranger, seemingly confused, frowns and shakes his head.

"I said I'm sorry. I was gonna walk to your right and you moved," he explains.

"It's my fault that you're not looking where you're going?" Jisung scowls, pressed by the answer. "Move."

He doesn't wait for a response. Jisung pushes past the stranger and tuts to himself as he walks back into the dance hall, leaving a very confused man behind who glowers in surprise. Jisung's body is hot and roiling with a mesh of frustrations inside him he can't quite put a finger on. When he rides back into the gym, his bandmates have concluded the session.

"Who was it?" Chan asks with a towel pressed to the back of his neck when his best friend approaches him.

"Just my mother." Han rolls his eyes. "Is it over already?"

"Yeah. Gonna head for lunch."

Jisung looks around at the rest of the boys as they change out of their dance shoes and into their slippers. They all gather their stuff hastily amid playful chatter, each by their corner with their own duffel bag, some in pairs and some alone. He curses himself under his breath for missing the final parts of the session, but quickly gets his racing heart to come to a halt in his chest—until he watches the stranger he crashed into in the hallway walk right behind him into the dance hall.

Jisung tilts his head a bit. The stranger across the room looks around at each individual boy and something in his eye tells Han Jisung that he's wondering whether he's in the correct place.

"Hello," the stranger greets, bowing at the waist at everyone in the room. He receives a confused murmur in response as the members of the band exchange looks, the new presence in the hall catching them by surprise. The only one whose reaction differs is Chan.

"Ah, Lee Minho, right?" He smiles widely, coming to his feet to bow. "Hello."

"Who's this?" Jisung grimaces, his features struck by a lack of understanding and abrupt irritation.

Jisung eyes find the stranger across the room and even though his own denote utter disdain, the man reveals nothing. His cherry lips are curled not fully into a smile but rather calmly posed, enough to make Jisung's skin bristle with discomfort. The stranger's eyes seem to be staring into his soul. His hair is neatly placed on a middle part over his forehead and his nuances are clean, so much that his face is almost baby-like, yet so manly at the same time. It pisses him off almost instantly.

Chan doesn't answer his question and instead stands to stretch Lee Minho's hand. Jisung watches them exchange only a few words before his friend turns towards them.

"I'd like to introduce you to Lee Minho, everyone," he says. "He'll be joining us from now on."

There's a brief moment of silence as the kids all gather their initial shock. Jisung fumes by a corner.

"Like... a new member?" Jeongin blinks, shielded behind Changbin.

Chan smiles and says, "That's right."

And none of that sits right with Jisung.

Warming up to the idea, the boys slowly come to stand, one by one, awed by the presence of the new member of Stray Kids that no one seems to have been expecting. They take their time greeting him, bowing at the waist, stretching his hand, introducing themselves. Some of the youngest—Felix, Jeongin—are eager, Changbin and Hyunjin are cordial toward their new hyung, Seungmin greets him only mindlessly. All the while, the stranger keeps inherently calm and smiles politely at everyone, yet Jisung can't help but notice that his words are curiously brief and selected, as if he wouldn't want to waste them—something else that pisses him off. He watches from afar with his arms crossed over his chest, a swarming feeling of uncertainty clutching him at the neck. Then, as each one of the boys finishes greeting Lee Minho with welcoming warmth, they slowly excuse themselves and leave the dance hall for lunch, until the only ones left in the room are Bang Chan, Han Jisung and... the stranger.

"Hello," the latter calls to him upon noticing he's the only one left.

Jisung looks straight at him, his eyes squinted as he tries to suss him out. He notes Chan somewhere in his peripheral vision urging him to introduce himself, but he doesn't correspond to his gaze.

"Why do we need another member? I thought we were full already," he states without taking his eyes off of Lee Minho, even though the question is not directed to him.

"Eight makes a better team than seven," Chan says with a tight-lipped smile, an evident concern striking his features that maybe Jisung will not be as welcoming as he hoped. "Don't be hostile."

And, as expected, Jisung harshly claims, "I don't want another member." Now, he rips his eyes off of the man to look at his friend, and there's something as equally challenging as it is demanding in his face.

"Han."

"I'm sorry if you feel invaded in any way," Minho speaks all of a sudden, gesturing calmly with his head.

"Nobody talked to you," Jisung sneers back at him.

Chan's smile is wiped from his face in a matter of seconds. He watches Jisung and tries to signal to him with his eyes, not deeming his reaction unlikely of him but still wishing it was a different one, just this once. Jisung has uncrossed his arms and now stands stiff, chest puffed, almost like he was waiting to start throwing hands.

"You don't have to like me," Lee Minho explains with all the calm in the world, which only angers him even more.

"Well, I wasn't planning to!" Jisung exclaims, taking a step forward and perhaps snapping at him because this man intimidates him.

Lee Minho glances at Chan, then smiles through tight lips. "I'm gonna go get settled. I'm on the fifth floor if you need me." There's nothing on his tone signaling towards annoyance, only quiet dismissal. "Have a good night."

Minho bows at the waist, first at Chan, then at Jisung, with his firmly locked on his as in silent challenge. Jisung fumes, but he doesn't come up with a good-enough response before Minho is clutching the strap of his duffel bag across his chest and skipping across the room to leave through the door. Then, it's only Jisung and Chan that remain in the tension-riddled dance hall, and Jisung feels a strong sense of desperation obliterating any annoyance he previously felt.

"Hey!" he exclaims in a panic, listening to his blood streaming through his ears. Jisung, too, hates not having the final word in an argument. But Lee Minho is gone, so he can only resort to Bang Chan. "You brought a psycho!"

Chan stares at him, deadpan, a clear tire in his weary eyes. "Jisung-ah..."

"I thought we were gonna stay like this."

"I never said that."

"But you implied it."

Chan's expression doesn't shift. "Can't you be nice to him? Just this once."

Han Jisung purses his lips because he wants to say no, but he knows he doesn't really have a motive to dislike Lee Minho other than his unattainable goal to make everybody's life, including his own, a living hell. Accepting the members of Stray Kids into his life (if he can even call it that) was a big step at a moment in time where he was used to moving slowly and somehow he managed to come to terms with it, but right now, having someone else pry into the routine he carefully built for himself over the years sounds like something he's not willing to do. And Chan never seems to get that.

"You hated Changbin. You hated me, too." Chan rolls his eyes in protest, taking a step forward in beseech. "It'll pass."

"Eight is too much," he scowls out a lame excuse.

Chan stares at him for only one more second before he snorts.

"You'll live." He winks playfully, knowing better than to take Han's tantrums seriously after three years of getting to know him. He grabs his duffel bag from the floor and hooks it over his shoulder. "So, I'll see you for dinner?" He spaces out towards the door and Jisung blinks, eyes wide in shock of being left hanging for the second time in five minutes.

"Hey, we're not done talking!" he exclaims.

"We'll continue later." Chan waves him off dismissively before leaving the room.

"Bang Chan!" Han exclaims, but he's now alone inside the dance hall with no one but the four walls surrounding him to listen. He clicks his tongue and puffs out a frustrated huff. "Fucker!"

Chapter 2: he's not a child

It's only after one long, tedious shower and a half hour of silent contemplation whilst staring at the wall that Han Jisung finally deigns to come down to the cafeteria for lunch. Even though his stomach has been rumbling in protest for little over two hours, his foolish habit of skipping breakfast certainly taking a toll on his exercised body, Jisung has been refusing to leave the comfort of his dorm, scared to face his bandmates—and Lee Minho among with them. Not for any particular reason other than feigning strike. But then he's really starving, and not even Lee-Minho-induced frustration can stop him from barreling down the elevator and stepping into the common dining hall.

When he arrives, most of the kids are there already, sat at their usual table by the far end of the hall, so he heads towards the buffet and grabs himself a generous meal before joining his bandmates. He takes his spot between Chan, sat at the head, and Seungmin (Changbin is by his side, sat across from Felix, who's next to Hyunjin. On the other head, Jeongin lunches quietly), but tray in hand, he notices a new seat added across the table from him for none other than Lee Minho. Upon Jisung's arrival, Minho glances up from his meal, seeming not half as fazed by the new presence, his lips still curled in that obnoxious grin-not-grin that makes Han Jisung feel a deep-rooted discomfort on the space below his chest. 

Meeting Minho's eye kinda makes Jisung lose all his appetite, so in spite of his previous desperation to get some food into his system, he sits down at the table rather slowly, tossing his tray in front of him without taking his eyes off of the stranger. The eye contact seems suffocating. Noticing the tension, Chan glances at Jisung sideways as if silently telling him to break it up, but the overall laughter and chatter amongst the members doesn't stop. None of them seem to notice them both engaged in a staring contest. Minho's expression is questioning so much as it is defying and it becomes strange to Han that he doesn't look away. Normally, people tend to avoid his gaze, knowing it could initiate trouble, but this man only stops when Hyunjin, sat to his right, grabs at his attention.

And frankly, Jisung is a little disappointed. He was hoping to continue until Minho realized he really is serious about this. 

"Yongbok was the last to join before you," Hyunjin says, pointing towards the skinny brown-haired boy at the opposite end of the dining table. "He feels better now that he's not the new one anymore."

Minho chuckles lightly, a half smile accentuating only the apple of his right cheek and a pair of slightly crooked front teeth. He uses a careful finger to flick the hair that falls over his eyes, so gentle and sweet that Han's attention falls to his hands and the almost feminine delicacy to them. Not particularly, big, but gentle. Jisung studies him carefully as he picks absentmindedly on his food, more interested in sussing him out rather than actually feeding himself.

"I'm glad to be here," Minho says in that way that, again, makes Han feel as though he's choosing his words wisely so as to not waste them. Strange.

"I heard you danced for BTS last year," Changbin speaks up from across the table, making everyone's attention shift towards him.

Jeongin gasps. "Are you kidding?"

The newbie smiles and looks down at his lap, and Han thinks to see a faint blush stretch over his cheeks. "I did."

"So, you're good good?" Felix's eyes twinkle.

Jisung scowls to himself and sulks over his tray, unwilling to hear his friends praising Lee Minho like he's the newest circus attraction. He tuts under his breath as the conversation continues to flow around the new guy and his accomplishments previous to joining Stray Kids, none of which Jisung is too interested in. Then, they talk about training and rehearsals. Han Jisung doesn't want to, but he finds out Lee Minho's dorm is on the same floor as his own, not too far from it either. And that pisses him off, too.

Soon enough, they start talking about their debut, about Stray Kids' experience so far as a group, and Jisung (who is actually a very slow eater, in spite of his brain's tendency to move a thousand miles an hour) still hasn't finished his food, so he's growing annoyed by the second. He though Minho would be the center of attention for a few minutes, but he guesses he must have underestimated his bandmates' curiosity. Safe to say that after twenty minutes, Jisung is at the verge of collapse.

"I like odd numbers better," he mutters quietly, mostly to himself, with his head down and his focus on his plate. He speaks lowly enough that his comment goes by unnoticed by most of the people at the table, but somehow, Lee Minho's attention is immediately on him. Almost like he was waiting for him to talk.

"Sorry?" he calls, his eyebrows up on his forehead in question.

It takes Jisung a second to register that he's being spoken to. When he finally does, he glances up from his food only to notice that everyone's attention has shifted toward him, the table having fallen silent. 

"I wasn't talking to you," he grumbles, the attention on him making his neck feel awfully hot.

Minho tilts his head. "Well, we're all making friends here. You're the only one that's missing... Jisung, is it?" The way he says it while grinning like that makes Jisung's blood boil. "Don't be shy. Say what you think."

Jisung can feel Chan's eyes burning on him, but he ignores him. If Minho is asking for challenge... well, there's nothing else Jisung can give him but that. 

"I said I like odd numbers better," he speaks out loud now. Lee Minho cocks a brow like he doesn't fully understand, and Han Jisung makes to roll his eyes. "Seven makes choreographies easier. Means someone can be in the middle. Three on one side, three on the other. The one in the middle is the one that sings. Eight means there's always two in the middle," he explains. "I'm saying, seven is better than eight."

There is a brief silence. Minho's grin-not-grin doesn't falter once.

"Oh, surely," he tells him after, seeming unbothered by Han Jisung's reluctancy to accept his presence. "But I really need a job."

Hyunjin snorts. Jisung's face turns red and his eyes become lodged on the new boy's in a potent glare. Minho's smirk as he pokes his food around with his chopsticks is daunting. Even Chan hides a smile, and Jisung, again, has nothing to say. 

"How old are you?" Minho asks now.

Jisung curls his top lip into a grimace of suchlike disgust. "Seventeen."

"Then you should watch your tone. Even if you don't like me," Minho tells him sternly, the grin leaving his face at once. "Haven't you been taught that elders must be addressed with respect? I'm sure everyone on the table would agree."

The atmosphere on the table shifts and becomes struck by vitriolic tension. Minho's words come laced with a tone of ulterior superiority, one enough to push Jisung back onto his place in a way most of the kids are afraid to do so. Jisung continues to stare into Minho's eyes for a few long seconds; then, finally, without even having finished his plate, he pushes his chair back, causing it to scrape loudly against the floor, and storms off the table and out of the cafeteria.

The silence echoes for a few instants during his absence. Minho doesn't seem too affected by his behavior, as he only tucks his chopsticks by his tray and leans back on his seat. He seems unaware of everyone's eyes posed on him, or simply chooses to ignore them. Slowly, Chan turns towards him.

"I—I'm sorry," he stammers, waddling through the thick air. "I did ask him to try and be nicer, he just... struggles making new friends at times."

"I can see." Minho flashes his brows.

"But—But he'll warm up to you. He always does," Chan quickly clarifies.

"It's no problem. I usually don't make the best first impressions." The grin is back on Minho's face, unwavering.

"I'll get him to apologize."

He shakes his head, tutting. "No, no. Don't baby him, Bang Chan-hyung. He's not a child. He doesn't need to be scolded for being rude. I'll find my way around him. Excuse me."

The members of the group watch him stand up, then there's a chorus of shared looks and silent confusion when Minho stacks his tray on top of the one Han Jisung left behind. When he leaves and discards them both carefully by the bin, the kids share murmurs and follow him out of the cafeteria with their eyes, collective wonder overcoming.

 

Minho doesn't fully know his way around the building, but for whatever act of destiny, it doesn't take him long to find Han Jisung on his own in the dance hall.

Jisung doesn't notice him immediately, so Minho stands under the sill and takes the opportunity to size him up. The younger boy is sat against the mirror with his legs outstretched in front of him, his eyes focused on his phone. He seems to hum absentmindedly to a melody playing from the device and Minho thinks to himself that he looks awfully tiny, awfully harmless. When his face is relaxed and not permanently fixed into tha frown of his, he's actually rather adorable, with round cheeks and round eyes and round lips, and soft all over. It's strange to think that he could herald the world's entire anger within him, because how could it actually fit? He's so small.

When curiosity overcomes him, Minho pushes past the door and rides calmly into the room.

"Han Jisung," he calls.

Jisung glances up and again, Minho notices how queerly big his eyes are. His expression soon shifts when he recognizes who calls after him. Jisung rolls his eyes with a click of his tongue.

"Leave me alone," he mutters, and there it is again, that reluctance. 

"Why don't you like me?" Minho asks straightforwardly, unwilling to entertain the conversation too long. He only wants a straight answer.

Jisung shrugs, his focus on his phone even though he doesn't look like he's doing anything important. "Why do you care?"

"I care because if this works out, then we're gonna be spending a lot of time together," he explains, keeping calm in spite of his every instinct sparking alarms inside him. "You don't even know me enough to be disrespecting me like this."

"If you're uncomfortable with me, then why do you follow me into an empty room?"

Minho presses his lips into a line. "I'd like to have a good relationship with everyone in the group. I know I might not be the most pleasant, but you should take some time to get to know me before you decide to hate me."

Jisung seems to hesitate for a moment. In his head, he considers all the ways it absolutely pisses him off the way Lee Minho speaks—superciliously, annoyingly correctly, as if every word was calculated, frozen in time, meticulously picked apart and put back together. Slow. Gentle. Firm. Demanding. But he can't bring his face to actually depict what he feels inside, for whatever reason. To break the silence, Jisung tosses his phone aside and pushes himself up to his feet. He watches Minho carefully as he approaches, his sauntering steps slow and confident even though Lee Minho doesn't seem the slightest bit intimidated by him. Once they're face to face, Jisung looks him up and down. 

"I don't need a reason to not like you. I don't like you and that's it," he says, staring into his eyes from up close with his tired ones. Minho towers over him for just a little, but it's enough for the height difference between them to have Jisung looking up at him. "And I get that you're into the old ways, or whatever, but I'm not gonna talk to you any differently because you're, what? Eighteen? Don't be ridiculous."

"Twenty," Lee Minho corrects expeditiously. He tightens his jaw. "If you're not gonna refer to me with respect, then don't refer to me at all. And I find it will be difficult to ignore me when we're gonna be spending so much time together."

Han sketches a half smile. "I'll live."

He sure will. Minho doesn't look away, so again, they find themselves staring into each other's eyes for a few long seconds, their chests almost up against one another. Holding the eye contact like this feels like something that could go on forever, both too stubborn to let the other win, but then Minho notices that Han Jisung's eyes are so big and round and sparkly, and he becomes distracted. He blinks. He blinks again. Somewhere inside him, he tries to connect the face to the words, and he can't. All he can focus on is the hair falling over Jisung's eyebrows like a cascade, his honey skin soft like butter, the ceiling lights catching on his pupils. Weird. Puzzling

When his hand twitches loosely by his sides, almost like making to reach out and touch him, Minho is snapped back to reality. The dance hall is a little warmer than he remembers it being when he walked in, or maybe it's just the blush that has crept up his neck. In front of him, Jisung glares at him for one last long second before he walks past him toward the door, not forgetting to bump his shoulder into his in the process. And Minho is alone. And Minho's heart is racing. 

Eyes like star-kissed dreams. God, Minho would have drowned in them had it lasted just one more second. Strange. Odd. Fucking infuriating.

Minho shakes his head and the thoughts away with it, then looks down and finds that Jisung has forgotten his phone. 

Infuriating.

Minho curses silently under his breath and more subconsciously rather than willingly, he storms up to it and picks it up from the floor. The screen lights up to reveal its wallpaper, which is a seemingly old selfie of younger Han Jisung and Bang Chan all up on each other to fit the small frame of the camera, their noses red from the cold, their faces sparkling with undoubted happiness—strange. Minho studies Jisung's doe eyes peeking on the strip of his face that isn't covered by his black hood, and again, he's struck by lightning. In the picture, the apples of Jisung's cheeks are round and tight with his hidden smile and a pair of thin heart-shaped lips display a set of white little teeth that Minho finds himself staring at for a while. Before he realizes, an entire minute has gone by and he's still holding the phone.

He does the only sane thing he knows how to do and takes it with him.

Chapter 3: fifth dorm to the left

Jisung lost his phone.

It was only natural that it happened to him and no one else because fucking hell, he's the only idiot with little care for his phone. He sees his friends daily treasuring the stupid things like gold and it genuinely ticks him off because he hates phones, hates every part of them, hates using them and seeing people using them and anything related to them. But then they're kinda necessary at times, and they're expensive as shit. Which means Jisung is an idiot, because he lost his phone and he doesn't regret leaving it uncared for, but he also really has to find him, or else his mother might actually castrate him.

Tricky, because Jisung has absolutely no fucking idea where he left it.

He last recalls hiding out from Lee Minho in the dance hall and sitting down for a round of online sudoku, his head too beaten and his eyes too tired to actually settle down in his dorm and read a book or doodle some, but his mind also alarmingly awake to rest. He didn't see it again for the rest of the day, but yet again, he rarely ever does. He had vocal lessons after lunch, then spent some time in the recording studio and finally headed on to his dorm after dinner (where he purposefully avoided Minho's eyes at all costs), where he indulged in a drama he's taken a liking to lately and then finally got his (little) hours of sleep. And then it was a miracle that he even woke up in time for dance practice this morning without an alarm. That's when he noticed his phone was missing, and now, after nervously prancing about the building in search for it, Jisung is at the verge of collapse.

He went to the dance hall first hoping to have accidentally left it there last night, but the gym was deserted—of people and of phones—and so he grew anxious and searched the recording studio, Ha-joon's vocal class, the common rooms... and it was nowhere in sight. Now, as a last resort, he heads on to the cafeteria, even though Jisung never has breakfast and his presence is entirely unheard of during the early morning. There, he finds Bang Chan, Jeongin and Changbin already having breakfast in the wide table set for eight. (No Lee Minho in sight).

"Have any of you seen my phone?" he asks as soon as he arrives in a frantic hurry, his eyes still puffy from his recent wakefulness but his body certainly far too hectic.

"Good morning," Jeongin mumbles through a mouthful, his eyes barely open at such early time in the morning.

"Hi. Have you?"

"No. You lost it?" Changbin asks.

"I think the new guy stole it." 

Now, a very sleepy Chan looks up from his food. His cheeks are stuffed with his breakfast, his eyes are puffy and there's a beanie on his head worn to conceal his morning hair standing on all ends.

"Lee Minho stole your phone?" he repeats, trying to reflect the idiocy of the statement on his tone.

"Yes," Han Jisung replies with utter confidence.

Silence. Chan sighs.

"Do you realize how stupid that sounds?"

Jisung, of course, is offended. "Well, do you know the guy? He could very well be a killer."

"Oh, he went from a robber to an assassin?" Chan echoes again. "You've gone mad. You probably lost your phone somewhere. You rarely ever pay attention to it, anyway. Lee Minho is not gonna leave the band because you're accusing him of stuff."

Jisung purses his lips and says, "If any of us dies, it's gonna be on you."

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose because he can't believe he's actually saying these things out loud.

"I'll take the blame. Go annoy someone else. It's very early."

And Jisung, weirdly enough, is in no mood to throw a tantrum, so he simply goes—upset, but he goes. Chan's eyes find Changbin's, who flashes his eyebrows and goes back to his food.

"I swear, this kid is gonna kill me someday."

 

 

Lee Minho wakes up early with a rumbling stomach, but nonetheless, he decides to skip breakfast. When he reaches over to his nightstand to punch off his morning alarm within his lifeless shell of a dorm (in his day-long stay, he hasn't really had much time to start unpacking), the first thing he notices is Han Jisung's phone placed carefully by his own, aligned with the edges of the desk, humming faintly with its own alarm lighting up the screen. The wallpaper is once visible and after turning off both alarms, Minho finds himself studying the picture for a few minutes, still groggy from sleep, before actually getting up.

As he brushes his teeth half-awake, he thinks about it, too. Weird kid, he judges. Weird kid that he's known for less than twenty-four hours and already seems to hold the world's sins against him. He would reciprocate the hatred if somewhere along the way, the weird kid hadn't ignited his curiosity. Bad. So much anger wrapped around him, so much of it stored inside. Makes him want to uncover it. Eyes like star-kissed dreams. Accurate enough and heavily upsetting.

So Lee Minho leaves his dorm a half hour later, only once he's fully ready to face the day of today. He carries Han Jisung's phone in his back pocket and gets lost a couple of times down the hallways of the building before he finally finds his way. Then, when he arrives at the elevator, he comes across Hyunjin.

"Hello," Minho greets calmly.

Hyunjin looks up from his phone and bows lightly. "Good morning, hyung."

"Are you heading down?"

"Yes."

"Can I ask you a question?"

Hyunjin's eye twitches noting Minho has asked him not one, but two questions already. Still, he tucks his phone away and nods, lacking any intimacy with this man to joke about it. Maybe because he's a little scared of him, too (all of them are).

Minho clicks his tongue. "Which is Han Jisung's dorm?"

Now, Hyunjin eyes him with arched eyebrows. "Why do you need that?"

"He forgot his phone at the hall and I wanna give it back."

Not good. Not good at all. Hyunjin thinks for a moment.

"You should probably just... give it to me," he suggests, even though he's certainly not Han's favorite person either. "I don't think he's gonna wanna see you."

"I can handle him." Minho smiles through tight lips. "Just point me in the direction and I'll be on my way."

Hyunjin hesitates, thinking to himself that he does not wanna hear any news about a dead newbie within the JYP building an hour from now (which sounds far-fetched, but knowing Han Jisung, it really isn't). But Minho's eyes are determined and something tells him that he's not gonna take no for an answer. Not to mention, this man does scare him. 

Hyunjin smacks his lips. "Um, right over there, fifth dorm to the left," he tells him at last. "Don't... die."

Minho laughs and bows lightly. "Thank you, Hyunjin."

He turns on his heel and leaves just as the elevator announces its arrival with the characteristic ding of a bell. Hyunjin's eyes follow Minho all the way down the hallway he came from until he gets lost down the corner to the right, and after that, he sighs and wishes him the best.

Minho, unlike Hyunjin, is thoroughly confident as he heads over to the fifth dorm to the left. His own is not too far from here, a few more rooms down the hall in the opposite direction, but even so, it's not easy to find his way. He counts the doors until he reaches the fifth, and although it's the exact same as all the rest, it feels a little more daunting. Knowing Han Jisung is inside causes anxiety to fester inside him. To have his hands do something other than hang limply by his sides, Minho fetches Jisung's phone from his back pocket and summons the courage he needs before finally knocking.

It's not too early nor too late, so he figures Jisung might be awake and still hanging in his dorm if he hasn't gone down for breakfast. Part of him wishes it not to be the case and he knows—especially after their last encounter—that he should have listened to Hyunjin and take no part in this affair, but he can't help but want to solve this. It's slowly becoming an itch he has the unbearable urge to scratch. So now, here he is. Hoping he won't die. Hoping two years of boxing and jiu jitsu might help against a five foot seven adorable little guy whose face certainly does not match his behavior.

Minho knocks at the door with something of a pounding heart. He wrings his fingers, his palms clammy where he feels the warmth of the phone screen against his skin. He pays attention for any sound on the inside of the room, but when a few loose seconds go by and no one answers, he knocks again.

"Han Jisung," he calls, "are you in? I, uh, found your phone."

Again, no answer.

Minho puffs out a little sigh and looks around, the hallway deserted all around him. Distant music resounds from somewhere, though he can't quite place its origin. But it sparks an idea inside him. 

With a nerve-wracking pounding in his ear, Minho tries to knob, and the door is surprisingly unlocked. His heart skips a beat. With a lethargy that is unlike his racing curiosity, he pushes the door open and slowly peeks his head inside, knowing very well that he should leave—effective immediate—but needing to satisfy this craving.

The door now stands fully open in front of him, yet Minho doesn't immediately react. He remains right on the border between inside and outside, from a place where he can take a good look around and swallow down the entirety of the place. And he's not surprised by what he sees. Like, at all.

The dorm overall is slightly messy, with the bed undone, pillows and blankets strewn carelessly about it. Chaos overflows the vicinity, but there is an underlying glint of beauty to it that catches Minho's attention right away. The walls are clad with posters, sketches, framed pictures, decorated with string lights and banners and even dream catchers made out of old CDs that reflect the light of the glowing lamps in shades of silver and purple on the crowded walls. Notebooks and books and pens and loose pages are dispersed all over a desk set across the room from the bed and piles of clothes—some carefully folded and some carelessly tossed—litter each available surface.

Staring around, Minho thinks to himself that he wouldn't have expected anything different from Han Jisung.

The door to the bathroom stands ajar, the lights off inside simply confirming his initial suspicion that no one is here. Minho finds himself wondering how come Jisung left his door unlocked. Warily, he takes a step inside and straightens a fold on the carpet with his foot. Then, he heads over to the desk.

There's a faint smell of something in the air. Minho can't quite put his finger on it, but it's not any less pleasant. Smoke, but there's no incense. Cold in the middle of summer. November but it's July. His eyes rummage across the various pages on top of it with curiosity. No light is on but the lamp to his right, illuminating the surface of the wooden table where a notebook lies open with a roughened pencil hidden amongst its creases, as if a lack of a sharpener had forced its user to use a dull knife to carve its end. The thick pages are covered in doodles and sketches and graphite fingerprints, the journal surrounded all around by colored pencils, pens, napkins and even an empty cup with a bottom of cold coffee left untouched and a golden crescent at the rim. A pair of headphones are tossed to the side next to a fake plant and rolls of scotch tape, rulers, scissors; even a little snow globe surrounded by bunched-up candy wrappers, little notes on white post-its in a messy handwriting, candles and figurines.

Minho sorts carefully through some of the pages displaying mindless doodles: little animals with big doe eyes, paper planes, cowboy hats, sparkles, flowers, blinking eyes, Harry Potter glasses and a lightning strike. The paper is rough against his fingertips. Graphite and coffee linger in the likes of the art studio that is Jisung's room. Minho still holds the phone on his hand, but he stands captivated by what he sees, as if an introspective look into Han Jisung's mind was worth every second.

"What are you doing?"

Minho gasps softly, startled by the voice that suddenly speaks from behind him. It takes a hot second of contemplation for reality to dawn upon him. Slowly, Minho removes his hand from the pages of the journal and turns on his place to meet eyes with exactly the person he hoped and didn't to meet. Jisung stands in shock under the doorsill.

"Han Jisung," Minho drawls. "Sorry. The door was open."

"So, you just came in?" Han shakes his head, the corner of his lip twitching into a grimace. "Are you, like, a creep?"

Minho frowns. "No."

"Why are you in my room, you weirdo?"

"I came here to give back your phone," he explains, showing him the hand that holds it. "You forgot it in—"

"Oh, I knew it!" Jisung exclaims, his hand flying up, his eyes gazing wide open. "You stole my phone! It was you!"

Minho freezes in his place, watching the boy's expression morph into a triumphant one. Jisung's hands land on his hair as he debates what to do, his mouth open. Minho, in turn, eyes his surroundings.

"I didn't steal your phone," he tells him, watching him pace. "You forgot it in the dance hall."

"Yeah, sure. You're a creep and a robber." Jisung rolls his eyes. "I'm gonna tell Bang Chan and he's gonna kick you the fuck out."

"I'm not—" Minho grows frustrated and tosses the phone on the bed to place one hand on his hip and scratch the back of his neck with the other. "Can you shut up for, like, eight seconds?"

Jisung is clearly offended by the statement. "I don't forget my phone anywhere."

Lie. But innocent.

"Dude, I'm not a psycho," Minho exclaims at last, falling off the verge of his frustration. "You were pissed off and dropped your phone in the dance hall last night, so I thought I'd give it back 'cause I'm not, like, a fucking monster. Can you be sensible for once? I'm not your enemy."

Jisung's mouth snaps shut. Watching the calm drain from Minho's face is certainly something. There is a pout lying beneath that obnoxious grin-not-grin—or the lack thereof—that Jisung studies attentively. He watches Minho with wide eyes and an open mouth, trying to find his words but feeling alien to this bizarre situation. No one has ever come into his room without his permission. In fact, he might be one of the only trainees that even got a private dorm. He feels misplaced. 

"Okay, but it still doesn't explain why you'd go in my room," Jisung says at last, feeling his thoughts begin to race. 

"For the love of God." Minho traces a hand across his hair in exasperation. "You're actually seriously infuriating. Like, I'm not even joking," he mumbles. "You're welcome for the phone. Excuse me."

He avoids Jisung's gaze as he walks over to the door and pushes past him, out onto the hallway without another word said. Jisung follows him out with his eyes still wide in shock, then keeps frozen for an instant as Minho walks away.

"Hey!" he exclaims, running out after him, but Minho doesn't turn back until he gets lost inside his own dorm across the hall and slams the door shut.

Third time Jisung has been left speechless by this man. And it's only been a day.

 

Chapter 4: don't order him around

Jisung spends the better half of his day wandering the building aimlessly, with no destination whatsoever. In his head, there are only a handful of thoughts, all veering around Lee Minho and the events that unfolded recently in the dorm, just this morning. 

It's not uncommon for Jisung to overthink. In fact, it's a rather frequent occurence in the housing of his brain. His mind works under constant stimulation, unable to stop, unable to brake. However, this time, it's odd. All because Jisung is thinking too much about Minho, out of everyone, and that's not something he's particularly keen on. He mimics Minho's expression in front of his bathroom mirror over and over again to try and understand what is the feeling that lies beneath it, not because he's necessarily bad at reading nuances, but because Minho is spectacularly stoic. Undecipherable. Crawling under Jisung's skin is the racking anxiety of being faced with something he can't quite anticipate.

He wasn't planning on upsetting Minho, but then again, Han is known for making people upset without meaning to. Maybe because people upset him first, but on occasion, as is the case, it's not the world that's the problem, it's him. He's presently aware of it at times like this, when he roams the hallways wondering why did I say that? Why did I do that? Why am I like this? Not because he hates Minho any less, but because he hates himself a little more. Along the lines of not caring—or pretending not to care—he feels a tangent remorse.

Maybe because Minho was, for reasons unknown, at least trying. Trying to get close, to be respectful. The people that know Jisung have stopped trying ages ago as soon as they noticed there was no getting around to him (if Jisung chooses to hate you, there's not turning back) and he knows he's deeply disliked amongst the members of the band. It gets him thinking sometimes if perhaps he's just a loose end to spare. Nobody tries to hide what they feel and nobody tries to do anything about it, either. He's just there. He does what he came here to do: he sings and he raps and then he's ignored.

But Minho tried, regardless of anything. Maybe it was a poor effort, maybe three failed conversation don't even count as trying, but the last person who tried to get close to him was Felix, months ago as soon as he joined the band, and it took much less than that to make him cry and never approach him again. Minho's effort was worth something, at least, and Jisung is left wondering.

He knows what he is, how he is. That guilt is not uncommon, that sensation of having wasted someone's energy—and he knows precious energy is, because he rarely has any of it. But he can't help it. If it's resentment, then let it. If Jisung is only upset that he hasn't felt like a human since he was twelve, then let him. He can only take it out on the world and hope to feel better.

But... oh. The wound never really scars.

When Jisung arrives at the gym that night with his duffel bag strapped over his chest, he's still continuously trying to soothe his rambling thoughts into a steady beat. He doesn't want to think about yet another thing he has touched and ruined, so he keeps his head down, his eyes on his feet gazing at his every step. Because it makes inherently uncomfortable, Jisung tries not to step on the crevices of the floor and taps his fingers anxiously on the side of his thigh as he pushes the door open with his shoulder. There, he heads immediately to the locker room and is surprised to find someone else's belongings tucked carefully on a corner in spite of the late hour: clothes folded and piled on top of a black bag and a pair of slippers symmetrically aligned with the wall to the side. It awakens inside him a rushed urge to leave.

It's late enough. Han Jisung likes to train alone. He has been doing so for the past three years since company makes his skin crawl, especially during what he considers to be a vulnerable time at the gym. Most of the members of the band train during the morning, before or after breakfast, whereas only a few of them train during the afternoon. He's the only one that does so during nighttime, and never before has he encountered anyone else at this time. And he's thankful for that.

But there's an occupied space across the locker room from him and it's jarring.

Quickly, Jisung changes into his work-out clothes stuffs his belongings somewhere in an empty locker, taking with him his phone and his water bottle. Then, he walks into the gym. The sight of Lee Minho stretching on a yoga mat across the room causes him to freeze before even stepping foot inside.

Stop. Just a moment. Jisung tries to make sense of what he's seeing.

Minho looks weirdly enchanting in an all-black attire, with the short sleeves of his top rolled up to reveal a set of built shoulders and tight arms. His thighs are thick and trained under a pair of thin gym shorts and the gloves on his hands match the color of his clothes. Dumbfounded, Jisung catches himself trailing across the planes of his muscular body, before an unknown force pushes him into the gym while he clears his throat softly.

"Are you almost over?" he asks.

Minho's eyes open suddenly when Jisung's voice reaches him. He meets his eyes through their reflection on the wall-length mirror and because his expression doesn't shift, not even a little bit, Jisung is struck by a sudden instinct to shrink back.

"I'm only starting," Minho tells him calmly.

Jisung quickly looks away, unwilling to engage on yet another staring contest with this man that very clearly doesn't want to back down. He tosses his water bottle on a corner of the gym by the mat rack, already frustrated. 

"Can't you train tomorrow?" he mumbles, clicking his tongue.

"Can't you train tomorrow?" Minho fires back, not sassily but more so genuinely. "The gym is big enough to fit the two of us, not your ego. Don't be a child." 

Han's eyebrows shoot upwards in shock. It's been a long time since the last time anyone talked to him that way. Maybe Minho is a worthy opponent. Still, he's offended by his words. "What the hell does that mean?"

Minho doesn't answer. He continues to stretch quietly, eyes closed, shoulders relaxed. Jisung grimaces, then momentarily wonders where Minho gets all his flexibility from before he shakes away the thought. Within a moment, he fetches a mat from the rack and tosses it on the floor, yet hesitates before starting his routine because he seriously does not enjoy company in the gym.

"I can't train if you're here," he confesses, rather coyly.

Minho clicks his tongue. "You're too spoiled. Has throwing tantrums been your way of getting through with anything you want?"

Jisung frowns. "I'm not spoiled and I don't throw tantrums, asshole. There's no reason why you would be training at this time."

"Well, I don't like company in the gym either," Minho tells him. "Your disrespect is not gonna work with me, Jisung-ah. And it's hyung, not asshole. Now, can you be silent? I'm tryna focus here."

Fourth time. Fourth time he's left speechless, silenced by this man's capability of saying just the right thing to keep him quiet. Jisung purses his lips and racks his brain for any possible answer, yet the silence stretches on for too long. Eventually, he huffs out loud, tosses his mat on the floor and sits cross-legged on it to start stretching his arms, although rather sheepishly. His eyes stay lodged on Minho's face through their reflections on the mirror. 

The silence continues on for a few long minutes, the time it takes for Jisung's annoyance to simmer down into only a mild discomfort. On the meantime, he also takes advantage of the time to thoroughly scan Minho's reflection, his eyes trailing over his unwinded features as Minho stealthily switches positions. Eventually, they both roll up their mats, toss them on the stack and get ready to begin their work-out. The tension in the air is one that only Jisung can feel, judging by the fact that Minho doesn't seem the littlest bit bothered by his presence there. Without another word, each start their own routines.

Jisung really tries not to pay attention to Minho, but his muffled grunts of effort as he exerts force against the bar are certainly distracting. He leans back on the bench and tries hard to focus on his own workout, yet eventually, in between sets and once he's already starting to feel the sweat percolating through his sweatpants, he lifts himself up and glances at Minho. Across the room, Minho loads plates onto a bar—a lot of plates. Jisung measures the size of his back with only his eyes, the flexing muscles of his shoulders peeking through the fabric of his sweat-soaked t-shirt. 

"Do you usually work out this late?" His voice rips through the silence and Minho's head shoots up. He seems like he wasn't expecting Jisung to talk again. Their eyes meet across the gym and Minho hesitates.

"Why?" he questions.

Jisung averts his gaze. "I'm just tryna figure out if I should change my schedule."

"Don't let me stop you." Minho shrugs, and Jisung clenches his jaw.

"How generous of you."

"Yes, I try to be."

His lazy replies make Jisung fume. He scowls and wipes the sweat from his forehead with his forearm. He hates that he thinks he's so smart. He hates that he always seems to have the right answer to everything. Jisung runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek and watches him closely. He is a worthy opponent.

But that's not what he cares to know. Minho glances away and continues to load the plates on the bar, and Jisung's stomach coils. There's something about his tone.

So he asks, "Do you hate me now, like the rest of them?"

The question takes Minho by surprise. He glances up from the bar almost immediately, as if he had been expecting anything but that, and for a moment, he seems to be searching Jisung's face for any trace of a joke, of a prank. Yet he founds nothing but his deadpan eyes, and that seems to unsettle him.

"What?" he trails off.

"Do you?" Jisung insists. 

"I don't hate you," Minho admits.

"Really?" There's disbelief in Jisung's voice, and Minho picks up on it almost instantly.

"Why would I hate you? I don't even know you." He shrugs, then pauses. "If you're gonna push everyone away, you can't feel bad for yourself afterwards. You're clearly not a person that wants to be approached, so learn how to live with that or start behaving."

Jisung puts his head down and stares at his knees, at the red sweatpants he wears to conceal the lower half of his body. He rubs his hands over his thighs to rid the clamminess that has overcome him. He's ashamed to speak, but he does either way.

"Thank you for the phone, Minho," he murmurs with his eyes squeezed shut, the words feeling like a bruise to is—indeed—massive ego. And he doesn't surprise only himself: across the room, Minho's eyebrows flash in astonishment before he accidentally drops a ten kilogram plate on the floor, missing his toes only for a few inches.

"Shit!" he hisses, jumping back. "Fuck, uhm... what— what did you just say?"

Jisung clicks his tongue. "Are you gonna make me repeat it?"

"I didn't hear you the first time," Minho lies.

They stare into each other's eyes. 

"I said," Jisung repeats reluctantly, "thank you... for the phone."

Minho's heart swells. He's split between the warmth that awakens him and the smugness of having made Jisung cave.

"You're welcome, Jisung-ah," he says. The tone of his voice has stooped down a notch.

Jisung shakes his head in denial and leans back down on the flat bench, his back arched and his hands wrapped around the bar on the rack to continue his work-out. Minho is still watching him closely, his lips now curled upwards only slightly, a new tranquility settling down on his chest.. He watches Jisung's form as he starts performing the chest press, releasing air and a soft groan with every repetition, straining against the weight. Then, light on his feet, Minho approaches him slowly, so quietly that Jisung doesn't notice him until he's standing over him. Laced with confusion, Jisung rests the bar back on the rack and glances up at him.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"You're doing it wrong," Minho tells him.

Jisung sits up to glare at him. "I'm doing it just fine."

"You're gonna hurt your back."

"Don't order me around."

Minho shows his palms by the sides of his head in retaliation. "If you don't want my help, just tell me," he says.

"Why would you help me?" Jisung's voice rides up a few pitches. 

"Why not? Lie back down. Let me show you."

Minho's hand finds his shoulder and with surgical delicacy, he pushes him back down onto the bench. Jisung lets him because it's only rarely that he's treated so gently.

"You have to arch more. Look."

Minho crouches next to him and slips his hand under the small of Jisung's back to hook it at his waist. Jisung scoots away, suddenly alarmed.

"What are you doing?" he exclaims, wide-eyed.

Minho frowns. "What? C'mon."

He urges him back down and Jisung hesitantly obeys, eyeing him sideways, sensitive to his tough. Minho's fingers are gentle over his waist, slipping between his back and the bench with his thumb hooked over his belly to ease him up into a steep arch.

"You have to rest the weight on your shoulder blades. Tuck your pelvis and sit on your ischium," Minho tells him, squeezing him softly before standing up. Jisung's body erupts with goosebumps. "Your hands should be shoulder-width apart. The bar goes down to the sternum and you breathe out when you lift it. Try it."

Jisung wallows in heat. His heart pounds loudly in his ear and something inside him feels like it has exploded. He's left feeling the aftermaths of a sensation he can't quite put his finger on, but instead of trying to figure it out, he follows Minho's instructions, grabs the bar and pushes it up, grunting due to the effort. After six repetitions, he rests it back on the rack and only glances at Minho for a brief second.

"Easier, yeah?" Minho tells him, leaning against the rack. "That's how you do it."

Jisung is visibly flustered. He sits up and avoids Minho's gaze.

"Yeah, okay. Whatever."

Minho laughs softly through his nose, "You shouldn't train alone unless you know what you're doing."

"I know what I'm doing, smart-ass. How do I know that you know what you're doing? You also train alone," he protests.

Minho shrugs and leans further in, still looking at Jisung from his spot towering over him. His grin falters because Jisung's eyes are so round and big and strangely sweet that it makes him weak at the knees. Even through his anger, even through his tight frown and his tense eyebrows and his pouting lips, Jisung looks dreamy. It's an odd sight to behold, that of eyes like star-kissed dreams and whatever. Infuriating.

Minho, at last, walks away, back towards the machine he was previously using, and Jisung follows him with his eyes and a racing pulse. The touch of his fingers on his waist over his t-shirt is like a feather, or a blooming flower. It spreads like a blood stain, all the way to his constricting ribcage and his steaming skin. There's a tingling on his temple and he feels very hot all of a sudden, as if the temperature had risen.

"I can help you tomorrow, too," Minho suggests, and Jisung's head shoots toward him.

"Huh?"

Their eyes lock across the gym. Again, Minho's lips are curled into that unusual grin of his as he runs his fingers through his hair in an attempt to get it off his eyes, though futile because it falls right back down. Jisung finds the gesture awfully appealing, in some way. Or something.

"I don't need your help," he tells him in a single moment of desperation to prove that he's still the impenetrable case he always has been.

Minho adds the clips to his bar and positions himself in front of the mirror, then simply says, "Okay." And nothing else. Jisung watches him even after the conversation is over as Minho starts performing the bicep curls, one after the other, grunting lowly under his breath. He exhales sharply with a heaving, puffed chest, his eyebrows curled due to the effort. Soon enough, the veins on his glistening arms tighten and protrude through his skin. Jisung licks his lips, then shakes his head and looks away.

 

Chapter 5: you're following him

"Is there something that's bothering you?"

Jisung frowns at Ha-joon when he pauses the lesson to ask. His voice is calm but his eyes are stern, as though his student's constant zoning out throughout his vocal warm-up exercises was starting to upset him—and how could it now? When Jisung is in a daze, it's hard to snap him out.

Today, however, he seems especially distracted, and Ha-joon knows him enough to tell. He crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at his student. Jisung has always found it funny that Ha-joon seems to be the least expressive person in the world, so even through his concern, there's not an inkling of anything on his face.

"What?" He shakes his head boredly. In his tone, there's no hint of wanting to discuss this.

"Is there something that's bothering you?" Ha-joon repeats, slower this time as if there was a problem with Han's hearing. "You're not paying any attention to me and it's ticking me off."

Ha-joon is probably the only person Jisung actually visibly respects in the institution. No formal names (luckily, Ha-joon is nowhere near traditional), no difference in the way he treats him compared to everyone else, but when Ha-joon says it's enough, Jisung stops. Maybe it's because the man is twice as big, twice as tall, and fairly handsome that he feels intimidated, or maybe because he's the only person that refused to put up with his temper and got him back in line within ten seconds of knowing him; either way, he's special like that. If there's something that Jisung particularly admires—and hates—is someone who can publicly humiliate him without batting an eye. Naturally and because of that, he treats Ha-joon differently from the way he treats his other elders.

"I'm paying attention," he lies only because he's too tired to engage in a heartfelt conversation about his feelings. 

Ha-joon shakes his head. "Should we reschedule?"

"What? No, no." Jisung is quick to wave his hands in front of him to prevent his vocal teacher from turning off the keyboard. "Let's keep going."

"I'll continue if you tell me what's up."

"Nothing's up!"

"Surely not your face."

Jisung glares at him. "I'm serious."

"So am I," Ha-joon quips, crossing his arms over his chest. "I heard you're quarreling with the new kid. Is it true?"

The thought of it already annoys him.

"What? Minho?" Han grimaces, then scowls. "I'm not quarreling with anyone. I don't care about him."

"Bang Chan says otherwise."

"Bang Chan talks a lot and says nothing at all most of the times." Jisung rolls his eyes. "What did the idiot say now?"

"He said you're upset that Minho is on the team now. That you're very angry," Ha-joon tells him as he leans back on his chair, considering the lesson paused.

He looks even bigger when he crosses his arms over his chest, the veined muscles of his arms protruding from under the white t-shirt that is certainly a bit tight on him. Anyone sane enough would know why Han Jisung doesn't dare mess with him.

"Oh, did he?" he mumbles uninterestedly.

"Yes." Ha-joon nods. "Angry just like you were when all the other members joined, but he says you seem serious about it this time. Care to elaborate?"

"I'm always serious about it. It's a different thing if you don't treat me seriously." Jisung huffs out loud. "I can deal with the last four 'cause they're not on my ass all the time, but eight? It's chaos. Plus, Minho is annoying as fuck."

"Is it really that serious?" Ha-joon clicks his tongue. "I haven't met the kid, but I trust Bang Chan's judge of character and if he says Lee Minho is gonna be a good addition to the band, then I believe him. I mean, have there been any bad members so far?"

"No, but—"

"How's Lee Minho any different?"

"Well, I just don't want to! Guy's annoying and self-important and I don't fucking like him." Jisung grows easily exasperated. "God. What is it with everyone questioning my integrity? Can't we just move on with the class?"

"It's useless if you're not fully into it. It's almost over, anyway." Ha-joon shrugs, at last turning off the keyboard.

"Maybe he'll grow on me, maybe not—probably not. Who cares? It's not like anybody takes into account my opinion, anyway." Jisung clicks his tongue. "Minho is gonna be in the band regardless of what I think. Chan doesn't discuss these things with me. He doesn't care if I agree with it or not."

"Of course he cares. They all care."

"They hate me."

"Bang Chan doesn't hate you."

"But he doesn't take me seriously, or else he would've let me know about this in advance. He— They think I'm just a spoiled kid who throws tantrums to get what he wants. Minho thinks that, too.They think it's just a whim and they don't even bother to ask me about it because my opinion matters to no one." Jisung rolls his eyes. He quiets down and sits contemplatively for a moment. "Maybe... okay, maybe I don't express myself in the best of ways, but it still counts, right? Even if Bang Chan is the leader, I was here before all the rest of them were. I'm the second after him. Shouldn't I be asked about these things? Shouldn't we all know in advance?"

Ha-joon doesn't say anything; simply lets him talk.

"If I'm in this band, it's because I want to succeed, not because I enjoy it," Jisung concludes with a firm gesture of his hand. "And I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Now, finally, Ha-joon nods. "Okay, then. You're free to go. We're done here."

Jisung stands up from his chair so fast that it scrapes loudly against the floor, almost falling back out of the forceful gesture. He fetches his bag from a corner and grumbles a goodbye before leaving the music room, feeling a lump having formed in his throat after such long ramble about his feelings (because Han Jisung doesn't talk about his feelings; this is maybe the longest he has done that for in a few months. It's a little relieving, but also he really, really fucking hates it). All he wants is to get back to his dorm and wash it all away.

But Jisung is on his way out when he runs into the last person he hoped to see.

"Do you follow me everywhere I go?" he bites out angrily upon recognizing Minho standing across the hallway from him.

Minho laughs softly through his nose. "We live in the same building, Jisung-ah."

Jisung puffs out a growl, "Doesn't mean I have to see you everywhere I fucking go."

For the first time, Minho seems impressed by his response, as if he could sense in him the extra barrels of frustration percolating through his skin. He flashes a brow when Jisung stops to study him, just for a second, with his eyes squinted.

"Still no formalities from you, I see," Minho says.

Jisung huffs. "I told you already, if you expect me to call you any differently because you're one year older—"

"Three."

Jisung only glares at him. "Well, I don't care if you're old like my fucking grandma, you're the same as everyone else. Are you gonna go in or are you just gonna stand there?"

"I wasn't gonna go in there."

"So you are following me."

Minho breathes in deeply as if to contain himself, because Han Jisung talks so much and so fast that it's hard to keep up with the original reason to his annoyance. Either way, Minho doesn't seem bothered so much as entertained.

"Whatever," Jisung mutters at last, unwilling to continue entertaining the pointless conversation, "bye."

He pushes past Minho and starts striding down the hallway, fast, slow. The latter does nothing to stop him, watching him slip away easily through his fingers. He finds it amusing, endearing, the way Jisung sways when he walks, yet slouches in spite of his short height, as if he owned the place but wanted to go by unnoticed. The strands of hair peeking out from under his beanie right by the nape of his neck look soft and Minho imagines what it would be like to run his fingers through them. Star-kissed... something. Whatever. Infuriating.

He shakes his head and lets him go.

 

Chapter 6: you have a zero

Summary:

cw; sleep paralysis/insomnia (idk if this counts as a trigger? anyway)

The night of the following day, after one too many shots of of leash-less confusion and careful consideration, Jisung decides to skip training, fueled only by the fact that he doesn't want to see Minho again (and he still has a hard time feeling motivated to work out when he knows he's not alone, but mostly because it's Minho). Staying in bed locked up in his dark room is disheartening because Jisung hates feeling unproductive, but he decides to gift himself with the luxury of lethargy just this once, also to have the time to sort out his tangled thoughts. He's confused, but he's also offended and very tired, or maybe even angry; but then again, when is he not? The only thing that is certain is that he lies completely unaware of a very confused twenty-year-old boy down in the gym that is constantly peeking at the door every few seconds, waiting for him.

But what the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve, right?

Within the walls of the closed dorm, lit only by the dim lighting of a few lamps (never the ceiling light; it's too bright and it messes up his sleep schedule), with an open window to let in the sweet spring breeze that smells of the lavender inflorescence at the sill, Jisung spends some time on his desk drawing, long enough for the edges of his fingers to become stained with ink. His glasses rest low on the bridge of his nose and his full focus is on the pen as it scratches over the thick pages of his journal, filling it with mindless loops and squares and triangles and flowers and stickmen, and just whatever. He uses the time to think as he writes his own name over and over again in different letters, different sizes, then does the same but for Minho's name. Scratchy handwriting, big across the center of the page, just because he wants to know what it would look like on paper. He wants to materialize it. Doing so helps him understand so many things.

His own name, Han Jisung, is rather sharp, rather pointed, a little long and very thin; Minho's is round like soap bubbles, soft and chubbier. Prettier, too. It messes with Jisung's head, but it feels good to write it, for whatever reason. Lee Minho; it gives off the color red. In cursive, it's a combination of constant coils and twists that are pleasant to the wrist. After the first time, Jisung writes it again, then again and again and yet again until the page is just him. He presses his ink-stained thumb down on a clean edge of the paper and leaves a gaping fingerprint behind, and it's a pretty work of art. His thoughts, now, fall into place, if only for a while before the wind ruffles them again.

Jisung leaves his desk, brushes his teeth and gets into bed when tire overcomes him, all the time humming under his breath because there's a song stuck in his head and the soft vibration of his voice in his chest soothes him. He has a headache, too, but he can't sleep and so he spends a couple of long hours tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling, where string lights and cotton clouds and neon plastic stars blink back at him. His mind is too busy and he's too tired to focus on sleeping, so he remains awake, thinking about the fact that he should be sleeping, and thinking about sleeping, and wanting to as well, but never actually managing it. The room is quiet enough and because he's always been scared of the dark, Jisung watches out for every corner, lying on the center of the mattress so as to keep away from the edges. 

After some tedious hours, Jisung finally falls asleep. At least until he wakes up somewhere around dawn, when a shadow creeps across his line of view on the opposite end of the room. It takes Jisung a hot second to become adjusted to his surroundings, but upon sensing motion, he remains frozen, silent. The figure lurks watching him with no eyes, breathing with no nose. Jisung's heart beats a thousand miles per minute, but when he tries to move, he finds there's something weighing him down.

The dark figure suddenly moves, quick, like a flash. Jisung is struck by a sudden concern that it might knock over the delicate lamp on the desk it stands so close to, but the air around it remains undisturbed as the creature disappears out the open window—as if it was never even there to begin with. Jisung's whole body trembles and he pushes and pushes against the force that keeps him down until he finally wakes up. He finds himself panting breathlessly.

His chest hurts and within it, he feels his heart heavy, loaded, pinched and shrinking. He squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to drown down his sobs but something weighs on him and he realizes he's crying. His heartbeat feels stagnant and the air has deserted him, so in a second, riddled by panic, Jisung jumps to his feet.

The first thing he does as he regains sense of his limbs is slam the window shut, fearing that the shadow creature might creep back into his dorm, even if he's well aware that it was merely a dream. Then, when the usually welcome breeze stops blowing into the dorm, Jisung puts on his slippers in a frantic rush and hurries out of the room, trying to find fresh air somewhere, anywhere. The hallways are dark and quiet and every corner, every shadow seems to be haunting him, chasing after him, touching his neck and making him bristle with anxiety. His every step is so fast he could crash into a wall and not notice the pain.

And so he does. He crashes into—not a wall, a man.

"Hey!" he exclaims. When he stumbles back due to the impact, Jisung is grabbed by the shoulders by said stranger to be kept in balance, and the feeling is caging. "Get off me!"

The stranger squeezes him. "Hey, calm down."

Jisung freezes when he recognizes Minho's voice. He glances up to meet his troubled eyes that are posed on him through his perplexity. Minho, through the quiet, studies Jisung's flush face and his sparkling eyes under the tears that stream mercilessly down his cheeks.

"Han Jisung," he mumbles, caught off guard by the abrupt encounter.

Jisung's skin burns like a bonfire, so he hisses, "Let go of me." He snatches himself away from Minho's arms with grating force and Minho stares at him in shock. 

"W—What's wrong?" he stammers out, eyeing him carefully. His gaze travels the entirety of Jisung's figure, as if searching for any signs of what might be wrong with him. "Why are you crying?"

Jisung doesn't plan to answer, but even if he wanted to do it, he wouldn't be able to. The sobs and the little hiccups continue to rip through him because there's a lump in his throat and he's still scared.

"Hey," Minho calls again. "Han Jisung."

Jisung pants against the oppressing force that tightens his airways. "I have— I can't..."

Minho watches him desperately struggle to get his breath in, and because concern pounds its fist against his temples, he makes a final call, regardless of what the young boy might want, and steadily, firmly but with unusual gentleness, takes a step forward. Minho doesn't let himself be intimidated by the endless reactions he might spark as he grabs Jisung's damp face between his hands and hols him tight to where he feels his salty tears trailing between his fingers. Jisung struggle against him, squirming to get out of his grip, but Minho pushes him up against the nearest wall and holds him down with his body pressed against him. Only then, when he feels Jisung is mildly controlled, he wraps his arms around him and hugs him as hard as he can.

"What are you doing!" Jisung exclaims, alarmed. He's trapped between Minho's embrace and the wall behind him, and he doesn't even care who around might be awoken by his shrilling screams. "Fucking— Minho!"

"Calm down," Minho whispers to him lowly in his ear.

"Get off!"

Jisung struggles, but Minho's force and size exceed him until eventually, somewhere along the forced pressure of the embrace, he feels his racing pulse subsiding back to its steady beat. Unaware, confused, cold and trembling, Jisung still cries, but he stops moving and lets himself be in Minho's arms, so long until the tingling coursing his body seems to dissipate. The cold wall against his back and the man's warmth on his chest snap him back to reality. Jisung slowly regains his senses until only stray heaves echo in the hallway.

He notices with grating horror that Minho smells of cologne, even at this late hour of the night. His body is firm, an unmovable rock keeping him down, a grounded pebble in a stream of panic. Jisung's face is rested on the crook of his neck and he feels his scent bathing him, swallowing him whole to the point that he begins to feel intoxicated by it, lightheadedness striking him, sweeping him off his feet. Tiny white spots hover in the corners of his vision.

Slowly, however, the embrace loosens up around him and Minho pulls away, only far enough to stare into his eyes. He's still pressed against him with one hand on the wall to keep him caged and the other cradling the back of his neck, but now there's a short distance between them that Jisung could close if he leant it just a little. He can feel Minho's fingers threaded with the hair on the back of his neck. Minho, on the other hand, finally confirms that is is, in fact, as soft and fluffy as he'd imagined it.

"Are you calm?" he asks in a faint whisper, his face only inches away from Jisung's, so much that they are now sharing air with each other.

Jisung stares up at him in shock, wide-eyed because he's never been held like this before, never stood so close to anyone in his life. His cheeks are still damp and cold with his tears but they no longer roll down his cheeks, and his body is carefully eased into a state of utter calm that is unlike himself.

"W—What..." he mumbles out, unable to grasp his words. He can't keep his eyes off of Minho's mouth and how close it is to his own, not suggestive, not insinuative, only there.

"What's wrong with you?" Minho asks, his voice a tone lower, raspier, layered with a throbbing concern that he fails to conceal. "Why are you crying, Jisung-ah?"

But Jisung can't even remember what he was crying. Perfume is stuck in his nostrils and this feels like a place in the world that he could hang out in for a while. He's tongue-tied.

"Uh..." he mumbles out, then swallows dryly to bring the words back into his body. "I, uh... I got sleep paralysis."

"You had sleep paralysis?" Minho hums gently. Jisung nods, still speechless. "You got scared?" He nods again. Minho squeezes the back of his neck in a gesture that makes a chill run down Jisung's spine. "Come. Let's go get some fresh air, yeah?"

And Jisung nods one last time because he's at this man's complete and utter mercy, unable to put two and two together; he can but follow his voice through the darkness that still encompasses him. Minho pulls away and Jisung feels like a part of himself has been ripped out his body, leaving behind only a once warm patch of his skin that now feels cold and lacking against the current of air in the hallway. Minho's hand on his back guides him forward and down the hall, and Jisung looks at his feet as he walks to try and get ahold of himself. The world has been reduced to nothing. Jisung struggles to find his way back.

"Are you okay?" Minho asks quietly.

Jisung nods. The hallway seems eternal but the quiet warmth of his hand close to his back, posed gently between his shoulder blades, seems like an anchor into the real world. Suddenly, shapeless shadows on the wall seem like a child's motive of concern and Jisung is no longer worried about monsters lurking in the dark. The only thing in his mind is Minho, Minho, Minho.

He wants to know who in their right mind would try to soothe a raging storm into oblivion with a hug. Minho knows he's not Jisung's favorite person and yet, he didn't waste a second. For what feels like the first time, Jisung feels in his stomach the queer side effects of being cared for.

Both boys ride out onto the gallery of the fifth floor that overlooks the city. Chairs and tables are folded by the corners, stacked and piled due to the late hour and leaving space for the two trainees to approach the parapet and stare out. Minho glances up at the sky and Jisung looks down at the street.

There's not much to be said. Jisung glances at Minho occasionally, but Minho never looks back. The company is nice, though.

"Applying pressure to the body sends a signal to the nervous system that you're safe," Minho explains all of a sudden, "so you calm down."

His voice sounds strange. Jisung is still trying to move past the faint ringing in his ear that now sounds more distant, but was previously carving holes into his brain.

He glances at him with his lips only slightly parted and says, "I didn't know that."

Minho folds his lips into his mouth. "Yeah. Sorry if you were startled."

Jisung feels a tugging urge to tell Minho that it's okay, but he simply nods because he's not sure if it is okay. The feeling of lacking air is one Jisung has always been familiar with, but not one he's ever did anything to soothe. This is the first time he's found himself calming down so quickly, which means he's still adjusting to the calm after the chaos.

Jisung also feels that he could go insane. It's been so long since the last time he stood alone with someone like this, and Minho's gentle voice lulls him nearly into a state of pure bliss. And he hates all of that for how jarringly lovely it is.

"I'm fine now," he mumbles at last. "I, uh... think I'm gonna go back."

Minho's head shoots in his direction and he doesn't say it, but the word is on the tip of his tongue. And Jisung can tell, so he stops.

"What?" he asks.

Minho puffs out a soft breath, then slowly shakes his head. "Nothing."

"I'm not— I don't—..." Jisung stutters. He huffs in frustration at his inability to place his words. "I mean, I'm thankful that you—"

"You can go, Jisung," Minho tells him. "It's late."

But now Jisung doesn't want to go. He scoots back toward the parapet and leans his elbows upon it, his eyes fixated on Minho's side profile.

"Why are you up so late?" he asks.

Minho's shoulders lose some tension. "I couldn't sleep."

"Do you just roam around at night" Jisung asks, trying to find himself back inside his body.

Minho laughs sweetly. "Better than forcing myself to sleep."

Jisung nods and runs a hand through his hair. There's an underlying sort of exasperation that rests beneath his calm, right below it, creeping and threatening to overflow. Minho studies him carefully; he can tell he's comfortable, but doesn't want to be.

"Frankly," he begins with a long sigh, "I thought you were going to be at the gym today."

Jisung's heart picks up pace. He eyes him subtly. "Were you waiting for me?" he asks.

Minho shrugs. "Just thinking you'd come."

The quiet stretches all around them. The moving cars on the avenue below them hum faintly, providing a background tune sidelined to their conversation.

"Should I have... gone?" Jisung asks.

"I don't know, Jisung. I was just thinking about it," Minho hurries to tell him, almost as if he wanted to drop the topic now that he's confessed to it.

They remain silent. Jisung stares directly at his face, but Minho doesn't return his gaze, remaining leant against the parapet. He seems more interested in the moving clouds that forecast an incoming storm up above in the sky.

"I can get you to like me," Minho concludes after a few moments. He sounds like he's trying to convince himself, which Jisung finds weirdly endearing.

"Really?" he says disbelievingly. "You have no idea what I'm like."

"Why? Are you a bad person?"

Jisung doesn't know how to answer that question. "I hope not."

"Bad people don't waste their time hoping to be good," Minho reasons. "Guess that says enough about you?"

"Why are you so hell bent on trying to be my friend?" Jisung asks the million-dollar question when Minho's insistency starts sounding blaring alarms in his brain. 

Minho lightly shrugs and says, "Maybe I like you enough."

"You don't even know me. Do you enjoy fighting?" Jisung tells him.

"No," Minho hurries to deny, his eyes now meeting Jisung's as if to support the solemnity of his statement. Jisung shrinks back a little, struck by the tone of his voice. Within a moment, he's averted his gaze and puffed out a sigh. The silence that stretches between them is the cue for the change in topic.

"Hyung?" He sighs. "That what you wanna be called?"

"It's not a matter of want, it's a matter of respect." Minho's eyebrows shoot up. "But it doesn't matter to you what I want, does it?"

"No," Jisung admits, and Minho nods because he didn't expect another answer. They stare out the parapet—now, Minho looks down at the street and Jisung stares up at the sky.

For a while, it's only the breeze that talks, until Jisung straightens up and asks, "Do you usually have trouble sleeping?"

No," Minho answers. "I was just restless today."

"What do you normally do to fall asleep?"

A small smile tugs at the corners of Minho's lips and his eyes are hesitantly posed on Jisung's. "You're gonna laugh."

"I've called you all sorts of names and you're worried I'm gonna laugh at you?" Jisung scowls. "Just tell me."

Minho nods. Fair enough. He builds up the courage and says, "I have a zero."

"A zero?" Jisung echoes.

"Yes, a zero." Minho nods. "I close my eyes and I go very quiet until I can hear everything that happens around me. I think of nothing. I listen to myself breathe. Just a minute. Then, I fall asleep."

"What, like, meditation?"

"I guess... maybe it's some form of meditation. I don't know, it's nice." Minho shrugs, eyeing him lightly. "See, let's have a zero right now. You look like you need it."

Jisung grimaces uncomfortably. "What does that mean?"

"It means you had sleep paralysis and you're anxious to be here with me, but there's no reason to be," Minho tells him. "Let's have one. C'mon."

"It sounds boring and unrealistic."

"It's not unrealistic if it can happen. Just do it. Close your eyes. Or— you can keep them open. Whatever is less distracting for you."

Jisung couldn't possibly explain to Minho that either option sounds equally intrusive, with both the sounds of the city echoing a little too loud and his thoughts racing a little too fast, so instead, he simply sighs and eventually complies to his demand. Minho nods in approval. 

"Stay quiet," he says. "Just a minute. I'll count the seconds."

Jisung pushes out his lips in protest as he stares at Minho, then finally sighs and closes his eyes. 

"There you go. Attaboy," Minho mutters quietly. "Just breathe."

Jisung's stomach tingles. The loss of one sense causes the remaining four to cover the gap, so now he hears and he smells and he feels and he tastes, but he never sees. Minho's voice counting the numbers of a second, very gently, very softly, is too real. Jisung's feet become light beneath him and the feeling of standing on a cloud makes him feel strangely grounded. And it's stupid at first, it really is. He's quiet, yet his mind continues to rally the way it very so often is—but then he focuses. He really focuses. He listens to the passing cars on the street, to the blowing breeze on his ears. He hears Lee Minho drawing his breaths quietly next to him, his countdown fading, getting lost in the warm spring air whose scent is laced with daisies and whatever. Jisung hadn't noticed that before, not here, not like now. He feels the rough stone parapet against the pads of his fingers and it sends shivers down his spine.

The seconds go by. Jisung pushes away every thought until he's left thinking of nothing, listening to his own breath, feeling his own lungs being filled and emptied and filled and emptied with clean air. The blood circulates his body and he can hear it coursing his veins, can feel every beat of his heart on his chest and on his wrist and on his neck. He stays completely still.

Across from him, Minho's eyes are wide open, simply because he's not in a moment where he actually needs a zero—it's just the perfect excuse. He takes the opportunity to study Jisung's face in this rare state of pure relaxation, almost like he was asleep, with his features unwinded like soft feathers. His lips are loose on a pout and Minho listens to him drawing the breath in and out through his nose, his shoulders inflating and deflating with every inhalation and exhalation. The breeze blows at the stray hairs that fall over his eyes, and Minho quite likes the thought of brushing them off his forehead. If he was being unrealistic, he'd say Han Jisung is so pretty he could lean in and kiss him and never pull back. And he doesn't know when his curiosity morphed into that.

"That's it," Minho tells him at last when he senses his thoughts staring to veer away. Jisung doesn't open his eyes, not right away, so Minho smiles.

"That's it?" Jisung asks. His voice is tiny. 

"Yes. That's it."

Slowly, Jisung looks at him, and Minho just about melts. The look of pure, unadulterated innocence on his face is one that awakens a mirage of sensations inside him. 

"And that helps you sleep?" Jisung asks.

"It does." Minho nods, fighting the urge to lean in, if only just a little. "When do you ever stop to listen? Like, really listen. You spend all day inside your head and yelling at everyone and don't give yourself a minute to be quiet," he reasons. "I like having a zero when things feel like too much."

"A zero..." Jisung echoes. Strangely enough, the world seems quieter now. It's a void he appreciates, unlike the permanent one in the back of his head.

Minho eyes him lightly. Jisung seems deep in thought, so to snap him out, he asks, "Do you have trouble sleeping?"

Jisung nods. "Often, yeah."

"Would this help?"

Jisung toys with his lips. "I don't think so. I can't focus for too long."

"You just did, though," Minho points out, and Jisung shakes his head.

"Most of the times, I'm too tired to fall asleep," he says. When Minho frowns, Jisung fully turns toward him to explain. "It's like— you know, like, I'm too tired to make myself calm enough to fall asleep, so I just let it be. It's easier that way."

"You mean, you're never calm?" Minho asks, and the question feels daunting.

"At times... I guess, mostly when I'm drawing, or singing." Jisung shrugs. "I try to be sometimes." He pauses to sigh as he leans over the parapet. "I imagine I'm in a dream sometimes, or that I don't exist. Or—Or that I'm just this, like, inanimate object. Like a rock or something. That sounds like fun. No thoughts to think, no emotions, no nothing. But then... everything's always a mess, so it's also draining. There are thoughts to think, a lot of them."

"How can you pretend that you don't exist?"

Jisung laughs and it sounds like bliss. "Like you're drifting across nothing and feeling nothing and doing nothing. I don't know."

Minho doesn't particularly find a meaning to his words, but because Jisung seems so contently enthralled by the idea, he doesn't ask. Jisung's eyes sparkle under the starlit sky and Minho appreciates that right now, he is calm. That, in spite of being an angry boy, in spite of claiming constant restlessness, he smiles up at the moon and the breeze blows at the strands of hair over his forehead and he doesn't look like an angry boy, just someone that continues to drift without a clear destination. Star-flecked dreams, but not infuriating anymore. 

"Would be kinda great, right? Being a dream and coming around only sometimes." Jisung laughs again, and he seems unlike himself. "Like, a dream boy, or something."

And Minho laughs with him, but he's not looking up at the sky. He's curious to know what other layers of this boy he can shed. He wants to see his very core, his very essence. By the looks of it, he doesn't doubt it will be lovely.

Slowly, almost subconsciously, Minho shifts closer because he wants to uncover him further. He doesn't notice his feet are moving until he stands only a small distance away from Jisung, partly because he can't control himself but mostly because he's curious to know what his skin would feel like if he ran his fingertips over it. It seems so soft, like butter, but then Jisung would be melting and Minho would be holding him together. He's closer and closer and Jisung does smell of daises, kind of.

But when Jisung realizes the new shorter distance between them, his smile withers.

"Hey," he mumbles, pulling away.

Minho blinks, then his mouth falls open in sudden realization. "Oh, I, um—"

"I'm gonna go to bed. It's pretty late," Jisung mutters out in a rushed slur, inching away as if he was in a hurry.

Minho thinks to physically see the wall building back up between them. He presses his lips into a thin line and wrings his fingers by his sides, silently reprimanding himself for whatever it is he just triggered. Unveiling the beauty beneath all that anger was not an invitation to step over the boundaries Jisung has set for himself, and only now can Minho finally tell. He curses to himself.

"Jisung, if I—"

"You should go, too," Jisung interrupts him, avoiding his eye. "We have rehearsals early tomorrow and—and you don't wanna be tired for them. You know, like... you have to sleep, and yeah. So, yeah. Good night."

"Han Jisung."

But Jisung doesn't hear the end of it. Within a second, he sprints back into the building and Minho's eyes follow him as he gets lost down the dark hallway. When he's alone, he drags his hands across his hair in exasperation.

When will he come by an opportunity like this ever again?

This feels like one step forward and five steps back.

Chapter 7: he won't come back

"What's up with your face?"

Han glares at Bang Chan—those are clearly not the words he appreciates most at such early hour in the morning, especially when everyone is well aware that his face always look like that.

"Fuck you," he grumbles, tossing his duffel bag on his usual corner of the gym, secluded from the rest of his bandmates.

They're the first to arrive at the dance hall. Chan stands by the music player on the opposite corner, sorting out the song for today's choreography as Jisung changes into his dancing shoes to start his warm-up.

"No, I don't mean it like—" Chan clicks his tongue. "You're all puffy. Have you been crying?"

"What? When have you ever seen me cry?" And it's true. "I just didn't get much sleep," Jisung explains half-heartedly, unwilling to go into depth on the topic.

"What kept you up?"

But he refuses to admit that it wasn't something that kept him up, but someone. More specifically, the thought of someone. The thought of someone's lips and his cologne.

"Uh, sudoku," he lies.

Chan nods. Down on the floor, Jisung throws the hood of his sweater up over his cap because he's in no mood to be asked about his puffy face yet again. As Chan sorts out the speaker, Jisung starts warming up against the mirror bar. Soon enough, the members start arriving at the dance hall. Jisung tries hard not to look at them because he doesn't want to know where he is, but his plan fails miserably, because as soon as Minho walks into the gym, he knows. His own body betrays him and within an instant, as soon as he recognizes his laughter, his eyes are up and scanning the hall to find the brown-haired boy that waltzes confidently across the room with his bag strapped across his chest and that obnoxious grin-not-grin plastered on his lips. As he approaches Bang Chan, Minho's eyes fall briefly on Jisung on the opposite corner, and where the latter purses his lips, he smiles.

"Morning," Minho tells Chan. Han watches them converse for a few seconds without loosening his tight jaw.

He despises him, he's sure of it. He despises a person that will smile at him like that and not say anything after—he despises that he has the confidence to not take him seriously after he's explicitly shown him he doesn't want him anywhere near. It doesn't matter what happened yesterday, what Minho thinks he saw in him. Jisung doesn't like him, and he stands by that.

"So, everyone." Bang Chan claps his hands together, so the members of the band line up on the center of the room to pay attention to him. Some already begin stretching. "We have our first showcase coming up soon."

There's a collective murmur of excitement amongst the boys, except for Jisung, whose face remains impassive. Minho notes he glares even when he's not looking at anyone in particular, and he finds it adorable.

"As you may know already, Minho here is a professional dancer," Chan continues. "And so I've asked him to help us smooth out our rough edges. Our goal here is to get this to be perfect by next Wednesday if we want to debut."

Now, Jisung scoffs. "What, we're supposed to teach him the whole choreography from the beginning a week away from our showcase?"

Chan opens his mouth to answer, but it's Minho who talks instead, "I've learnt it already."

Jisung glares at him, but Minho doesn't react further than the shit-eating half grin that is still on his lips, so he shakes his head and looks away, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"Anyway." Chan laughs awkwardly, breaking the tense silence between them. "I'd like you to warm up and then we'll go with a few general run-throughs to show Minho what we've been working on, yeah? Let's get started."

Jisung is the first to move into the line-up. He keeps his head down, but he can still see Minho as he moves around the room, exchanging brief words with the different members. Part of him expects Minho to approach him as well, but most of him is distracted and inherently mad about the fact that his black trainers seem to be so dirty. And Minho doesn't look at him once, so Jisung starts feeling slightly unsettled. 

Soon enough, they begin their run-through. All the members get into their positions to go through the whole choreography, lip-syncing over the recorded vocals on the track. Minho stands against the mirror railing, scanning everyone's moves, but Jisung can't focus with his eyes on him and soon enough, everyone can tell there's something that's distracting him. 

The first wrong move he makes causes him to crash into Hyunjin, who stands next to him on their line-up. Hyunjin's glare doesn't go by unnoticed by Jisung, who scowls under his breath but quickly shifts back into position to focus on his own moves. But then, the second time he messes up, Minho squints his eyes at him and he feels his knees becoming weak beneath him, barely able to hold him up. By the time he moves up front to sing his lyrics, everyone is shooting him nervous glances, wondering what's up with him today.

The song comes to an end and Chan rushes to the player to pause the track. Jisung quickly breaks the line-up, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he dwells upon the thought that Minho just saw him make an enormous fool out of himself in a place where he's usually very confident.

"That was... not our best," Chan tells Minho. "Han."

Jisung glances up. "What?"

But his friend is looking at him like he's expecting something.

"What's wrong?" he asks when Jisung says nothing.

"I messed up. It's not that serious. Can't we just go again?"

Chan feels the urge to tell him that messing up is not allowed at this point in time, not when they're so close to the showcase and especially when he knows that Jisung doesn't usually have trouble with choreographies. He waves a dismissing hand and the members of the team disperse to drink some water and sit for a second. On the meantime, Chan approaches Jisung and speaks in a quieter voice.

"Is it because Minho's here?" he asks secretively.

"What?" Jisung scowls. "Obviously not. I don't care about that idiot."

"Well, if you don't care, then start focusing," Chan mumbles, reaching out to squeeze his arm. Jisung refrains from flinching away from his touch, which is something he usually does whenever Chan initiates any type of contact. "We're a week away from the showcase. I'm sorry, but we can't just mess up."

Despite his attempt at sounding reassuring, Jisung doesn't particularly appreciate his tone, but he still chooses to bite back his words.

"Let's just go again," he says.

Chan nods in agreement. After a moment, the kids all get back to their respective places on the line-up and run through the whole choreography once again, this time, with Minho joining in as well. And Jisung really tries to focus, but now Minho is closer—he just can't.

"Will you mind your step?" Hyunjin grumbles through gritted teeth when they crash into each other, yet again. 

"Will you mind your tone?" Jisung spits back over the music, causing Hyunjin to instantly stop dancing to look at him.

Noticing the brawl, the kids quickly lose focus.

"If you're not gonna dance, then just leave," Hyunjin tells Jisung as Chan rushes to the player to pause the music.

"Hey, hey," he calls. "Break it up."

"Well, if he can't dance, then he shouldn't be here!" Hyunjin repeats heatedly, tossing a hand in the air. Jisung glares at the side of his head. "He's been complaining about everyone but himself, and if he keeps crashing into me, then I can't dance either. You're starting to piss me off, Han."

"Well, fuck off!" Jisung exclaims. "It's not my fault that you're all up in my space, you fucking extra little bitch!"

Hyunjin's eyes grow wide, but Changbin finds his arm to hold him back before he can throw himself onto him.

"Hey!" Chan exclaims, now looking down at both boys with a stern look in his eyes. "Don't start swearing at each other like children. We're a week away from the showcase and we need to get as much practice in as we can, so go wash your faces or something and come back once you've calmed down."

Jisung scowls. "Let me spare you from that. I won't come back at all."

He glares one last time at Hyunjin before snatching his bag from the floor and quickly storming out of the dance hall. Chan huffs out loud and runs a hand down his face, placing the other on his hip, while Seungmin grabs at Hyunjin roughly.

"If you know he's gonna react like that, why do you keep pressing him?" he exclaims. 

"Well, 'cause he's fucking annoying! Why should we be the ones to accommodate to him when he's the one that causes all the trouble?"

Jisung hears the last words from the hallway before he's finally gone, feeling his eyes well with tears of frustration, but he does not allow himself to cry. Not over this. Minho, having stood a few steps back as the scene unfolded, digests everything that just happened.

"Listen, we're all on edge, but there's no reason to be fighting each other like this," Changbin intercedes.

"Well, tell him that! He's the one who's always picking fights." Hyunjin clicks his tongue.

"No, you're gonna go wash your face as I told you to and I'm gonna go look for him. We all know he can be hard, but you're not the most pleasant either, Hyunjin-ah," Chan demands, and the booming tone of his voice plunges the room into a state of chaos. Hyunjin glares at him, but it takes only one solemn stare for him to curse under his breath and storm out of the room. Chan loses a long sigh. "Everyone, take ten while I—"

"No," Minho, suddenly and for the first time, butts in. The quiet remains, but everyone's attention is now on him, a mixture of confusion and surprise lingering in the stagnant air. "I'll go."

Jeongin shakes his head. "I don't think anyone should go," he says. "I think it's best we just continue for now."

"You should all continue," Minho insists confidently. "I'll go look for him."

"Minho, there's no need for you to get involved if you don't want to..." Chan tells him with a sigh. "This is not... this happens usually. Jisung gets overwhelmed pretty easily, and it's best if we just let him cool off. And... well, he doesn't do well with strangers really."

Minho pulls a half smile. "It's not a problem. I can handle him," he assures with a nod. "You all should keep going. I'll go see what I can do."

Nobody says anything because no one knows what to say. Minho, upon receiving no objections, bows lightly before exiting the room, calm but firm in his step. Once he's gone, the kids all share looks with each other.

"Great," Seungmin grumbles. "One less rehearsal."

 

Chapter 8: stop looking at him

As soon as Jisung finds a moment of quiet alone in the gallery, he tosses his bag on the floor and drops limp on one of the displayed chairs, sprawled indecorously over the backrest. The day is strangely nice, not too warm (Jisung hates the heat) and not too cold (he's intolerant), but even though he tries to convince himself that things aren't too bad, the only thing he feels is the unbearable urge to break something—which is never any good, thus why he works to placate it.

Most of the times, instead of taking deep breaths, Jisung actually does break something—more often than not, that something ends up being of value to him. Over time, because he can't control his hands, Jisung has learnt not to become attached to material things, only because he knows there's a chance he might ruin them someday. The only one of his belongings he has treasured and protected (even from himself) is his doodling journal because his father once gifted to him and Jisung never let go of it.

What's different about today is that Jisung can't find the energy in his body to actually break something other than the skin of his arms under his sweatshirt, which he pinches forcefully until he's sure he might leave a mark. Here, out in the open, he feels safer somehow, as if locking himself up in his dorm, in his head all alone, implied one too many vicious cycles and no one to snap him out of them. Jisung fears these very moments, fears himself during them. Being out here makes it all a little more tolerable.

Wallowing in the heat of his anger, Jisung tousles his hair with his hands. His hands shake in bottled-up frustration and there's a scratching ache in the back of his throat that makes him want to scream. With a guttural groan, Jisung squeezes his eyes shut and tries to rid his body of the suffocating warmth that consumes him.

"Fucking Hyunjin," he mumbles under his breath. 

And fucking Hyunjin, indeed. He's always been the only one out of the remaining six members of the band that openly hates him. At least the rest are discreet about it, limiting themselves to quiet talk when Jisung is not around to hear them, but not him. Ever since he joined the group, he has not hesitated to quarrel with him any chance he gets, like he knows exactly what buttons to press to rile him up, and worse, like he enjoys it. It almost always contributes to the problem that both Hyunjin and Jisung think they're the best, and so, faced with a worthy opponent, they find a rivalry between them that none of them can satiate without threatening to kill each other every two to three working days.

But anнway, fucking Hyunjin. 

Of course Jisung was in the wrong. Of course he should've been focusing (and of course Bang Chan should know better than to continue lining them up next to each other in their choreographies), but was it all truly necessary, or was it merely an excuse to get rid of him once and for all?

The thought of it makes sweat pool under Jisung's arms. He shifts around uncomfortably because it makes him ache that this band is not his home, not the place that he belongs to like his mother told him when he was just a kid. He always wanted to debut solo—that was his dream. The band was an unfortunate mishap that came along in the middle, that Bang Chan mostly persuaded him into back in the day, when it was just the two of them. Maybe he wouldn't have made it so far on his own, but he would've liked to try. As opposed to what he endures every day now, he judges he would've been better off alone.

Jisung is buried so deep in thought that he misses the footsteps trudging out into the gallery behind him.

"To be fair," Minho starts, "I do believe he went a little rough on you."

Jisung becomes so startled that he almost jumps from his chair six feet into the air, his hands finding the armrests to grip down on in case he needs to push himself up. His head whips over his shoulder to catch sight of Minho, who approaches him stealthily with a quiet smile on his face.

"Ah, fuck off!" Jisung exclaims upon recognizing him, his heart racing.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." Minho ambles all the way to the table to take a seat next to Jisung, who immediately becomes defensive. He turns away and rolls his eyes.

"I'm not in the mood for your games," Jisung says.

"What games?" Minho echoes, and he sounds genuinely confused.

"Just leave me alone, okay? If you came here to make fun of me, then save it."

"Why would I make fun of you?"

Jisung doesn't have an answer to that, but as he usually does, he makes one up on the spot. "I don't know, 'cause you're fucking weird? Give me a break."

The more frustrated Jisung becomes, the more relaxed Minho seems. He leans back on his chair and studies his body language, as if it might give him any indication of Jisung's underlying motives. Jisung takes a long moment before he notices Minho's intent gaze set strictly upon him; when he does, a grimace tugs at the edge of his lip. 

"Stop staring at me like that."

Minho tilts his head. "Like what?"

Jisung's face turns red from the fury this man generates in him. "Like a fucking psycho or something."

"Just looking." Minho shakes his head. "I'm not allowed to do that?"

"Aish!" Jisung cusses out, tightening his jaw.

"Why are you so mean to everyone?" Minho asks at last, not seeming bothered so much as genuinely curious to know. "I haven't even done anything to you."

"Everyone's mean to me, too."

"That's not an excuse," Minho points out.

"I don't give a fuck. Hyunjin is an ass."

"Have you tried treating him more gently?"

Now, Jisung glares at him. "Gently? Are you fuckin' kidding me?" He lets out a mocking scowl. "This is none of your business."

Minho remains quiet for an instant, only looking at him as if somehow he'd be able to convince him of it with his eyes, but Jisung remains impassive.

"Let me tell you something, Minho." He finally leans in, propping his elbows on his knees to get a better look at the man in question. His voice is dangerously low, his tone grazing a violent one. "In case you haven't noticed, you're the new guy here. You don't get to come in and try to stir up shit that has been the same for years. I guess you need some time to get used to staying in your place because I'm not gonna do what you want me to do just because you're older, or because you're a cocky little shit that thinks everyone owes him something. I'm not. So you either get your facts straight or I'll get them straight for you, you hear me?"

When he finishes speaking, he expects to have made Minho feel something, but they're still looking at each other's eyes and he is still wearing that grin-not-grin on his face that makes the hair at the back of Jisung's neck stand on end, and it's more than obvious that all of this is just one big fucking joke to him.

"I've got my facts straight." Minho shrugs at last. "You're just too young to understand some things yet. And obviously far too immature to be acting like a grown-up."

Jisung seethes. "Are you calling me a child?"

"So what if I am? Are you gonna hit me?" he challenges and Jisung feels his blood boil. "I know you want to hit me."

Yes, he does, with every fiber of his being he does, but he can't. He couldn't do it even if he craved it as bad as he actually craves it. There's something that holds him back—fear or shock or something or whatever. Jisung shakes his head in disbelief, trying to fein confidence when in reality, all he feels inside is a bubbling turmoil of uncertainty.

"You're unbelievable," he mumbles. "You know what? If you're not gonna go, then I will."

Quickly, he stands from his chair, fetching his bag from the floor to rush back inside as quickly as he can. However, as he's about to head over to his dorm and actually lock himself up for the rest of the afternoon, Minho calls for him.

"Han Jisung," he says.

Jisung stops and rolls his eyes. "What?"

"Whatever it is you're so angry about, it can be fixed," Minho tells him, and Jisung becomes frozen in his place.

There's a strange tingling sensation on the back of his neck. All the heat in his body has turned cold. It takes him a long moment to regain his composure until, at last, reality comes crashing down upon him like a stabbing wound.

"Yeah," he mumbles, "whatever."

And Jisung, with that, is finally gone.

 

 

Chapter 9: maybe a six

With Chan's permission and after a little bit of begging, Jisung trains on his own for the next couple of day, and it comes as a real blessing. All he does is avoid everyone's presence at all costs, which leads him to spend as much time out of the building as possible except for during their meals, where he forces himself to sit at their usual table in the cafeteria to keep at least some of his sanity. And it all does wonders to lull a part of his frustrations. Steering clear of conflict subdues the residual anxiety still lingering in his stomach after the fight with Hyunjin, and the conversation with Minho. For the two days that he spends alone, sleep meets him easily.

Training alone is rather easy in comparison to training with the group. He knows Chan has never been in favor of Jisung diverging from the group for solitary practices, but no one can deny that the silence is pleasant. Jisung, in turn, dedicates his time to painting in his dorm, training when he finds an empty gym, going over the choreographies when no one is using the dance hall and interacting only with Ha-joon during his vocal lessons once a day. He visits the studio from time to time, too, but overall, he's alone. Nobody tries to talk to him as he eats, and he's always the first one to leave.

Jisung tries to avoid Minho, specifically, and he can call it that because he knows Minho strives to find him. Even during their meals, when Jisung wears headphones and tries to look as unapproachable as he feels, Minho is always there, across the table from him, eyeing him curiously. Whenever he sees him around, Jisung hides out, unwilling to let him see him because he doesn't think he can continue to stomach these unusual interactions he's had with him, where he becomes confused as to what he wants from him and all he does is fall prey to an itching desire that he can't quite place the origin of.

Lee Minho is a mystery in itself. It's annoying, too, because there other boys at JYP that are unbearably attractive—hell, there are girls, for the love of God—but he has been the only person that has awakened a deep-rooted necessity in Han Jisung. It pains him that he's so pretty it's sickening, because that's not the way Jisung has ever seen other boys. Maybe it's just Minho that makes him feel like that. Maybe everyone feels that way about him and this isn't just his problem. But either way, he doesn't want to continue to feel whatever that is, so he chooses to hide out until either Minho grows bored or he does.

Which will be soon, hopefully.

It's not unusual for Jisung to go off on his own for a few days in a row occasionally. In fact, it's much appreciated that he does, because it gives everyone some time to cool off before rejoining each other as a team again. It tends to happen mostly when Jisung and Hyunjin get into fights (more often than not), as they're the two most reactive members of the band, and by the time they're back, they are either completely ignoring each other's presence or acting like nothing ever happened. Whichever of those options is better than having them fight, anyway, so no one really complains.

However, this time, Jisung can't go about his self-isolation ways for as long as he needs because the showcase approaches dangerously quick. The morning after the second day, Bang Chan knocks at his door.

"For real?" Jisung huffs out when he sees him, without even needing to ask to know Chan's presence here is a request for his presence.

"Yeah. I know. Sorry." Chan grimaces. "But we really need to go through our general run-throughs at the studio all together, especially now that we've added Minho to the line-up. We need you."

"Can't I get one more day?" 

But Chan shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

"Fine." Jisung sighs loudly, scratching the back of his neck. "Where?"

"Ilsam Studio, tonight. JYP will be there," Chan tells him, and there's a hint of relief in his shoulders when they loosen up. 

"JYP?" Jisung echoes, his eyes suddenly wider even through the tire marring half of his face.

"Yeah. So will the girl group and some other trainees that will be performing at the showcase. You've been practicing, haven't you?"

"Of course I've been practicing."

"Okay, then. Can I trust that you'll be there?"

Jisung can't say no, now finding himself newly motivated by the thought of a chance to prove himself to the man who will decide whether Stray Kids will debut or not. He runs a hand through his hair.

"Yeah," he says at last, and he means it.

Satisfied, Chan leaves him to dwell on the thought by himself after that. It's little after breakfast, the event is hours away but Jisung already feels anxious. It's been a while since they last performed for JYP and this now feels like a new opportunity after a long period of stagnation.

He decides to work out that day, not even caring that a few other trainees occupy the gym at the same time he does. As long as it's not Minho, then it feels fine. He goes soft on himself and doesn't even complain when Changbin, shocked to see him there when he usually never is, approaches him with high brows and silently pats him on the shoulder in approval. It feels like a rewarding gesture and for the first time, Jisung appreciates it.

Then, as his friend leaves the gym, he hurries behind him.

"Hey, Bin," he calls.

And Changbin is quite startled that Jisung is even speaking to him, let alone calling him Bin, but he plays it off nicely because he doesn't want to scare him off.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you can drive me to the studio tonight?" Jisung asks.

"Oh, you're the first to ask me!" Changbin exclaims eagerly (he's only just gotten his license and is excited to be driving people around), completely forgetting to tread lightly around him, but it doesn't seem to upset Jisung anyway. 

Instead, he grins, only slightly. "So, yes?"

"Yeah, of course. We have to be there by eight. I'll wait for you at the lot?"

"Yeah. You know JYP is gonna be there?"

"Yeah, obviously." Changbin chuckles. "I have to take a shower, so I'll see you later?"

Jisung nods and watches him disappear around a corner. He remains in the hallway for a second, alone with his thoughts. Then, he heads back to his dorm.

 

"I need some air," Jisung mumbles.

Bang Chan, sat next to him on the grand auditorium as they watch the other trainees rehearse on stage, leans into him.

"What?"

"I need some air," Jisung repeats, feeling his chest tight.

Even though there are still some more performances to go before theirs, even though the whole of Stray Kids hasn't even arrived at the studio yet, the line of seats in the auditorium bearing only Bang Chan, Changbin, Jeongin, Felix and himself, Jisung already feels like it's time for him to go. He doesn't usually get nervous, but the thought of supervision days away from their showcase makes his stomach fold in on itself knowing this might determine their future as a band—hell, someone could even get cut off the team.

He notices Chan opening his mouth to say something, a questioning frown upon his face, but he fears that staying inside this dark, closed auditorium flashing strobe lights and booming music through large speakers might start messing with his sanity. Instead of giving explanations, Jisung jumps to his feet and makes his way down the empty row of seats, with his friends' eyes all perched on his back wondering if he's okay. He strides up the stairs and out of the theatre through the heavy push-pull doors, into the dimly-lit hallway upholstered with red velvet and lacquered gold. The walls feel enclosing in the midst of his stress peak, so he's quick on his way down to the lobby and out onto of the studio.

Once he comes out onto the sidewalk, he sighs in relief. As soon as the open sky becomes vast above him, Jisung feels like he can finally get enough air into his system. The main avenue is busy with cars and the night air is warm, yet a breeze that blows on his face helps him regain his senses as he breathes it in and cools down his straining lungs. Jisung sighs out loud and tucks his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket, beginning a hefty walk down the side of the road then rounding a corner into a quieter street to avoid crowds. There, as the turmoil dwindles, he finds peace.

Then, after a moment and a block down, he freezes.

"Lee Minho?"

And it's him. Minho stands by the curb in front of a crossing he doesn't look like he actually wants to cross, one hand rested inside the pocket of his bomber jacket and the other holding a cigarette to his mouth between two slim, delicate fingers. Sweater paws conceal his wrists and his face is half turned sideways, but even so, as soon as he hears Jisung's voice, he becomes startled and hides his hand behind his back. 

"Oh, Jisung-ah," he mumbles nervously, his lips the color of blood seeming eternally appealing. Nerves twitch across his face. "I didn't see you."

Jisung squints at him, studying him closely. "Were you smoking?"

"What? No." Minho shakes his head immediately, coughing out remnant smoke that he can no longer hold in without having his eyes water. "Why would you say that? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the studio?"

Jisung doesn't say anything, but instead grabs his arm roughly and turns him around to reveal the fuming cigarette nearly burning a hole into his black jacket. Minho, caught red-handed, doesn't say a word. He presses his lips tightly together and averts his gaze.

"JYP is not gonna like that, you know? He could cut you off the team," Jisung tells him boredly, shocked by this new profile of his but not caring half as much as he could. 

Minho clears his throat and flicks the cigarette out onto the street. Jisung stares at it while it consumes itself on the pavement, then Minho clarifies, "I only do it sometimes."

Still, Jisung sighs in disapproval. "Shouldn't you be at the auditorium already?"

"Yeah, well, I was gonna go in in a second," he shrugs, "until you interrupted me."

Jisung finds it amusing that it's the first time he's seen him look younger than his age, appearing like a little kid who's been caught in the middle of a mischief. He keeps his head half down, his hands wringing by his sides as if the situation made him purely uncomfortable. Jisung judges that he looks like he might run away any second. 

"Smoking can kill you, you know?" he tells him, because Minho's attention seems to be everywhere but on him.

"So can stress. I can handle some smoke," he says back as he tucks his hands into his pockets, his eyes heavy and his cheeks holding a certain blush. Jisung can still smell the smoke stuck to his clothes, but the absence in his eyes is far more consternating. "Not anxiety."

Jisung leans back, slowly measuring his words. "Why are you anxious, then?" he asks after a moment. "Enough to smoke knowing it's dangerous."

He intends to sound critical, but Minho looks like he already knew he wouldn't approve. 

"I don't deal well with performing on stage," he says calmly, yet his voice is very quiet.

Jisung snorts. "And you wanna be an idol?"

"I do like it, it's just... my body can't handle it," Minho explains. "It's just hard for me. And JYP is gonna be there, too, so I'm supposed to be proving myself here. He hasn't seen me perform yet, only his scouts. I'm scared I'll fuck it up."

Jisung remains quiet. Minho's eyes are everywhere and he begins to feel slightly pissed at the fact that this seems to be the first time his full focus is not on him.

"We have to go. Rehearsal's gonna start soon," he says at last.

Minho doesn't immediately answer. He looks out into the quiet street and his lips are tight, as if he was refraining from telling him that he doesn't actually want to go. Jisung can tell. He huffs out loud, looking up at the sky, then around at the emptiness that surrounds them as if he was debating with himself.

"Let's see," he mumbles. "On a scale of one to twelve, how happy are you right now?"

Minho's head shoots up at him with a frown that is so visible on his face it almost makes Jisung snort, weren't it for the fact he's actually irritated at having to waste his time on this. He watches Minho purse his lips in confusion, shaking his head to try and find a meaning to the statement.

"What?" he stammers out at last the only word he seems capable of pronouncing.

"On a scale of one to twelve, how happy are you right now?" Jisung repeats, dead serious about his question.

"W—... Twelve? You mean, one to ten."

"I mean twelve. I like twelve, what's your deal?" Jisung shakes his head.  "Just answer the damn question."

Minho scowls in shock. "Well, I wouldn't say happy is quite representative of what I feel."

"Why not?"

"Shallow word."

"Easy word. For children," Jisung explains. "My psychologist used to tell me that easy words are more helpful to express your feelings. Being happy is a broad concept. I know it's not the right word, but you get what I mean. Happy, as in content. Satisfied, calm, not stressed. But it's easier to understand it if I just say happy and it's also easier for you to say it, 'cause it's not so personal, but it still communicates what you're tryna say. So, on a scale of one to twelve, how happy are you right now?"

Minho doesn't answer immediately as Jisung's words reverberate like echo in an underpass inside his head. He twists them over until they make sense, then realizes that Jisung does have a point. That he could describe himself as stressed, as anxious, as reluctant, as frustrated, as angry, but instead, saying that he's not happy sounds a whole lot easier. This is also the first time he's heard Jisung say something so smart so calmly—and he sure likes the sound of it.

"Maybe a four," Minho says at last.

"A four?" Jisung echoes, nodding his head. "That's not too good."

Minho presses his lips together and nods, but doesn't further elaborate. After a second, he watches with a frown as Jisung starts shuffling through the pockets of his coats, of his sweatshirt, of his jeans, and waits patiently for his next deep philosophical approach to the matter. Instead, Jisung grabs his wrist, spreads his palm open and leaves something there, which Minho then recognizes as a sweet inside a red wrapper. His head shoots up.

"There. Is it a six now?" Jisung asks.

Minho stares at his hand in shock, at the hard cherry sweet that sits so innocently on his palm, then his head whips back up to stare at Jisung in complete perplexity. Jisung's lips are in a line, his eyebrows high and his eyes so big and shiny as he awaits expectantly, that Minho is speechless. Through the irritation in Jisung's face, Minho can recognize something else.

"I thought you were just gonna yell at me," he confesses at last. "Like always."

Jisung shrugs and says nothing, and Minho feels like he could cry. He feels he could throw himself onto him and hug him and never let him go. He's so unbearably happy that it's not just a six, but maybe an eight or even a nine, even though he couldn't possibly say that out loud. Minho is starting to learn his lesson, he's starting to understand that Jisung is delicate, and so must be treated as such. He can't touch him just yet, he just has to cherish the moment and enjoy it from a distance until the time is right.

"Maybe a six," he echoes at last, closing his hand around the sweet and tucking it in his pocket.

Jisung nods, barely unbothered. "Great, then. Let's go."

He doesn't seem phased by the interaction, doesn't even seem to acknowledge the effect he's caused, but Minho is utterly shaken. He can't help but think to himself that being kind suits him beautifully, that maybe he does have love to give and maybe, maybe, he just hasn't been taught where to put it.

At last, he nods without saying a word. The hard cherry sweet is only a figment of weight in his pocket, but he's all too aware of it, feeling it dangle, feeling it bring warmth to his chest. Jisung turns to go and Minho follows him down the sidewalk like a dog does its master, yet he doesn't feel even a little bit bothered by the thought. He knows how big of a fool he is for this angry seventeen-year-old boy, and he does not mind it. 

 

Chapter 10: you're helping him

"It wasn't that bad."

"He said my dancing lacked definition. My dancing. He said that about me. Then he talked about how good Bang Chan is and he talked about how good you are, but my dancing needs practice."

"But he said your rapping was outstanding."

"Minho."

When Jisung turns around to face him after storming off stage in a raging tantrum, Minho freezes in his tracks, partly because of the force of Jisung's expression but mostly because he's never heard him say his name like that. And the look he has. Event hough Minho is big on well-placed respect, even though he wishes Jisung would respect him, he clamps his mouth shut and lets the anger in his eyes silence him.

"We're not friends, okay?" Jisung tells him then, making a cutting motion with his hands that has Minho's eyes falling, wondering what exactly it means. "Whatever you think you're doing here, it has to stop. I didn't ask for this, okay? I didn't ask you to help him and I don't need you to... console me. You and I? We're not friends. I don't know you, okay? So just... stop."

Minho's eyes don't leave Jisung's, but the confidence abandons him like the smoke of the cigarette he still tastes in his tongue. He stands in shock, cemented to his place, taken aback and physically leant away because for whatever reason, the words slash deeper than he would have ever anticipated. He's embarrassed for having cared so much, whereas Jisung expression is angrily blank as it was a moment ago. Almost as soon as he utters his last word, he turns to go, disappearing down the back door until Minho is the only one left standing backstage with his fists clenched by his sides and his head down to stare at his feet. 

 

The first time Minho sees Jisung again after the practice is during a quiet lunch the following day. None of the members present at the table speak much: even though the rehearsal last night wasn't as terrible as Jisung made it seem, everyone is still going over it in their heads with a far more critical eye, correcting their mistakes, knowing they have to do better if they want to impress JYP at the first instance of the showcase next week. When Jisung arrives at the table, wearing a beanie under the hood of his sweatshirt and carrying a tray with only a meagre amount of food in his plate, Minho's head immediately shoots up. He expects their eyes to lock, expects any kind of contact, but instead, he notices that Jisung looks like he got very little sleep, his eyes hollow within dark rings and his lips chapped as though he's been chewing on them, and the sight makes him frown.

Minho pauses his eating to watch him closely and fully study him even though Jisung looks nowhere but down, focused solely on his food. Minho wishes he knew what he was thinking, wishes he knew if he still hates him, if he just hates him, if he even cares about the fact that he's there. He made it pretty clear to him yesterday that he does not, in fact, give a flying fuck about him, but Minho can't admit it to himself that that's the case. Surely Jisung cares at least a little, right? At least that's what the hard cherry sweet that Minho now keeps on his nightstand aims to say.

"Stop staring at me," Jisung mumbles all of a sudden, snapping Minho back to reality in a split second. He blinks a few times and finally falls into realization that he forgot to avert his gaze with loaded chopsticks halfway from his plate to his mouth. Abruptly embarrassed, Minho shakes his head and glances back down, feeling his cheeks burning hot.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

"Don't be so weird," Jisung tells him as he picks on his food without actually eating any of it.

Hyunjin, seated next to Minho, looks up from his food with a loud to glance between the two troubled boys. "You're both being fuckin' weird."

"Shut up." Jisung rolls his eyes. Hyunjin glares at him, but Jisung doesn't seem to care half as much as he's already back to sulking over his food tray. Minho remains silent, his lips parted because he feels he has to say something but he doesn't know exactly what that is.

"Whatever." Hyunjin rolls his eyes, getting up from the table with his tray to discard it somewhere before leaving. Changbin and Felix share looks as they watch him go, then Felix takes up the seat that Hyunjin was previously occupying to get closer to the awkward couple.

"Hey, Jisung..." he begins. 

Jisung clicks his tongue. "What?"

"Are you... okay?" Felix asks, visibly wary about his words (as for him, Jisung does really scare him).

The words prompt Jisung to look up from his plate and glance between the two boys that stare at him expectantly. Minho, across the table from him, feels like he could vanish into thin air and no one would notice.

"I'm fine," Jisung tells them absentmindedly.

Changbin decides to butt in. "Listen, JYP was being very specific yesterday."

"I don't care."

"Well, but the showcase is in a few days and I think you shouldn't get stuck on what he said. He's just pushing you because he knows you can do better, and anyway, if we go to the dance hall right now and practice a few times, I'm sure—"

Jisung's head cuts back up to look at them. This time, both Changbin and Felix fall silent, intimidated by the blank look on Jisung's face. Then, for a moment, they both stare at him stiffly, scared that he might suddenly lash out—however, much to their surprise, the only thing Jisung does is shake his head and look back down.

"Yeah, you're probably right." He sighs.

The silence that follows is almost twice as tense as the previous one. Wide-eyed, Felix turns to Changbin in sheer perplexity, but Changbin can only shrug and shake his head because he's as puzzled as he is. Minho frowns, his gaze flickering between Jisung's hooded face and the food he continues to move around in his plate with his chopsticks, without eating any of it. Jisung doesn't seem aware of the effect his calmness has on his bandmates.

"So... that means... you wanna go... to the dance hall?" Changbin verifies just to be sure, speaking slowly as if doing so any louder might scare Jisung away. "I mean, I'm sure... you know, Minho-hyung might have time to help you."

Yes, is all Minho can think. He has all the time in the world to figure out this angry boy that pulls him in like a magnet. His eyes land on his face as he schools his own features into neutrality to avoid seeming too eager. Jisung, however, frowns a little.

"Can't you help me?" he asks.

Changbin glances at Minho. "I mean, he's a professional dancer."

For the first time, Jisung looks up from his plate to lock eyes with Minho across the table. The air is stretched taut between them. Next to them, Changbin and Felix still feel like they're treading a very thin line between calm and chaos, so they hold their breaths and keep quiet. 

"I'll help you, Jisung-ah," Minho claims a second before Jisung can reject the proposal again.

"Don't you have something else to do?" he asks, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek in pointed irritation.

"I'd love to teach you."

Minho gets a kick out of teasing Jisung—he realizes that now. No matter how much he wishes Jisung would just let him in, Minho likes it when he becomes irritated, mostly because it happens so easily. He smirks only a little, enough to convey unspoken words, but Jisung doesn't seem like he's in the mood to shout at anyone. He seems too tired for it. And maybe forcing his presence upon him is not particularly the best way of getting close to him, but Minho has never once doubted his confidence until this damned boy showed up, and now he can't leave him alone. Not for anything. He has to scratch this itch. Now that the opportunity is handed to him in a silver platter, he's not going to waste it.

Jisung rolls his eyes. "Fine. Whatever. It'll be quick anyway."

The smile returns to Minho's lips wider than before and he finally takes the last bite of his food. Just because Jisung said it, now Minho plans to make it last as long as possible until he forces Jisung into submission one way or another. He grins as he chews, pleased because even though Jisung seems to be back to hating him, that still doesn't seem to be enough to keep him away. And Minho does not like being toyed with; especially not by a seventeen-year-old who thinks he owns the world and will one day offer him candy only to later snap at him like he means nothing at all.

 

"You're doing it wrong."

Jisung halts and groans out loud. "How can you even know that? You've know the choreography for, like, a week."

Minho shakes his head in the face of Jisung's pride and the snarky comments that accompany it, but doesn't become annoyed by it. Instead, he keeps calm, all while Jisung is inherently frustrated at being unable to get his steps right.

"Jisung-ah," Minho begins. "You're up front and in the center for most of the choreography.You can't dance like the only thing you know how to do is rap. You have to do both."

"Yeah, well, it's not like I don't try."

"That's what it looks like from here. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? You look like you're bored out of your mind. The only times you seem like you're slightly enjoying yourself is during your lines, but this is a band. It's not just about you."

Jisung shakes his head and bites the inside of his cheek, mumbling to himself, "How can I forget this is a band when everyone's nagging me all day long?"

Minho fights the urge to scowl because he knows Jisung might misinterpret it. Instead, he chucks his hands onto his hips and says, "Well, you act like you want to be somewhere else."

"Maybe I do."

"Do you or do you not want JYP to notice you?"

Jisung clenches his jaw. Minho crosses his arms over his chest and watches Jisung's eyes drift down to his forearms for a moment, curious at the sight of the bulging muscles and the veins traveling them product of an hour's worth of repeatedly going over the choreography. A faint glimmer of sweat lies upon his skin, catching on the lights. Jisung glances back up, seemingly unfazed.

"Of course I do," he quips at last.

"Then you have to stand out even when it's not your turn. How else will he notice you if you look like a back-up dancer? You don't even break a sweat when you dance. It's like you're not even moving." Jisung looks like he has a load of things he could say, but he doesn't open his mouth. "Let's go over it again."

Minho goes over to his phone to play the track from the top, hearing Jisung's loud groan seconding the trip. Still, without complaining, he gets in position in front of the mirror next to Minho, both knelt with their heads down to start from the beginning of the choreography for Hellevator. Minho peers at their reflection in the mirror, his eyes narrowing down on Jisung's thighs, tracing the outline of them through his sweatpants before they start off with their first moves sliding about the floor.

"You keep looking at the floor like that and I'm gonna die of boredom," Minho mumbles. He hears Jisung cussing out under his breath and silently smirks, but then quickly picks up on him trying to follow the instruction. Their eyes lock through their reflections and Jisung tries to imitate Minho's every move, considering the energy that he bears on his limbs, his core strength showing when he moves gracefully across the floor. "C'mon. Put something else into it."

Jisung tries to sync their steps and for the first time, he realizes how much strength Minho exerts into his every move—one Jisung normally saves for more important things. Watching himself, he understands what JYP meant when he said is dancing felt stagnant. Bubbling rage sizzles inside him, so Jisung tries to push his weight behind his moves. It's then that he starts feeling himself become sore, his muscles easily tiring with the force of the choreography. Beads of sweat crowd at his forehead and the sweatshirt and beanie he wears now feel like a little too much, but he looks at himself in the mirror and thinks to himself that if JYP was watching him right now, he'd want him to think that he's the best there is.

"Bend your knees," Minho instructs. Jisung tries to shut him out, but Minho's voice somehow feels like a guiding beacon of light he can hold on to, so instead, he pays attention to the words and for the first time lets himself be taught.

The choreography quickly nears its end and Jisung mistakenly slides in the opposite direction to fall into finishing position. When Minho slides left, Jisung slides right, just as the song comes to its end, and so they end up chest to chest, panting breathlessly, looking into each other's eyes from much closer than they have ever been. For a second, Jisung gets the impression that Minho is staring at his lips; then, Minho smirks.

"Look at that," he whispers, his eyes traveling up to Jisung's brow. "You're sweating."

Weighing columns of realization fall upon Jisung's back. He immediately pulls away to wipe his forehead with his clothed forearm, quickly stripping from hid sweatshirt and discarding it somewhere in the room to rid the suffocating heat that has overcome him. Minho scans him wholly when his top rides up revealing a strand of naked skin from his slim waist that catches him by surprise—because Jisung is always wearing loose-fitted clothes, Minho would have never expected him to be as tiny as he is below them, and the sight of it only draws him closer. Now, he's not breathless only because of the choreography.

"Did you like that?" Minho asks, averting his gaze so as to not overstep.

Jisung trudges back to the center of the dance hall as he adjusts his hair on the mirror now that he's ridded the beanie. "No. I hate sweating."

Minho chuckles lowly. "That's what makes dancing special. There's one more thing." Jisung dedicates him a pointed look that Minho doesn't acknowledge. He falls down to his knees on the floor to show him. "Second verse, when you lie down... Jisung-ah, do you exercise your core?"

Jisung blinks at the unexpected question. "Uhm... sometimes?"

"You need to," Minho states bluntly. He rests face-down on the floor and lifts himself up on his forearm. "This part where you do this, you should be getting your hips higher. Otherwise, it looks poor."

"Are you calling my dancing poor?" Jisung purses his lips.

"I'm calling your core strength poor. It's basically a plank." Minho shrugs, lifting himself up to his knees. He rests his hands on his lap and glances up at Jisung, whose eyes scan him over. "Try it."

"Can't we be done already?" He huffs.

Minho glares at him. "Shut up and get on the floor."

The demand makes Jisung's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he doesn't comment on it. Clicking his tongue, he falls down to lie on the floor and proceeds to imitate what Minho just did. He grimaces at the awkward position in which he finds himself with Minho's eyes set intently upon him.

"See, that," Minho says, pointing at his hips. "It's weak."

"Shut up!" Jisung exclaims.

Minho ignores him and slides closer to place a hand on his lower back. Jisung almost immediately flinches, but again, Minho doesn't acknowledge the slight twitch of his body as he rests his remaining hand on his belly and pulls his hips up. Unduly aware of the feeling of his t-shirt riding up, Jisung swallows the lump in his throat and tries to ignore the panic chilling his bones.

"You should be going up until..." Minho calculates as he continues to tug him up, "here."

"Yah!" Jisung exclaims, struggling to keep up the position.

"See, you have a weak core."

Minho reaches out to poke his belly and Jisung's eyes widen before he inevitably collapses, letting out a squeal of pure fear. He hears Minho letting out a loud cackle and catching him narrowly before he falls face-first onto the floor, and with a pounding heart, Jisung flips over with wide eyes and Minho's hands still on him. Immediately, trying to channel the frenzy inside him, Jisung punches Minho's chest.

"Are you crazy?!" he exclaims.

Minho tosses his head back and continues to giggle, his laughter echoing in the room. Jisung's wide eyes circle his face, but then he becomes pointedly aware of Minho's hands holding him by the waist. He glances down at them with a strange sensation in his stomach, then promptly shifts away as Minho's laughter dies down.

"You should really train that," he says. Jisung rises to his feet as he eyes his surroundings nervously. "But you were good, though."

The praise feels rewarding and Jisung knows he should thank him, but his heart gallops inside his chest. He straightens his clothes so that they're covering his skin and avoids Minho's eyes.

"Yeah, are we done?" he mumbles.

Minho frowns lightly, brushing the hair off his forehead. "Huh?"

"This blows and I have stuff to do," Jisung mutters.

There's a moment of silence, then Minho scowls humorlessly, any traces of laughter gone from his face. There's a slight glint of confusion in his eyes. "We're doing this for you, not me," he says. "Least you could say is thank you."

"Yeah, well." Jisung shrugs. "We're done, then?"

He doesn't wait for Minho to reply before he's backing up toward his bag tossed carelessly on a corner of the dance hall. Minho lets out a chuckle of disbelief.

"Are you kidding?" he says, the humor now deserting his face completely. 

"What now?" Jisung huffs, rolling his eyes.

"Jisung-ah," Minho calls. "Can't you be normal for once? I'm being nice here."

Jisung flashes his brows. "Did I ask you to do this? You were the one who insisted."

"Because you need it. Do you wanna get cut off the band? Is that it?"

"No! I'm just saying, no one forced you to do this. It was Changbin and Felix that offered, then you got in the way! Are you, like, obsessed with me or something?"

They stare into each other's eyes and for the first time since they met, Jisung looks up and encounters a glint of annoyance catching the light in Minho's face. The unsightly sight makes his blood run cold.

"Aish. I'm getting tired of this," Minho grumbles, taking a step forward. "I'm trying to help you. Are you blind that you don't see that, or do you really just don't care? 'Cause I'm watching everybody treat you like some kind of god for fear that you'll insult them while you're just a brat with no sense of manners." He shakes his head, his voice menacingly low. "You have a nightmare and I help you. You can't dance and I help you. I'm helping you, even though all you do is act like a bitch. The least you could do is say thank you and stop pretending like you own the world, because nobody owes shit to an entitled little shit like you."

Minho hisses in frustration and takes a step back, leaving Jisung frozen in the middle of the room. He doesn't wait for a reply back. Instead, Minho glares at him one last time before flicking his fringe off his forehead, retrieving his bag from the floor and storming out of the room with so much as a brief glance in his direction. The hall falls suddenly quiet.

As soon as he's alone, Jisung lets out a long all of the air he was holding tight within his ribcage, but his shoulders remain stiff. His whole body tingles, but he can't differentiate wrath from mere stupefaction, so he only stands in complete bewilderment. There's a speck of a thought in his head of going after him, of chasing him down the hallway and keep this conversation going, of fighting or apologizing or whatever, but Jisung doesn't move. His heart races so fast in his chest that he feels he may pass out if he doesn't lie down soon.

Out of everything he expected from today, the last thing on his list was hearing Lee Minho—such calm, composed young man—talk to him like that. Now, he can't get it off his head.

 

Chapter 11: you'll treat him

Minho doesn't see Jisung for the rest of the day, but he doesn't need to. Either his frustration was genuine, or he got really tired, or he just wanted to prove a point, but whichever one it was, spending a few hours without endlessly pining for him feel refreshing, even though a week is not nearly enough to measure his obsession. Minho takes the time for himself, which is something he very rarely does.

The thing with Lee Minho is that he likes things that he thinks he can fix. His whole life he has gone after impossible endeavors simply for the thrill of proving something to himself. The attraction he feels to Jisung comes from (aside from those beautiful eyes; oh, God, those eyes) a place of feeling like he can make something good out of him, and thus why he refuses to stop. His pride is far too big to allow a seventeen-year-old to overpower him, no matter how frustrating it might be. He just needs some more time, and in the meantime, he has to hope his patience doesn't wither beyond oblivion.

Maybe becoming fixated with a raging storm was not a good idea from the very beginning. He probably should have known there was no way this would turn out well as soon as he crashed into Han Jisung in the hallway that first time a week ago. Problem is, he wasn't expecting this storm to veer so drastically all the time, from a gentle drizzle to a furious monsoon with no guidebook whatsoever. He thought growing close with Jisung would be easier than what it actually is—now, Minho sees he might have underestimated the whole situation.

For the most part of the day, Minho indulges in a series of mindless tasks outside the building to avoid running into Jisung. Then, before dinner, he hides out in his room, unwilling to go down to the cafeteria even when Chan texts him asking if he'll show up. Claiming a headache to disguise the lack of appetite caused by his fight with Jisung, he calls it a day.

That night, Minho spends a long time taking care of himself, finding ways to soothe himself back into his usual peace and calm. He fell out of step while going about this endless havoc that is peeling apart Han Jisung's one and a thousand layers, so he takes a shower, styles his hair and thoroughly cleanses his skin before he finally heads to bed with a book, feeling clean and refreshed. There's a hard cherry sweet on his nightstand that he chooses to ignore, getting himself under the soft covers with only a pair of cotton shorts and his socks on (he loves sleeping with socks on) and smelling of face cream and conditioner. For the first time, he sighs in relief. He feels replenished.

And then, there's a knock at the door.

Minho wasn't even done adjusting himself under the covers and already someone's interrupting him. Will he ever get a moment of quiet in this hectic life of his, or is that something he unknowingly gave up years ago?

"I have a headache!" he exclaims to whoever it is, book in hand. "I already told Bang Chan that I'm not gonna go down for dinner—"

"Lee Minho, open the door. It's me, Jisung."

The muffled voice on the other side of the door causes Minho to toss the book somewhere on the floor in a sudden reflex. His eyes go wide. Frozen for an instant, the silence inside the room and on the other side of the door feel deafening to his ear. He wants to make sure that he heard it correctly.

"J—Jisung?" he repeats, knelt up in bed.

"Can you please open the door?"

There's impatience in his voice. When he hears him huff, Minho knows for a fact that it's Han Jisung standing right outside his door, but the thought makes him quarrel with himself. What? Why? He panics, running around in a frenzy for a moment trying to find a t-shirt to dress himself with before he finally comes across a crumpled one on the floor and slips it on hurriedly. He's only halfway through it when he opens the door, and the first thing Jisung looks at when they're met face to face is the strand of skin of his lower belly that still shows for a brief moment.

Now, they stand in front of one another, none of them knowing what to say. Jisung can't focus with Minho wearing only a pair of tight shorts and a t-shirt, so he swallows, trying to keep his eyes up.

"What are you doing here?" Minho asks breathlessly, flushed, and he's all too aware of the blush that is probably spreading over his face.

Jisung clears his throat awkwardly. Upon seeing him so flustered, breathless, and only half-dressed, he gets a sudden thought that makes him widen his eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I interrupting something...?"

"What?" Minho frowns, glancing down at himself. "No. I was just heading to bed."

"Oh," Jisung sighs out loud and silently thanks God, even though Minho is still at a loss.

"Can I... help you with anything?" Minho asks suspiciously after a moment. Jisung mumbles something with his head down that Minho doesn't quite catch, so he rolls his eyes. "Speak up, Jisung-ah."

"I came here to apologize," Jisung says out loud, and the words cause Minho's eyebrows to shoot up to his hairline.

He pauses for a moment. Then, his expression relaxes and he cocks a brow. "Oh, really?"

Jisung looks like he's gritting his teeth at the mere thought of having to do this. "Yeah."

"Who's forcing you?" Minho questions boredly.

"What?" Jisung frowns. "No one's forcing me."

Minho flashes his brows. "How strange."

"I'm being serious, okay? I feel bad about what happened. You're right, I'm an entitled little shit. I should've been more grateful about you helping me out with the choreography," Jisung says with his head down. Finally, he looks up and his eyes look deadly beautiful. "Thank you about that, by the way."

Minho feels the confidence suddenly draining out of his body when he catches the glint of embarrassment on Jisung's face as he utters the apology that so obviously leaves behind a massive bruise to his ego. He was expecting anything but this. Jisung's hands are behind his back but he still shifts the weight on his feet uncomfortably, awkwardly, as if he couldn't keep still, and Minho feels his self-control slowly withering away as he melts for this boy.

"You're actually serious?" he echoes with a shred of voice, just to double-check.

Jisung rolls his eyes. "Can't you just take the apology so I can go?"

Now, Minho's face falls into a mocking grin, finding the perfect opportunity to irritate him some more. "You know, if you're in the wrong, you might not always be forgiven."

"Does that mean you don't forgive me?"

"I didn't say that."

Jisung huffs out loud, growing frustrated, starting to think that perhaps he should've left things the way they were. It was what he wanted, after all: getting rid of Lee Minho for good. But when Minho stormed out of the dance hall without even giving him the time to think of a coherent response, something inside him twisted. It didn't feel right—he felt guilty. Guiltier than he'd ever felt before. It was different from that time he'd made Felix cry or that other time he'd gone a week without speaking to Bang Chan over a misunderstanding—it went so much deeper.

Jisung spent all day debating it. He really did, and very thoroughly. He wasn't planning to apologize, but then he was heading back to his dorm and the feeling was one he couldn't quite put his finger on, but one he recognized well enough to know it wouldn't let him sleep. Suddenly, instead of turning left, he was turning right and ending up right at Minho's door.

"Before I forgive you," Minho speaks, making Jisung's full focus return to him, "I want an explanation."

Jisung grimaces. "For what?"

"An explanation for why you are so mean to everyone."

"Are you serious?" Jisung runs a hand through his hair frustratedly. Minho smirks because he enjoys watching him get flustered. "Some people are rude, some people are kind, and some people are crazy. That's the way of life, Minho-yah. There's not a reason to everything."

"It's Minho-hyung."

Jisung eyes him with disdain. "I'm not calling you that."

"If you don't, I'm not gonna forgive you." Minho tilts his head, then an idea that makes him smirk sparkles in his head. "Say, 'I'm sorry for being an entitled little shit, Minho-hyung.'"

There's a moment of quiet, then Jisung says, "Like, actually?"

"Yeah, actually."

"Aish," Jisung hisses under his breath, his face reddened in anger, but he then puts his head down. "I'm sorry for being an entitled little shit, Minho-hyung."

"Say it again," Minho demands. "Look me in the eye."

Jisung looks like he wants to stomp his feet against the floor, which makes the smirk on Minho's face tighten. He doesn't like it when people demand anything of him, but this time, because his body wills it, Jisung looks up and does as he's told. Minho can't help but delight in the idea of finally forcing him into submission.

"I'm sorry for being an entitled little shit, Minho-hyung," Jisung says.

"How adorable," Minho teases, watching Jisung's cheeks turn red from embarrassment. "Will you be nice to me from now on?"

Jisung sighs, long and heavy. "Whatever."

"Will you respect me?" Minho asks, not fully satisfied yet.

"Can I go?"

"Answer my question."

Jisung purses his lips. There's something different about Lee Minho and maybe it's the fact that even if he'd hate having to admit it out loud, he's one of the few people that actually does intimidate him.

"Fine," he grumbles finally. "God, you're annoying."

Minho smiles widely, the apples of his cheeks becoming tight with his grin. Jisung studies his face curiously, especially his cupid's bow and the arch of his top lip. His mouth is a curious shape that calls to his attention.

"Do you like sushi?" Minho asks all of a sudden, and Jisung's eyebrows shoot up.

"What?"

"Do you?" Minho insists.

"W—Why?"

"Is it so hard for you to answer a simple question? I'm asking if you like sushi. It's yes or no." Minho rolls his eyes.

"I do, but what's that have to do with anything?"

"Are you free tomorrow night?"

Jisung looks around, feeling completely at a loss. He wonders if there's anyone close by that might be hearing this madness and would be willing to explain it to him, because he sure doesn't understand it himself.

"What are you talking about?" He shakes his head.

"Have you never been asked out by anyone? Is that why you're acting so clueless?" Minho scowls. "Or are you actually clueless?"

Jisung's eyes grow wide; so wide, Minho's smile grows with them. He watches him remain frozen in shock, his cheeks puffed, his lips pouted and his skin becoming flush with surprise.

"A—Asked out?" Jisung echoes. "You're asking me out?"

Minho blinks. "Am I speaking in another language?"

Jisung is at a loss for words, stammering out incoherent syllables in an attempt at regaining his confidence, but Minho looks at him in a certain way and he physically can't get a hold of himself.

"I suppose you have something to do, which is why you're not answering."

Jisung shakes his hands in front of him. "No, no. I'm free."

Minho nods in approval as if this wasn't so much a declaration, but a business transaction. "There's a place across the street. My mom says they have good sushi. I'll treat you."

He doesn't say much else, even though Jisung is still waiting for an explanation. He still stands by the doorway when Minho, with that godawful beautiful smile of his, bows halfway at him in greeting and finally closes the door between them, leaving him to dwell on his thoughts alone with a complete turmoil of anxiety racking at his insides.

Jisung then goes back to his dorm in a trance. Is he dreaming, or did Lee Minho truly just invite him to dinner?

He can't wrap his head around it.

Chapter 12: he still hates you

When Jisung arrives at rehearsal the following morning, he's a trembling mess of unresolved late night overthinking. He skipped breakfast in an attempt at putting off the inevitable, also gaining himself some time to actually think about what to do, but when practice time arrives, he realizes in horror that he can no longer procrastinate.

It's not like he ever said yes to a date with Minho, right? He can still back out. But the same way there's no reason to say yes, there's also no reason to say no. Minho seemed sure enough of himself that it makes Jisung question whether he sent the wrong signals at some point in time, but then two thoughts occur to him: the only signals he sent his way were glares and curse words and it's not like he didn't think about him once or twice as he lied in bed the past few nights. Does that mean Minho doesn't care how rude or mean he is? But then, why would Minho ever be so stupid? Does he know what he's willingly getting himself into, or is he simply playing with him?

Every what-if Jisung can think of doubles the dose of anxiety that threatens to overcome him. Jisung doesn't like being toyed with, but the idea of someone liking him for who he is is far more terrifying.

When he wakes up, there's still an unusual swirling in his stomach that he tries hard to ignore. Jisung replays the scene over and over, Minho's eyes and his voice and his godforsaken smile so primitively carved in his brain that he even dreamt about them last night in hazy flashes and flashbacks. He also remembers what it felt like to have Minho's hands on his waist yesterday during practice, and thinking about it makes heat creep up his neck. For that reason, Jisung struggles getting out of bed; he rolls over once and twice and again, wrapped up in his head, getting all sorts of thoughts at once. There's a nervous pit in his stomach.

Jisung has never felt this way about anyone—whatever this way is. Sure, he's liked a girl or two in the past, he's felt needs, but he's not gay. I mean, he thinks. He's never been too much of a romantic. At this point in time, he doesn't even consider dating to be a requirement for his happiness, nor something he can ever achieve. But then he follows the train of thought into a new question: did Minho mean to ask him out in a romantic way or is he making it all up?

Jisung's mind rallies altogether.

Minho is already at the dance hall by the time Jisung arrives. As soon as he sees him, Jisung puts his head down and hides himself behind his cap, feeling the warmth taking over his cheeks upon standing in this man's presence yet again. Everything that happened yesterday feels like a fever dream.

Jisung tosses his bag on a corner of the gym and still looks down at the floor when he starts warming up. Minho doesn't approach him and jisung is not aware enough of his surroundings to know why, but he can confidently say that there's a part of him waiting impatiently for the moment they will talk again. Jisung, of course, will not be the one to make the first move. But he still silently hopes, if only to clear his doubts.

He feels hot under his sweatshirt even though it's not hot inside the hall, so he undresses and follows Bang Chan's call up to the center of the room. Minho stands on the other side of the line-up, but Jisung still manages to sneak glances at him, hoping for the moment their eyes meet. However, Minho is fully concentrated on the choreography as they go through a general run-through of the song, and even though Jisung is quite satisfied with his own dancing (he recalls Minho telling him to bend his knees and train his core, so he tries hard to dance well so Minho will notice him), he still meets disappointment when it comes to an end and nothing happened.

Frankly, what is he expecting?

Jisung puts his head down and silently reprimands himself because seriously, this is unlike him. He can't let this man take over his life. He'll just tell him later that there will be no date and everything will go back to normal.

But then Minho approaches.

"Your dancing is better," he says.

Jisung becomes startled by the voice that speaks over his shoulder when he heads over to his bag for some water. He turns to find Minho looking at him, bearing that grin-not-grin that seems slier today, cheekier. Jisung rubs the back of his neck where goosebumps have risen in response and realizes his efforts to stand out finally worked.

Still, Jisung grimaces. "Stop sneaking up on me. It's weird."

"Are we still on for tonight?" Minho asks without paying mind to his words, and maybe this is the moment Jisung has been half expecting half dreading all night and morning long.

Now, he finds himself at a loss. Even though seconds earlier he was confident that he'd be able to reject him as soon as the subject was brought up, now that it's actually happening, Jisung can barely form a thought.

"I mean, I don't think I ever said yes..." he mumbles, hoping his reluctancy shows in his words.

"But you owe me. For being so rude to me," Minho points out, pushing out his lips into a plump pout that has Jisung's treacherous eyes falling to his mouth.

"Oh, c'mon." Jisung huffs, quickly looking away. "You don't get to play that card."

"It's the truth. If you go out for dinner with me tonight, I'll forgive you."

"I thought you'd forgiven me already."

"I reconsidered." Minho grins. "Go out with me."

Jisung squints his eyes at him. "And you'll leave me alone?"

Minho's mouth opens just a little, then veers off into a mischievous smirk.

"We'll see about that," he says quietly. "So, eight?"

Jisung blinks. "Eight what?"

"Eight, tonight. Stay on track, Jisung-ah."

"You mean eight o' clock? I have, uhm—" he begins, but he can't come up with excuses under pressure, so he sighs. "Sure. Whatever."

"Great. Then, that's settled."

Minho smiles and turns to leave and Jisung has so many question (what should he wear?, where should they meet?, what should he do?, should he bring his credit card?, what is going?), but ultimately, he tells himself that whatever happens, he'll be fine. He's not going to die today. I mean, at least he hopes. He doesn't know enough of Lee Minho to know if he's a killer yet. God forbid. 

 

"Damn it, where is it?"

Jisung's room is a cluttered mess all around him. He searches for the only bottle of perfume he's ever owned, a gift from his mother that he never even took out from the box but now is tasked with digging out from whatever hole it lies forgotten in to get ready for his date with Minho, and the painstaking activity is taking his breath.

He doesn't even know why he's putting in such an effort when most of him doesn't even want to go in the first place. He tells himself he's going for the sushi, because he does quite like it and he very rarely treats himself to some, but he's not so sure that's the reason. He doubts a spray of perfume will be even noticed, but in spite of never having worn perfume before, it feels vital today.

Jisung is (and has been for the most part of the day) at a complete loss. He's never been to a date before (he's still unsure whether this is romantic or simply friendly; he's very sure he does not have any romantic feelings for Minho, anyway) and thinking about what to wear was a task that took him little over an hour and a half after he got out of the shower—which never happens, because Jisung genuinely doesn't care to look good for anyone at all. But it's different this time, for some reason. Now, as eight o' clock inches closer and closer, his nerves have skyrocketed and if he doesn't find that perfume, maybe the world will end.

Which wouldn't be that bad.

Whatever happens, Minho will be at his door a few minutes from now and he's only got one shoe on and no fucking perfume.

"Fucking asshole," Jisung curses under his breath because it's the only thing he can think of. Where did he put the damn thing?

Finally, the little bottle of vanilla-scented cologne appears in a deep corner of his closet, so he sighs in relief and pops the cap to spray some on. He does so carelessly (a puff on each side of his neck and on his hips, just wherever) and finally feels ready, smelling sweet and creamy with clean hair and fresh clothes. It's the first time in a while he's taken the time to dress up for anything and even though it was quite a frustration, all matters aside, now he feels kind of good about himself. The blowdryer made his hair turn out a little curly, which he's not a fan of but it doesn't bother him, and he wears a band t-shirt beneath an oversized cashmere sweater (that he's never before worn; it's kind of itchy) and jeans. Maybe Minho will be impressed by the looks of him—he's impressed by himself.

Jisung is still taking a look at his clothes in the mirror when he hears a knock, and his heart stops in his chest. He's ready, but he doesn't feel ready, so he takes an extra ten seconds before he finally walks up to the door.

When he opens, it's only a brief second until Minho's eyes are all over him.

"Jisung-ah..." he lectures cheekily, "are you wearing perfume for me?"

Jisung grows red from head to toes. Suddenly, he wishes he hadn't wasted thirty minutes of his life looking for the damn thing.

"Of course not," he lies immediately. "I just showered."

Minho grabs a handful of his sweater and pulls him in closer in a manner that makes him stumble. Jisung panics when he finds himself within inches of his chest, with Minho's nose close to his bare neck, his hot breath like a caress against his skin that makes him squirm.

"Get away!" he stammers out.

"You're definitely wearing perfume. Vanilla?" Minho says cockily as he lets him go. "I didn't know you were that into me."

"Ah, don't start with your bullshit. I'm not into you."

Minho shoots him a warning look that makes Jisung immediately straighten up. "Mind your language. Let's go."

They leave the dorm behind quickly. As they walk side by side, Jisung breathes in Minho's scent, finding that he smells of soap, conditioner and peach hand cream—curious scent, but one that lures him in closer nonetheless. He takes a look at his skin, so flawless and bright and even that it makes him want to reach out and check if it's really as soft as it looks. Minho is not too dressed up, wearing jeans, a black t-shirt beneath a bomber jacket and a pair of old Converse, but regardless, he still looks striking. He always does. Jisung envies the ability to look good without even trying.

"Loosen up, Jisungie." Minho laughs then as they ride down the elevator. "You're gonna explode."

Jisung rolls his eyes, but he figures he doesn't have much of a choice. He already got himself all dressed up for this; he's not going to waste a good outfit on a shitty night. The silence is a little awkward, but he has a faint suspicion that only he feels that way.

"Do you have a car?" he asks out of curiosity.

"No. We don't need to drive anywhere, though. It's just across the street."

"I brought my credit card just—"

"I said I'd treat you," Minho cuts him off quickly, turning to look at him as they leave the building.

Jisung blinks diffidently. "Right."

The air is starting to get colder as autumn approaches, so Jisung cranes his shoulders in a shiver as they cross the street. He follows Minho's lead, unsure where he's taking him but forcing himself to trust his plans (praying to God he's not murdered). In the meantime, he admires the fact that Minho walks like a model on a runway.

"Jisung," the elder calls after a moment. "Do you like reading?"

"Not really, no." Jisung grimaces.

"Movies?"

"I watch them sometimes. Why?"

"Maybe we have something in common."

Jisung squints his eyes as they walk into the restaurant, lit only by scattered lamps that create an intimate (awfully romantic, in his opinion) ambience within. Minho leads the way so Jisung takes the opportunity to look around, watching the dishes served on the different tables, the people talking quietly, respecting the faint jazz music playing from speakers distributed about the hall. This is definitely not his cup of tea, but he still gazes at his surroundings with genuine admiration. A waitress sits them at their table and hands them a couple of menus.

"You don't tend to take hints, do you?" Jisung asks at last, watching Minho closely.

"What hints?" Minho asks as he takes off his jacket.

Jisung's eyes fall to his broad chest and he silently curses. What is it with Minho and always wearing the tightest clothes he owns? Does he not restock his closet every now and then?

"Haven't I made it clear enough that I don't like you?" Jisung asks to get his mind off of the idea of Minho's shirtless body.

Minho shrugs. "I don't believe that."

"You don't believe that? That's ridiculous. I'm telling you."

"More ridiculous than unknowingly choosing to dislike someone you haven't even met?"

"Why are you trying to prove me wrong?" Jisung asks, not so much roughly but rather genuinely wondering. "Isn't it easier to just let me be? It's not like I'm the only person you can make friends with in the band."

"You're the only one that I'm curious about." Minho shrugs, finally picking up the menu.

Jisung watches his eyes skim over the different dishes, his sly grin still on his face, leaving him speechless. He scowls.

"You're weird," he mumbles nervously at last, picking up his own menu. However, his eyes quickly drift towards the prices scribbled next to each dish and his eyes widen tenfold. "Are you kidding? This is expensive as shit!"

"Mind your mouth." Minho clicks his tongue, but further ignores him. "Do you eat sushi often? I'll order for you. I know what's good."

Jisung groans out loud. "I'm not gonna let you pay for this."

"Can't you be quiet for once?" Minho looks at him over the edge of his menu, his expression remaining unshaken but his voice suddenly solemn. "I can pay for this and I want to do it. It's rude not to accept a gift."

"Aish!" Jisung curses under his breath, putting the menu down to sulk in his seat. "You're seriously infuriating."

"My God." Minho laughs, seeming entertained by his frustration. 

Jisung still glares at Minho while the waitress takes their order: all sorts of stuff that Jisung is not too familiar with but that surely sounds expensive. Their drinks are brought to their table and he leans back on his seat with his arms crossed over his chest.

"How long have you been a trainee for?" Minho asks once the waitress is gone, choosing to disregard Jisung's glare.

"Three years."

"That's a long time. Are you anxious to debut?"

"You sound like a shrink." Jisung grimaces.

"If you don't tell me things, I have to ask. Sorry if it's not conventional for you." Minho's lips curve into a half smile tinted with mockery. "Everyone says you're the best rapper there is."

"I'm not the best." Jisung shakes his head, propping his elbow on the table to toy with the chopsticks carefully laid out on his plate. "Changbin's pretty cool."

"I think, if you fixed that attitude of yours, you could get far."

Now, Jisung glares. "You're into fixing things, aren't you?"

Minho shrugs. "Maybe."

"Don't," Jisung scowls, glaring at him through his lashes.

"Why?"

"Because it's not gonna work out for you."

"I think I could make it work. The fact that you accepted to come here is enough for me."

"I was actually kind of forced. Don't start with your bullshit or I'm gonna go."

"No, you're not gonna go, 'cause you're gonna love this."

Jisung frowns just as the waitress arrives at their table carrying a wide wooden platter bearing multiple types of sliced raw fish, nigiri, kimbap, and small bowls containing seasoned rice and various dipping sauces. His eyes widen as he stares at all the food that is laid out in front of them, his mouth watering at the sight and at the speed at which it arrived. Minho stares at him with a cocky grin.

"You're so predictable," he mocks, and normally, Jisung would be offended, but his attention is somewhere else.

He forgets everything for a second, noticing for the first time how hungry he actually is. He hasn't eaten anything since lunch and even though the tiny portions don't seem half as filling as regular convenience store cup noodles, he still digs into the food eagerly, pouring himself some soy sauce and trying the different options. Minho is pleased to watch him as they both eat.

"This is amazing," Jisung mumbles through stuffed cheeks, glancing at the copious amounts of wasabi dissolved in Minho's platter of soy sauce. They spend some time in silence, delighting in their food. Minho drinks wine and spends a pleasant time looking at Jisung. He's pretty when he's not glowering.

"I told you you'd like it." Minho winks at him once the food is almost completely gone.

"I'm so full," Jisung says, resting his chopsticks on his plate and leaning back on his chair.

"I think what you mean is thank you." Minho laughs, resting his glass of wine back on the table. There's a faint blush on his cheeks caused by the alcohol. "You're far more pleasant when you're eating. Should've told me. I would've asked you out sooner."

"Don't brag." Jisung rolls his eyes, waving him off with a dismissing hand. "I still hate you."

"Oh, I don't doubt it." Minho chuckles. "But I know you hate me a little less."

Jisung doesn't deny it, partly because he's a little sleepy but mostly, mostly because it's true.

 

Chapter 13: better when he's quiet

The day of the showcase arrives at an impressive speed and the ambience in the JYP building quickly becomes ridden with stresses and tension—if it wasn't already before. Each member of Stray Kids quickly resorts to their own methods to calm their nerves, some hanging out together, some spending time alone (Han Jisung), but all of them rehearsing until exhaustion in an attempt at making their performance near perfect.

Luckily, reactions to it have improved along with Jisung's dancing—just like Minho told him, now he bends his knees and tries to enjoy it. At least look like he is, because he has found that pretending certainly does the job. All he cares is impressing JYP once he sees him again and he has no doubt he will, but that doesn't stop him from waking up the morning of the show with palpitations.

It's seven in the morning and his alarm isn't on until nine, but he's wide awake and unable to fall back asleep because Jisung, naturally, has always struggled with insomnia. He stares up at the meaningless motion of the ceiling fan above him, always on, always moving. It's a strange feeling having woken up with such pulsating ache, but no matter how much he tries to steady his breath, no matter how hard he tries to fall back asleep, it doesn't go away. Not for a long while. Jisung knows it won't.

He has two thoughts in mind. His head is already tonight at the showcase, wandering about the corridors backstage at the Ilsam Studio. He's gauging the crowd, the size and sound of it, watching JYP sat in front of the stage just like he was the day of the rehearsal, except his eye is far more critical today. Stray Kids is performing and everything is going according to plan.

But part of him, in spite of his futile attempts at ignoring it, is stuck down the hallway to the right, in Lee Minho's room.

It's been weird lately.

Only two days have passed since their date (or whatever they call it now; Jisung thinks friendly gathering sounds more appropriate, but it's not like they actually directly addressed it) and things seemed to have changed. For some reason, Minho no longer follows him around so much, but instead greets him every morning during breakfast and talks to him during their water breaks like a lifelong best friend—which is almost even worse than whatever it was he was doing before. Minho is decidedly not mad at him anymore, but being his reasons whatever they are, he seems to get a kick out of confusing him. Jisung just mostly sits and listens whenever he approached, too shocked to compute any type of reasonable reaction, but Minho doesn't seem to notice. Or, if he notices, then it's not his greatest concern.

Yesterday, when Jisung arrived at the dance hall and sat at his usual corner by the mirror, he was more than shocked to find that there was someone already there—guess who. He looked up at him, smiled as he took out a small hand towel from his bag and began rambling on about a dream he'd have, claiming he'd had a hard time sleeping last night and that he was anxious for the showcase. Jisung had sat warily and simply listened to him going on and on about senseless topics as if he enjoyed the small talk. And even though Jisung is not the greatest morning person, he didn't complain. Maybe he was just too shocked. Maybe, somewhere along the lines, it even felt nice to be directly spoken to for once. For a change.

It's been a long time since he's been treated normally. During rehearsals, everyone usually takes a seat by the back wall, leaving him to be the only one apart. Not like he does anything to join the group, anyway; Jisung knows they hate him and he doesn't care. Yet, Minho has apparently come to change that. Jisung can't exactly measure how much it bothers him, all he knows is that Lee Minho is the kind of person that wears perfume to rehearsals and by the time they're done, he still smells amazing—and it's fucking infuriating.

But aside from that, he hasn't done anything else. Minho hasn't asked him out on another date, hasn't accidentally run into him late at night in the hallways, hasn't trained with him at the gym. It's almost like he's even starting to respect his boundaries, weirdly enough. They're apart most of the time and Jisung is starting to feel a little empty, as if he'd somehow grown accustomed to their unusual encounters and conversations, to Minho's constant stepping over the lines he's effortfully built for himself over the year.

Maybe it was about time that Minho grew bored of him. It was bound to happen eventually, anyway. But does the wound ever scar?

The thought circles Jisung's mind as he lies in bed, rubbing at his sore chest. Maybe he could claim a headache and miss rehearsal today, but he knows he can't do that. He knows he has to get in as much practice as he can before tonight arrives—bafflingly, the showcase seems to inch closer and closer at an insane speed and Jisung is having a hard time collecting his thoughts. As he normally does, he gets the impending feeling that weeks of training have done nothing for him.

He chooses to skip breakfast and take a shower instead in an attempt at fully waking himself up. He spends a long time under the spray of steaming water until the mirror has fogged up and the vapor circles the bathroom like morning mist. Then, he wraps a towel around his hips and makes to blow-dry his hair, when suddenly, there's a knock at his door.

Jisung curses under his breath. He leaves the bathroom as he uses a small hand towel to pat his arms dry and opens the door begrudgingly, only to find Lee Minho stood on the other side. They lock eyes only for a brief moment before Minho's are everywhere but on his face. Jisung stands under the sill and flashes his eyebrows before Minho clears his throat.

"Brought you a bagel," he announces with a faint grin.

Jisung blinks. Then, he frowns. "Excuse me?"

"I figured you weren't gonna come down for breakfast, so I brought you a bagel," Minho repeats, lifting up the small takeout bag on his hand for him to see. "And coffee."

Jisung's eyes scan over the paper cup with tight eyebrows. 

"I'm naked," he says.

"Yes, I can see," Minho nods. "I'll wait for you while you change."

Jisung's eyebrows shoot up. "Like, in here?"

"I'll close my eyes," Minho suggests with a cheeky edge to his voice.

Then, without waiting for a response, he pushes past Jisung and ventures into the room. Jisung lets him in because he's too startled to react, then watches him as he takes a seat on his undone bed and begins unboxing the bagel, not even paying attention to the very obvious mess of sheets and clothes scattered all around him.

"It's blueberry. You like blueberry, right?" Minho asks, strangely relaxed. "And I brought cheese spread."

"Uhm," Jisung mumbles as he closes the door warily. "Sure."

"Here."

Minho hands him the coffee and Jisung takes the steaming cup, still slightly baffled that they are in this room, together, alone. 

"I'm... gonna finish... getting changed," he stammers, feeling all too self-conscious of the fact that he's literally wearing nothing beneath the towel. 

"Of course. I'll wait right here."

Jisung eyes him sideways, fetching himself whatever clothes off of the rolling chair on his desk before riding back into the bathroom, where residual steam still has yet to dissipate. He shuts the door behind him and takes a deep breath, trying really hard to ignore the fact that Minho just saw him completely shirtless and almost fully butt naked. Not to mention, Minho is in his room and he just brought him a fucking bagel. All of that put together sounds ridiculous, so Jisung takes a long moment to compose himself.

When he feels he's calm enough, he finishes drying up and styling his hair before he slips into his clothes. He applies some face cream (which he never does) and even though he hates having to change inside the steamy bathroom (it's like his skin is never fully dry), he does so quickly and then walks out bashfully.

Minho has shifted over to the rolling chair by his desk by the time Jisung comes out. He carefully arranged the mess of clothes hanging off the backrest and now sits with his knees spread, lying back calmly. He runs a careful finger across the various drawings strewn about the desk and Jisung, watching him sat there, wonders how come his thighs are so thick. Like, actually. They widen against the chair, pulled by gravity, the soft muscles of them visible through his pants.

"You like drawing," Minho says then, and it's not a question, but a statement. He brings Jisung back to reality in one snap.

"No," Jisung replies sarcastically.

Minho snorts. "They're pretty."

Jisung feels his face becoming warm as he sits on the bed. No one has ever cared enough to look at his drawings, let alone call them pretty. He watches Minho in his distraction and he's as confused as he is amazed by this man.

"Are you hungry?"

Jisung shakes his head. "Not really."

"Do you know breakfast is the most important meal of the day?" Minho tells him then, taking the blueberry bagel, the cheese spread and a pair of cardboard cutlery from the bag. "It breaks the overnight fasting period."

"Well, my fasting lasts till midday."

Minho laughs quietly, but doesn't reply. He slices the bagel in a careful cross-section with surgical precision and begins spreading the cheese on the open halves. His hands are delicate as he does so; he uses a careful pinky finger to remove the hair from his eyes and Jisung feels like he's in a trance as he watches him.

"Drink your coffee before it goes cold," Minho says, beckoning towards the nightstand where the coffee cup still sits untouched.

Jisung turns and finds the steaming cup of the hot beverage beside him. He grabs it, wrapping his hands around it to feel the still warm cardboard against his fingers, then takes a sip.

"I like black coffee better," Jisung mumbles when the overly-sweet taste of coffee, milk and sugar warms his tongue.

"Yes, or thank you." Minho flashes a brow, then leans in towards him and tucks the bagel into his mouth. "Here."

Jisung's eyes are wide when he receives the treat, his top lip becoming smeared with cheese spread when Minho pushes it into his mouth. His eyebrows shoot up high on his forehead as he holds it between his teeth, but Minho is already busy with the remaining half of the bagel. Jisung immediately takes the bagel out of his mouth, wipes his lip and shakes his head.

"Don't feed me like that!" he exclaims.

"But you look better when you're quiet." Minho pouts playfully.

And Jisung stares at him and fights the urge to throw the bagel at his head. However, the feeling quickly dissipates when Minho laughs at him and the apples of his cheeks become tight with his smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He feels a sudden tug in his stomach and results to eating quietly, unable to entertain the conversation any longer without feeling like he might actually go insane.

"Is it good?" Minho asks.

Jisung mumbles a positive response and Minho seems satisfied enough with the result, because he rests the remaining half of the bagel on top of the takeout bag, dusts his hand and leans back on the rolling chair to stare at him as he eats.

"You have a staring problem, you know?" Jisung comments at last.

"You look like a squirrel when you're eating. I can't not stare at you."

Jisung's eyes grow wide at the unexpected comment. "What does that mean!"

Minho pokes his face softly. "Your cheeks get all big and round."

"Aish," Jisung huffs out at the edge of crying.

"Do you know the psychology behind sighing?"

"Huh?"

"It's like a mental reset button. You release tension and shift focus."

He blinks. "And what do I care?"

"Well, you seem to sigh a lot." Minho shrugs.

Now, against all odds, Jisung is the one that fetches the remaining half of the bagel already smeared with cheese and stuffs it into Minho's mouth. Minho looks at him wide-eyed, spitting the treat onto his hand, his top lip coated in cheese spread.

"Hey!" he exclaims.

"You look better when you're quiet," Jisung retorts grudgingly.

And Minho is still startled, but he laughs and shakes his head, continuing to try the blueberry bagel, and for the next following minutes, they eat in a soft silence—a silence that is lit only by Minho's constant humming of a song that Jisung doesn't recognize, but that lulls his rambling thoughts to a sleep.

 

Chapter 14: not your preference

The morning after the showcase, it is physically evident in the ambience at the breakfast table that a weight has been lifted off the kids' shoulders. Even though the gaps between showcases aren't big and they have only a few more days until they have to start preparing for the following performance, it seems like everyone is satisfied with how the showcase turned out, even in spite of JYP's individual criticism. Even Jisung seems merrier, and that's saying a lot. He even smiled a little while they rode back to the building last night in Changbin's car and all the members were shocked to witness such phenomenon. Minho was sad to miss it.

Today, as they break their fast early in the morning, having opted for a day off before they recommence with rehearsals tomorrow (which also means not everyone is present at the table, as some members have decided to sleep in for the first time in a while), the chatter is soft and lively. Even Jisung occasionally smiles whenever someone makes a joke that is at least a little bit funny, even though he always swears his sense of humor is high above anyone else's. But overall, everyone is at ease.

Minho, who arrives a little late, a little tousled, enjoys the sight almost as soon as he notices it. Jisung sits with his head down, eating his food quietly as if to go by unnoticed, but every now and then, he laughs and it's like his heart gets a little warm. Minho smiles as he looks at him even though Jisung doesn't even seem to have noticed his presence. Bang Chan, who sits at the header between the two, is quick to notice the unusual occurence and spends the rest of the meal gauging Minho's reactions, wondering when things changed between the two boys. Or have they even changed?

After that, when everyone is done eating, they discard their trays and quickly disperse from the cafeteria, some back to their dorms, some to the gym, some out for the day. Jisung stays behind, walking slowly with his eyes on his phone. Coincidentally, Minho is right there, waiting for him.

"You seem to be in a good mood," he says, catching his immediate attention. It's still unusual for Jisung hearing anyone at all referring to him directly, so he blinks in a fleeting puzzlement. He doesn't smile when he sees him—not that he ever does—but he puts his phone away immediately, his full focus now on Minho as they walk side by side out of the cafeteria and down the hallway with no specific destination. Minho notices the gesture. Lately, he seems to be noticing every little thing about him.

"Me?" Jisung asks. "Why?"

"I saw you smile at the table. For the first time." Minho flashes his brows, only thinking about it bringing butterflies to his chest. "Are you free today?"

"Why?"

Minho now laughs. Jisung always seems to be so wary around everyone, yet his cover seems to slip every now and then. It makes those brief moments very special to Minho, who knows he'll break him open eventually but is meanwhile anxious for the moment that it finally happens.

"I want to hang out with you," he tells him straightforwardly.

Jisung grows red in the face. Minho bites down on his lip in admiration of this beautiful boy, then smiles very gently because he can't help himself at the sight of such round sparkly eyes.

"Why?" 

"Do you know any other word?" Minho chuckles. "I just do. Is that a problem?"

Jisung waves his hands in front of him. "No, no."

"Then, are you free?"

He doesn't know how to say no without saying no. The idea doesn't seem half as bad, but these are not waters he usually treads lightly through. It's uncharted territory for him and diving in headfirst seems risky, so he'd rather just... not dive in. Like, at all. It feels that there's too many things that could go wrong in just a moment.

Yet the thought of actually having a friend calls Jisung into the stream like a siren.

"Are you obsessed with me?" he asks after a moment, squinting his eyes at Minho, simply to have something to divert the attention from his blushing cheeks.

"What would be the matter if I was?" Minho shrugs.

"Yes or no." 

"Not everything is yes or no," he tells him simply. Jisung huffs out loud and yet again, Minho smiles teasingly. "What's wrong? Do you hate me?"

"I never said that," Jisung quips.

"It's a simple question."

"Well, not everything is yes or no," Jisung mocks. "Stop following me. I have stuff to do."

"So, that means you can't hang out?"

"What does that even mean?" he exclaims in sudden frustration. "Hang out for what? To do what? Where? When?"

"Hang out and talk. Hang out and eat. Hang out and play. There's plenty of options. Haven't you ever had friends? And as for place," Minho shrugs, "your room."

Jisung's eyes grow even wider. "My room? Why?"

"I like your room," he tells him. "It's very artsy."

"I hate that word!"

"Artsy?"

"Yes!"

Minho chuckles tenderly. "You're weird."

"You're weird!"

"Jisung-ah. Why are you making this so difficult?" he drawls then, not in exasperation, but rather amusedly. "Yes, I am obsessed with you. Terribly obsessed. Will you hang out with me today, please?"

They have come to a halt in the middle of the hallway, facing each other. Jisung's eyes are wide in shock, whereas Minho stares back at him impassively.

"I'm begging here," he announces then impatiently at the absence of a response.

"Well, I mean—" Jisung stammers out, unable to form a coherent thought.

"Yes or no?"

"I—"

"Lee Minho."

The third voice that interrupts the conversation causes both boys to immediately turn toward the girl that approaches them. Jisung half recognizes her from having seen her around the cafeteria and once at the gym before but never actually having talked to her outright. He's pretty sure she belongs to one of the trainee girl groups, younger and newer than them, but in spite of the fact that she recognizes him too, she avoids his gaze as if it wasn't him she was interested in. And, in fact, she isn't.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says, laughing coyly. "My name's Ji-soo. I'm a trainee here."

"Hello," Minho says, bowing at her politely with unusual calm. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Well, actually... I've seen you around lately. I know you're new, and—and...," she stammers, her cheeks a bright shade of pink. "Well, I was thinking if maybe I could ask you out for some coffee later today, if you want. I could show you around and everything."

Jisung's eyebrows shoot up and even though Ji-soo is nowhere near ugly, her black hair long and shiny, her smile wide and bright, her small eyes pretty, he still turns to Minho because he cares about his reaction. Minho, in turn, seems as surprised as he is, but he soon smiles a pretty smile that makes Jisung feel strange. 

"Oh, I appreciate the invitation," he says, bowing lightly once more as if he knew how to handle such a situation without messing his speech. "I'm taken, though."

Ji-soo's expression falls and she seems fairly disappointed for a moment, but she plays it off nicely. "Oh! Oh, that's no problem. I mean, it was worth the effort."

She chuckles nervously and he reciprocates the smile. Finally, Ji-soo greets goodbye, bows and scurries away in shame, seeming like she wants to outrun the awkward situation. Minho's smile after bowing at her goodbye is gone within the second.

"You're taken?" Jisung exclaims.

"What?" Minho frowns, taken aback by the question. "No."

"But—"

"You have absolutely no social comprehension whatsoever," he says. "I just didn't wanna have to say no to her."

Jisung blinks once, twice. "But... why would you say no to her? Do you not find her pretty?"

Minho glances over his shoulder and shrugs. "Not my preference."

Jisung huffs and cusses out at the sly response, but also because a small part inside him was ignited with jealousy the moment he saw her. He doesn't know why, but the idea of Lee Minho being wanted by anybody else makes him ragingly angry. Not that he wants him, anyway, but if he did, then nobody else could also want him. Watching Minho talk to her was, too, rather strange. He envies him for his constant, almost ubiquitous, ever-present calm.

"Plus, I have plans," Minho adds at last, raking his eyes all the way down Jisung's body.

"What? I thought—"

"With you. I'll be at your dorm after I come back, okay?"

Minho starts walking away, but Jisung stands in utter shock.

"Wait, what? Come back from where?" he stammers.

"I have some things to do outside," he tells him over his shoulder, nearing a turn. "But six is fine, right?"

Minho doesn't wait for an answer before he's gone. Soon enough, he rounds a corner and Jisung is left alone in the hallway, staring at the emptiness in front of him. The words find him a minute too late.

"No, it's not fine!" he exclaims, but there's no one there anymore. He hisses out in exasperation. "Fuck!"

 

And six arrives rather quickly, too. Not that Jisung has anything else to do other than stay at his room and wait for the clock to turn, but when the time actually arrives at which Minho is supposed to be knocking at his door, he's lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling fan as it spins leisurely, and actually waiting for him. Except there is no knock.

By half past sixty, Jisung gets a sudden feeling that either Minho is running late—very late—or he might just no be coming. It's not too bad, he thinks to himself, because he never even actually agreed to this gathering, but the idea of Minho forgetting or simply deciding to call it off without him knowing makes him feel awkwardly disappointed. Maybe he didn't want it to happen, but when it actually didn't happen... I mean, Jisung sort of spent the whole day thinking about it.

But it's not that big a deal, right? At best, God is finally listening to his prayers. Although Jisung doesn't know if he still stood by them at this point in time.

He shakes his head to himself and gets up. He can no longer lie around in bed waiting for the sun to set or for a certain person to show up knowing he won't. He didn't expect it from Minho, out of everyone, not with how insistent he has been in the past few days. He didn't feel like the person who'd stand him up, but maybe he misjudged him. Maybe he was too distracted admiring how pretty he is. Maybe Jisung truly has no social comprehension whatsoever and he just misread the signs.

He ruffles his hair, gets into his slippers and leaves the dorm. The hallways are already starting to darken as the sun sets behind the building, no longer providing light through the windows that line the corridors of the floor. He travels around, running a hand across the wall, having no particular direction whatsoever but feeling like he should be somewhere else that isn't here.

Frankly, he's disappointed. He admits it to himself because it's no use pretending he doesn't care. Maybe a part of him has given up on hating Minho for a while and only now is he able to see it. Maybe he should've expected it, seeing as nothing has ever lasted too long for him. He judged himself to be fairly smart, but he completely ignored the possibility that this could ever happen, so now, he feels stupid. He should've known: his life has only ever been made up of fleeting instants, and nothing else. It's sad that Minho was one, too, but regardless, he can do nothing but accept the idea.

He's rambling on in daydream when he crashes into someone. 

"Minho," he says in surprise when he looks up and recognizes the dark-haired boy in front of him. "Oh, you're here."

A sudden relief washes over him, wiping all thoughts from his head. But Minho doesn't smile.

"I can't right now," he mumbles only.

Jisung frowns. "You can't what—?"

But Minho doesn't stick around long enough to hear his question. In a moment, he's pushing right past him and trudging quickly down the hallway. It only takes a second for Minho to disappear inside his dorm to not come out again for the rest of the night. And Jisung is alone again.

Chapter 15: he wasn't awful

Jisung almost skips rehearsal that morning. Almost.

He feels terrible—not mentally, physically. Aside from emotionally drained, Jisung feels literally sick, has been feeling so ever since before he went to bed last night and knows he will continue to. As soon as he got back to his dorm yesterday, he immediately felt his chest aching and judged it to be a mild case of a fucking heart attack before he ruled out the possibility and realized it was just one of those times when air seemed to be lacking. To survive the night, Jisung decided to drug himself into comatose and woke up this morning burning up with a one hundred and two degree fever. It went down pretty quickly, almost as soon as he took a cold shower and managed to get his body temperature to stoop back to normal, but even up to now, an hour after waking up, his limbs still feel droopy, his head still pounds mercilessly and his heart still feels heavy.

Well, maybe Jisung also feels a little bit sad. Is sad the appropriate word, or is merely disappointed more accurate? Or, even, anxious? Anxiety is something Jisung knows well, something he doesn't mind feeling. It's common, it's constant. It's always there. Admitting to sadness or disappointment, on the other hand, feels a tad bit more daunting because it would also imply having to admit to the fact that he was expecting Minho to show up last night, and he was dismayed upon finding out he wouldn't. Brutal rejection was never something Jisung did well with, so his morning so far has been shit.

This, particularly this, is why he didn't want to get attached. Not like he was attached, not even a little bit, not even close, but maybe he actually was and he just doesn't have the balls to say it out loud. All he knows is that whatever it is that happened last night has got his mind in a relentless turmoil and clearly, very obviously, has left him upset. 

Jisung always knew his body to somatize quickly, visibly. He has a tendency to run fevers whenever he feels things too strongly, getting headaches when he's stressed, stomachaches when he's late, mouth sores when he lies. (He remembers something specifically: when he was young, Jisung kept a lot to himself, and every time he didn't say something he wanted to say, the tip of his tongue swelled up within the hour). But regardless, what Jisung truly never expected was to get sick over a boy. A boy so insignificant yet so largely laced to his mind.

It's for that reason that Jisung tosses and turns in bed as the sun shines in through the curtains, a faint breeze blowing into the room where he left the window open. It's getting colder outside lately and he feels himself slowly becoming more and more comfortable as autumn approaches following the spring-like summer, having been suffering from a mild case of seasonal depression during the warm halves of the year, but regardless of the fact that he adores winter, right now, he's struggling to find a meaning to anything.

Once he's out of the shower, Jisung sits at the edge of his bed only in a pair of shorts for quite a while, his hair dripping water droplets onto his bare shoulders as he's too tired to blow-dry it. He feels his skin bristling at the cold weather inside the room (more like, the optimal conditions of his his natural habitat; Jisung thrives in the cold) and finally makes a last minute choice to attend rehearsal. He already showered, which sucks because it means he'll have to shower again, but he still rises to his feet and gets ready, simply because he wants to clear some doubts before he decides to fall back into depression.

Not that he'll ask any literal question. He thinks about it as he arrives at the dance hall five minutes too late.

As soon as he gets there, Jisung sits by his usual corner and watches the seven remaining members of Stray Kids going over the choreography for Hellevator once before they move on to their next set-up. He gazes at the empty spot on the line-up where he should be dancing as he slips into his dance shoes. Once the choreography is over, Chan pauses the track and watches Jisung approach with a tight-lipped smile, bowing mindlessly in greeting.

"You're late," he says. Jisung can immediately tell he's on edge, so he doesn't push it.

"Yes. Good morning to you, too." He flashes a brow.

"Get in line. We'll go over Hellevator once more before we move on. We're already behind."

Jisung rolls his eyes. He can tell only by the look on his face that Chan is going through a stress peak right now, with their next performance only a few days away from today, and that is the reason why he doesn't try to challenge him and simply heads on to join the line-up for the choreography. Internally, though, he still curses him in every language he knows. As he does so, his eyes find Minho across the room from him. For a moment, Jisung thinks their gazes have locked, but as quick as the thought occurs to him, it's gone. Minho is already looking elsewhere, no trace of his lingering gaze. Jisung believes to see almost an inkling of shame in his face, so he swallows dryly, his jaw clenched. He's definitely not in the mood for this.

They go through the choreography, but it's not half as good as it was before the showcase. Something seems to have decayed, but Jisung doesn't really care. He's attention is concentrated on watching Minho, more focused on him than on dancing, and even when he crashes into Hyunjin and gets cussed out, Jisung manages to put down his annoyance and actually ignore him. Which is something.

"This is a mess," Chan says once the song comes to an end, propping a hand on his hip and using the other to run a hand through his hair in frustration. "Is everyone feeling okay?"

Jisung boredly puts up a hand. "I have a fever."

The words grab at Minho's full attention. Within the second, his head bolts in his direction like a magnet, not so much voluntarily but more like a reflex, a pumping concern. Jisung notices it out of the corner of his eye but doesn't turn to meet his gaze, deciding to let him wallow in his own worry without actually addressing it.

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers, an exasperated hand on his hip. "Go get some rest, Jisung. You're only gonna get worse if you push it."

"I'm fine," Jisung denies immediately.

Chan puffs out a soft breath and dismisses, refraining from insisting any further. He proceeds to make corrections, seconded closely by Minho and Hyunjin as they help the rest of the members get in touch with the choreography. Everyone seems disconnected, somehow. When Jisung is approached by no one, he rolls his eyes and tucks his hands in his pockets to wait for the moment they get back to dancing. It's not like he doesn't know the choreography, he's just not in the mood for it right now. And he really does wish he could go, but excellence doesn't come from lying around hoping the fever will fade.

A few minutes go by. Jisung is tracing the mindless patterns of the hardwood floor with the tip of his dancing shoe when a pair of dirty trainers peek into his line of view, and already it makes him mad. Jisung looks up already anticipating and finds Minho stood in front of him.

"Do you need any help?" Minho asks him.

Jisung stares at him, his expression barely shaken by his presence. Maybe his disappointment is slowly turning into anger, or simply he just doesn't care anymore.

"No," he says simply.

Minho looks like he expected another answer, another reaction. He opens his mouth to say something, but eventually chooses to shake his head to himself and walk away, his head down. The gesture is twinged with something Jisung can only recognize as shame, but still, his eyebrows shoot up and he scowls, loud enough for Minho to hear him.

"Actually," Jisung says out loud then, putting up his hand so that Chan will notice him, "I do feel a little sick. Can I go get some rest?"

Chan glances at him, his hard stare softening around the edges. "Of course. Get yourself something to eat and get better, yeah?"

Jisung nods as he walks away, but doesn't miss the chance to deeply glare at Minho before doing so. He fetches his bag from his corner and leaves the dance hall, somehow letting Minho know that whatever is happening to him, whatever is happening to his body, is most definitely his fault. Minho's eyes are fixated upon him as Jisung disappears through the door, and once he's gone, he lets out a long sigh.

 

Jisung doesn't expect Minho to come after him. He really doesn't. A small part of him believes that maybe he will, that maybe he'll step out of his self-deprecation long enough to apologize, but the morning moves forward uneventfully and after an hour, Jisung's point is inevitably proven. When it dawns upon him that no one will be coming after him, Jisung gives up on hoping and proceeds to trudge around the building with no destination whatsoever, then spends the lunch hour in the gallery. His stomach is too stirred to either eat or have to endure a prolonged period of time sat across the table from him, thus why he prefers to starve himself on his own before having to face him.

But unlike what he assumed and even though rather late, Minho eventually does find him. Jisung has no way of knowing how, who he asked or even if he followed him, but somehow, as he enjoys the fresh air out in the gallery (he's very sure it's going to rain; the big black clouds tell him so), he hears footsteps behind him. He doesn't need to turn to know who that is: something about the way Lee Minho walks—so quietly, almost humanly imperceptibly—makes his thoughts fall into place immediately.

Minho announces his arrival by calling out his name. Simply, softly, a loud whisper. "Han Jisung."

Jisung puffs out a sigh before he shakes his head. "Not right now."

But Minho still grabs a seat next to him anyway, and it all brings Jisung back to the last time they sat together like this, in this very same place. He rolls his eyes, turning away to look at the passing cars on the street, anywhere but at him.

His silence seems to make Minho hesitate. "You have a fever?"

"What do you care?"

But as he said, Jisung's disrespect doesn't affect Minho. In a stealthy silence, he reaches out a gentle hand to temp his forehead, causing Jisung to instinctively lean away from his touch. Immediately, Minho knows better than to insist. He folds his hand back between his thighs as if to restrain himself somehow and then looks down at the floor, loosing a tired sigh.

"Jisung-ah, I'm sorry that I—"

"Don't even bother," Jisung cuts him off, shrugging carelessly. "I didn't even wanna hang out with you, anyway. It's not like I care that you didn't come."

Minho bites the inside of his cheek. "I'm sorry I—"

"I said don't bother," he repeats, his voice firmer. Jisung makes to stand, retrieving his phone from the table to leave quickly because he physically can't listen to him anymore without falling sick again, but Minho jumps to his feet behind him.

"Jisung," he calls once again, and somehow, the way he says his name makes Jisung halt.

"What?" He sighs deeply, tiredly, without turning to look at him.

"I'm sorry—"

"Do you know any other words?" Jisung rolls his eyes, reaching the verge of his frustration. Finally, he wills himself to turn around take a step toward him. "If you're gonna ditch me last minute, at least don't be so insistent about it beforehand. It pisses me off that you've been wasting my time ever since you got here. Is this you trying to prove that everyone wants you? Do you like toying with people? Is that it? You just wanted me to say yes to prove to yourself that you're such a hotshot, but that's all bullshit. You're just an asshole."

"Will you let me talk?" Minho suddenly exclaims, looking at him with an ember of fire behind his eyes. Jisung falls silent and Minho finally gets a second to breathe. "I'm sorry I stood you up."

Jisung shrugs. "So?"

"So, I'm not just saying it. I had a problem and I couldn't get back in time for you."

"Well, you could've let me know at least. Not to mention, you could've not been rude to me right after that. You just walked off like I made you mad or something," he says angrily.

Minho shakes his head. "That's the way you act with everyone."

"Why are you turning this on me? It's not like I forced you to be my friend. You put yourself there, all on your own. You wanted a challenge, and you got your challenge, and now, what? Poor you, you can't handle it? If my attitude is that much of a problem, then cut the bullshit and let me be!" Jisung exclaims, growing heated. He feels his face becoming warm. "Was I really that awful to you yesterday that you felt the need to return the favor?"

There's a moment of silence. When they are plunged neck-deep into it, Jisung realizes how loud he was talking. The passing cars on the avenue below them are drowned out. Minho, ashamed, puts his head down.

"No, you weren't awful to me yesterday," he says simply, and that's all the answer Jisung needs.

"Well, then, fuck you," he spits out, then makes to turn again.

"Jisung," Minho calls.

But Jisung ignores him. He doesn't care to hear him say he's sorry yet again. If he does, he might actually start screaming—crying, even, once and for all. Jisung hears Minho as he rushes after him toward the enough, quick enough to catch up, yet this time, it's not Minho's voice that stops him, but his hand. Jisung feels Minho sprinting to catch him by the arm, then yank at him to turn him back towards him. Jisung stumbles out of balance and falls into him, so Minho quickly grabs a handful of his jacket and pulls him in impossibly closer until their chests are against one another. Jisung feels himself immediately becoming stone cold frozen when he realizes their faces stand only inches away.

"What are you doing?" He gasps, his eyes wide in shock.

"Please, don't turn away from me," Minho whispers, something pleading in his tone. Jisung doesn't know if he's imagining it, but Minho's eyes seem to be posed on his lips. "Please."

"Let me go," Jisung complains airily, but he doesn't struggle against Minho's grip keeping him caged against his body. "Let go."

"I'm gonna kiss you," Minho suddenly announces, and Jisung's blood runs cold.

"W—What?" he stammers out, shaking from head to toes at the sudden prospect. And Minho's eyes are undoubtedly on his lips, never ripping apart to even glance up at his eyes. He looks like he's in a trance, disconnected, tracing the shape of his mouth with his gaze and without ever wanting to stop.

"Yes." Minho nods in confirmation, tugging at himself for any shreds of self-control. "You're gonna calm down and you're gonna let me kiss you because I really, really need to kiss you. And I think you want to kiss me, too."

Jisung can't find it in him to say no. Does he even want to say no? There's a whirlpool of sensations coiling in his chest, sucking at his emotions like a gaping vortex, a hole in his body through which a current of air rushes like a stream, like a watercourse. Jisung is melting into the floor, melting like butter or ice or something solid turning liquid; he's seeping through Minho's hands, flowing freely through the slits between his fingers, and he can't pick himself up. His knees are gone and his ankles are nonexistent, one with the floor that swirls like a living organism beneath his soles. There's no line between dream and reality. Jisung is a dream and there are stars flecked in Minho's Godforsaken beautiful damned eyes.

"Okay?" Minho whispers, seeking Jisung's consent.

Jisung doesn't know what he's doing. He doesn't know if he's nodding or shaking his head or pulling away or leaning in. Minho's body against his own feels awfully warm and complex, a tangle of limbs and tightening grips that leave no space for escaping, but does Jisung really want to escape? Minho's chest is a pillow of tender silk and Jisung could close his eyes and rest against him all day long, if only the day was a little bit longer.

So Minho kisses him. And Jisung just about explodes.

 

Chapter 16: should you stop?

Notes:

cw; idek what to put here. just some like really hot making out and non-consensual hickeys but it's fine cos jisung likes it. talk about boners and blah, blah.

song for this chapter is beso by jósean log <3

Jisung, to no one's surprise, has never kissed anyone in his life before.

He's seventeen. It's not that weird—he thinks. But regardless of whether it's socially acceptable or not to be a complete virgin in all and every sense at that age, it's what he is and there's no denying it. He's known it, been well aware of it, been reminded of it when Changbin got his first girlfriend, then when Bang Chan lost his virginity—hell, he's reminded of it even when he watches dramas late at night to soothe himself to sleep—but it's never been something he's really ashamed of.

Jisung is socially adept enough to know that people tend to look down on those who reach a certain age without having experienced sexual encounters of any sort, but it was never his primary concern. Jisung can barely maintain physical contact with people long enough without getting uncomfortable, not to mention letting someone into his personal space would drive him into absolute insanity—thus why he's a virgin, and he doesn't care.

It's not like he goes around telling people that he has yet to have sex (or even kiss someone, for that matter), but it's also not like he cringes at the thought of doing so. The people that matter know what he is and don't judge him for it, so Jisung has never really paid too much attention to it. Girlfriends and relationships have never been what he's primarily interested in and anyway, girls don't even approach him either. Not because he's ugly—he likes to think of himself as fairly handsome—but because he voluntarily repels them. 

The first time a girl ever willingly spoke to him was soon after he signed on as a trainee for JYP. He met Chan the same day he arrived. Weirdly enough, even though Jisung hissed at him as soon as he saw him, Chan still offered to give him a tour of the building, so Jisung latched onto him and they went about the facilities. He was only fourteen then, which meant his temper was also far more reactive. When one of the senior girl trainees approached to welcome him, all hell broke loose. Maybe because he got nervous, maybe because he was just a child and the girl was so much older than him, maybe because she genuinely was pretty, but somehow, Jisung ended up cussing her out for butting in on a conversation that didn't concern her and since then, he was never approached by anyone again. The girl has long since debuted (Jisung doesn't even know her name at this point), but he's almost certain that she was the one that started spreading the rumors about the new asshole kid on the fifth floor.

Point is, Jisung is a virgin. In every sense of the word. When Minho kisses him, the feeling is fucking weird.

If there is one thing Jisung treasures above anything else, it's his personal space. He's never been so close to anyone in his life before, but today, Minho and him stand so tightly packed against each other they might as well become one. His hand holds Jisung's arm, the other grips his jacket, his head is tilted to keep their noses from touching and he's kissing him. Like, literally kissing him. No hesitation. No pulling away. No stopping.

Jisung feels himself about to fall off the verge of his anxiety, inching closer to collapse with every passing second. Minho takes his bottom lip between his two ones and sucks on it very softly, his skin smelling of cream and cologne and very nice things that make Jisung feel lightheaded. His grip loosens but not to let him go—with his now free hand, Minho traces the curve of Jisung's waist and tugs him in closer, and Jisung has never kissed anyone before, but somehow, he still knows Minho is an excellent kisser.

He stands frozen, trying to digest exactly what's going. It feels mostly like a fever dream. Jisung doesn't move because he fears the moment might slip away, and Minho tastes beautifully, too. When he pulls away to tilt his head in the opposite direction, then goes back in to kiss him, Jisung melts, becoming liquid, pouring onto the ground like ice under the sun. There are no bones left in his body, nothing to keep him upright but Minho's grip and Minho's hands and Minho's lips on his own like beacons of hopeful light. Nothing else.

Traces of his saliva linger like raindrop. Jisung almost lets himself go, but then reality dawns upon him and he forces himself to pull away.

Minho lets him go as if he somehow understood he no longer needs to hold him. Jisung breaks apart and backs up a considerable distance away from him, his cheeks flush and his lips reddened and his eyes so wide. Minho smirks to himself and looks down at his feet, touching his bottom lip with his thumb as if he could still feel the kiss.

Jisung shakes his head breathlessly, heaving as he struggles to drag air into his system. "What...?"

"Wasn't it obvious that I wanted to do that?" Minho asks, his brows twitching into a soft frown. "I thought I made it pretty obvious."

Jisung shakes his head, not as an answer but because he physically can't utter a single word. His heart is pounding in his throat and he stumbles back, suddenly feeling alien to his own body. Obvious? How could it ever be obvious? Jisung doesn't even know what that means.

"I—I have to go," he mumbles, any traces of anger having long since withered into the air like cigarette smoke.

This time, Minho doesn't try to stop Jisung as he rushes away, as far and as fast as his trembling body allows him to. His lips still tingle with the aftermaths of the kiss, so Jisung wipes his mouth with the back of his hand in an attempt to rid the sensation—not because he doesn't like it, but because he's incapable of feeling things so strongly without descending into madness. As soon as he feels he's far enough, he hides behind a corner and rests his back against the wall to regain his breath.

Jisung's chest feels hollow, somehow—not in a particularly bad way, just empty. Filled with air and vacuum and nothing of the likes of a living, beating heart. He's so worked up he suddenly becomes scared that he might be having a stroke, but this feels different. Jisung takes a hand to the column of his throat and grips the wall behind him until he comes down from a high he didn't know he was in.

Finally, when he's able to breathe, he sighs out loud.

"Fuck," he mumbles to himself because he doesn't know what's happening inside his body. His knees shake like he just run miles without stopping, his mouth a new level of completely bone-dry.

If this is a fever dream, Jisung assumes he just hasn't woken up yet. He hopes he will soon simply because he doesn't know how to stop feeling like he's on the verge of dying. He's always known it, always known all sorts of human interaction slowly take apart his mind, steal bits and pieces of his brain, reduce it to nothing, to ashes, but this might have been his final push.

Is he actually going crazy after all?

Jisung runs a hand through his hair and ruffles it, pinching eyes shut to try and regain his senses. The feeling is grounding.

No, of course he's not going mad. This was nothing, nothing at all. It was just a kiss. A kiss with a boy. A kiss with Lee Minho.

Of course it's not nothing.

And what did he even mean? What was supposed to be obvious? Jisung can't tell his feelings apart, so far gone that he can't even remember why he was mad in the first place.

If this was Minho's plan all along—sweep him off his feet so fucking hard that Jisung would have no choice but to forgive him—then it sure did fucking work. Jisung fumes from head to toes because how dare he? How dare Minho kiss him and not give him a pillar to hold on to now that he's falling and inches away from meeting the ground?

Jisung trudges back to his room with a strange sense of unease lurking over his shoulder. He needs time to reorganize his head because whatever it is that just happened has left him in utter turmoil. He can barely breathe.

 

By the time the sun finally sets, Jisung is feeling terrible again and the worst part is that he can't get himself to sleep.

He tries, he really does. He turns off the lights, shuts the curtains, turns on the ceiling fan he appreciates so much and gets into bed, warm and cozy the way he likes it. Fifteen minutes in, he even decides to have a zero (or whatever the fuck) the way Minho taught him to see if it might aid him in the process, but Jisung spends two hours wide awake before he realizes there's literally no way this is going to be any good for him. He'd much rather tire himself to sleep than force himself to lie in bed wide awake, even though he feels like shit and he can barely move.

So, he gets dressed. He slips into a pair of slippers, fetches a coat and soon enough, he's leaving the dorm and waddling down the empty hallway. He gulps dryly at the sight of the door to Minho's room, wondering if he's inside, wondering if he's sound asleep or having as much trouble as him. Did the kiss even mean anything to him? Did it mean as much to him as it did to Jisung?

Jisung can't place himself in time and space. He's aimless, drifting, lost. The kiss still reverberates in his body, the memory of Minho's hands on his waist now pulsing like an aching need. Jisung shakes his head at the thought because he's unwilling to let a stupid boy be all that crowds his mind (even though he is). He tucks his hands inside the pockets of his jacket and rides down the elevator to the first floor, wondering if the cafeteria is still open at this time—if not, he'll go in anyway. No one, not even closing time, is going to keep him from finding the midnight snack he so desperately needs. Jisung travels the dark, empty hallways looking down at his feet, shuddering whenever a breeze from an open window nearby surprises him at the neck and hoping to God this sick feeling in his chest soon fades away.

Naturally, the cafeteria is already closed, but Jisung goes in regardless because he was never one to abide by the rules. Everything looks different at such late hour of the night, but Jisung rather likes it this way. The quiet, the stillness, the echoing tap of his own footsteps. The chairs have all been left atop the tables, so Jisung skids about the empty floors calmly, watching out for dark corners, approaching the buffet where all the food trays have been removed until tomorrow arrives. Then, as he rounds the counter to check for any leftover snacks behind the counter that he can take back up to his room, he screams out loud and nearly jumps three feet into the air when a head suddenly peers up from behind it.

"Oh, my fucking God!" Jisung screams out, immediately taking a hand to his chest when his heart seems to jolt. "What the fuck are you doing back there, you fucking creep!"

Minho blinks, not half as startled. "Looking for snacks," he says.

"Jesus fuck. You scared me!" Jisung exclaims, too shaken to recognize exactly who stands in front of him.

Minho pushes himself up to his feet and hands Jisung the bag of spicy kkokkalcorn he was secretly trying to steal from the cafeteria. Jisung regains his breath and eyes down the snack with disdain.

"I don't eat spicy food and those are nasty."

Minho looks genuinely offended. "What? No, they're not."

"Yes, they are, and also, you can't come into the cafeteria after they close." Jisung rolls his eyes, trying to ignore the frantic beating of his heart.

"Yeah?" Minho cocks a brow. "Well, what are you doing here then?"

Jisung purses his lips and Minho smirks, knowing he caught him in the lie. As Jisung blushes, Minho's eyes flick over to his lips, only fueling Jisung's embarrassment.

"What's the matter?" Minho asks, not taking a step forward just yet because he doesn't want him to freak out.

"With what?" Jisung shrugs, his voice weak.

"With you," Minho urges on. "Look me in the eye when I'm talking to you, Jisung."

Jisung, albeit reluctantly, glances at him for a moment. Minho runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek and watches him become flustered.

"Why are you so nervous?" he asks.

"I'm not nervous!" Jisung hurries to exclaim. "I don't even like you."

"Really?" Minho drawls in disbelief, smirking lightly. "Should I test that?"

"Yah!" Jisung clicks tongue, looking at him dead in the eye for the first time as if saying one more word would imply Minho's imminent death. "What are you on about, huh?"

Minho laughs. "What's up with you? Have you never been kissed before?"

The silence that follows is treacherous. Jisung glances away and Minho instantly knows the answer, so his lips curve into a lopsided grin that makes Jisung instantly blush.

"You haven't," he states.

"Yes, I have. What do you even know?"

"Was that your first kiss?" Minho asks, leaning against the counter and opening his snack as if he was discussing mindless topics.

"No!" Jisung exclaims. "I've—I've kissed people before!"

"No shame if it was," he says, starting to eat. "Anyway, I'm glad to have been your first kiss."

"I said you weren't!"

"Then why are you so nervous?"

Jisung clamps his mouth shut and glares at him, knowing damn well his face must be the color of blood. His ears are warm in embarrassment and he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. He can't even formulate a proper sentence without stumbling on his own words, Minho's grin ever-present, his gaze never deserting him. "Listen, whatever reason you did that for—"

"Oh, we don't have to talk about it," Minho interrupts through a mouthful. "Like, it doesn't matter. I mean, if you don't wanna talk about it, then we don't have to. It's not that big a deal."

Jisung watches him munching quietly on his snack and doesn't answer simply because it is a big deal to him. He doesn't mean to sound stupid saying it out loud, but the idea of being only one more person to Minho makes him feel sick, so he puts his head down.

"Yeah, no. I guess it's not." He clears his throat, trying not to sound too disappointed. "I'm not even gay, so."

"Oh, no. Neither am I."

Now, Jisung head shoots back up, his eyebrows tight in a frown. "What? What do you mean? Why did you do it then?"

Minho shrugs. "Because I like you."

"I don't get it."

"What's there not to get?" Minho snorts.

Jisung is deeply confused. "But..."

"Just don't complicate it," Minho tells him. "Did you want to kiss me?"

There's a moment of silence. Jisung can't look away from Minho's eyes and he can feel the tension palpable in the air, wrapping them up in a cloud of make-believe.

"I—I hadn't thought about it," he mumbles.

Minho nods. "Should I help you think about it, then?"

It feels like Minho is talking too fast and saying too many things for what Jisung's struggling brain can process, so he shakes his head and blinks rapidly in the face of his anxiety.

"I—I don't know?" He grimaces.

Minho remains quiet for a moment and sizes him up in a way that makes Jisung nervously recoil. Minho's arms are visible in his sleeveless top and Jisung can't help but stare at them, but then his heart jumps when Minho puts down his snack, dusts crumbs off his hands and takes a step toward. He instantly panics.

"Wait, wait, wait. What are you doing?"

Minho stares at him like it's obvious. "Helping you think about it," he says. "Just tell me to stop if it's too much, yeah? I'll stop."

Jisung has no idea what he means. He remains perched to the opposite counter with only a short distance separating them, but within a second, he finds himself caged by Minho's body. Jisung eyes are wide as he grips onto the edge of the counter, watching him inch closer and closer in his slightly towering stance above him. Then, Minho's hands are on either side of him and he's close, close, close, until he's not close anymore, but he's actually kissing him. Again. And Jisung is melting. Again.

The moment their lips meet, Jisung freezes in place, bunched up against the counter to stay away from him, to safeguard his personal space the way he has done his whole life, but unable to move now that he's feeling his mouth on him once more. Minho tastes of kkokkalcorn and it's not Jisung's favorite flavor, but he also tastes of chapstick and the fact that he's kissing him at all is mind-blowing enough as it is. Jisung's body tingles when one of his hands finds his waist, caressing him softly over his clothes, squeezing him, reminding him of that time at the gym that he did the same thing and Jisung, too, felt what he's feeling now. It makes him wonder if maybe he has always wanted him to touch him this way, he was just too scared to admit it.

Slowly, as Minho's lips become familiar to his own, Jisung melts into him. The air moves slowly around them and Jisung lets Minho do all the work, their lips swaying together nicely—Minho's soft ones against Jisung's chapped ones. So many thoughts rally through Jisung's mind, but he can still only focus on the feeling with his eyes feathered shut so softly that he feels half at ease.

When Jisung doesn't offer any resistance, Minho takes it as his cue to move forward, so he keeps one hand on his waist but now uses the other to gently cradle his jaw, pulling him in even closer, pressing their bodies together. Jisung is warm against him and no matter how calm he looks on the outside, Minho's whole insides are exploding.

When he slips his tongue into Jisung's mouth, very delicately so as to not disturb him, Jisung contains the urge to groan out loud. Minho grips him tighter now, his fingers finding the hairs on the back of his neck which make Jisung involuntarily shudder. He feels a tug on his stomach and all of his blood flowing straight downwards, and he becomes so lost in the feeling he can't even process the movements of his own body when he starts desperately pushing further against Minho.

Jisung is so immersed, so heavily intoxicated by the heightened sensations of the experience and the creamy scent of Minho's skin, that he wishes it won't end. He won't pull away this time, but when he makes that choice, it's Minho who eventually breaks the kiss, pulling apart only enough to regain his breath before he brings his mouth to Jisung's ear.

"Should I stop?" he asks, slinking a hand around his waist to pull him in closer, forcing him to arch towards him.

The gesture, now that his mouth isn't occupied, makes Jisung gasp out a soft whimper, causing Minho to smile to himself. His hot breath against his ear is like a caress, making chills run down his spine.

"Should I?" Minho insists when Jisung forgets to answer. Jisung forces out a negative response however he can, so Minho nods in approval. "Good."

And in one more second, Minho is slowly crouching to connect his mouth to Jisung's neck and starts kissing the sweet spot under his ear.

Jisung has never felt anything of the sort. He gasps at the feeling of Minho's wet tongue sliding across his skin, sucking so as to mark him, stimulating all the right places. Jisung knew from a very early age that his skin was overly sensitive to physical touch, which is why perhaps he has kept his personal space to himself his whole life, but never before did he imagine that neck kisses could feel like... like this. Like, only the best thing he has ever experienced.

Or maybe Minho is just that good.

His tongue works wonders on him and Jisung can't help but reach out to grip his shoulder in reflex, crooking his head to the side to provide him with full access to his neck. Minho takes the invitation gladly, tugging tenderly on his hair to get him to toss his head back and so becoming able to plant a trail of wet kisses all over the column of his throat. He breathes close to his Adam's apple and Jisung closes his eyes in a state of utter bliss, in which his main focus is trying not to openly moan out loud. Minho, of course, enjoys the sight, feeling him gripping his arm for dear life before cursing under his breath, only loud enough for him to hear.

"Do you like that?" Minho whispers, squeezing his waist tighter.

Jisung can only hum a response, his head eased back and his eyes shut. He's lost in ecstasy, brimming with pulsing pleasure. Minho is gentle when he moves to give him time to stop in case he needs to, but he's also hungry for him, so he leans further in and tugs down the collar of his t-shirt enough to reveal his collarbone. The sight of it makes him drool. Ravenously, Minho bites down on his skin and doesn't ask for permission to leave a big hickey on his cleavage. He knows he should ask, but the idea of marking him as if he was his property hardly leaves space for him to summon his self-control—and it turns on Jisung as well, apparently.

Minho braces himself against the counter and presses his body against his. Jisung is getting hard and Minho can feel him through his sweatpants, but something about the way he's so lost in the pleasure tells him he's not really aware, so Minho doesn't say anything.

When he's sure there's a forming bruise below Jisung's collarbone, Minho lifts his head back up and poses his lips on his to kiss him one last time before finally pulling away to look at his face. The absence of him makes Jisung whimper, but stopping was perhaps the best thing Minho could've done at that moment: when Jisung opens his eyes to look back at him, they are so big, so pleading, that Minho becomes surprised at himself for having any self-control at all.

"Jisung-ah," he whispers, brushing Jisung's hair back and then holding his chin gently. "Did you think about it?"

Jisung mumbles in a breathless whisper, gazing at him dazedly. "Ab—About what?"

The fact that he forgot what they were even talking about makes Minho's whole body clench. He strokes the back of Jisung's neck, stares at the traces of his own saliva glistening on his honey skin, and wonders what would happen if he kept on going. He angles his hips away from Jisung to avoid making him uncomfortable with his own excitement.

"Do you want to kiss me?" he reminds him, snapping himself out of his own daze. Although he knows the answer, he needs to hear him say it.

Jisung looks up at him, red lips parted. He breathes tenderly and Minho can tell he's struggling tremendously to regain his breath. His eyebrows arch softly over his glittering eyes in such a way that makes Minho wonder what he would look like on his knees, but he pushes the thoughts away because Jisung is far more delicate than that—he should treat him as such.

"Hm?" Minho urges him on, squeezing his waist.

Jisung shudders, then glances down between their bodies. Upon recognizing the strain in the front of his pants he hadn't previously noticed, Jisung's eyes grow wide. Very wide. In a matter of a second, he's pushing Minho off of him, breaking all sorts of physical contact and scurrying out of the cafeteria, as fast and as far as his shaky legs physically allow him to, with his neck still wet with Minho's saliva and a big, blooming hickey right below his collarbone.

Minho, on the other hand, is left dumbstruck. He still tastes him in his tongue. And he needs more.

Notes:

go check out the side effects playlist!

Chapter 17: don't be jealous

Minho hasn't been able to sleep well in days. Now, the showcase is only an hour away and he's dozing on a chair as he gets his make-up done.

For some reason, kissing Jisung seems to have sparked a big mess in his life—not a bad one, particularly, but chaotic nonetheless in every sense of the word. Mostly because Minho can't, for the life of him, stop thinking about doing it again.

He always wanted to kiss Jisung, since the very first moment he arrived at the JYP building and ran into him in the hallway, but he never really planned for it to actually happen. Maybe because he's never been too great at apologizing or maybe because he really, really wanted to know what he tasted like, but when they stood at the gallery together, Minho couldn't contain himself. Then, at the cafeteria later that night, he got all the answers he needed when he kissed Jisung again and he didn't pull away, but instead, pulled him in closer. That was all the consent he needed and all the more reasons to never want to stop.

But now, it's all that takes up space in Minho's head. The soft whimpers Jisung let out as Minho kissed his way across his neck, the reactions of his body to his every touch. It makes him wonder how long Jisung has wanted him for and if he even knows he does. There's no denying that what happened, happened, and none of them wanted it to end, but somewhere along the lines, everything is still so confusing.

Minho becomes riled up by his own imagination whenever he gets to thinking about it. Witnessing Han Jisung the morning after at rehearsal without even having bothered to cover the big hickey on his collarbone felt almost surreal. Throughout the entire morning. Minho couldn't physically rip his eyes off of him. Something about seeing the mark on his neck so visibly undisguised felt a little bit like a public statement.

Jisung sure did his best to avoid him for the following days, though. Minho already expected it so he didn't take it too seriously, but a week later, all that he craves now is another kiss and whenever he's close enough, he tries to touch him, tries to make him feel his presence by getting his hands closer to his waist, to his neck, to the places where he knows Jisung is the most sensitive—and Jisung, of course, notices.

Minho clings to the crumbs of his attention. He's holding on to what's left of hope, to the fact that whenever he's not looking, Jisung glances at his lips or at his neck or at his hands, as if he didn't want to make it obvious that he was checking him out but wanted to do so anyway, and whenever he catches him staring too long, Minho is struck by a strange omen in the back of his head that maybe Jisung might just be the death of him.

On the other hand, Minho is also distracted by a couple other things, those including the call from his mom that he got yesterday telling him he'd cut out his extension of her credit card due to a three hundred thousand won expense at his name on a sushi restaurant and on another note, the fact that his father is coming to the showcase today. Minho has been on edge ever since he found out.

Getting his credit card extension cut is not that big a deal, but Minho hasn't seen his father since he left Gimpo. Not once has he seen him ever step foot in Seoul—at least, not with the purpose of visiting his son. Minho has been angry for a long time. In fact, they have both been angry at each other, and for months, it hasn't been addressed.

Minho doesn't know why he's coming—if he's even coming, at all. The thought alone makes him cringe knowing Lee Jihoon was never too supportive of his wanting to become an idol, which also makes him wonder what his true purpose coming here is other than completely messing with his mind. Either way, the showcase is almost too close and something that's supposed to be good for him, something that he's supposed to be enjoying, is now feeling like a chore.

"Are you asleep?"

Minho opens his eyes abruptly when he hears the voice so close to him. He catches Hyunjin crouched by his chair, watching him curiously. Quickly then, Minho notices in his reflection on the mirror that half of his make-up is missing, as he seems to have dozed off halfway through.

"Hello," Hyunjin says. "Are you ready? We're out in fifteen."

Minho immediately straightens up and retrieves a brush from the desk. "Yeah, yeah. In a sec."

Hyunjin arches an eyebrow, then takes a seat on the couch behind him, splayed with his legs thrown over the armrest. Minho can see him through his reflection on the mirror. With his mind elsewhere, he continues to apply the make-up around his lips as if he didn't just fall asleep for fuck knows how long. Hyunjin fetches a magazine and skims about uninterestedly.

"Have you seen Han these days?" he comments. "He has a huge hickey and he's been all quiet and weird."

Minho flashes a brow. "No, I haven't."

"You know how crazy that is? Han Jisung has a girlfriend?" Hyunjin scowls. "Never would've expected it from him."

Minho eyes him subtly through the reflection, retouching his make-up.

"Why not?"

"I mean, you should know. He's literally bug repellent but for human beings. Don't know what's wrong with the guy, but he's always hated us. And hated girls, too."

"Maybe you just don't understand him," Minho suggests with a shrug, proceeding to adjust his fringe over his forehead.

Hyunjin seems starstruck for a moment. "Well, do you understand him?"

"Oh, no, not at all," he assures. "But if I try, I'm sure I can get something out of him."

"I wouldn't recommend it. Bang Chan's the only person he talks to and I doubt he even likes him at all. He's just weird like that," he points out. "What's up between you two, anyway? You haven't fought in a while."

Minho hides a faint grin and soon shakes his head. "Don't know. You said he was weird."

"Maybe he just likes you," Hyunjin wonders to himself. "I mean, you're hardcore."

"I suppose."

"Yeah." Hyunjin shrugs, then his focus quickly shifts away. "Are you ready for today? How are you feeling?"

Minho shrugs. "Nervous."

"Really?"

"My father is down there, apparently," Minho confesses without thinking too much into it.

"And that's bad?"

"I haven't seen him in a while. I mean, he never really approved of me wanting to be a dancer," he explains halfheartedly, arranging the make-up items strewn about the desk to have his hands do something. "I don't know why he's here."

"Well, whatever he might say about you, he's obviously wrong." Hyunjin shrugs. "Parents are very often wrong." 

Minho laughs softly. Watching Hyunjin's expression morph from that of a seventeen-year-old to a proper adult is amusing, but his words are also true. He lets out a long sigh.

"I guess," Minho says, turning around to look at him directly. "I hope we do well tonight."

Hyunjin nods. "Of course. C'mon. We're gonna have to go out soon."

They gather their belongings in a corner of the dressing room and leave through the door, traveling backstage and finally meeting up with the rest of the band behind the curtain leg. Minho instantly spots Jisung prancing nervously on his feet, the remainders of a hickey long since starting to fade on top of his collarbone, poorly covered by streaks of foundation. Minho approaches him quietly and reaches out to touch his waist, instantly feeling him shudder beneath his hand.

"Aish," Jisung immediately complains at the sight of him, inching away from his curious fingers. "You startled me. Stop doing that."

Minho plays dumb. "Doing what?"

"Grabbing me like I'm your property or something."

Minho's eyes flick to the fading hickey on Jisung's neck and he flashes a brow in inquisition. It's amusing to him that Jisung would rather be visibly marked than physically touched. Watching him get flustered, sensitive to the feeling of his hands, is entertaining, so Minho doesn't stop. Then, as Jisung shakes his head to himself, Minho watches his eyes drift over to Hyunjin, who promptly reappears behind Minho.

"You're friends with him now?" Jisung mumbles tightly.

Minho thinks to hear a flicker of annoyance to his tone, but it only makes him smirk.

"We're in a band," he coos. "I know you want me from yourself, but I'm gonna have to interact with the rest of the members from time to time."

Jisung instantly rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, pulling away far enough to break all sorts of physical contact with him. Minho chuckles quietly under his breath watching him pout.

"Don't be jealous," he says, grabbing him by the waist to tug him back towards him. "I only want you."

Jisung turns with eyes wide like plates and immediately looks around in all directions to make sure no one noticed Minho's shameless flirting in the dark corner they stand in, but before he can complain at his cocky little smirk, Bang Chan announces that it's time to go and they are all pushed out onto the stage. Standing in front of an audience, the band is shone upon by the blinding light of the reflectors and Jisung forgets everything he was just thinking about.

 

When the show is over, Minho doesn't stop to look back as he leaves the stage, fuming with red exasperation. He feels himself standing at the verge of his frustration, on a line towards a point of no return. The air he struggles to suck into his system feels heavy, weighing his chest like an anvil. Somewhere behind him, Minho can hear the ruffling footsteps and the beckoning voice of someone that sounds awfully familiar and awfully close, but he only stops momentarily at the dressing room to fetch his things and then continues his way down the hall. When he finally manages to slip out of the building through the back door, Minho huffs.

He doesn't even feel the winter cold as he slips into a jacket and tucks his neck into the collar, watching his breath showing in front of him but feeling alien to it regardless. Stray beads of sweat still dribble down his temple and carry with them particles of the make-up still glittering on his skin, product of having only just finished performing, but even though his heart races, his mind is even more restless and that is even worse. He feels like crying, but he doesn't, so he only heads straight to the parking lot because he wants to go home.

"Minho-yah."

The sound of his name makes Minho freeze when he hears it spoken by that half familiar, half forgotten voice of his past. Suddenly, he can feel columns of frigid air falling over him, weighing the weight of iron. Something swells inside him, but not with pride or affection.

"Son," his father calls again when Minho doesn't react, but instead of answering, he shakes his head.

"I have to go," he tells him.

"Look at me."

Something inside him forces him to turn around. Maybe because Minho was never one to disrespect his elders. Maybe because he fears his father's authority. When he meets his eye, he feels his knees becoming weak, releasing their promise of keeping him upright.

"At risk of elimination," Lee Jihoon announces, removing only one of his gloves, then reaching out his bare hand for his son to stretch. "That's disappointing."

Minho looks down at it with a pounding heart. "I know," he quips curtly.

"I expected something else," Jihoon adds then, still waiting with his hand outstretched.

But Minho only puts his head down. "I know."

"Stretch my hand, Minho-yah."

So, he does. Not willingly, but because he can't find it in him to say no to his father. The parking lot is dark, quiet and empty at this time of the night, but somehow, Minho still feels that Lee Jihoon's presence is big enough to occupy the whole space, pushing him up against the walls, squeezing him until he can't breathe. 

"Why are you here?" Minho asks straightforwardly, shaking his hand as if this was a stranger and not his father—which is not far from the truth.

"I thought I'd come see what you were up to here. You seemed excited when you left and I wanted to know what that was all about," Jihoon comments with a faint grin-not-grin that resembles his son's, putting his glove back on. "I guess I should've remained curious."

"Maybe," Minho mumbles, turning to go.

"Ah, Minho-yah. Don't turn your back on me," Jihoon says. Minho stops in his tracks once again. "Why is it you can't have a conversation with his father?"

With bone-crushing force, Minho's jaw clamps shut. He turns like a whirlwind of wrath.

"Why are you really here?" he spits out angrily. "Is it money you need? 'Cause I have nothing to give you."

There is a silence riddled by uncertainty. Jihoon smiles very faintly, as if Minho's words didn't faze him in the least. There's a glint of something empty in his eyes, a certain pride, almost like his son's capability of sussing out a deception gladdened him. Minho slowly falls into realization.

"You came to gloat, didn't you?" He scowls sorely. "Because I proved your point, is that it?"

His father lifts up his hands in innocence, but the glint in his eyes denotes everything but that. "I didn't say that," he assures.

"I know you." Minho shakes his head. "Was it mom? Did she tell you I'm struggling so you came all the way out here to see for yourself? To try and convince me to go back to Gimpo and study what you want me to study?"

Minho feels his eyes stinging with tears of frustration that he doesn't quite allow himself to fully feel. He's not even come to terms with the fact that he's on trial under JYP, at risk for elimination from the group less than a month in, and already he has to discuss it—not with anyone, but with his father. Darkness strikes across his face.

"When are you going to listen to me?" Jihoon asks, his voice stooping down a notch. Something about it sounds menacing. "When are you gonna realize this is not where you belong?"

Minho drags his hands down his face in abject exasperation. "You're not gonna persuade me to go back to Gimpo."

"Minho," Jihoon begins, taking a step forward to grab his shoulders softly. Minho stares up at him, his challenging eyes unwavering. "There is no such thing as what you plan to do. It's going to get you nowhere—I've told you so already. Why won't you listen to me? Come back home. Your mother will take you back and we'll find you a suitable woman. You'll get married and go to college, just like we planned. You'll thank me later."

In one swift motion, Minho snatches himself away. 

"We didn't plan anything. And you think mom agrees with this bullshit? She loves this just as much as I do!" he yells. "And I don't need a suitable woman, father. If you even cared to ask, you'd know I found someone already, right here."

Jihoon remains composed as he watches him lash out, watches the tears begin to stream down his face—and Minho is not one to cry. That bit, at least, he knows.

"I thought some time apart would make you reconsider," he says at last. "Obviously, I was wrong."

"Yeah, you're wrong!"

"I've given you your childhood, Minho. Everything you had, you had because of me," Jihoon spits out, growing angry.

"No, my mother gave me my childhood. You gave me nothing but your word of disapproval, and I am done with you. Go back to Gimpo, for all I fucking care! See if mom takes you back, but I don't wanna see you ever again."

There is a moment of silence. Jihoon is quiet, with his hands latched together in front of him with the calm of a man that is not being yelled at, until he finally bows at the waist in a sign of agreement. His eyes never leave Minho's as he does, and neither does the grin leave his face—no fatherly instinct, only reproach.

"As you wish," he announces smirkingly. "I should probably warn you... you're gonna regret this."

Minho shakes his head, his eyes filled with disgust for the man that stands in front of him. "I won't regret shit."

Jihoon smiles. "Alright, son."

He leaves then, sauntering down the parking lot until shadows wrap around him. Minho watches him go with cheeks wet under his tears, weak tendrils in the fibers of his heart. He runs his hands across his hair one, two, three times until it becomes a pretty mess on his head, but he still can't let go of his frustration. His stomach is tight and his throat is tied up in a knot. Then, when he stares up straight ahead, he finds Jisung standing under the sill of the exit door, his eyes as wide as plates.

There is a moment of only silence when Minho finds him across the distance that separates them. Jisung's mouth is wide and he shakes his head, having heard not some, but all the conversation.

"Minho," he half whispers, hoping he won't scare him away, but Minho doesn't say anything, he doesn't wait around for his next words. Instead, he clenches his hands into fists by his sides and turns around, gets into his car, and drives out of the parking lot, as fast and as far as he possibly can.

Chapter 18: you have no choice

Notes:

side note about something i probably should mention beforehand: even though this story is meant to follow stray kids pre-debut, a lot of dates and info are modified to change the narrative, such as the fact that even though jyp trainees don't pay fees, they do in this story, among some other facts. take all of this with a grain of salt!

"It's ridiculous," Jisung complains. "We're supposed to be a band. How is this gonna be of any help for us?"

Chan eyes him sideways as they ride the way down the hallway to the cafeteria for their breakfast. It's been two days since the showcase and not once has Jisung stopped complaining. How strange.

"One would've thought you'd be happy about this," Chan mumbles.

"Why would I be happy?"

"Don't you hate them? The less the better?" he suggests, numbering the reasons boredly. "I thought performing with only one or two of us was more your preference."

"Of course, but I'm just saying, if we're gonna debut as eight, then performing in groups of two is not gonna help us in any way."

Chan shrugs. "I think we should be open to it. Maybe it's better than we think."

"Has any of them picked their partners yet?" Jisung asks.

"Not that I know of. I think they're gonna let Minho pick first, since he doesn't seem to be taking this too well."

Jisung, curiosity at half mast, shoots a glance at him. "And who do you think he's gonna pick?"

"Well, if Hyunjin wasn't in trial too, then I'm pretty sure he'd pick him. They get along well and they have similar styles," Chan suggests, which only makes Jisung rolls his eyes. "But... maybe Felix? I don't know, really. Whoever he picks, I think it'll be great."

"He should pick whoever's gonna do a good job."

"Like you?"

Jisung looks up and recognizes a glint of amusement in Chan upturned eyes as they walk into the cafeteria. He huffs out loud because if there is one thing Han Jisung hates it's getting teased, so he actively chooses to ignore his friend as he snickers under his breath.

They get to their table in a moment where all of the members are already seated around their meals, except—

"Where's Minho?" Jisung asks as soon as he sights the empty chair across the table from his own.

Hyunjin shrugs. "He didn't come down."

The idea of it, of Minho skipping breakfast for two days in a row, makes Jisung cringe, partly because he feels he should be doing something about it and mostly because it's awkward that he actually cares. It's only natural that Minho is upset about being trialed for elimination and just because the other two members of the band who are in the same situation as him are not sulking in their dorms doesn't mean it's something he should be concerned about. Everyone deals with shitty situations differently. Right? 

But it doesn't feel right.

Jisung's mind circles around the issue as he gathers himself a proper breakfast and eats it quietly at the table. The empty seat in front of him haunts him like a ghost, as if Minho was present even in his absence, and it only makes him itch to climb up to his dorm and see if he's fine—at the very least, if he's still alive. Jisung doesn't have a doubt in his mind that Minho will pick him as a part of his trio for the next performance and he's glad about it because that means he gets to watch him from up close, be there in case he's overflown by stress, but the fact that he still hasn't showed up ever since the showcase makes him overflow with stress. It's eating him alive.

Jisung thinks about it for a long while, lost deep in thought over his meal. As they still have quite a while before their next showcase, Chan has decided that there will be no practice today, just as yesterday, which leaves Jisung with a whole lot of time to do...

What, exactly? He has no idea. Now that he's not running into Minho in the hallways, his routine is lacking something.

By the time breakfast is over, Jisung has made up his mind to go back up to the fifth floor and check on him. Not that they're friends or anything, but it's unlike Jisung' character to be so quiet, so much that when Chan asks him what he plans to do for the rest of the day, he lies because he can't stand the thought of being seen as anything other than what he is. However, he doesn't hesitate, doesn't doubt his decision. If there's anything that's going to soothe his anxiety, it's finding out whether Minho is still alive, so that's what he plans to do. Let fuck stop him.

Jisung flexes his clammy palms as he rides up the elevator. He's nervous, but he doesn't feel nervous, aside from what his body manifests. He knows anxiety all too well to recognize an erratic heartbeat and this isn't one, yet he still sweats like he's about to enlist in the army. Jisung tells himself he's doing this because the trios have to get to practicing right away and Minho must choose before they run out of time, or else he'll truly be t risk for elimination—even though that's not particularly the reason why he's so concerned.

Jisung turns right down the corner and knocks on the door he knows belongs to Minho's dorm. He breathes in deeply, trying to calm his racking nerves, but when no one answers in the span of a few long seconds, he grows confused. He knocks again; no answer.

"Lee Minho," he calls calmly through the door, thinking perhaps he may be asleep or in the shower. "It's Jisung. Can I come in?"

But a minute of unadulterated silence makes him start feeling stupid. Jisung looks around to see if anybody's watching, then slyly (and hypocritically) tries the knob.

The door is surprisingly unlocked.

As soon as he opens it, the first thing Jisung notices is the complete and utter darkness within the room, which also makes him wonder if Minho might still be asleep and here he is, casually showing up in his dorm. But it doesn't strike him as the situation, not when the air inside is stale and stagnant, so Jisung pushes the door further open and watches the light from the hallway cast into the room little by little.

The floor of the dorm is littered with pillows and cushions, all strewn about carelessly; amongst them, a pair of dirty trainers lie tossed aside, as if Minho hadn't bothered to put them away after taking them off. The bed is a mess and Jisung soon gets the idea that maybe Minho is not here at all, but a wrapped-up breathing bump amongst the bedding and a mop of brown hair splayed on the pillow makes him sigh in relief.

Right in front of him, Minho breathes slowly, quietly, facing away, only half alive.

"Minho," Jisung whispers quietly, just to be sure he's not asleep.

When his call is replied by a faint hoarse hum, Jisung nods and takes it as his cue to walk into the room. Minho seems pathetically tired, lacking the energy to even complain about Jisung's unsolicited presence in his room. Even his breathing sounds off, almost too slow, too deep to be healthy.

Jisung carefully skips past the mess on the floor to surround the bed. Piles of neatly folded clothes are bundled up on top of the desk and there's an empty suitcase at the back under the window that looks misplaced, as if Minho hadn't yet bothered to stash it somewhere else. It takes Jisung less than a second to notice how much this place smells of Minho, and it's a nice scent to be wrapped with. 

"Minho," he calls again, kneeling by the side of the bed to take a look at his face. The covers hide almost his entire face, so much that Jisung can only see as Minho opens his eyes a little. At the sight of him, however, Minho immediately tugs the sheets over his head, prompting Jisung to laugh. "Why are you hiding?" he asks, but gets no answer. "You missed breakfast."

"'M not hungry," Minho tells him, his voice muffled through the bedding.

"You could still get there in time before they remove the—" But Minho grumbles and Jisung instantly falls silent, taking it as a response in itself. He nods and presses his lips into a line. "Were you in bed all day yesterday?"

A motion under the sheets lets him know that Minho is shaking his head no, which Jisung takes as a good sign. At least Minho is not bed-rotting himself to death.

"Where were you?" he asks now.

"I went out," Minho replies vaguely.

"Are you going out today, too?"

Minho shakes his head again and Jisung nods in understanding, choosing his words carefully. Softly, he reaches out a hand and tugs at the sheets to get Minho to reveal himself, but Minho holds tight.

"Look at me," Jisung requests instead. Minho shakes his head. "Please?"

The same, again.

Jisung puffs out a soft sight. "Hyung."

That's all it takes for Minho's head to pop out from under the bedding, his eyes curiously posed on Jisung with a glint of surprise within them. He blinks.

"Hyung?" he echoes. Jisung nods. A moment of quiet is what follows. "Why are you here?" Minho asks suspiciously, seeming now more interested in the conversation.

"You went M.I.A. and you're supposed to be choosing your partners for the trio performances. Everyone is waiting for you," he explains calmly, even though it's not the whole truth.

Minho's eyes are struck by darkness and he tucks himself deeper into bed. "It's not gonna be necessary."

Jisung frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I'm going back to Gimpo next week."

Jisung pauses. "What? Why?"

"My father," Minho says. "He stopped paying my fee."

"But..."

"I thought my mother was the one paying. I mean, she's paid for everything since I was twelve. But turns out my father was the one who was supporting her. I found out today morning and... really, we have nothing," he explains quietly. "She's trying to find a second job to make enough to pay for this, but she's all alone. I have to go back to help her, or else..."

Jisung is at a loss for words. He watches Minho's eyes peeking from under the sheets and where he's crouched next to the bed, he feels he could fall. Fall and never get back up.

He can't lie and say that his mind didn't go back once or twice to the conversation that he overheard between Minho and his father two days ago, but he has been trying hard to ignore it. Somehow, thinking about it, creating theories, felt like a violation of Minho's privacy. However, now that this information burdens him, his heart beats erratically.

"You can't go," he says the first thing that comes to his mind, a plea or a complaint.

"I have no choice," Minho tells him sadly.

"No, you can't. We're a step away from debut. After that, you won't have to pay anymore. You can't stop now after—" Jisung's voice grows a little louder in the face of his desperation. "You can get a job downtown and— and I can help you, too. I'll pay for you. And you can ask for a loan or— or a scholarship. I'm sure JYP would understand."

"A trainee that's being trialed for elimination? Jisungie..."

Jisung rises to his feet so quickly Minho flinches. "I'll get you a good job here. I will. And you'll get paid and you'll send that back to your mother and— and I'll talk to JYP. He'll understand. I'll make him understand."

"Jisung," Minho incorporates in bed leisurely, the covers falling off of him to reveal his shirtless torso. Jisung swallows dryly.

"No, I will. You— You stay right here, okay? I'll get this fixed. And— And your father is a bitch."

Minho doesn't get a chance to object. Jisung is already rushing out the door.

Chapter 19: something he wants

Notes:

the moment has arrived my children.

cw; sexually explicit content, non-negotiated overstimulation ^^

Jisung Bang Chan about the scholarship situation because he knows Chan can handle it. Then, when that's settled, it's only up to him to find a job for Minho. And he's fully determined to get it done by the end of the day.

Truth is, Jisung knows fuck about jobs. He's seventeen, never finished high school, never even thought of applying for collage. He doesn't need a job because he's a spoiled child whose mother pays for literally everything. But somewhere in the back of his head, Jisung is certain he can do this.

He sits at the edge of his bed for a good ten minutes and thinks until he decides to stick to the basics: waitressing, babysitting, chauffeuring. Nothing too hard. But Minho's schedule is too tight for most jobs and those that offer late shifts don't pay enough, so his sitting down and pondering in his dorm runs short.

He has to result to Google. And so he does. 

For the next hour, Jisung puts in practice his meagre research and critical thinking abilities in order to find any kind of part-time job in Seoul, even resorting to a variety of websites where trainees under different labels share their past experiences and advice on working part-time jobs pre-debut. Eventually, he comes up with a good offer at a frozen yoghurt store that is not too far from the building and pays enough money for Minho to send back home to his mother at the end of the month, and it seems perfect. Determined, Jisung grabs his jacket and his shoes and runs right past the door.

At the lobby, though, he crashes into someone.

"Oh, thank God," Minho mumbles as soon as he recognizes him. "I thought you left already."

Jisung takes a second longer to realize who it is that speaks to him, mostly because his voice sounds different—as if this was the first time he was speaking out loud in a while, even though they spoke earlier today. Maybe he sounds even a little desperate.

"I... was about to," Jisung tells him through a frown. "What's going on?"

Minho blinks as if the question confused him. "What's going on? You're what's going on!"

"Huh?"

Minho throws his hands in the air, trying to find the words to properly express his frustration.

"You can't just run around offering your money to anyone and looking for jobs like it's so simple."

"I'm not offering my money to anyone." Jisung frowns, suddenly offended. "I'm offering it to you."

Minho only shakes his head. "Well, I appreciate it, but don't. It's my final decision. I'm going back to Gimpo next week."

There is a moment of quiet. Jisung blinks, stands still, then shakes his head.

"No."

Minho frowns. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean, no. You're not gonna give up on your dream because your father is a cunt. Are you trying to let him win this?"

Minho shakes his head, rather sadly. "Aish, Jisung-ah… it's not about that. I can't fight my father. He already won."

"Not yet. There are still ways to show him that this is what you wanna do," Jisung clarifies. "Why don't you just let me try? You said you like fixing things—well, why can't I fix this for you?"

Minho stands so still Jisung starts questioning whether he's still breathing. Eventually, with that thought in mind, Jisung shrugs lightly.

"I found a job nearby that could maybe help you. I'm on my way there right now and Channie is gonna find out a way for you to apply for a scholarship," he explains, his voice now a tone quieter, as if he realized he should be speaking softly. "I'm not gonna just let you quit, Minho-yah."

The silence stretches between them. Minho is so surprised that he has to fight the urge to kiss him right then and there, mostly because Jisung tends to run away when he does and he's not looking for that to happen right now. He stands unmoving, his lips parted; he's at an utter loss for words and he can but stare at him in shock.

"Do you wanna come with me?" Jisung enquires at the silence he's answered with. "Go ask about it together. I'm sure whatever money they pay can help, at least a little. And if it really doesn't make a difference, if you can't get a scholarship and this job sucks and there's really, really nothing that's keeping you here, then... well, I guess I won't bother you ever again. You'll go back home."

Minho almost melts because the idea of Jisung truly never bothering him ever again makes him want to scream, scream so loud. He wants to beg him please to never stop, to never quit. His heart is warm and fuzzy all inside, so much he could cry—and Minho doesn't cry. His gratitude is unmeasurable, so much he feels he could fall to his knees and plead and it wouldn't make a different because it would still not be enough to prove how truly thankful he actually is.

When the silence starts feeling heavy, Minho lets out a soft laugh. "You're not what you make yourself seem, are you?"

Jisung frowns, struck by his words. "What?"

But Minho only looks down at his feet in an attempt at hiding a grin. "I'll go with you to the store."

And Jisung smiles. "Great, then," he tells him. "Are you warm enough? It's cold outside and it's a few blocks 'til we get there."

Minho only nods because he's not only warm, he's too warm. He's so, so hot inside he can't even bring himself to say thank you—the words feel scant in comparison to what he feels. Minho is beyond that, beyond any sort of verbal gratitude. 

"Okay." Jisung gestures with his head towards the door. "Let's go before it's time for lunch."

Minho watches him ride out of the building through the lobby, tucking up his collar to shield his neck from the cold. It takes him a second to follow after him because he still can't gather himself together, but finally, shaking his head in utter disbelief, he runs outside and meets Jisung on the sidewalk. There are sparks in his heart.

"A froyo store?" Minho echoes, trying to get his mind off the fact that there are butterflies in his belly, fluttering like lovestruck maniacs. "Do you like froyo?"

"No." Jisung grimaces. "Do you?"

"Not really."

"Ironic." He snorts. "But maybe working there will make you like it."

"You think hanging out in a froyo store will make me like froyo?" 

"I think people that like froyo don't admit it because it's silly and ice cream is better," Jisung suggests. Minho bites down on his lip to hold back the smile that leaks onto his face. "I mean, I wouldn't say it out loud if I liked froyo. What kind of freak would I be?"

"Why don't you like it?"

"I don't like things that are too cold."

Ironic, Minho thinks to himself, but he doesn't say it out loud because the boy he walks next to is not cold. Right now, in the wake of winter, he feels like the warmest thing he's ever stood close to.

"What do you like to eat?" Minho asks curiously, walking closer now, wanting to feel any sort of physical contact between even if it's just the occasional brush of his jacket.

"I like cheesecake," Jisung comments with a shrug.

Minho nods. "Should I take you out for cheesecake sometime?"

"No." Jisung immediately shakes his head. "You've spent enough money on me already."

The gesture is so, so kind it can only signal toward proper education. Even though Jisung is not one to abide by manners, he lets them show at times. Minho looks at him as they walk, trying to tell him with his eyes that he'd spend on him the world's gold if that meant he'd keep him happy. He doesn't say it, though, because he fears his devotion might be a little too much.

"I appreciate that you're doing this for me," he confesses instead. "I really do."

Jisung eyes him carefully. "Yeah, it's whatever."

That, exactly, seems like the most appropriate response at a time like this, so Minho only laughs because what's a conversation with Han Jisung without Han Jisung acting like... well, Han Jisung?

They spend the rest of the short way in silence, amongst chattering teeth due to the cold, instinctively drifting closer to one another to feel the other's warmth. Minho is not sure when a lovely spring-like summer turned into this, but he's not half as upset as he normally would be. A cold winter accompanied by someone else doesn't sound too bad. The streets aren't busy, allowing them both to stand comfortably next to the other. Then, when they arrive at the froyo store, they immediately sigh in relief at the warmth caged within it,

"Good morning," Jisung calls at the counter to the woman that stands behind it.

"Hello, how can I help you?" she says.

"Well, I was checking your page and I found the job announcement, is that right?" 

Minho watches him curiously as he speaks. He's never heard Jisung talk so civilly and so he's kind of startled to witness it first hand. Jisung's hidden charm, however, seems to work, as soon enough, Minho is appointed to a meeting and Jisung is winking at him before leaving through the door.

 

Jisung runs into Minho later that day at the hallway of the fifth floor, right before lunch. 

"Hey!" he calls at the sight of him. "How'd it go?"

"I start on Monday," Minho tells him with a glint of a smile. "They've received a lot of trainees looking for jobs over the years, so they know it's late shifts only."

Jisung tries to mask his excitement, halfway through opening the door to his dorm. "Well, that's great. I'll let you know about the scholarship when I know, and then you'll be settled to stay, right?"

Minho nods, feeling like he should be doing something else.

"Thank you," he says. "I really am. I'm not just saying that."

Jisung presses his lips into a line. "Okay. I'm glad we could work it out."

For some reason, there's a strange tension lingering in the air between them. Minho knows Jisung can sense it too, but he physically can't rip his eyes off of him. Jisung, seeking to outrun the situation, stalks back into his room. However, Minho suddenly grabs hold of his hand to stop him.

"Wait," he says. 

Jisung blinks down at the contact. 

"What?"

Minho shakes his head. "I feel like I should be doing more than just saying thank you."

"It's not necessary," Jisung hurries to tell him, his hand throbbing to pull away, yet he doesn't. "Really, I—"

But Minho's eyes are almost pleading, so he falls silent, prey to this man's beauty. It startles him, the way he's looking at him like he's his most precious treasure, almost like he's something he could eat, could bite, could chew on. That kind of emotion is unfamiliar to him—it scares him, too. Minho's eyes tread across his face like he's searching for a pillar to hold on to before he spirals.

"Just tell me something you want," he asks beseechingly. "Anything. Anything at all."

The temperature seems to have gone up, the air around them now not tight, but tighter. So much, Jisung feels himself growing breathless. Minho's grip on him no longer feels caging, but rather suggestive.

"Minho," he calls, not with a specific purpose, but simply as a warning—or a plead. His throat is knotted so tight his voice is only a thin thread. But Minho still seems to understand.

Without saying anything, he uses his grip on Jisung to pull him in until they crash against each other, and within a second, he's kissing him. The force of the yank added to Minho's body pushing at him makes Jisung stumble backwards into the dorm, the kiss sloppy because Minho is desperate and Jisung can't quite react yet. He holds his face very softly, a hand gently posed on his jaw to hold his head up and keep him close. Minho's lips are cold and very gentle, but his tongue is hungry, slipping into Jisung's mouth without previous warning to ravage his lips and snatch his breath away. He kicks the door shut with the point of his shoe before backing Jisung up against the desk, which he slams him against with little care as to what he knocks over in the process. Jisung gasps out in surprise, the scenery around him moving too fast for his mushy brain to process, the feeling of Minho's lips causing him to short-circuit. He's lost in the fluttering of his own stomach as Minho tugs on his clothes and forces him to arch with a hand on his waist, the gesture so savage it renders Jisung unable to keep up with the speed of the kiss.

He doesn't touch him. Jisung grips the edge of the desk and even though he could easily rip Minho off of him, he doesn't move, letting him do the work, squeezing him and groping him all over the way he pleases. Jisung's stomach roils with a different kind of pleasure and he doesn't even care that his heart seems to be at the verge of collapsing—he just likes what he feels.

They're alone in the room and even though the window is open, the air is hot. Jisung picks up on the rhythm of the kiss and he soon aligns to the sway of Minho's lips, their salivas mingling, the taste of him sending him over the edge.

Suddenly, however, Minho pulls away. He still holds the back of his neck and Jisung is in awe as he stares up at him, caged between his broad chest and the edge of the desk. It's not the first time they've kissed, but it's the first time Jisung has consciously devoured every single one of Minho's features, from the freckle on his nostril to the shade of his dark eyes. They're both flush, their lips slick with spit, a breathless pant escaping them in unison. Minho's lids are at half mast when he speaks at last.

"Can I thank you like this?" he asks, his voice gravelly.

Jisung doesn't know what that means. He opens his mouth to ask, but Minho squeezes his waist and a soft whimper escapes him. It's almost like Minho doesn't want to give him the chance to say no, even though they both know Jisung would say yes if he could even speak. They stand so close their noses are inches away and Jisung's brain is malfunctioning, disabling him from uttering any sort of word at all.

"Huh?" Minho insists lowly, leaning in to brush the tip of his nose along Jisung's jawline.

Jisung's breath hitches. He tosses his head back and stares up at the ceiling, completely stiff at the sensation of lightning striking down his spine. "H—How?"

Minho pulls back and preens at the sight of Jisung's eyes, so big and round and purely laced with unadulterated innocence that makes his stomach twitch in anticipation. Slowly, he reaches out a hand and slips it under his t-shirt, gently enough not to startle him, but Jisung still gasps out loud. Not so much because Minho's hands are cold, but because this might be the first time anyone's ever touched that sensitive part of his body. Minho's fingers are soft and gentle as they stroke the side of his torso, finding his belly and then stooping lower, to the trail of sparse hairs leading down to the waistband of his boxers. Jisung swallows dryly staring up at Minho's eyes, trying to ignore the reactions of his body.

"What... What are you doing?" he mumbles breathlessly without moving.

Minho's gaze flickers between both of Jisung's eyes as he brushes his knuckles against his lower belly mindlessly, teasingly. Jisung's dick jumps in his pants, hard and leaking precum into a small stain on the inside of his briefs. He can't think straight.

"I wanna touch you," Minho whispers, "but only if you let me."

Jisung shakes his head, not as a no but as a way of telling him that he has no idea what to do. He's paralyzed, overwhelmed by the need clouding his vision. He wants to ask how again, how Minho plans to thank him, wants him to explain in detail what he plans to do to him. He wants to hear it. But he doesn't dare ask.

"I..." Jisung breathes out. 

Minho's eyes soften and his hand pauses. "If you tell me to stop, I'll stop, you know?"

Jisung doesn't say anything because he wants him to stop just as much as he craves his touch. Having someone all up in his personal space feels like too much, yet he's never yearned to be so close to anyone like he years to be close to him. His eyebrows are scrunched up as he stares up at Minho, the urge to wrap his arms around his neck and pull him in close pulsating against his neck, but he doesn't move.

Jisung's stomach is clamped so hard he can barely breathe, his pants becoming tighter with the passing seconds that Minho continues to tease the waistband of his boxers. He's never felt like this before. This is uncharted territory, and where he's usually uncomfortable with change, today, he's eager to know what comes next.

"Yeah," Jisung finally whispers.

Minho releases a shaky breath, almost as if he had been holding it in in hopes Jisung gave him the permission to touch him. Now that he has it, Jisung watches his eyes fall shut before he leans back in to kiss him, his hand remaining perched to his lower belly under his t-shirt. The feeling of his lips is a nice distraction from the twitching muscles of his abdomen, his legs so weak Jisung could fall hadn't he been physically caged to the desk. The taste of Minho's tongue is eternally addicting and then, when his hand finally slips into his pants, Jisung gasps and becomes tense, tense, tense. So tense, Minho freezes for a moment.

"Is that okay?" he whispers into his lips, his hand coming to wrap around the base of his cock.

Jisung pins his eyes shut so hard he sees starts. He can only hum a response, not sure of anything at this point in time. His brain is liquid, idle, and his mind can't travel further from the feeling of Minho's hand around him, gripping him delicately but enough to send shocks of adrenaline coursing through his body. Jisung feels himself twitching with desperation and he cringes in shame.

"If you want me to stop—"

"Please shut up," Jisung breathes out suddenly, because he wishes Minho would stop being such a gentleman.

The words seem to catch Minho by surprise. His eyes widen and search Jisung's for confirmation that he actually means what he just said, his hand frozen inside his pants. When Jisung finally summons the courage to meet his gaze, Minho melts at the state of utter submission he finds him in.

"I mean it," Jisung tells him. "If you don't do it, I'm gonna do it myself."

Minho's stomach gives a tug. He blinks three times as he stares at him, watching Jisung stare back up with a faint blush stretched over his cheek and his lips parted to let him draw the air he so desperately needs. In his hand, he feels him pulsing with abject necessity, a damp patch on the front of his boxers from the precum that continues to leak out of his tip.

Slowly, when his shock wears off, Minho smiles a half grin. "You've got a mouth on you."

Jisung opens his mouth to complain, but Minho grips him just a little tighter and he sucks in a sharp breath in retaliation. Minho begins pumping him slowly, stroking the length of him from base to tip, pressing the crook of his palm onto his slit and using his own precum as lubrication. Jisung's hips buck away from the touch, but the desk behind him makes it impossible for him to do anything else but squirm.

"Shit," Jisung whispers under his breath, the rugged breaths escaping him accompanied by whimpers in staccato.

Minho doesn't take his eyes off of him, even though Jisung can barely keep his own open. He strokes him softly, holding his waist with his free hand to prompt him with a gentle squeeze every now and then. Jisung's knuckles become white from gripping the edge of the desk with all his strength, his eyes pinned shut in an attempt at holding back soft moans that threaten to rip through him, although he does a lousy job at it. He's embarrassed about how sensitive he is, the bare touch of Minho's fingers being enough to send him over the edge. 

Now that he has him at his complete mercy, now that he knows he won't get a snarky comeback in response, Minho takes the opportunity to speak.

"Don't order me around," he tells him, taking pleasure in knowing Jisung is too weak to say anything.

And, in fact, he can't even answer. Minho quickens the pace of his hand pumping up and down Jisung's whole length, then pauses momentarily to pay special attention to his tip. Jisung squeezes his legs together and his hand flies to yank at a handful of Minho's t-shirt, unconsciously drawing him in closer, the pleasure too much. He's at a peak of ecstasy, unable to control the sounds that come out of his mouth. Minho listens to him moaning in his ear and the sound makes his own dick twitch in his pants.

"Jisungie, you're gonna make me cum if you keep on making those sounds..." he whispers, leaning in to kiss the crook of his neck in an attempt at satisfying himself.

"I'm—I'm sorry," Jisung mumbles back, gripping Minho's t-shirt.

"Don't be."

Minho reaches out his free hand to cradle Jisung's jaw, pushing his thumb into his mouth to press down on his tongue. Jisung chokes out a moan and Minho watches him closely, the speed of his hand pumping his cock now fast enough that Jisung's hips push up against his hand in desperation, thrusting needy, unconsciously. Minho takes advantage of Jisung's daze to suck a new hickey on his neck. 

Then, suddenly, Jisung's phone goes off in his pocket.

The ringtone is shrill and disruptive in the quiet of the room. Minho pulls away from Jisung's neck to look at his face and gauge his reaction, but he doesn't stop stroking him. Jisung, on his part, doesn't seem to have heard his phone ringing—or maybe he just doesn't care. Minho clicks his tongue.

"Pick up," he tells him, slowing the movement of his hand enough that Jisung's eyes flutter open. He removes his thumb from his mouth, a thin sliver of saliva clinging to it.

"What?" he whispers, staring at him with wide eyes. "Are you crazy?"

"Someone's calling. Pick up the phone," Minho insists, but to no avail.

Jisung can't fully process the demand, staring at him shock, so Minho tuts and reaches out for his back pocket to take out the phone himself. Jisung watches him with sparkling wide eyes as he answers the call and pushes the phone up to his ear, beckoning with his head for him to speak. Jisung shakes his head, but Minho stares him down until Jisung is all too aware of the fact that he has stopped moving his hand completely. 

"Hel—Hello?" he finally mumbles out breathlessly, his voice shaking. Minho squints his eyes. "Chan?" 

They stare at each other through the quiet in the room. Jisung is quiet for a moment, staring up at Minho as if he was silently begging him not to tease him. Minho can't help but grin to himself. With malice laced in his smile, he starts stroking him again, quickly picking up his pace to fuck Jisung harder into his hand and make it more difficult for him to stay quiet.

"Fuck—" Jisung gasps, then quickly reincorporates. "No, no. I'm fine. I... I just stubbed my... uh, my toe. W—What's up?"

Minho leans in to nibble his earlobe, tugging at it with his teeth as he smears the saliva on his thumb all over Jisung's bottom lip. Jisung seems to be on the verge of crying, overstimulated and craving relief, his words lazy and subdued as he fights to keep his eyes open.

"Hm, ri—... right now?" he pants. "Can you give me, like, half an hour?"

Minho pauses. When he pulls away, his eyes are squinted in offense. Half an hour.

As he runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, he delights in the sight of Jisung, who stares up at him in somewhat of a pleading manner, his bottom lip slick with his own drool, his pupils so dilated Minho can only imagine how much he must be enjoying himself. He feels his own hand sticky with his precum as he maps the throbbing vein along the underside of Jisung's cock, throbbing and pulsing at the edge of release. In front of him, Jisung bites down on his lip and lets out a string of mhm's and aha's in an attempt at not talking any more than what he needs to, as if he fears opening his mouth would cause him to blow his cover. Then, after a moment, he hangs up the call hurriedly and Minho props the phone on the desk, a sly smile on his lips.

"Half an hour?" he echoes. "You think this'll take half an hour?"

Jisung can't even begin to comprehend what that means when he feels a familiar heat pooling at the bottom of his spine. Minho smiles, wrapping careful fingers around the side of his neck to kiss him deeply, imposingly, forcing Jisung's moan to leak into his mouth.

Han can't even begin to comprehend what that means when he feels a pool of heat at the bottom of his spine. Then, when Minho wraps careful fingers around the side of his neck and kisses him deeply, imposingly, he moans into his mouth and finally reaches his climax, spilling his release all over his hand. He strokes him faster and the obscene sounds of his hand gliding up and down his cock echo in the room until Jisung finally reaches his climax.

His eyes are squeezed shut as he comes, his forehead rested against Minho's shoulder and his whimpers louder, heavier, yet smaller and softer at the same time. Minho closes his eyes too, enjoying the sound of them in his ear, feeling his warm release slipping between his fingers, his dick twitching in his hand as he rides out his high. He feels him throbbing and twitching, his stomach contracting as the sticky cum makes the process of stroking him easier, Minho's hand gliding across his shaft with the help of the lubrication.

"Min—Minho..." Jisung whines, tugging at his t-shirt to get him to stop, but Minho lets his own hunger drive him for a moment. He cups Jisung's swollen tip and continues to draw circles around it with his palm, prompting choked whimpers out of Jisung's mouth. "'S too much, hyung—"

Minho moans. The feeling of Jisung's hot cum between his fingers and his dick twitching in his hand added to his whiny voice moaning hyung at him sends him into override. With his mind blank, Minho presses his straining erection against the top of Jisung's thigh and pumps his cock a few more times, smearing his cum all over his shaft until Jisung becomes overstimulated, pleasure soon morphing into pain that triggers a second short orgasm. 

Jisung moans out loud, overwhelmed as a cascade of sensations bursts inside him. When Minho feels him coming once again, he finally regains his senses and forces himself to stop before he accidentally fucks him dry—which, tempting though it sounds, might be a little too much for today. Jisung's cock continues to twitch as he finishes in short spurts, his breathing rugged, the hold of his tiny hands on Minho's t-shirt desperate and pleading. Minho pulls away to watch him, his own dick throbbing in his pants.

At last, Jisung finally rides out his orgasm. Coins of sweat drip down his temple, glistening on his honey skin like pearls. Minho is tempted to lick them off of him, but he only brushes his free hand over Jisung's face to swipe them off and provide him some comfort as he regains his breath. Slowly, Jisung peals his eyes open and stares up at Minho through heavy lids, his insides unstable, his knees shaking with the aftermaths of his orgasms.

Minho is careful when removing his hand from Jisung's pants, keeping it apart from him so as to not stain his clothes. A faint blush takes over Jisung's cheeks and he quickly looks away.

"Sorry," Minho confesses. "I got a little carried away."

Jisung doesn't say anything. His chest puffs softly with every heave. His pupils are so wide as his gaze switches between both of Minho's eyes that there's little of his irises left.

"I don't usually..." Minho shakes his head, his gaze falling to Jisung's parted lips, swollen due to the force of the kisses. "I really like you, Jisung. And you drive me a little insane at times. I hope I didn't overstep."

Jisung blinks. Had there been a line, Minho would have already crossed it days ago, the second he kissed him for the first time. Oddly enough, Jisung doesn't feel like there ever was a boundary to begin with. What's worse: if there was a line, Jisung doesn't care that Minho crossed it. He doesn't even care that Minho didn't ask. In fact, Jisung kind of thanks him for it.

He's still breathless from what just happened, but in reality, it's thinking about Minho having that kind of power over him what really winds him.

"If I knew any other way to thank you..." Minho shakes his head. "Shit, I..."

Jisung frowns, suddenly struck by confusion. "Thank me... for what?"

Minho chuckles. "For getting me the job... for helping me. Have you already forgotten, silly?"

Jisung suddenly remembers why all of this happened. Going to the froyo store with Minho, walking next to him, feeling his knuckles brushing against his own, all feel like things that happened ages ago, nowhere near today—but it was just this morning. Jisung looks down at his feet.

"I think you should go now," Minho says, using his clean hand to grab Jisung's chin softly and guide his head up. They stare into each other's eyes, Minho's fond and gazing. "Chan's gonna be waiting for you."

Jisung nods slowly. He'd forgotten all about the call, too. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he gets the feeling Minho just hand-fucked the senses out of him. Jisung watches him grin and feels him caressing his chin softly and all he can think of is hanging around for a second or two longer. He sweats and he hates sweating, but he hopes this warmth never abandons him.

"C'mon. Off you go," Minho tells him, beckoning with his head toward the door. "Don't wanna be late, yeah?"

Jisung nods again and slowly peels himself away from Minho's body. Doing so feels like suddenly getting one of his limbs cut off. He approaches the door, the feeling of his own cum in his boxers making him squirmy and uncomfortable.

"Don't forget to clean yourself after, hm?" Minho calls.

Jisung glances at him very briefly before leaving, still dumbstruck, still panting, still wanting to stay.

Chapter 20: will he wait outside?

Jisung arrives at the cafeteria still sweating, still breathless, and not from having ran all the way from his dorm. The viscid texture of the inside of his briefs makes him squirm as he falls onto a chair. Bang Chan, next to him, sure notices.

"What's wrong with you?" He grimaces, scanning him up and down. "Did you run all the way here?"

Jisung looses a soft breath. "What?"

"You're all red."

Jisung touches his cheek with two supple fingers and feels the warmth nesting right below his skin, so he can only imagine how hard he must be blushing right now. Chan continues to stare at him with knitted brows, as if searching for any hints in the gone look in his eyes, but the only thing Jisung can think of is Minho—Minho pressing him up against the desk, Minho slipping his hand into his pants, Minho kissing his neck.

"I, uh, I went to the sauna," he lies.

"And you're all worked up because...?"

Jisung shakes his head. "Because I did run all the way here."

"You hate the sauna."

"Can't you just show me?"

Chan flashes his brows as if pointing out Jisung's (not unusual) irritation, but he drops the topic eventually. As Jisung tugs down his pants indecorously, Chan beckons with his head toward the thin stack of stapled papers laid out on the table in front of him next to a half-drank cup of coffee with a light brown crescent on the rim.

Jisung leans in and briefly scans the papers. "What's that?"

"A form," Chan tells him, turning it around for him to see.

"So, you got it," Jisung points out, but Chan looks at him rather grimly. "I don't understand."

"Well... it's not that easy to qualify for a scholarship, Jisung. I mean, he needs a very high performance score, full-time training, and a recommendation letter from a professional coach."

Jisung shakes his head. "Well, that's fine. He's excellent."

"Jisung," Chan sighs, "he's in trial for elimination."

"Yeah, because he got nervous and messed up once. Surely JYP can pay for his training for two more weeks before our next showcase. If he's not eliminated, then he'll work on his scores and he'll apply again, right?"

"It doesn't work like that."

"So, you're saying he can't get a scholarship because he did bad in one performance? He got here less than a month ago!"

"Don't get mad at me. I didn't make the criteria," he tells him. There's a moment of silence before Chan sighs again. "Look, if he gets a proper recommendation letter and trains every day for the following two weeks... well, then, maybe he could qualify as a recipient. I don't know, man. I can try to get them to make an exception, but..."

Jisung snatches the form from the table and rolls his eyes. "I'll get the damn recommendation letter. I'll even talk to JYP myself if that's what it takes. This is bullshit."

"Jisung," Chan calls for him, but Jisung is already backing up toward the exit. He leaves through the door and stalks down the hallway in a hasty anger. Then, when he arrives at the studio, he bursts in through the door without even knocking.

Ha-joon and Hyunjin, in the middle of a lesson, both turn to him.

"Han Jisung," Ha-joon calls out with a frown at the sight of the desperate boy.

"Yah," Hyunjin exclaims at the violent interruption.

"You're coaching Lee Minho, right?" Jisung asks right away, readily dismissing both calls. 

"Jisung, I'm in the middle of—"

But Jisung slams the form against the keyboard. "I need you to write him a recommendation letter for a scholarship. You can do that, right?"

"Han Jisung!" Ha-joon suddenly, rather angrily this time. "I'm in the middle of a lesson. Will you wait outside?"

Jisung's lower lip trembles. He looks at Ha-joon, then at Hyunjin, who glares at him in annoyance out of the corner of his eye. After a moment, Jisung curses under his breath and leaves the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

 

It's twenty more minutes before the door to the studio finally opens. Jisung is sat outside, waiting impatiently with a bouncing leg, when Ha-joon greets Hyunjin goodbye at the sill and his eyes land upon him. Hyunjin doesn't fail to glare at Jisung as he leaves, but Jisung barely even cares, jumping to his feet to look at his vocal coach in the eye. Ha-joon stares him down sternly.

"Come in," he says.

Jisung hurries his way into the studio. Ha-joon closes the door.

"I need a recommendation—"

"You do not interrupt my classes like that, you hear me?" Ha-joon cuts him off, lifting a finger in warning.

Jisung falls silent, his jaw clenched. Then, he opens his mouth to say something, but Ha-joon interrupts him again.

"You hear me?" he repeats, louder.

Jisung glares at him, a tightness to his jaw that is not unlike him, but he doesn't fight back. "Yes."

"Good. Then this is the last time this happens," Ha-joon says sternly before beckoning with his head towards the chair.

They each take a seat on either side of the keyboard across from each other. 

"Why does Lee Minho need a recommendation letter?" Ha-joon asks calmly, leaning back to study his student attentively.

"He's applying for a scholarship. That's one of the requirements."

"I understand, but you do know I'm supposed to write the truth about him, right?"

Jisung doesn't seem to understand. "Yeah, so what?"

"So, I've only coached Lee Minho for less than a month. And if he gets the scholarship and he doesn't live up to the standards, then it's gonna fall back on me."

"Anyone that spends even half an hour with him can tell he's insanely qualified for anything." Jisung scowls, finding no sense in his words.

"Well, not JYP."

"JYP can't tell his ass from his head and you expect him to know anything about him? He saw him twice on stage and decided he wasn't good enough to be in the band with us, when he's only been here a month."

"Well, it's called a survival show for a reason—you only have a certain number of performances to prove yourself. And I believe JYP exceeds you in knowledge and experience, so if he's making this choice, I'm sure he has a good reason." Ha-joon shrugs. "If he doesn't see potential in Minho, then that's something we have to respect."

"Well, it's bullshit!" Jisung exclaims. 

"Han Jisung, you can't let friendship get in the way of—"

"He's not my friend!" he says now, growing frustrated. Ha-joon cocks a brow as he watches him card his fingers through his hair. "He needs this scholarship, Ha-joon. You don't have to do anything but say he's good and write it down on paper. I'll handle the rest. And if Minho really is as bad as everyone thinks, then I'll see to it myself that you're left out of it. Until then, could you write the damn recommendation letter so I can get the hell out of here?"

Ha-joon remains silent.

 

Hyunjin is not too pleased at the way his day is unfolding. After Jisung interrupts his vocal lesson, he leaves the studio in a bad mood. Maybe it's because they haven't trained in a few days. Maybe because he's also in trial for elimination and everyone is going on with this stupid idea that Lee Minho should pick his partners first for their three-three-two performances, but he already has in mind who he wants to work with and the anticipation is not making this any less frustrating. Maybe because he wishes he could get started with rehearsals already so he can ensure he won't be eliminated the next round, but until Minho decides who he'll perform with, no one can bat an eye. Whichever it is, Hyunjin is stressing.

Frankly, he has always been a little impatient. Hyunjin hates procrastinating and for him, every second that goes by without rehearsals is a second that is sadly wasted. And now he's not only annoyed, he's also curious, which is an unusual combination all in itself.

According to Jisung, Minho is applying for a scholarship. He believes scholarships are usually requested before the training period even begins, which is why it's strange to think that Minho would be in need of one a month in—last he checked, Minho didn't have trouble paying the fee either. He would also like to know why would Han Jisung ever be so involved with it, too. Yes, Hyunjin likes to gossip from time to time, but this is genuine curiosity.

For some reason, considering the fact that Hyunjin has been trying to get close with Minho ever since he joined the band, it ticks him off that Minho seems to have gotten close with Jisung instead. Out of everyone he could've befriended.

Hyunjin arrives at the cafeteria for lunch a little late. Everyone is already there save for Jisung (which he doesn't complain about) and he quickly loads himself a plate with food before taking his usual seat next to Minho. He eyes him curiously out of the corner of his eye.

Minho seems to be especially quiet today, mostly focused on the white rice he swirls around with his chopsticks, only taking occasional bites as if he was eating merely out of obligation. Hyunjin studies him, trying to build up the courage to actually ask. It's not like they don't know each other, but they're not as close either and he fears he might be meddling upon business that doesn't concern him.

The survival show is brought up once or twice throughout lunch and those are the only moments when Hyunjin stops paying attention to Minho to actually participate in the conversation. He can tell that everyone is expecting Minho to reveal his choices soon, but he shows no interest whatsoever in joining the discussion, so everyone is left disappointed again. 

In the blink of an eye, everyone is done with their lunch and Hyunjin has yet to utter a word to him. As the members of the band slowly disperse, Hyunjin finally summons the courage and follows Minho out into the hallway.

"Hyung," he calls.

"Yes?" Minho replies, only glancing at him briefly over his shoulder.

Hyunjin catches up to him and follows him as he treads down the hallway. He hesitates, but at last, he asks.

"I know it's none of my business, but," he begins, "are you actually applying for a scholarship?"

Minho looks at him with a frown as they arrive at the gym. They stop in the locker rooms.

"Not... yet. How do you know that?"

"Well, Han, he is..." Hyunjin begins, but doesn't see it fit to mention it. "It doesn't matter. I'm just curious to know if everything is alright."

Minho nods. "Everything is fine."

"Are you having trouble with the training fee?"

Minho seems to hesitate for a moment, as if he was debating whether to discuss this topic with him.

"Yes," he confesses at last, using the keys on his back pocket to open the door to his locker. 

Hyunjin nods. "Does it have anything to do with your trial?"

Minho sighs, but shakes his head. "It's not important. I already got a job nearby and the scholarship is gonna help a lot."

"If you wanna talk about it—"

"I've talked about it with Jisung and he's been great," he comments. Hyunjin has to stop himself from rolling his eyes when Minho smiles faintly. "I told him this morning and he already got me a job."

"Well, just... let me know if you need help with anything."

"Would you like to work out with me?" Minho blurts out.

Hyunjin's eyebrows shoot up at the sudden change in the topic of conversation. He falls silent, startled by the proposal. Minho rummages through his locker absentmindedly, taking out some clothes and a pair of shoes as if he didn't care to measure the extent of Hyunjin's surprise.

"What? Like, right now?" Hyunjin mumbles. "I don't have any clothes."

Minho tosses him a spare t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from his locker. Hyunjin barely catches them.

"I don't have a partner," Minho comments without looking at him, even though he usually enjoys training alone.

Hyunjin didn't plan to train today, but this offer feels like something of an opportunity.

"Well, sure," he answers.

And so they spend the following hour training together. Then, when Jisung peeks into the gym looking for Minho and catches them both laughing as they load a bar with plates, he clenches his jaw and storms out with a sudden feeling of complete betrayal gnawing at his lungs.

Chapter 21: gone mad for him

Notes:

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Fast forward a week in time. The groups that will perform together have already been decided. Jisung is in a terrible mood.

Is he having trouble with the choreography? No. Rapping, singing? Not at all. Is Jeongin too terrible a companion? Absolutely not. In fact, he must be the most pleasant (the quietest, too) out of the bunch, the one and only member he would've chosen himself to partner up with, not to mention that they get the chance to participate as a duo instead of a trio. So, then, what is he so mad about?

Maybe it's because he's jealous.

Frankly, Jisung has never cared for something long enough to be scared someone else might snatch it away. He's never liked anyone, never had too deep a crush on someone to the point he became possessive over them. But this thing with Minho, whatever it is, has him acting up. 

Maybe it's the fact that Minho, though shortly, has been the only person to ever touch him. The only person to ever care enough to dig deeper into the mess he is. Whatever the reason is, it's got him bad.

He doesn't even hate Hyunjin, per se. He just likes him less than the other members of the band, which is different considering the fact that he doesn't really like anyone at all. Yet still, watching him grow close with Minho over the days strikes a nerve in him that he wasn't aware he had. Perhaps he feels Hyunjin is doing it on purpose, simply to get back at him, but that's not the case: Hyunjin and Minho actually seem to have become good friends and the mere thought of it is appalling.

So, naturally, Jisung is in a bad mood.

The hickey on the side of his neck hasn't even fully faded yet, but his anger is as fresh as it could be—and it's not that Minho doesn't notice. In fact, he was able to tell something was off as soon as he went to Jisung's dorm the night of that same day to thank him for everything he was doing for him and it only took a look at him for Jisung to slam the door shut square on his face. 

And so, Minho has been putting all his efforts into trying to approach him. At first, he judged it to be just something of the moment, which is why he greeted him sweetly the following morning during breakfast, but Jisung never replied, his greeting going by ignored, which was when Minho realized something was really wrong. 

Then, when Minho revealed who he'd be partnering with for the three-three-two performances, he certainly didn't miss Jisung's glare in his same direction. Minho had already known Jisung would be upset about his choice, but he had a made a sane, last minute decision to choose Felix and Changbin, as performing with Jisung would only be a distraction to him (a nice one, but a distraction either way) when his ultimate goal was to avoid getting eliminated.

These past few days, it has been constantly present in his mind. As the boys all have different schedules now, Minho doesn't see Jisung neither during breakfast nor during the day. The only times he gets a glimpse of him is whenever Jisung decides to eat lunch with the rest of the group, which, it seems, he has been trying to avoid. So Minho's days have been feeling a little empty lately.

Jisung's, too, but he's too proud to neither let go of his anger or actually talk to Minho about what's bothering him. Not that that's something he was ever taught to do. Jisung communicates through his anger because it's the only thing he's ever known to do and even though Minho is coming to understand that, he just wishes he would say something.

It's Sunday, their first day off in a week. Naturally, Jisung doesn't come down for breakfast. Minho falls back on his daily routine of looking around the building for him, the way he's been doing every day lately, but he doesn't find him in the cafeteria or in the gym or in the dance hall or anywhere at all, almost like he's vanished from the earth's surface just to avoid having to face him, and it quickly becomes nerve-wracking.

At some point, Minho even climbs up to the fifth floor and contemplates knocking on his door. Jisung might still be sleeping, after all, but it doesn't strike him as the situation, so he just paces from side to side makes a last minute decision to go hang around the common area of the building, having nothing else left to do to kill some time.

And it's there that he sees him.

Minho freezes under the doorsill when he catches him lying across the couch, his back to him. He doesn't breathe, doesn't blink, because he fears any sound might scare Jisung away. This might be the longest time they have spent inside the same room in the past week and he doesn't wish to blow it, so he's completely and utterly quiet as he debates what he should do.

For a few seconds, Minho only admires Jisung. He can only see half his face, but from where he stands, he knows he's wearing his glasses, scrolling on his phone. There's a pillow between his cheek and his arm, his legs folded together delicately, almost like he wished to shrink, to be small. He occupies so little space it makes Minho want to treasure him in a little box and never let him go.

The idea clinks inside his head like a set of marbles. Minho runs his tongue along his teeth and in a second, he runs into the room. Before Jisung can properly process what's going on, Minho pushes him down onto the couch and sits on top of him, effectively preventing him from going anywhere.

"Ya!" Jisung exclaims, a wan grimace on his face. "What the hell are you doing!"

"I'm not letting you go until we talk," Minho tells him, feeling him squirm beneath him, but he holds him down.

"Lee Minho, get the fuck off me, you fucking freak!"

Minho turns and grabs at his wrists, pinning them down on the couch. Jisung struggles in every direction, trying to flip them over to escape, but Minho doesn't let go and his strength sure exceeds him, so he wins the fight.

"You're a psychopath!" Jisung shouts. "I don't wanna talk to you!"

"I don't care," Minho says firmly. "You don't get to let me kiss you, then ghost me like it's nothing. Whatever you're mad about, you're gonna tell me."

"I'm not gonna tell you shit," Jisung spits out, arching in all directions.

Minho curses under his breath at the restless little thing beneath him, then adjusts himself on the couch to straddle his lap and slam him down against the couch. Jisung feels the breath knocked out of him and he looks up at Minho with wide eyes when he comes to realize he is now sat right over his crotch. He mumbles out an inconclusive syllable, unable to grasp his words.

"Are you gonna talk?" Minho asks, his voice now low, almost like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Jisung scowls, slightly more flustered now that he can't bear to move without images of Minho's hand in his pants flashing through his head. "What do you even want me to say?"

"I want to know why you're mad at me."

"Because you're crushing me and I'd like to go."

Minho rolls his eyes. "I'm being serious."

"Me, too."

"If I let you go, you'll run away and you won't say anything. If this is how I get you to talk, then I'll be up here for as long as it takes," he says, his eyes defying. Jisung huffs loudly.

"Don't you have more important things to do?"

Minho bites down on his lip and shakes his head exasperatedly, looking down at Jisung even though he won't meet his eyes. Slowly, he tilts his head to force him to look at him.

"The only important thing I've had in mind all week is you," he tells him. "You're making it real hard to focus when you go around pouting like that. Makes me wanna kiss you."

Jisung's head bolts up, his eyes as wide as two plates. Minho watches his face turn red in a matter of seconds, his ears shining bright with the color of blood.

"What are you even saying!" Jisung exclaims in a panic, his hips jerking up. Minho tries to stay focused. "Get off!"

"What did I do wrong?" he insists. "Why don't you like me anymore?"

"Who says I even liked you before?"

Minho cocks a brow. "My hand in your pants."

"Yah!" Jisung exclaims, looking around however he can to make sure no one is listening even though they're completely alone in the common room. "Why don't you go bother someone else, huh? I'm sure Hyunjin would be pleased to have you on his lap, too."

Minho falls instantly quiet and the silence quickly stretches between them, tight. Jisung doesn't seem to measure the extent of his words, of what he just confessed. Conversely, Minho stares at him, blinking in shock.

"What?" he mumbles. "What does Hyunjin have to do with anything?"

"I don't know, what does he have to do with anything?" Jisung looks away, offended.

The thought strikes Minho a second too late.

"Jisungie-yah," he calls, "are you jealous?"

Jisung rolls his eyes. "Of Hyunjin? Please."

Minho laughs softly, still shocked. The smirk lingers on his face. "You are."

"I'm not jealous of anyone!" he exclaims.

"You think that because I'm into men I'm gonna wanna fuck any man I come across?" He chuckles. "I can have male friends who I'm not into like that."

Jisung shrugs. "Well, I don't care."

"My God, Jisungie... you are so stubborn."

"I said I'm not—"

Minho grinds down on his lap, just a little but enough for Jisung's breath to hitch in his throat. He listens to the fruition of the movement in the strangled whimper that escapes him, Jisung's body stiffening beneath him like stone. Softly, Minho laughs in disbelief, taking advantage of Jisung's sudden laxity to let go of his hands and grab his face, forcing him to look at him. When their eyes lock, Jisung blinks up at him, pure, unadulterated innocence glinting in the curve of his brows. Minho is presently aware of the fact that anyone could walk in on them any second, but perhaps it's that what makes it all so much more exhilarating.

"Haven't I made it clear enough already?" he asks, his voice suddenly quiet. "I only like you. Hyunjin is just a friend, you hear me? I don't play with people."

Jisung blinks again and Minho fights demons not to kiss him right then and there, only because he wants him to see the truth reflected in his eyes. He stills his hips and his eyes trace the expanse of Jisung's face. 

"Say you understand," Minho demands, gripping his face lightly to get his point across. He leans over him until their faces are mere inches apart, close enough that they could kiss if he craned his neck just a little...

Dazedly, Jisung nods. Minho smirks in approval.

"Good boy, Jisungie." He nods triumphantly.

As if he was suddenly snapped out of his daydream, Jisung's eyes grow wide. He plants two firm hands against Minho's chest and pushes him off his lap with such force that Minho falls back on the couch with a chuckle and Jisung is finally free of his grip. Minho tuts and catches him by the wrist just in time to tug him back onto his lap, buckling his arms around Jisung's waist and nibbling playfully on his neck.

"Oh, c'mon!" Jisung exclaims, again trying to release himself, but Minho holds on tight. His teeth grazing his neck makes Jisung shudder.

"You're not getting rid of me so easily," Minho whispers.

"I'm gonna kill you!"

Minho pushes Jisung back down onto the couch on his stomach and climbs on top of him. Jisung complains loudly underneath him, but Minho holds his hands together behind his back and softly wipes the hair from his face.

"Stop trying to get away from me," he tells him in offense. "I'm serious. You can't let me give you a handjob then act all hard-to-get."

Jisung thrashes beneath him. "You've seriously gone mad."

"I've gone mad for you," Minho tells him, kissing down on his back over his t-shirt but not sexually, more so sweetly. He feels Jisung shuddering beneath him once again, only further proof of how truly sensitive he is to the touch. "Am I forgiven?"

"No!" Jisung yelps. 

"Don't make me beg."

"I won't forgive you even if you beg."

"I bet you would like to see me beg."

Jisung shakes his head. Minho sighs through a smile and finally gets up from the couch, letting him completely free. Jisung is quick to turn around and sit up on the couch, his clothes wrinkled, his hair a mess.

"Don't ever grab me like that again," he threatens, pointing at him an accusatory finger. His heart races in his chest, the clench of his stomach familiar from a few days ago.

Minho flashes his brows cockily, crossing his arms over his chest from the spot where he towers over him. 

"I suppose I'm forgiven, then," he states, beginning to back away towards the door, "so I'm gonna go back to my dorm and expect you tonight at the cafeteria for dinner. I'll be very disappointed if I don't see you there."

"Yeah, you can wait all you want, but—!"

Jisung stops talking halfway through his phrase because Minho doesn't stay long enough to listen to the end of it. Now alone in the common room, he curses under his breath and leans back on the couch with a loud huff, agitated from so much fighting. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he continues to go back to the thought of Minho's hands inside his pants. The relief that came with it, origins unknown.

As Jisung shakes his head, the room finally stills into silence until all of a sudden, Minho comes rushing back into the room. It's only a split second before he's leaning over Jisung, grabbing his face and slamming his lips onto his.

Jisung gasps out in shock, but Minho doesn't give him a second to process what's going on before he's hastily straddling his lap, quick to slip his tongue into his mouth. The kiss is so rough and so quick and so passionate that the air is knocked out of Jisung's lungs. He can't even figure out where he should put his hands, the feeling of having Minho on his lap absolutely devouring his mouth turning his bad pliant. 

Then, as quick as he ran in, Minho lets him go and runs back out of the room, leaving Jisung on his own on the couch with a set of swollen lips, a heaving chest and a mop of tousled hair. Only then does he finally notice how quick his heart has been beating, almost like he was at the verge of having a panic attack. The strain in his pants doesn't go unnoticed either. Jisung can't think straight.

Chapter 22: your dream boy

Notes:

cw; explicit sexual content

The first time Jisung comes out of rehearsal and Minho slams him against a wall to steal a kiss from him, it's like the world folds in on itself.

It's only a day after everything—the morning after, in fact—when Jisung leaves the dance hall after a tedious two hours of training alongside Jeongin. By the time he comes out into the hallway, the hall is deserted, Jeongin long since having abandoned it both to outrun a frustrated Jisung and to get to the cafeteria first. As soon as he steps foot out, someone yanks him by the collar of his sweaty t-shirt, pins him up against the nearest wall, and kisses him. Jisung is about to start throwing hands when he recognizes the familiar scent of Minho's cologne.

The dust settles. For a moment or two, Jisung's brain falls into comatose and he can hear nothing but his own heartbeat, the world reduced to the feeling of Minho's lips.

After that, it takes Jisung a while to get used to the aggressive affection. It's not violent so much as it is a complete step over the line of boundaries Jisung has for himself—ones that are there but that he rarely ever reenforces. Minho is not a person he hates anymore, only one he tolerates. Which is saying a lot, because Jisung doesn't even tolerate himself.

He doesn't complain. Lets Minho handle it. Handle him. Eventually, Jisung finds out he likes it more than being treated softly. Not that that's something he knows of, something he's familiar with. He likes the violence because he understands that language, can translate it into something readable, decode it. Minho understands that.

Jisung, however, does get a bit mad that morning as soon as Minho slams him so hard against the wall he loses his breath. He claims that a) he has to get a grip because someone could've seen them and b) that Minho just doesn't get to do whatever he wants with him. Minho stares at him with a half grin all throughout his angry ramble, his hands on either side of his head to cage him against the wall. Then, at last, he apologizes with a smirk and tells him he didn't know they were supposed to be a secret. Jisung emphasizes that last point by telling him he's not gay and Minho shuts him up with a kiss and his tongue in his mouth.

They arrive at lunch together, flush and messy. Jisung's cheeks are ruddy and his lips are swollen from Minho's unavoidable sucking and biting on them, his hair messy because he has discovered that Minho likes to tug on it. Jisung doesn't mind, really. Not enough so as to complain. Minho can pull on his hair and bite his lips and mark him up and call him names, and he'll get away with it because Jisung is weak for him. Winded.

No one says anything about it—not that there's anything to say. If getting laid is going to take the stick out of Jisung's ass, then the members of Stray Kids will not complain.

On another note, Minho knows Jisung is still mad at him for spending his past evening at the gym with Hyunjin. He walks on a thin line in regards, especially considering that Minho's seat is settled right next to Hyunjin's, but to prove his devotion, Minho only pays attention to Jisung. Stares at him from across the table as he eats. Shows him he has eyes for him and him only. When Jisung realizes what he's doing and Minho tips him with a smug smirk, he goes red in the face and shrinks on his eat.

Then, when lunch is over, Minho and Jisung are the last at the table. Even Hyunjin is quick to go, quickly sensing that he's not wanted at the moment. It is then that Jisung feels Minho's foot running along the inside of his leg and he becomes stiff. It's only a soft touch, a mere graze enough to tug up the hem of his sweatpants, but it sends shocks of electricity coursing through Jisung's veins. He wonders what Minho is trying to imply. What he means, what he wants. Jisung will give him anything. Not that he'll admit it out loud, but Minho can take everything for him and Jisung won't say no because he's crazy like that. Because he's on the wrong side of the gun.

Nightfall settles quickly after Minho disappears. Jisung hates to realize that he looks for him every time he turns a corner. When the sun is fully set and Jisung is ready to get in the shower, a knock at his door reveals Minho standing right outside his dorm. As soon as they lock eyes and he recognizes him, Jisung's face turns crimson in embarrassment because he's only wearing an old band t-shirt he must have stolen from Chan and a pair of—thin—sleeping shorts. And Minho is staring at him such a way. And he feels naked. And he could die. But he doesn't because there's no real reason to die. Only Minho.

"What are you doing here?" Jisung asks, suddenly all too self-conscious of himself.

Minho doesn't even look down, though. He smiles, his eyes twinkling as he lifts up the plastic bag he holds in his hand for him to see.

"You like candy, right?" he asks before pushing past him and into the dorm.

Jisung observes him with something of the likes of perplexity curling his toes. His room is sacred, yet it feels like it's Minho's now, too. Minho doesn't ask for permission, doesn't say anything, almost like he knows just how proverbially wrapped Jisung is around his finger.

Still by the sill, Jisung blushes. He remembers what happened between him and Minho the last time they were in here together, alone. It makes his stomach stir recall how easily Minho controlled his body, how wet is underwear was after, and how hard he came in the shower thinking about it last night.

Minho takes a seat on the rolling chair and offloads the contents of the plastic bag on the messy desk, right on top of the piles of untouched drawings. He reveals a bunch of different packets of jelly gummies he must have bought at some point of the day and Jisung is awed at the sight as Minho lays them out on the desk. He closes the door behind him and approaches to take a look.

"Uh, yeah...?" he mumbles, though still confused. His eyes trail over the different brands of candy on his dorm desk.

"We can share them," Minho states, taking out one last packet of lemon drops that he snaps open for himself.

Jisung scrunches up his nose. "Those are nasty."

"What?" Minho's voice goes up a few pitches. He seems genuinely offended by the statement. "These are the best. You probably haven't even tried them."

Jisung hasn't, in fact, eaten a lemon drop before in his life. He just has a tendency to reject things he doesn't know. Instead of answering, he shakes his head.

"You can't just randomly show up at my dorm."

Minho pops a lemon drop into his mouth and shrugs. "Why not?"

"Because what if—"

Suddenly, Minho tosses a packet of candy him, narrowly missing his face. Jisung gasps as he catches the gummies mid-air with his hand, then stares at him wide-eyed. Minho's face is already melting into a laugh.

"Yah!" Jisung exclaims. "You could've hurt me!"

"Sit down and eat," Minho shushes him, pushing him down onto the bed with his bare foot, his slippers abandoned by the base of the chair.

Jisung blinks through his confusion, eyes as big as plates as he falls onto the edge of the mattress. Minho doesn't acknowledge him further and merely continues to suck on his lemon drops, content like a child. Jisung curses lightly under his breath and pops open the packet Minho threw at him reluctantly, hating that he's complying but doing so nonetheless. Because he likes Minho. Yeah, he has like a huge crush on him. It's only in his head though.

"Have you been sleeping alright?" Minho asks him, flicking the hair off his eyes with a careful pinky finger.

He's done it before, once or twice. It's such a feminine gesture that Jisung can't help but stare. It's a habit that is going to stick if he doesn't get rid of it soon, but Minho deserves to be stared at. He deserves the moonlight in Jisung's eyes whenever he looks at him because he's just pretty like that.

Jisung forces himself to look away, says, "From time to time."

"What was that thing you did when you couldn't sleep?" Minho enquires, rolling mindlessly from side to side on the chair. The curve of his jaw tightens as he sucks on his lemon drops and Jisung is staring again. "You imagine you don't exist, yeah?"

Jisung blushes and his heart flutters, loose in his chest.

"How can you even remember that?" he asks quietly.

"Well, you told me." Minho chuckles and it makes no sense. "Have you been imagining that you don't exist lately?"

"I don't know. Sometimes."

"And what's that like?"

Jisung shrugs. "A lot like real life."

"How odd." Minho frowns. "My dreams are very weird."

"What do you dream?"

"I dream that I'm being chased a lot," he explains. "One time, I was at an aquarium and there was a black octopus after me. He had like a face. Terrifying."

Minho shudders and Jisung's eyebrows shoot up. "A black octopus?"

"Yes. He was terrifying and, like, really fast. I couldn't get away, I swear. It lasted, like, two minutes, then I woke up," Minho explains. "What do you dream of?"

"When I'm awake or asleep?"

"Huh." Minho frowns like he hadn't thought about it that way. "Awake."

"A lot of things." Jisung shrugs. "A lot of nonsense."

"It's not nonsense if it makes sense to you," Minho tells him. Senseless again. Nothing Minho says makes sense. Jisung feels that way about language at times—he feels that speaking is just nothing. Useless. Senseless. Makes no sense. Stupid.

He eyes Minho lightly, popping a gummy into his mouth to avoid having to say anything.

"Do you get along with your parents?" Minho asks.

Jisung shrugs. He has nothing to say about his parents. They're there and he's here.

"Do you?" he asks in return because he knows it's rude not to. He quickly corrects himself. "I mean, with your mom."

"Of course. She's great. I love my mom. But I wanna hear about yours."

It's overwhelming that Minho's undivided attention is on him. Jisung tries to pretend he doesn't exist. Right now. He floats away in a cloud because he's running his tongue along the right edge of this and it's tasting like sugar, and he knows it's nothing short of poison.

"I love my mom but I don't like her. My dad's... somewhere."

"Somewhere, where?"

"I don't know. We don't talk much. Last time I saw him was last year."

"Do you miss him?"

Jisung shrugs. "Not much to miss."

"I'm sure he misses you," Minho suggests.

Jisung sucks his teeth, repeats, "Not much to miss."

Minho hates that answer and he lets it show on his face because something tells him that Jisung would be able to read him, if only he allowed himself to meet his eyes. With a click of his tongue, Minho sets his packet of lemon drops on the table, tastes the last of the sour candy, and gets up from the rolling chair. Footfalls catch Jisung's attention.

"What are you doing?" he mumbles when Minho snatches his packet of gummies and leaves it on the desk, alongside his own lemon drops.

"Do you mind if I kiss you for a bit?" Minho asks, placing two gentle hands on his chest to push him down onto the bed.

Jisung lets him. It's futile to struggle. He's Minho's to handle. Still, he panics.

"Yah," Jisung calls quietly, startled, when Minho helps himself onto his lap. Not quite touching him too much. Not sexual either. Only resting himself there.

"I'm gonna kiss you," Minho announces, his voice low, "so we don't have to talk."

Jisung panics even more. "What?"

Minho leans down and braces his hands against the mattress on either side of Jisung's head, effectively caging him to the bed. Jisung blinks up at him when the words die down on his throat, his stomach coiled when he watches Minho's strong arms framing him. All he can see is him. His eyes. The freckle on his nose. His urgency masked as tranquility.

"Does that sound good to you?" Minho asks, his voice a notch lower, huskier. Jisung gets butterflies just listening to him. A stir in his stomach makes him squirm uncomfortable.

"I—" Jisung stumbles on his own words, unable to connect his thoughts.

It's not a yes, but Minho places a delicate hand on his cheek and leans in to kiss him because he needs to. Because Jisung wants to, but he won't say it. Jisung holds his breath when their lips cash, lacing with each other easily, almost like they were carved from the same mold, details to be added later.

It's calm and it's quiet, and it's pretty much perfect. This is what Jisung imagines a good night's sleep would feel like, if he was able to sleep. Or a good meal without feeling guilty. All those things he wishes he could do—this is what they taste like. Like Minho. It doesn't make sense. Senseless. Everything Minho is and does and says is senseless.

The way Minho's thumb strokes his cheekbone is senseless, too. Jisung's heart is buzzing in his chest. It's foreign but he explores it with curiosity. The duvet is almost as soft as Minho's hands. No—Minho's hands are softer. Minho's hair and everything else.

He feels his tongue prodding at the edge of his lip, flavorful saliva mingling with his own at the junction of his mouth. Minho tastes sour, of lemon drops, and it makes Jisung want to grab him and kiss him deeper, if only to crawl into his gums and nestle there, live there, taste him more. He'd do it if he could. If Jisung could voluntarily let Minho into his personal space, he'd do it.

His stomach gives a turn when he feels Minho pressing down on his crotch where he sits. Just a little, but enough to make his body jumpstart into a frenzy. Jisung lets out a soft whimper into Minho's mouth that makes him laugh, and even though none of their eyes are open, he still turns red. Jisung is weak. He always has been, no matter how tough he acts. It was only a matter of time before someone forced him into submission the way Minho has—no, Minho didn't force him. He asked. Nicely.

Minho's lips leave his own. Jisung sighs shakily when he moves on to kiss the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jaw, all the way to his neck. His body reacts to the feeling so easily, heavy lids fluttering closed, mouth falling open, a shudder traveling his spine. Minho's hand leaves Jisung's face to trail down his body, all the way to his waist until he manages to slip a hand under his t-shirt, only very gently. Jisung becomes stiff under the touch, the muscles of his abdomen contracting when he feels Minho's fingers treading over the delicate, soft skin. He grips the bedding because minho might just be toying with the two most sensitive parts of his body, and Jisung can't handle that.

"You're not in the mood to talk, right?" Minho whispers in his ear once more for confirmation, sending chills down his spine when he nibbles gently on his earlobe.

It's a request. He expects Jisung to give him the green light, so Jisung does. Whatever Minho wants to do to him right now, he'll let him. Gladly, he'll let him. He's Minho's to handle. Senseless. It makes no sense. He nods vehemently and Minho smiles against his skin, and he smells of bourbon, and it's nice.

"Don't move," Minho tells him, planting a soft kiss on his jaw before straightening up.

Jisung blinks up in shock as Minho takes off his shirt, the gesture so sudden and so inviting that Jisung would touch if he could. Minho's body is strong, lean, powerful beneath a thin layer of supple fat that wrinkles on his belly. Jisung wants to bite him. Bite him. Pale, soft skin like milk. Like something sugary, sweet. His muscles stretch and contort as Minho fits himself out of the t-shirt and tosses it somewhere on the floor, the curve of his shoulders crowned with little white stretch marks that Jisung wants to trace with his tongue. He's never yearned to eat anything the way he yearns to eat Minho. Taste him in his tongue. Feel the weight of him, the weight of his body. Test if his skin tastes of honey the way Jisung thinks that it does.

The hint of an old scar mars the space below Minho's chest and Jisung finds it strange because it doesn't look like a flaw. It looks like it belongs there, a lithe combination of ridges spoiling his godforsaken skin, but still so pretty. His slim waist broadens into a set of wide, trained shoulders, arms thick like rods. Jisung could choke on them.

He's not too sure what he's supposed to do now. He can but admire, sit up on his elbows and salivate at the sight of Minho's half-naked body, but he doesn't dare touch him. Minho looks at him through dark eyes and Jisung finally notices the front of his pants has become tight. Tight enough that he could start crying any moment. 

"You tell me if it's too much, okay?" Minho says softly, leaning back down, slipping a hand under Jisung's t-shirt and slowly pulling it up.

Out of reflex, Jisung immediately flies to tug it back down, nervous at the thought of being shirtless in front of him. He's never shirtless in front of anyone—barely shirtless in front of himself, most of the time. His naked body feels confidential, in a way.

"Stays on?" Minho asks, his hand loosening around the hem of Jisung's t-shirt.

His eyes find Jisung's, but he's not demanding of anything. Instead, the look on his face instills in him a sense of comfort, of complete acceptance, so even though hesitantly, he slowly shakes his head.

"No," he mumbles. His voice is hoarse.

Minho licks his lips and Jisung is nervous as he peels the t-shirt off his body, his body becoming exposed inch by inch, breath picking up pace with the anticipation. Minho discards the t-shirt and admires him fully, his lips only slightly parted, his eyes hooded with blown pupils full of hunger. He looks at him like he'd rather eat him for his next meal and the thought makes Jisung dangerously excited, as well as utterly nauseous. Dangerously, because it's dangerous. Because poison can taste like sugar, or it can taste of nothing else. Jisung's heart is pounding so fast it might jump out of his chest, so much that he fights the urge to wrap his arms around his belly to keep the puzzle pieces of himself from crumbling.

Minho doesn't stare for much longer. He leans back in to devour his neck. This time, he starts sliding downwards to plant a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses down his chest. Jisung feels him rubbing up against his cock and his stomach is painfully clenched, even harder when Minho's tongue finds one of his nipples.

A soft moan rips through him at the unfamiliar feeling. He didn't know that such part of his body could be so sensitive—or maybe Minho's tongue is just spectacularly skillful. Either way, Jisung feels his senses riding into overload, his sleeping shorts straining at the front where all his blood has rushed down to feed the erection that jumps in his boxers with anticipation. And he knows Minho can feel him. Whatever he's doing, he's being tortuously slow on purpose. 

Minho's eyes drift up to meet his as he sucks on his nipple, squeezing the flesh of his chest with his hand, pressing himself against him to create some friction between their bodies. The bedding rustles under the movement and whimpers rip through Jisung's throat, forcing him to close his eyes, to fully submit. Then, Minho kisses lower and lower down his chest, to his belly, to the trail of sparse hairs leading into the waistband of his sleeping shorts and even lower, and Jisung is discombobulated. 

Minho's eyes never leave his own. Jisung sits up on his elbows to get a good look at what he's doing, watching his fingers toy with the hem of his shorts, his hot breath teasing his lower belly. He seems like he's waiting for any signs that Jisung might want to stop, but when Jisung says nothing, Minho plants a soft kiss on his erection through the fabric of his shorts and finally hooks his fingers on the hem to tug them down.

Jisung twitches as his erection springs free against his stomach, hard and leaking precum desperately. Minho's eyes on him make him more nervous than they should as he undresses him, very, very slowly, tugging the shorts off his ankles until Jisung is vulnerable and exposed and the only way to stop this is to cry. But Jisung won't cry. He swallows dryly, leans back down on the bed, and stares at the ceiling fan as it spins calmly, almost futilely.

"You're so pretty," Minho breathes out into his skip, gripping his thighs. Jisung's cock twitches, protesting for the much needed attention.

Soon enough, Jisung feels Minho's gentle hand wrapped around him, gripping him firmly, enough to make his stomach quiver. He strokes him softly, planting kisses on the delicate skin surrounding it as if he was testing his limits. Jisung can't take it too long—he's at the verge of tears, painfully hard and desperate for some release, but at the same time, excruciatingly nervous to make this go any faster.

Minho pumps him a few times. Jisung throws his arm over his eyes swallows dryly, his hips subconsciously bucking from the bed to feel more of Minho's fist as he fucks into it.

"You like that?" Minho asks him. Jisung nods, and almost like he's doubling the stakes, Minho's warm tongue suddenly licks all the way from the base to the tip of his cock. Jisung nearly yelps at the feeling of his lips wrapping around him, his mouth wet and welcoming. He grips down on the sheets and pins his eyes shut, his body vibrating, buzzing when Minho takes him fully into his mouth and hollows out his cheeks to heighten the pleasure.

"Hyung—" he chokes out. "Minho, I—nngh."

The words escape him. Minho begins bobbing his head up and down, taking him all the way in just to pull out again, swirling his tongue on his tip, accompanying the movement with the strokes of his hand until Jisung's cock is slick with saliva and precum.

Jisung feels himself throbbing inside Minho's mouth, heat pooling in his gut. He thrusts, only a little, careful not to overdo it because he's lightheaded and the room is spinning. Minho doesn't gag, but he swallows around him and Jisung's lungs rip in half, screaming for air that seems so shallow.

Jisung sits up on his elbows and Minho glances at him, his eyes rather submissive, watering at the corners whenever he takes him fully into his mouth. His lips are slick with saliva, the wet sounds of him sucking and swallowing around Jisung's length filling the room. Jisung's breathing is heavy, his eyebrows curved up in the complete and utter pleasure he feels, the moans leaving him involuntarily. The waves of heat ebb in sudden surges to hug at his neck, choke him, suffocate him. The sight of Minho sucking on his dick is beyond insane.

Maybe Jisung is still imagining he doesn't exist. Maybe he doesn't exist at all. He wants to touch Minho, wants to stroke his hair, his cheek, feel him in any way that will confirm that he's real, but he can't bring himself to do so. Minho picks up pace and the feeling quickly grows better and better, enough that Jisung's brain turns liquid and he turns stupid, blank. Then, when Minho pulls out and slaps his dick on his tongue, Jisung just about combusts, his breathing becoming more ragged, his stomach clenching in anticipation.

"Min—Minho," he whispers, tossing his head back, pressing his wrist over his eye sockets because he can't stomach this any longer. He feels pathetic for enjoying it so much, for feeling a whole lot more than what he thought he would. 

Minho takes him full into his mouth once more and holds for a few moments, Jisung's dick curving over the back of his throat. His eyes water lightly, but he holds out well. When he pulls out, a string of saliva connects his lips to Jisung's tip, a faint redness spreading over his cheeks and his nose that isn't so much a blush, but more like a cadence of his effort. The sight makes Jisung want to kiss him so badly, makes him want to taste himself on his mouth. Maybe that's another boundary he wants to cross. Minho strokes him rapidly, the sound of the saliva coating Jisung0s dick resounding in the quiet room along with his desperate moans as he nears his climax. 

Minho can tell he's on the verge, so he takes him in his mouth once again and bobs his head briskly, always looking at him, wanting to see his expression as he comes. He pays extra attention to his swollen pink tip, swirling his tongue around, pulling away to spit on it for more lubrication, then going back in to finish the job, mapping the throbbing veins and the quickening pulse with his mouth. Jisung grips the bedding and Minho watches his belly twitching when his climax hits him unexpectedly, causing him to spill his release all over his tongue. 

Jisung forces himself to watch him as he rides out his high, the sight of Minho's lips covered in his cum making the orgasm hit him even harder, so much that he eventually falls back down onto the mattress because he can't keep himself up on his elbows. He can feel a combination of Minho's spit and his own warm release dripping down the shaft of his dick that makes his stomach clench hard. Then, when he finally comes down from the high, he pants heavily and stares up at the ceiling.

Minho smiles faintly, licking the remnants off his mouth, wiping himself clean with the back of his hand, then getting up from the bed. He looks down at Jisung completely surrendered on the bed—the blush on his face, his lips parted to gather in as much air as he possibly can. Flush and ruddy and sweaty, whining just for him, Minho thinks he could devour him and be satisfied for a lifetime.

"I'll go fetch you a towel," Minho tells him, even though he doubts Jisung can even hear him.

He still tastes him in his tongue as he wets a towel and trudges back to the bed. He helps Jisung get himself cleaned up. He seems drained, the skin of his chest red and warm, a line of sweat beaded at his hairline. Once Jisung is dressed and lying on his stomach on the bed, still trying to regain his strength, Minho lies on his side beside him and stares at him, propped up on his elbow.

Jisung opens his glittering eyes and looks up at him—big and round, like two full moons, filled with all kinds of non-artificial stars that make crowns of flowers bloom in Minho's stomach. His lips are swollen and he looks gorgeous. Jisung can't even begin to process anything that just happened. Is he supposed to thank him? He opens his mouth to do so, but Minho smiles and kisses his bare back with unmatched delicacy, and he turns liquid against the mattress, fuses into it like some kind of leech.

"Are you sleepy?" Minho asks him in a low, raw voice.

Jisung nods through tired eyes, still unable to form a word.

Minho gets up to open the bed for him, then helps tuck him into the soft sheets. Jisung hugs his pillow and hums half-heartedly, feeling himself drift into a good night's sleep.

It amazes him that this man is still here. That he has yet to run away from him.

Minho kisses his forehead and then gets up.

"I'll let you sleep," he announces, but Jisung's head bolts up towards him.

"Wait," he calls. 

"What?" Minho asks, searching the floor for his t-shirt in the dim lighting of the room.

"You can't just go," Jisung tells him in a brief panic, his voice hoarse as he sits up on the bed. He wants to reach out and yank Minho back onto bed, but because he can't do that, he comes up with an excuse. "Are you using me or something?"

Minho freezes in his place and turns to look at him with a frown, says, "What?"

"Are you using me for sex?" Jisung claims indignantly, his lips pouted in his offense. "Is that why you're chasing me around all the time? Because you wanna fuck me?"

"Of course not." Minho hurries to shake his head, the tips of his ears turning crimson red. "Why would you even say that?"

"You can't just leave after that."

Minho takes a second to understand. Jisung is staring at him like he just committed a crime, but it slowly clicks to him that this is not genuine annoyance—it's pride. Jisung can't ask him to stay without bruising his ego, so he'll guilt-trip him into it. And Minho thinks that's fine. He tilts his head and studies him through squinted eyes.

"Are you trying to gaslight me into staying the night?" he asks, a mocking edge to his voice.

Jisung doesn't say anything, so Minho draws a lopsided smirk.

"You can just ask, you know?" he tells him. "Minho-hyung, pretty please, will you stay over? That's how it goes."

"No. If you leave, you're using me for sex. That's it," Jisung claims before angrily tucking himself back into bed, throwing the covers over him and giving his back to Minho in a sweet tantrum.

Amused at his behavior, Minho lets out a chuckle. He shakes his head because he's so fond of this kid, then finally surrounds the bed and gets back in under the sheets. Jisung feels the mattress dipping behind him, but he doesn't turn. Then, suddenly, a hand laps on his bare waist and he becomes tense.

"I'll stay," Minho whispers, "so you can be sure I'm not using you. And that I'm actually very fond of you, Jisungie."

Jisung replies with a growl, which seems fitting enough for the moment. After turning off the night lamp, Minho gets comfortable, not touching Jisung at all save for the hand posed delicately on the curve of his waist—after everything, to Jisung, that seems like more than enough. He appreciates the space, appreciates the sentiment of Minho giving him it. 

Minho knows better than to push his limits. Only feeling the warm skin of his belly under the covers is intimate enough to him, more intimate than anything else that just happened. Watching Jisung's back inflate and deflate with his every breath as he's lulled into sleep feels like something he wouldn't mind losing his sleep for.

"Why would I wanna use you?" Minho mumbles at last in the quiet, dark room they share. "You're the boy of my dreams."

Jisung holds his breath. He doesn't know if he's awake or asleep. Maybe he's dreaming. Maybe he's stopped existing for a while there. Minho has that effect on him.

"My dream boy," Minho whispers. Jisung falls asleep. Jisung stops existing.

Notes:

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Chapter 23: hannie

Notes:

cw; allusion to self harm

Minho wakes up somewhere around dawn to an empty bed. He doesn't notice it right away as he lies on his side facing the closet, but when he turns, seeking Jisung's warmth with a wandering blind hand, he finds a cold figure imprinted on the long since abandoned mattress instead and panics. Confused, he opens his weary eyes and finds himself alone on the queen-sized bed. Deserted.

He's groggy, chapped. He must have been on a deep sleep, one which he can feel the aftermaths of still lingering, coiling as they wither. He sits up on his hands and looks around at the dark room, but there's no sign of Jisung whatsoever. The bathroom door is open and the light inside is off, signaling towards no one inside either. Minho's recently-awaken brain is too foggy to process the fact that he's alone in Jisung's room—the fact that, somehow, Jisung woke up in the middle of the night, saw him lying here, and didn't kick him out.

A sudden wave of panic washes over him in the face of not knowing where Jisung is, so much that sleep deserts him. Jisung could be anywhere in the building—looking for snacks, out on a night walk—but the thought of it makes Minho oddly uncomfortable. Of not knowing where to find him. Of him being restless enough that he left. Minho turns on the night lamp and the room becomes illuminated by the soft glow of the orange bulb.

With arms wrapped around his knees, his bare torso cold where the sheets don't cover him, Minho looks around. The silence is too silent.

It still amazes him that this room feels exactly like the kind of place Jisung would live in—no wonder. The ceiling fan is still on above him, very gentle, very slow, producing almost no wind as if the purpose it served was to provide some motion to the otherwise motionless space. A faint breeze blows in through the open window, the framed figure of the nightlights outside cast into the walls of the room, shadowed by tree branches and building. It's strangely cold, but he's noticed from the other couple of times he's been here that it almost always is, as if Jisung thrived in a colder environment. A polar bear or an arctic fox. Minho remembers some documentary he watched about it.

Following his train of thought gets him pondering on last night—or this night? He feels it so close yet it's such a distant memory, any trace of sexual advance swept away by the intimate ambience of falling asleep lost counting the beats of Jisung's heart. 

The thought makes Minho smile, only faintly. The image of Jisung lying back on the bed, gripping the sheets, moaning out loud, is permanently carved into his brain. He's been dreaming of it for nights on a row and now that it's happened, it almost feels surreal. He yearns to feel his warm skin again, taste his hot release on his tongue. Jisung might just be the most sensitive person he's ever met, with skin as thin as paper, emotions laid bare just below, and that only makes Minho crave him even more. 

He gets up from bed to satiate the restlessness produced by his rallying thoughts, wandering energy flowing blindly inside his body. He finds a t-shirt strewn about the window nook that is definitely not his and throws it on, delighted to find that it is tremendously laced with the smell of Jisung's skin. It instills in him a strange sense of nostalgia—Jisung is present everywhere in his room, in every surface, in every color, in every crevice. Yet he's not even here.

Minho paces around, taking a close look at everything that conforms the perfect mess within this place. He approaches the desk first, watching Jisung's name roughly carved along the edge of it in rugged lines with a dull knife, or the edge of some scissors. A strange thing to do to a piece of furniture, but a mark nonetheless. Minho studies the papers scattered about it, the drawings, the pencils. The smell of graphite is strong and Minho runs a careful hand along the coarse pages, the blurred lines traced along them dark and daunting. Then, when he moves a specific drawing aside, he finds a journal.

Minho frowns, lifting it from the table to get a closer look at it. The boards are made of rutted brown leather hewn by time, folded in places and discolored in others. When he turns it over, he finds the word Hannie cut into the material of the front cover, marking its owner. Hannie. Sweet and lovely, just like him. Minho runs a careful finger along to feel the crevices on the nodose material. It feels awfully personal, but for some reason, he still opens it.

The first page is fully blank save for a small date scribbled on the top right. Maybe the date Jisung got this journal. Minho starts skimming through when his curiosity gets the best out of him.

The journal is not completed yet, but every page that was intervened has been covered in its entirety—in loose words, in phrases, in senseless drawings and doodles. Even in lead stains, ink blots, accidental fingerprints left behind on the yellowish paper. Minho smiles faintly to himself as his eyes tread over the sketched doodles.

At some point, he stops to take a better look at one of the pages, his eyes catching on words that spark his curiosity.

Dad said senses are alive. If your skin is thin, you feel so much more.

Minho pauses for a moment. Reads it over and over. Jisung's handwriting is a pretty clutter of combinations, wafting between cursive and print, capital letters and lower cases, rounded ends and sharp peaks. Minho tries to make sense out of the words, tries to understand what he means, but nothing comes to his mind other than pure nonsense. Below it is a drawing of a locked door, a dark liquid—is it blood?—pouring from the slit below.

Minho frowns, his eyes still scanning through the page. Along the bottom, there is another faint inscription. 

And that my head is made of flowers, and that I will be fine.

And surrounding it, there are a thousand different types of flowers, including a rough sketch of a man who has no head, but a posy of lilies leaping from his neck. The edges of the paper are torn and folded as if Jisung was careless when doodling. A pretty mess.

Minho moves on to the following page. This one is emptier. There is a comic strip of two figurines sitting on what looks like the ledge of a terrace. The first one has no face and the second one holds a balloon that leaks from a slit on its side, and there's nothing else. The paper is white and clean. Careful this time.

He continues and finds that the next page is a little fuller. On the top corner, there is a small sketch of a half open door. Drawn puddles of what looks like water are aligned at the bottom of the page, surrounded by loops and rectangles. No labels.

And the head craves a mess before it chokes on apathy.

Minho continues to look through the pages, his frown becoming tighter, his confusion growing heavier.

In one of the pages, there is only a single tree painted beautifully on the center of the page. Its branches are naked and decrepit, the ground around it gray and dead. The pencil tip was dull, it seems, as the lines are light and soft, defined only enough. The sketch is labeled 'poison tree'. 

Minho continues on to the following page.

Dad said that it's real and that it matters but it's also pride, and it's both.

Does it mean that I'm sick?

I've been quiet. I forgot how to talk. And communicate.

How wrong does my voice sound.

Because I make others uncomfortable with my discomfort.

I'm good at letting it get to me. And I can. And I will.

Minho shakes his head, lacking understanding, unable to find a connection between the words and the drawings and the mess that this journal entails. 

The last page, the most recent, has only a brief sentence.

Your arms. My home. My breath. My god.

The smallest, most peaceful thing in the journal. Quiet, as opposed to the screaming cries for help depicted on the pages. Minho slams it shut. Nervously, he rests it back down on the desk. Heart heavy. Something abaft. Stilted.

The door is suddenly pushed open. Jisung peeks in.

"You're awake," he mumbles when he notices Minho stood by the bed. 

Minho's head bolts up with the sound of the clicking door as Jisung closes it behind him. He snaps back to reality at the sight of him wearing a big old sweatshirt with the hood up, his hair falling perfectly over his eyes, because he's just pretty like that.

"Yes," Minho mumbles when he can finally speak. "Where—Where were you?"

"I couldn't sleep," Jisung tells him, noting something off about him. "Are you okay?"

Minho nods, then takes a step forward. Jisung's eyebrows shoot up when he takes his hand in his and pulls him in to kiss him. A very soft kiss, not laced with a second meaning, not hinting at anything but quiet and calm and contentedness. Maybe that's what makes it more intimate—that it's a kiss that is still and steady yet moving and slanted and it seeks nothing but innocent, loving touch. 

Minho's hands are posed gently on Jisung's neck. Jisung takes a second to understand; he's waiting for the passion, for the deep, crude desperation, but Minho stands still and his lips are all too soft, and Minho is asking nothing of him. Taking nothing. Only giving. A selfless pursuit. Finally, Jisung understands that nothing comes with the kiss but comfort and the feeling of home. He melts into Minho. Sighs out in relief until Minho finally pulls away, and the loss is astronomical. Devastating.

"Are you tired?" Minho whispers in a low voice, standing close to plant a soft, chaste kiss on the corner of Jisung's mouth.

Jisung could let this happen more often. Could kiss the corner of Minho's mouth too, in return. In gratitude. His body is in a state of comatose, drifting, stuffed with soft cotton and wool and fitted in bubble wrap. Protected against a hard fall.

"Not really," Jisung tells him, slightly out of breath, feeling their noses grazing against one another. Sparks of adrenaline.

"Do you want to go out for a drive?"

"Like, right now?" Jisung looks up at him. "It's four in the morning."

"We'll go somewhere nice and quiet," Minho tells him, nodding his head, trying to slow his heart down into a steady beat. To ignore the words lingering in his head. Jisung's words, written in his journal. "I'll take you."

Jisung hesitates. It's cold outside and he has to train tomorrow morning. But Minho is warm and lovely.

"Alright," he says finally. Minho grabs his hand and together, they go.

 

"What were you doing out on your own?" Minho asks.

Jisung takes a look at him out of the corner of his eye, trying not to be too obvious about his staring. Minho is sitting comfortably on the driver's seat within the dark interior of the car, his knees spread, a hand posed on his thigh and the other rested on the bottom half of the wheel. Driving calmly. Quietly. His hair is slightly messier than usual, product of the deep sleep he was still in when Jisung woke up, but he's fitted himself with a black hoodie of Jisung's that he found on the floor and a pair of slippers, and he looks beautiful. Annoyingly so. Infuriating.

"Yes," Jisung tells him. "I didn't think you'd wake up. Sorry."

"It's no big deal," Minho tells him.

Jisung doesn't know where they're going. He stares out the window at the passing images, the night lights blurring together into a mesh as the car picks up speed. He recognizes the empty roads they travel through even though they all look so different during the nighttime. Minho, too, glances at him where he's rested on the car door, gazing out.

"You wanna know something?" he puts forth all of a sudden, his voice gentle, lulling, as if to not disturb the atmosphere.

"What?"

"Psychology students are taught that anger is actually a secondary emotion."

Jisung blinks. "Meaning what, exactly."

"That if you're angry, it's because you felt something else first. Maybe... you were hurt by something, or got upset, or frustrated. So you get angry," Minho explains, looking ahead at the dark road, lit by the strong headlights of the car. "But you can't just feel anger without feeling something else first. Anger is just the defense mechanism that comes as a response to that. A way to protect yourself of that emotion you first felt.."

Jisung shakes his head, says, "I don't get what you're trying to say."

"I don't know. You get angry a lot." He shrugs, trying to express himself with measured words. "I just wanna know what you feel first. Before you snap."

Jisung grimaces. "You're talking like a shrink."

Minho laughs faintly. "Sorry. I'm curious to know."

Jisung looks out the window as they pull up at the empty lot of the park. The sky is dark outside.

"We'll freeze to death," he mumbles, watching the trees sway with the bristling autumn wind. 

"I'll keep you warm," Minho mumbles absentmindedly as he removes the keys from the ignition and urges Jisung out of the car, and Jisung feels a million sorts of different starts sprinkling his insides.

They walk together down the pathway into the park. Benches and streetlights line the edges, providing a soft cast of light onto the stone grounds. The trees have already turned yellow upon the arrival of a dreary autumn, the wind blowing through their dry branches coolly. The dark sky is lit by the light of the full moon visible through the canopy.

Jisung has never been to the park at night. He rarely ever comes to the park at all. This place is unfamiliar. Uncharted. He can't help but feel curious about what it looks like during the day when the passages are not empty, when the wind doesn't blow so strongly. Everything looks different at night. He's familiar with the concept. 

Minho is quiet as they travel deeper into the manmade woods of the park.

"Are you spiritual?" he asks at last.

"How?"

"Do you think we have a soul?"

"Of course." Jisung shrugs. "Don't you?"

"I do." He nods. "I heard it's important to take care of it. That it's apparently immortal but that it still hurts like our bodies, except there isn't, like, a soul doctor. Just a body doctor."

Jisung stays quiet. Then, he breathes in deeply.

"If you wanna know why I get angry, the answer is that I don't know," he confesses. "Things are just more serious to me than what they are for you."

Minho turns to look at him.

"It's been like this my whole life. I always fight with my mother about it." Jisung shrugs like he's long since moved past acceptance. "I get horrible at times, but I just... I don't usually... know, when I'm in the wrong. Things seem right to me, when I get mad over them." He shakes his head. "Mom always tells me that it doesn't matter if I'm right or wrong. If I yell, then it doesn't matter. But I can't... help but yell. It's just what I do."

Because if I don't, then no one listens.

Minho nods quietly. "What do you feel when you get mad?"

Jisung shrugs again. "Just... a lot of shit. I wanna hurt myself, or hurt someone. I break shit. I... yell a lot. My head gets pretty empty, really. I just wanna do stuff I know I'll regret."

"Do you hurt yourself?"

Jisung glances up at Minho, and Minho stares back down with an absent glint in his eyes.

"My old therapist used to tell me that self-harm is not just slitting your wrists, so I guess... yeah," he says. "I make my lips bleed a lot, but I don't do it because I enjoy the pain."

Minho pauses to look at him, grasping his hand so Jisung will stop too. For a moment, they stand in the middle of the pathway facing each other, although Jisung's eyes are on his feet. Something like sadness wells up behind his eyes. He sighs loud and long, then finally leans in to rest his forehead against his chest, almost like he wanted to hide his face.

Minho becomes completely frozen.

He hesitates at first because he doesn't know what to do. He's scared that moving, breathing, blinking, will scare him away. Like a bird, or a small creature. Frightened. Delicate. He must treat him gently. Minho doesn't do anything and lets Jisung nestle against him, nuzzling into his chest with unmatched tenderness. His hand is still in Minho's and even though the air that blows is cold all around them, Minho couldn't be warmer.

Jisung doesn't seem to notice the extent of the gesture. Something so simple yet so strong. This might be the first time he's allowing himself to touch Minho. Truly touch him. It means so much and Minho's body is sealed so airtight he could burst, but for Jisung, he's only at peace where he lies. How can he find this peace more often?

"I'm sorry for making a mess all the time," he apologizes quietly, for no particular reason. "I didn't mean to be so rude to you when you first got here. I just... don't know."

Minho laughs faintly and dares to touch the back of his head. Jisung doesn't move when he feels Minho's hand cradling him softly, providing him with a nook on his chest so he can nuzzle further in and indulge in his warmth.

"I'll clean up any mess you make, dream boy," Minho jokes, and Jisung likes that.

He doesn't hug him. He hasn't gotten as far so as to do that. But he stays close.

When they're both sleepy enough, they drive the way back to the building in a comfortable silence and then tuck themselves into bed together. Not a doubt in their minds this time that they will be spending the rest of the night sharing a pillow.

As he turns over in bed to face away from Minho, inviting him to wrap his arms around him, Jisung pretends not to see his journal on the desk unveiled from where he usually hides it beneath his drawings. He pretends not to see because he thinks that maybe it's a good thing that Minho found it. Jisung is always desperate to let people know what he feels. If he can say it, then he'll let him read it.

Notes:

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Chapter 24: hazelnut, please

Notes:

cw; explicit sexual content, use of the f-slur

Jisung's mother was the type to force Jisung into therapy when he was just twelve, sugarcoating it as something that would make him better even though she knew he hated it, even though it made no difference whatsoever. The type to not take the time to understand what made Jisung upset, instead chastising him for his tantrums when that was the only way he knew how to react. The type to constantly blame his behavior on his father.

The narcissistic type, in short.

Jisung fought a lot with his mother when he was younger. Now that he's almost fully grown up, thankfully, she no longer holds that power over him. Jisung has spent a lifetime angry at her, angry for never understanding that anger stems from deeper places, places that must be paid attention to. And that anger has yet to dissipate. When he moved to Seoul and left his family behind in Malaysia, it felt like a fresh start; now, when his mother calls, it's almost always motive for discussion because it reminds him of what it feels like to be an angry kid in a seemingly perfect household.

That day, his mother calls, and Jisung is back to sulking. His bad mood stretches on for a few days and it's not only because his mother called, but also because Minho has been very busy rehearsing lately, which means that he doesn't have half as much time to hang out. Jisung is not mad at him, of course (Minho has already applied for the scholarship, already started working at the froyo store; now what's left is making sure he doesn't get cut, hence, the hectic training), but he's certainly upset.

Today must be the first time in a few days that they can properly see each other for more than ten minutes ever since the last night they spent together. It still all feels like a hazy fever dream. Jisung is not even sure any of this is real, but whatever it is, he's enjoying it more than he lets on. Or... maybe he does let on. A bit too much.

He decides to go visit him at the froyo store. Bold move, he knows. Too boyfriend-y for his taste. But he would be lying if he said part of him doesn't miss him like crazy, and maybe it's because he's having a period-inspired depressive episode, but he needs him.

The night is warmer than it's been these last few days, so Jisung only wears a jacket on top of a white t-shirt he's pretty sure doesn't belong to him as he walks down the sidewalk to the corner at which the froyo store is located. Bright lights in shades of baby blue and pink shine from the interior and the big sign displaying the name of the place casts its glow on the sidewalk, adding to the night aesthetic of the main avenue of Seoul. 

The bell above the door dings when Jisung walks into the store. He immediately spots Minho behind the counter, wearing a gray t-shirt beneath a pink apron as a part of his uniform, along with a matching cap. He looks adorable as his head shoots up towards the door, and when he recognizes Jisung's pale face and pink cheeks, his hands folded into the pockets of his jacket, his hair ruffled because of the wind, Minho first frowns and then melts into a smile.

"Jisungie," he calls, his eyebrows high on his forehead. "What are you doing here?"

"I came for some froyo." Jisung shrugs. "Hazelnut, please."

Minho chuckles. "It's on me."

Jisung doesn't even like froyo, but he receives the little plastic cup with the dessert with a bright smile, only because it's Minho that's handing it to him. He watches the pink heart-shaped sprinkles powdered on top of the yoghurt, the little spoon tucked into it, and he feels drowsy with butterflies. He tries it and it's not half as bad as he remembers, even though it's still too cold. Minho watches him, his teeth dug down on his bottom lip.

"I get out in ten," he says, beckoning towards a table. "Wait for me?"

Jisung hums an absentminded response and takes a seat.

 

Jisung is not done with his froyo yet (he's a slow eater) when Minho approaches the table, changed back into his street clothes, and plops down on the chair across from him with a loud sigh. 

"Is that good?" he asks, rested on his fist, his eyes heavy and tired after an afternoon spent working.

Jisung takes a spoonful of the froyo and offers it to him. Minho takes into his mouth, then grimaces.

"Tart."

It is. Jisung chuckles through a mouthful, finally finishing the dessert and tucking the empty plastic cup and spoon on a corner of the table. He leans in, almost subconsciously. Like his body is drawn to Minho. A magnet, or a moth.

"Did you come here because you wanted to see me?" Minho asks with a faint smile. Jisung purses his lips and nods because he won't lie. He's not a liar. "You're adorable. Thank you for coming. I wanted to see you, too."

"Have you known anything about the scholarship?" he asks then, trying to divert the focus of attention from his very obvious down-bad-ism.

"Not yet." Minho shakes his head, "but these things usually take some time."

Jisung opens his mouth to say something, but Minho leans across the table and a plants a chaste kiss on his lips that effectively shuts him. Startled, Jisung blinks, the gesture so simple and mundane that it leaves butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

"Let's go," Minho tells him, beckoning with his head towards the door.

He gets up from the booth and Jisung follows behind him like a dog because wherever Minho is, that's where he wants to be. Minho pushes open the door and wraps a hand around Jisung's waist while he greets his co-workers goodbye with a polite bow, and Jisung almost pulls away. But Minho is warm and real and solid. Locked together, they step out onto the sidewalk.

"Do you want to spend the night with me today?" Minho asks all of a sudden, squeezing him possessively..

Jisung's head shoots towards him, his skin set ablaze. 

"Huh?" he mumbles out. "Like, how?"

"Like, sleep together." Minho shrugs. "Like a sleepover."

His arm is still clasped around Jisung's waist, keeping him close as they head back to the building, and Jisung wants to ask if they're a couple, but it doesn't feel like a precise question. It feels... vague, somehow. Like the concept of a couple wouldn't come close to describing what he really feels.

"Okay," he says at last. "But..."

"But, what?"

"I don't know." 

"I'm not using you," Minho tells him immediately, calmly, as if he'd known what he was thinking. "We won't do anything you don't want to do, Jisung. This isn't me asking for sex, or anything. I just want to sleep with you today." He turns and a smirk flashes across his lips. "You're really cuddly, too. Helps me sleep better."

That seems to take some weight off Jisung's shoulders, as he shines bright red in a matter of seconds. Minho squeezes his waist again in that manner of his that makes Jisung genuinely lose control over himself. 

Then, suddenly, from a group of three men walking in the opposite direction, one of them crashes into Minho. He looks up to apologize, but the man grimaces.

"Get out of the way, faggot," he barks out.

Minho and Jisung both blink in a sudden shock. The two remaining men laugh faintly and make to continue their way down the sidewalk, but Jisung's blood stills. Chills. Then boils. He reaches ebullition at top speed.

"Yah!" he exclaims, face burning hot with seething anger. "What did you just call him?"

The men slowly turn, sharing looks with each other. Minho grabs Jisung's arm from behind and tries to pull him back, tries to warn him not too get riled up over something so irrelevant, but Jisung already is angry. And when is he not?

"I called him a fucking faggot," the man replies, taking a step toward him. The word is poisonous. Jisung feels himself bristling at the idea that he, as of recently, is one too. "Can he speak for himself or does he need his little boyfriend to stand up for him?"

Jisung punches him. Just like that.

The man goes stumbling back due to the force of the blow, blood sputtering out of his nose, and within a second, before any of the three men can react, Jisung grabs Minho's hand and immediately starts running.

"What are you doing!" Minho shouts over the roaring wind.

"Just run!"

So they glide full speed down the sidewalk. The men shout after them and soon follow behind in a peak of rage, skipping past the few people on the streets with ease. Jisung doesn't let go of Minho, his veins coursing with ecstasy and adrenaline even though the men are at their heels and there are so many things that could go wrong. But Minho is nice to hold.

They find a certain distance from them and Jisung encounters a window of opportunity to tug Minho into a dark alley, so they hide out behind a set of folded fire stairs. Jisung pushes him roughly against the wall and then puts up the fold of his jacket, standing close to hide them both behind it. Shadows conceal them.

They pant heavily, close to one another. Jisung stares over his shoulder to make sure no one is after them, but Minho can only look at him in complete shock, the solid wall of his body suddenly seeming larger than it normally is. All encompassing.

A few seconds later, they hear the three men running past the alleyway; Jisung, Han doesn't let go.

"Are you crazy?" Minho whispers at last, breathless. Air trapped between them and the jacket hiding them from the outside world.

Jisung smiles as he looks into his eyes. Then, he chuckles lightly, taking a look at his swollen knuckles. He aims to take a step back, but Minho suddenly grabs at his shirt and pulls him back in to kiss him. 

It's not a surprise to Jisung this time, even though it still catches him off-guard. He grounds himself with a hand against the wall next to Minho's head and lets him kiss him deeply, holding onto his shirt, their bodies pressed against one another with the force and heat of a tumbling hearth.

Minho grabs Jisung's face to deepen the kiss. They both struggle to breathe, agitated due to their sprint and the weight of each other's lips, their tongues fighting for dominance and causing saliva to soak through. Minho tugs at Jisung's hair when he grows frustrated and Jisung can't keep a moan from escaping him, small and tiny, but loud enough that it echoes in the quiet alley.

"You have no idea how much you just turned me on. So, so much," Minho groans breathlessly when he pulls away, taking Jisung's bottom lip between his teeth and tugging lightly at it. Enough to rile him up. He hears him let out a rugged whimper. "C'mon."

Minho pushes Jisung away far enough to leave his place between his body and the wall. Jisung is left in shock, panting in the dark alley, watching Minho tuck his hands into the pockets of his jacket and walk out onto the sidewalk. Then, he looks at him over his shoulder and beckons with his head, and again, Jisung follows behind him like a dog. Lured in by the scent of food. By the taste of Minho's saliva. They travel the short way back to the building in a loaded silence.

At the fifth floor, on the corner that would normally separate their paths, Minho makes sure to keep a tight hold of Jisung's hand and lead them both to the latter's dorm. Then, he waits for him as he takes out his keys with shaky hands. None of them say a word. Minho treats this place like his own, leaving his shoes neatly arranged by the door, his jacket carefully folded on the rolling chair and his phone on the desk. He throws himself in bed with a groan and Jisung likes that he's here.

He's nervous as he takes off his boots, eyeing Minho lain on his belly on the bed with his eyes closed, features peacefully unwinded. His stomach is stirred and there's a pulsing ache on his gut.

He makes sure Minho isn't looking when he takes off his shirt and changes into his sleeping clothes. Luckily, Minho  doesn't make a sound, doesn't even move for a long while, enough to make Jisung start believing he might have fallen asleep (even though he still peaks at his naked body when he's not looking), so he takes the opportunity to brush his teeth, staring at him as he does, then finally stretch his sore arms and get into bed.

Minho opens an eye. 

"Can I borrow something to sleep in?" he asks.

Jisung, who thought he was asleep up until that very moment, lets out a yelp.

"Uh," he mumbles. "Sure. Just grab anything."

Minho jumps to his feet and opens the closet, finding himself a t-shirt and a pair of sleeping shorts (the ones that are most embedded in Jisung's scent). Jisung tries not to stare as he takes off his shirt and changes into the new clothes, but he can't help looking directly at his back muscles flexing when he moves. Powerful. Pristine. He turns over in bed and hugs his pillow because his stomach is tied into a knot and he can't breathe properly. 

Finally, Minho gets in bed next to him and slings an arm over his stomach, and Jisung becomes tense.

"Relax, Jisung-ah," he hears him chuckling as he traces his fingers lazily over his belly through his clothes.

But Jisung wouldn't be able to relax even if he wanted to because that's just the effect Minho has on him. He's still agitated and it's not because he punched someone, not because his knuckles are throbbingly sore, but more because he can feel his warm body behind him, he can sense him close, can smell his hair. More because his lips are still tingling from that damn kiss. Because he wants something from Minho and he's scared to say it.

Jisung turns around to face him and hopes that it's indicator enough of his desire. Minho opens his eyes to look at him, his lips parting because Jisung is close—closer than he's ever willingly been. 

"What?" Minho whispers. 

"I don't know," Jisung mumbles. And it's the truth. He doesn't know what he's doing.

Minho's eyes fall to his knuckles, which he takes between his fingers and kisses very softly.

"Thank you for defending me," he tells him. 

And Jisung only nods. He'd do it again, without a beat of hesitation. Minho rests his hand back down on the mattress and scoots closer to plant a soft, chaste kiss on his lips. Jisung receives it, his eyes feathering shut in the brief instant it takes for Minho to pull away, lips remaining still. When he does, he props a hand on Jisung's waist, strokes him very gently. Almost imperceptibly, but Jisung can feel it because he's acutely aware of all the parts of his body where Minho is touching him. Including their legs, tangled together in a knot. Again, Jisung gets that feeling that they're a couple, even though he's sure they're not.

"Have you ever been in a relationship?" he asks quietly all of a sudden when his curiosity gets the best out of him, thoughts deserting him.

"Not formally, no." Minho shakes his head. "I've had things with people, though."

Jisung looks away for a moment, as if deep in thought. Minho stares at him.

"Would you be in a relationship?" Jisung asks now. 

"Only with you," he replies.

The answer makes Jisung blow air behind his cheeks and pause because he doesn't know how to react, what to say. He knows Minho's words are not a proposal, merely the truth.

Hell, can Jisung even be in a relationship? Is he even gay? He doesn't like men, he likes Minho. But Minho has only known him for so long. He doesn't truly know him. Not all of him. What if, upon finding out, he decides it's not worth the effort?

A hand on his chin snaps him back to reality. Minho forces him to look into his eyes.

"I'm not asking you to be my boyfriend," he says, clearly noticing the panic that struck across Jisung's face. "We're moving at your pace, baby."

"Baby," Jisung coos, and Minho laughs, and then kisses him.

Minho will never grow used to this, to the feeling of Jisung's touch. It's true, they've only known each other for so long, but he became accustomed to the idea that Jisung's personal space is his and his only. Now that he's willingly inviting him into it, everything feels like a dream. 

Minho grabs Jisung's waist and pulls him in even closer because he won't waste the opportunity, feeling his body arching in response. Jisung sucks in a sharp breath through his nose and rests a gentle hand against his chest, not daring to do anything else. Simply letting him handle the situation, precarious though it feels.

Minho lifts himself on his side to prop Jisung on his back and be able to feel him fully. He opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, tasting their salivas intermingling when their tongues meet halfway through. He pushes Jisung's hair back with his fingers and brings him in even closer because it never feels like he's close enough, and it's a matter of seconds before they're both breathless, but they don't break apart. Not even to catch the missing breath. 

Jisung twitches in his pants and he subconsciously bucks his hips from the bed, only a little but enough for Minho to notice, so he rubs himself against him and delights in the faint whimpers he lets out into the kiss. The covers suddenly feel like too much, the temperature in the room raising quickly when the blood flows through Jisung's body all the way down. Minho chuckles and pulls away to look into his sparkling, round eyes. His own filled with fondness and adoration.

"Don't get greedy on me, Jisungie," he whispers.

Jisung frowns in offense. "I'm just—"

But Minho shuts him up with a kiss and Jisung obliges because he is, in fact, greedy. Desperately so. He's been greedy ever since that kiss in the alleyway, hasn't been able to keep himself from the thoughts running in his head. Makes him want to push some limits.

He feels then a hand slipping under his t-shirt. Jisung breathes heavily but tries to not flinch, letting Minho explore his bare skin that burns so hot with his arousal. He toys with his waistband, traces his muscles, runs a thumb over his nipples and gets his body to react to him in ways Jisung didn't know were possible, cock trapped inside his bries twitching in protest.

At last, Minho takes his hand off his body to tug at him and pull him onto a sitting position. Jisung complies and then lets him undress him, discarding the t-shirt somewhere on the floor. Slowly. Carefully. Jisung doesn't open his eyes because he knows he's shirtless now—instead, he tries to ignore his bare skin flaring with the heat he emanates and lets himself be touched.

Minho doesn't go back in to kiss him immediately. He cradles his jaw delicately, eyes fixed on his lips, and Jisung swallows dryly.

"I want to..." he begins in a shaky whisper, but he doesn't say anything else.

Jisung believes that's his cue. "Me, too."

Minho's head bolts up in his direction, eyes flaring with a hidden glint. "You do?"

"Yes." 

"Are you sure?"

Jisung nods. Minho pauses. "Okay."

And nervously, Jisung gulps. Minho pushes him back to lie on the bed and goes back in to kiss him. A little softer this time, equally passionate but slower, more intimate. Then, very gently, he grabs Jisung's hand and places it on his own chest. 

Below his shirt, Jisung feels his toned muscled against his fingertips, flexing as Minho hovers on top of him. He breathes heavily, slowly starting to trace his fingers along his torso, truly feeling the power store inside his body for the first time. Minho, too, seems to struggle with his breathing, panting into the kiss, his body twitching in response to the gentle strokes.

Jisung doesn't know what he's doing, but something spurs him on. He traces his hand down Minho's navel, all the way to his lower belly, feeling him tense up and let out long breaths through his nose, as if trying to control himself. Then, like he needed it, Jisung slips a hand under his t-shirt and lifts it up.

Minho understands what he wants, so he kneels and takes his shirt off. Jisung watches him with his tongue rested on the inside of his cheek as Minho's upper body is fully exposed to him, and then, when Minho leans back down to kiss him, he touches his toned muscles very gently and delights in the feeling of his warm skin. Even though he's never done it before, even though he truly has no idea what he plans to do, he slips a hand into Minho's pants and feels him over his boxers.

Minho breaks away from the kiss to look at him, quickly glancing down between their bodies at where his hand gets lost inside his pants. Eyes wide, chest heaving. Jisung grips him gently, stroking him through the fabric of his boxers, and Minho has a hard time summoning his self-control because he knows they're moving slowly for a reason, but God, does he need more. Jisung stares at him attentively, gauging his expression, suddenly feeling confident that he can get him to react.

"Fuck," Minho moans under his breath, filled by a pulsing ecstasy. 

Jisung can measure the size of him only with his hand and it already scares him. He's certainly bigger than himself. Minho bites down on his lip and finally meets his eye again, his hand finding his sleeping shorts. 

"Please, let me take these off," he begs, almost pathetically.

Jisung feels him tugging at the shorts and he's pretty sure he knows what's next, but the idea still makes his stomach turn. He's not sure he's ready—he only knows he's painfully hard and the way Minho looks at him is not helping in the least. Maybe he's not really ready. But he wants to.

"Yes," he says without thinking too much into it. Relying on the unrealistic thought that he'll be able to say no if it comes down to it.

"It's okay?" Minho asks.

Jisung nods more confidently this time because whatever it is Minho wants to do, he wants it, too. Minho leans in to plant a soft kiss on his jaw.

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispers.

"I won't hold it against you," Jisung replies.

Minho clicks his tongue. "Don't say that."

"I mean it."

"I don't wanna feel like I'm forcing you."

Jisung pauses and shakes his head. "You're not."

Minho doesn't answer. He begins kissing his way down his bare chest, holding his waist carefully. He bites him softly and licks him until his skin is covered in blurry marks and only then does he finally make to undress him. Jisung glances down at him, stomach roiling in anticipation when Minho hooks his fingers over the waistband of his shorts and promptly tugs them down.

Jisung swallows as he's stripped from the last remaining piece of clothing that was covering him. He doesn't know how to feel. His stomach is in a knot and he could probably be better off fully clothed and sleeping in peace, but he's so desperate that he can't stop right now, not for anything. So he lets Minho do whatever he wants. Almost like it's not what he's been doing so far, ever since they met. 

When his shorts are off, Minho bites down on his lip at the sight of Jisung's completely naked body. He stares up into his eyes for a second before his hand traces down his stomach and wraps around his erection, and Jisung's breathing staggers. Minho circles his leaking tip with his thumb, free hand softly caressing Jisung's bare thigh, and Jisung can't help but whimper.

"I don't have a condom."

Jisung is too enthralled. "I don't care."

Minho clicks his tongue in disapproval. "We can't just—"

"Yes, we can," he insists. "Are you clean?"

Minho blinks up at him, eyes riddled with puzzlement. "I am."

"Then I don't care."

Minho thins his lips, something about Jisung's request feeling oddly reckless. And he knows he should say no. But he can't.

"C'mon, hyung," Jisung whines, Minho's hand still stroking him sending him into override. "Please, I need you."

Minho doesn't know where his confidence comes from, but it makes his dick jump in his brief. Heady. Breathless.

"Don't say it like that, Jisung..." he tells him.

Jisung gets a kick out of knowing Minho likes to hear him beg, so he repeats it. "Please," he says. "Please, please, please."

Minho looses a soft groan and falls back over Jisung to kiss him, and Jisung welcomes him warmly. Gladly. Almost far too eager. He tries for a moment to regain control over himself, but he doesn't need to—Minho's fingers are slipping into his mouth, and almost like a natural reaction, he sucks on them. He hears Minho whimpering softly in his ear.

"That's good, baby," he whispers into his neck. "I'll prep you first, yeah?"

Jisung doesn't ask, doesn't care. Let Minho do as he pleases. He'll take whatever he has to give. 

He swirls his tongue on Minho's fingers until they're slick with saliva and then Minho removes them from his mouth. Jisung preens when he feels him fondling his ass, then a single finger of his traces the rim of his entrance. Jisung gasps.

"Relax. I'll just stretch you out so it doesn't hurt," Minho coos in his ear, kissing his lobe softly. Jisung's body trills. "One at a time, baby. Don't worry."

The words are comforting, so Jisung welcomes Minho's first finger with ease, the slick of his own saliva making the push easier. It's strange at first. Intrusive. Minho moves his finger softly in and out and Jisung squirms. Clenches. Grips Minho's back and swallows tight.

"You're so tight, Jisungie," Minho tells him, and it feels like a praise, so Jisung relaxes. "So good."

Slowly, it becomes nice. Pleasant. Minho continues to fuck him with one finger until he deems it fit to introduce another one, and the new stretch is deliciously overwhelming. A bit painful too, but Jisung can handle it. He wills his body to relax and allows small, staggering moans to leak from his mouth into Minho's ear.

"Minho, I want you inside me..." he whispers with unusual confidence, words slipping out of him unattended. Minho shudders.

"Not yet, Jisungie. Just a moment."

He adds on another finger and Jisung arches from the bed, the wet squelching resounding in the room seconded by the thrum of the sounds escaping his throat. Minho curls and scissors inside him and Jisung trembles, the feeling unnatural, wrong in a way, but so good. Jisung is greedy. He wants more. 

"God," Minho breathes out, nuzzling into his hair as Jisung focuses on digging his nails into his back. "God, Jisungie... you smell so good."

"Min—Minho," he moans. Minho squeezes his waist in response and Jisung tightens his legs around him. "Minho, please..."

"Stop begging like that, Jisung. You're gonna make me come just listening to you."

Jisung's hard cock leaks precum onto Minho's stomach, bobbing and rubbing uselessly trapped between their bodies. He feels himself swollen, throbbing, in desperate need of release, and Minho's lewd mouth could certainly trigger his orgasm. But Jisung holds himself back because he wants to know what it's like to have Minho inside him. For real this time.

"I can't take it much longer, hyung," he whispers. "I'm gonna come... I wanna come with—with you inside me, Minho,"

Minho clicks his tongue and his smile is audible on his voice. "Where'd you get such a dirty mouth, Jisung? So impatient, too."

It's mocking, somehow, but Minho still pulls out his fingers, straightens up and works to tug down his sweatpants. The loss of him inside him supposes an emptiness of astronomical proportions, so Jisung whines, and Minho smirks down at him in turn.

"Greedy," he claims as his erection springs free.

A hand flies to wrap around it and start stroking himself, and Jisung swallows at the sight of him. Red, swollen, tip pink with leaking precum making a mess of his shaft. He watches the vein along the underside of his cock, throbbing and begging for attention, and Jisung's body arches toward him. Needy. Minho's eyes are all over him, lips parted, pupils blown.

"You're so..." he sighs. "So, so beautiful."

And Jisung preens in return. He watches Minho angle his head and let a single dribble of saliva leak from his mouth onto his cock, and he spreads it with his hand across his shaft before leaning back down to hover over him. Jisung grips the bedding and stares into his eyes.

"Tell me to stop if it hurts, will you?" Minho asks him.

Jisung feels his wet tip prodding on his entrance and his breath stumbles. Then, Minho is pushing himself inside him, and Jisung is gasping, and everything is spinning.

Jisung yelps at the feeling of being stretched out to fit his size, the prep making it less painful but feeling scarce in the face of Minho's size. Minho groans out loud as he slips inside, inch by inch. He gets lost in the feeling. He's not even fully inside him yet it already feels terribly good, Jisung so tight around him it sends him into override.

"Oh, fuck," he whispers, face buried into Jisung's neck.

"Min—Minho," Jisung mumbles. His voice is tiny, weak. He grips Minho's shoulders and squeezes his eyes shut, and he almost starts crying when absolute gut-wrenching pleasure rips through him.

Minho shudders. Breathes, loud and long. Jisung could melt in his strong arms.

Once Minho is buried deep inside him, slotted between Jisung's legs wound tight around him, he gives him a second to adjust to the new feeling by leaning in to press his forehead against his. Heat overcomes him, sweat beading at his chest. 

"How are you so tight?" he breathes out heavily, genuinely about to combust. "I just prepped you."

Jisung comes undone in little whimpers. Minho kisses his shoulders in an attempt at soothing him.

"Does it hurt?" he asks.

"No," Jisung tells him. It's only half a lie. It hurts only a little. Not enough to make him care.

Minho nods in approval, wraps an arm around him, and slowly begins moving, very gently but still causing Jisung to grip down on the bedding. Hearing him melting in low moans and groans keeps Jisung from flying up into a cloud of ecstasy, pleasure blinding him, clogging his pores. He clenches around Minho and holds on tight, and he genuinely feels he could stay this way forever.

Slowly, as Minho finds a rhythm, Jisung becomes accustomed to the feeling. No longer so intrusive, but more like beautifully pleasant.

Minho can't keep himself together, the feeling so overwhelming. His saliva makes slipping in and out easier and he has to control himself not to get too carried away, if only because he's scared to hurt the delicate boy in his arms. Jisung clenches around him with every thrust so Minho grips his hips to better steady himself, but he still feels weak inside.

Soon enough, he picks up pace and the room is filled with the sounds of their slapping skins when he begins fucking him harder, Jisung's moans reverberating, loud and unyielding. 

Jisung presses his face into the crook of Minho's neck and Minho squeezes him in return, thrusting into him faster by the second, becoming greedy for the pleasure that courses through his body. His skin slowly becomes covered in sweat, a pool of heat forming at the bottom of his spine when he feels his orgasm start to build up within him. The prick of Jisung's nails gliding in aching paths down his bare back makes him moan and he pulls away long enough to plant a soft kiss on Jisung's lips and watch his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

Jisung's cock bobs between their bodies with every thrust, the springs of the mattress creaking beneath them. He leaks precum from his tip and tosses his head back, fucked silly, feeling his soft skin of Minho on top of him exude heat. Minho kisses him, sloppy and wet, full of craving need and Jisung is over the moon.

Minho's groans are low, his thrusts quicker now, causing Jisung's moans to come out unbridled and loud enough that he's sure anyone that's close by is able to hear it. In fact, he grows so loud Minho breaks away from the kiss to slap a hand over his mouth, quieting him down and keeping him steady at the same time.

Jisung can barely stay upright when Minho leans down to carve one, two, three hickeys on his neck, taking advantage of his vulnerability to mark him. Appropriate him. Make him his. He fucks him hard and fast and keeps him silent and Jisung knows he'd choose this any day over being treated softly, delicately.

His brain is blank, Minho's scent embedded in his nose. Jisung bites down on his shoulder and leaves behind the imprint of his teeth upon the salty skin. Then, when Minho has made sure the marks on Han's neck are visible, he pushes back and holds his hips to properly ram into him. 

He keeps up the pace and grips him when he comes, burying himself deep inside him, his stumbling moans becoming a little higher, a little more choked. He squeezes Jisung's hips so hard they turn red, surely bruised, and then bends over him, sweat soaking his body. Jisung swallows and yelps at the sound of Minho's weak whimpers, feeling him twitch inside him as he spills inside him ropes of hot cum. His orgasm hits him out of nowhere.

Minho kisses Jisung's earlobe as he rides out his high, snaking the tip of his nose along the curve of his jaw, whispering in his ear.

"You did great, baby," he tells him in a breathy whisper, and Jisung can barely hear him, but his body still trills.

He hums weakly in response, feeling Minho kiss his temple and his shoulder before they finally settle in the quiet. He's frail and heavy by utter exhaustion, but the weight of Minho on top of him is warm and lovely.

"Let's take a shower, yeah?" Minho suggests, and as Jisung in no condition to reply, he just nods.

When Minho slips out from inside him, Jisung winces, sore and stretched and leaking his cum onto the sheets beneath him. Minho helps him up and walks behind him to the bathroom, where he washes his hands and keeps him upright as he undresses him. They stand so close they both fit on the bath mat; Minho turns on the shower and wipes the hair from Jisung's sweaty face with a faint grin and a glow cast on his dainty features. 

Once they're both under the hot spray, Jisung leans into Minho's chest and closes his eyes. Minho doesn't become so surprised this time, but he still flutters.

"Are you tired?" he asks him.

Jisung groans. "My ass hurts."

Minho can't help but laugh. The bathroom is quickly filled with steam, the mirror and the shower screen becoming foggy with vapor. Minho washes Jisung's hair with unmatched delicacy, then kisses him for a long while against the wall, the hot water sliding down the burning scratches on his back as he does so, their bodies wet and flush against one another until they start feeling cold and finally call it a night.

When Jisung complains about the large mesh of bruises lined along the left side of his neck and shoulder, Minho apologizes with a kiss and then blowdries his hair with gentle fingers. Jisung wears a bathrobe and Minho wears only a towel around his hips as the latter watches him attentively. Toothpaste foam froths from Minho's mouth. Jisung counts the muscles on his naked torso, watching the water droplets sliding down his golden skin, getting trapped on the wrinkles of soft fat wrapped around his body, hair still damp. Then, they get dressed and get into bed together. 

Jisung lets himself be hugged this time. He faces away from Minho and soon feels a hand slinking around his stomach, unhesitant, confident, affectionate. He breathes out shakily at first, but then Minho's warm chest is up against his back, his body molding to fit his, and Jisung has never slept in this position with anyone, but this feels an awful lot like a place he wouldn't mind hanging around in for a bit. His skin is marked and his body feels like one big, heavy anvil, but he's at peace. And that night, even though he's been having trouble sleeping for weeks on end, he rests easy, listening to Minho's breathing on his ear, feeling his soft hand under his shirt, his body embracing him like no one's ever done before. Lost counting the beats of his heart. Fucked silly into next week, then gently kissed and cuddled into a quiet sleep free of haunting nightmares.

Chapter 25: do you get it now?

"Minho."

Silence.

"Minho hyung."

Minho opens an eye and hums a vague response. Jisung shifts. 

"I, uh..."

"Talk quickly or I'm going back to sleep." 

"It's just... you're..." Jisung clears his throat awkwardly. "Um, you have a situation."

He squirms in his place. All of a sudden, Minho bolts up into a sitting position, dragging himself away from where Jisung lies on his side with a hand squeezing the front of his pants in a panic.

"Shit," he mumbles immediately, looking away to hide the bright shade of red his face is turning. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Jisung glances at him over his shoulder as Minho calms himself down, adjusting his tenting pants.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't— I sometimes wake up with—"

Jisung returns his gaze elsewhere, facing away from him, and his silence makes Minho's words slowly fade. Thrum of his heartbeat trailing off into an inconsequential beat.

"I don't mind," Jisung tells him.

Minho nods, red with embarrassment, but slowly schooling himself into calm. When he's sure the bulge in his pants has toned down, he silently scoots closer to press his chest against Jisung's back and hug him. Jisung stiffens in his grip and Minho watches him closely, nuzzled into his neck, breathing quietly in his ear.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks.

Jisung hums a response, then says, "You?"

Minho nods. The air is sweet. He doesn't know what time it is, but the sun is already out and shining faintly through the open window, dust particles flowing in the orange light cast through the frame. His eyes find the clothes discarded on the bedroom floor and his mind travels back to last night. 

He doesn't ask when he tugs him in further into the embrace, smelling his soft hair where the scent of conditioner still dallies from last night. Jisung slowly melds into the hug, although he doesn't reciprocate the warmth with which Minho holds him.

"Are you okay?" Minho asks.

Jisung takes a moment.

"I'm," he begins, "fine."

Minho braces himself on an elbow, straightening up to look at him with pinched brows. He slips a hand under the bedding, under Jisung's shirt, and squeezes his waist.

"Sung-ah," he calls, morning voice hoarse and raspy. "Are you sure? You sound—"

Jisung rips Minho's hand off him and turns back around. "I said I'm fine."

The gesture makes Minho pause. Weigh his options. He blinks rapidly, trying to suss out exactly what went wrong.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asks softly. "Is it about last night?"

"Can you just go? I have stuff to do."

Minho is at a loss. "Like, right now?"

Jisung pauses for a moment, like taking notice of the true sharpness of his tone.

"Uhm," he mumbles, never turning to look at him, "yeah. I'm sorry."

Minho is terrified that he might have made Jisung uncomfortable in any way. His thoughts race back, reliving the past twelve hours of their life, trying to pinpoint the specific moment in time in which things went wrong. If Minho ever missed an instance in which Jisung seemed like he wasn't into it. If Jisung ever looked like he didn't want to. If Minho unknowingly forced him into something he wasn't humoring. 

"O—Okay," he stammers out. "But... we'll talk later, right?"

Jisung faces away from him and doesn't say anything else. Minho thins his lips, smacks them. Doesn't further push. Instead, he slowly gets up and scrambles to get changed.

He stares at Jisung's bare back as he does, at the bruises and hickeys and teeth marks lined along his neck, partly concealed by the bedding bunched up all around him. There's a pit settled in his stomach. He's waiting for Jisung to say something, to tell him that he actually wants him to stay, that he's just being impulsive the way he usually is, but he never does. At some point, Jisung grabs his phone and Minho gets the feeling he only does it to to avoid having to look at him. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" he insists.

Jisung hums a vague response. Minho watches him, concerned, as he slips into his shoes.

"I'll see you later?" he asks again, standing by the door, ready to go but really, really repelling the idea.

Jisung looks up at him, only for a brief instant over the edge of his phone. Passionlessly says, "I'll try."

Minho presses his lips into a line and nods, though halfheartedly. At last, he leaves, closing the door behind him, his head down. 

"You'll try?" he echoes once he's alone. "What do you mean try?"

Minho clicks his tongue. His heart is in his throat not out of fear, but out of concern. An anxious pit.

He makes to go back to his dorm, to either sleep it off until it's time for breakfast or shower his thoughts away, but the click of a door next to him announces Hyunjin, who comes out of the room right at that very moment. Upon meeting each other's eyes, they both freeze.

Hyunjin first frowns at the sight of Minho leave Jisung's dorm so early in the morning. Then, he remembers the noises he heard last night and something inside him falls into place.

"Uh," Minho mumbles, then lifts a hand in an awkward wave, "hi."

"Morning," Hyunjin drawls lazily, giving him a once-over. Searching his body for evidence of last night, to prove he's not crazy. 

Minho hooks a thumb over his shoulder, feeling the need to explain himself even though no one really asked. "I was just... dropping something off."

"Yeah." Hyunjin nods suspiciously. "Of course."

"Are you... heading for breakfast?" Minho asks, trying to shake the shifting nerves that have overcome him. Shift the focus away from the fact that he just came out of Jisung's dorm room after fucking and getting ghosted.

Hyunjin nods. "Wanna come?"

Minho glances over his shoulder hesitantly at the closed door of Jisung's dorm. Maybe he's waiting for it to suddenly burst open, for Jisung to come out and pull him back in. But he huffs, because it won't happen: if Jisung quite literally kicked him out only ten seconds ago, then what's left to do now other than wait?

"Sure."

Hyunjin smiles a tight-lipped smile and they ride down the elevator together. He notes Minho is quieter than usual, but he doesn't ask about it because his mind is focused on replaying his sleepless night spent listening to the insanely loud moaning that came from next door. Now, upon this random encounter, so many things make a lot of sense. The hickeys on Jisung's neck, the shared touches when they think no one is looking, the reason why Minho seems to be the only person Jisung actually deigns to speak to for more than five minutes on a sitting. Hyunjin never paid too much attention to any of it, dismissing it as unimportant, but if only he'd known they were sleeping together, he would've connected the dots much earlier. He feels a little stupid now.

The little words they exchange are tight and awkward. They both know the other knows exactly what went down last night and it's awkward because they're friends, but they're not intimately close. They're actually not friends at all yet, merely bandmates. Saying something about it is as uncomfortable as not mentioning it at all.

Last night was amazing, but now Minho feels a little embarrassed that everyone within a two mile radius must have heard them. Especially because he got literally kicked out today morning after everything. Maybe he's a little mad about that, too.

"Are you planning on rehearsing today?" Hyunjin asks after a long while of awkward silence. The trip to the cafeteria is feeling especially long today.

"Not really. What about you?"

"No. Me, either." Hyunjin shakes his head. "Maybe we could go out for a snack later."

The proposal seems to lighten the ambience. Minho was planning to save his day in case Jisung decided he wanted to hang out with him later, but he comes to understand that he can't dedicate his life to the matter. He might pop by his dorm later tonight and talk out whatever needs to be talked out—if there even is something and he isn't just overthinking. That might be enough.

There's a question lingering in the back of his mind. Wandering aimlessly.

Should he be the one feeling used now?

Minho shakes his head to himself.

"Sure," he replies at last. "There's a place that sells good hotteok nearby. I can drive us."

Hyunjin is glad the conversation feels less loaded now, attention diverted, so he smiles in relief. "Of course."

They get to the cafeteria, grab their meals on separate trays, and join the members that are already breaking their fast on the large table. Hyunjin and Minho sit next to each other on their usual spots, the latter eyeing warily the empty seat across from him that belongs to jisung.

"Good news," Bang Chan announces as soon as he sees him. He grabs Minho's shoulder and squeezes it. "You were given the scholarship."

It takes Minho a second to understand what that means. He's too focused branching theory after theory of what exactly is going on with Jisung to even remember he applied for a scholarship less than a week ago.

Then, as soon as he realizes, his eyes go wide. 

"Really?" he coos.

"Yeah. I just got an email." Chan smiles. "Congratulations."

Minho's mind is momentarily wiped of everything. Filled with a raging ecstasy, he gets up from the table in an eager jump and reverently bows at the waist, as low as he can to showcase his full respect. Chan laughs.

"Thank you so much, Bang Chan hyung," Minho exclaims with his head still as far down as he can. "I mean it. Thank you."

"That's okay. Sit back down."

Minho can't keep the smile from his face as he takes a seat back at the table and dives into his breakfast. For a while there, he even forgets why he was upset in the first place. Even though Jisung is up sulking in his dorm, Minho has plans for the day and he has a scholarship paying for his training fee. Rehearsals are going well, too. Things are slowly falling into place. God forbid he gets eliminated on the showcase next week.

 

"You were right," Hyunjin tells Minho through a mouthful. "These are excellent."

"See?" Minho nods in agreement, tasting the pancakes that are warm in comparison to the cold wind that blows outside. It looks like it will rain today. "I found this place as soon as I moved here some months ago. They make the best hotteok."

Hyunjin nods and dusts off crumbs from his fingers to focus his full attention on Minho.

"Can I ask you something?" he puts forth.

Minho licks remnants of syrup from his lips. "What?"

"You and Han," Hyunjin asks warily, "are you, like... a thing?"

Minho looks at him; his eyes say nothing. Then, he shakes his head.

"No," he denies confidently. "Why?"

Hyunjin frowns. "Oh, I—I thought..."

But Minho shakes his head again. Truthfully, he hasn't yet discussed the terms of the whatever it is they have with Jisung and he doesn't want to screw it up by ventilating it, so he'd rather keep it a secret until they're on the same page—clearly, right now, they're not.

 "We're just friends," he assures. 

"You know that's still, like, a lot, right?" Hyunjin chuckles.

"What? Being friends with him?" he asks, and Hyunjin nods. "It's easy if you're trying hard enough."

"What made you so interested in him?" Hyunjin enquires, sipping from his cup of coffee. "I mean, Jisung doesn't just make friends."

Minho laughs. Shrugs. "I don't judge a teenager for being angry. Aren't they all, anyway? When you have at least a little understanding on how emotions work, you start realizing Jisung doesn't just act like that because it pleases him. People can be angry for all sorts of things."

Hyunjin nods. "And some people are just assholes."

"He's not one of them," he assures. "He's sweeter than you could imagine."

Hyunjin doesn't see it. Like, at all. He's known Jisung for years—that sweet boy Minho talks about sounds like something fabricated out of a dream. But he doesn't wish to discuss the topic, so he only sips from his coffee in silence, trying to imagine a world in which Jisung truly is as pleasant as Minho makes him seem.

"You don't need to answer. I'm just curious to know," he says now. "Are you into men?"

Minho nods, unbothered by the question. "Yes."

"Oh." Hyunjin nods. 

There's silence for a moment before Minho straightens up on his seat.

"But enough about this, anyway. Finish your pancakes so we can go for a walk," Minho tells him. "I wanna go to the park."

 

Jisung finds out that Minho is out with Hyunjin through Felix, who mentions it on the passing while the bunch sits in the common area. At the mention, Jisung looks up from his lap for the first and only time. The sudden bit of information catches his attention. Leaves him wondering.

After today morning—after last night—things feel too different. Not only because he's still sore (he's been having trouble finding a comfortable position to sit in for a while, not to mention the fact that he's been clothed under layers and layers simply to hide the love bites upon his skin) but also because he feels he's exceeded a limit he wanted to exceed, but isn't sure he was ready to. Being in his body is awkward, as if he's transgressed and changed because of it. And it's true, he is changed. But maybe that's exactly what frightens him the most.

Part of him is glad Minho isn't here right now. Even though the fact he's hanging out with Hyunjin doesn't exactly sit right with him, as long as that means he doesn't have to face him, he's content with whatever. 

He knew this would happen. He had that feeling all throughout yesterday, that sensation that everything they did was too fast, too much. They walked the sidewalks hugged to each other then went back to the dorm and had sex—like a couple. He didn't stop it then because it felt quite good, but when he woke up this morning and he realized that everything actually did happen, that he was laying in bed, that Minho was clinging to his back, that it wasn't all just a dream, the world seemed to slow into a heartbeat. His skin became itchy with the need to pull apart as far away as possible and he couldn't keep himself from it. 

Maybe it's about time he allows himself to have something good in his life, but there's always that daunting feeling that torments him that he doesn't deserve what comes his way. Part of it is fear, a crippling terror that he might not be the one to end up hurt, but Minho. He would never wish for that to happen. The other great part, sadly, is filled with disgust. Not for Minho—for himself.

He feels dirty. He tried to shower it off today. Scrub every inch of his body raw. Rid his skin of the feeling of having been touched, yet he couldn't. In spite of his best efforts, the hickeys still sat on his skin and so did Minho's scent, embedded in his pores like cement. Weighing him down. Slurring his speech.

It makes him wonder—truly wonder—what is it that's so inherently wrong with him. Jisung has always known about it, always felt it, but he never took the time to actually label it. Something is so viscerally rotten within him, because what kind of person yearns to live in misery? What kind of person, except for him, rejects the one thing that can genuinely give him peace? A peace he's been seeking for years. Peace of mind.

Sex is supposed to feel good. He's read it described in books, seen it depicted in movies. He's heard Chan talk about it like it's something nice. Pleasant. And it was. But not today. Not anymore. He's dirty.

Jisung shakes his head to himself, the ongoing conversation drowned out all around him as he's deep in thought. Damn Lee Minho for thinking making him have feelings for him would ever be a good idea. 

Then, when Minho suddenly walks into the room, Jisung wonders whether he might have accidentally summoned him. But as they are greeted by the bunch, his eyes quickly fall on Hyunjin, who peeks in behind him, and the jealousy does settle in this time. He clenches his hands into fists, tightens his jaw and puts his head down to avoid having to look at any of them, because in his head, all he can picture is Minho fucking into Hyunjin the way he fucked into him last night, and it disgusts him.

Minho catches sight of him across the room and feels a lump tighten in his throat.

Jisung doesn't care to greet either of them the way the rest of the members do. Not even when Minho sits next to him on the couch, obviously taking into account the hood of the sweatshirt Jisung wears, the jacket on top, all just to cover up the bruises he left on him last night. He sits as close as he can, trying to feel him, feel for contact of any sort, but Jisung doesn't look up to meet his eye and Minho gets the feeling that something is terribly wrong.

The conversation keeps on going for a few minutes. Neither of them take part and no one seems to notice, the ambience in the common room too lively for them to realize—save for Hyunjin. Minho's eyes are always on Jisung, the question fervent on his tongue, tickling with the need to come out. Then, when Changbin claims it's time to go work out and takes Bang Chan along with him, the group slowly disperses, each with their own excuse.

As the common room empties out, Jisung is quick to get on his feet and rush out second to last, but he doesn't make it to the door when a hand on his wrist stops him. He doesn't need to turn to know who it belongs to, but soon enough, he realizes they are the only ones left in the room. 

"Stop avoiding me," Minho tells him, his voice stern, yet laced with a certain wary softness.

Jisung finds his eyes for the first time. "I'm not avoiding you."

"What's up with you?"

"Nothing's up with me. I'm just not in the mood for this."

"For what? Looking at me? Talking to me?" Minho questions, growing more and more confused by the second. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No."

"Then, what? We were fine last night, the next second you're kicking me out and now—" Minho chokes up and stops to lower the tone of his voice. "Please. If I did something wrong, tell me so I can make it right. I don't like this."

Jisung puckers his lips. "I'm just fucking tired, okay? Can you drop it?"

"Are you upset that we had sex?" Minho enquires now, running out of coherent explanations.

"No!"

"Then why won't you even look to me?"

Jisung snatches his hand away from his grip and takes a step back, opening a distance between them that makes Minho's heart clench. His heartbeat is fast in his chest and he feels he could cry of frustration, but it's been a while since the last time he cried.

"Please, just stop. Okay? Stop pushing it. I'm done."

Minho now scowls. "What are you even talking about?"

There's a silence between them. Then, his voice becomes soft.

"Is this you tryna to push me away?" he asks. "Is that what you're doing? Are we going too fast?"

Jisung shakes his head. "You're making me sick, Minho."

"What? What did I do?" Minho exclaims. He tightens his jaw. Tries to keep his composure before he lashes out. "I think you're just scared of being honest, so you're being an asshole to cover that up."

"You don't know me! Okay? You know nothing about me but what you assume, so stop talking about me like you do! One night together doesn't mean you get to crawl into my life and start expecting things from me."

"Why do you think I expect something from you?"

Jisung's bottom lip trembles because Minho is right and he's running out of things to say. He wishes he would stop being so damn understanding, because he can't possibly explains that he feels disgusted. That he can't possibly live in his body anymore. Jisung sighs. He wished a few times during the day that it didn't have to come down to this.

"I don't wanna be with you," he states. "I don't. I really don't. I don't want you to fix me or kiss me or have sex with me. I don't want anything from you. I don't wanna talk to you either. I'm not a project. I don't want you to be the hero that swoops in and saves me to get clapped in the back and then move on to the next best person." Minho opens his mouth to say something, but Jisung cuts him off. "Having sex with me then going off with Hyunjin to wherever? When you know how I feel about him. And then you have the balls to tell me you're not using me for sex."

"Jisung—"

"Shut up! I know what you're doing, Minho, and I don't care. I don't know what story you made up in your head, but I don't like you and I don't wanna be with you. So will you please just leave me alone?"

Silence follows his words. Minho stares at Jisung. Tears sting his eyes.

"Wow," he whispers at last, the word aborted, choked. 

Jisung purses his lips. Tries to pretend he doesn't regret every single word that just came out of his mouth.

"Do you get it now? Is it clear enough?"

The silence is tense between them, enough that Minho is dizzy with the pressure on his skull. Jisung can see the estelle of tears glistening in his eyes, the way he tries to blink them away, and it breaks his heart a little. But, at last, Minho shakes his head.

"Yeah," he says. "I get it."

"Good."

This time, Minho doesn't try to run after him as he leaves the room.

As soon as he's alone, Jisung feels his own eyes itching with the need to cry, but he doesn't allow himself that pleasure—he's not deserving of it. Showing Minho what he truly is is all that it took to prove his point: that no matter how hard anyone can try, no one can—and no one should—have to withstand the raging mess he has always been. He's an asshole. He's a bad person, he's well aware. But at last, somewhere deep inside him, he feels a sense of righteousness. A sense that, in pushing Lee Minho away, he saved him from an endless misery that he wouldn't want anyone to go through. Especially not him. Especially not the only person who's ever tried to understand him. The only one he's ever allowed himself to fall in love with. Who made him feel cherished and got in return nothing but disgust.

Notes:

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Chapter 26: he smells nice

The day before the third showcase, two weeks after, the members of Stray Kids decide to gather together for some lunch outside the building for the first time in a long while. It's a rare occurence to find the eight of them at once in a same place as they usually go out in smaller groups, but Chan insisted for a few days on a row that everybody made some time for this and he became so persistent that eventually, not even Jisung could reject the offer.

He's not busy, per se. More so, he's keeping himself busy. Going out every day, rehearsing for nights on a row, eating his four meals out in cheap restaurants—anything at all that will help him spend as little time inside the building as possible, as he runs the risk of running into Minho at every turn he takes. It's only been two weeks since they last spoke and Jisung has been practically fully successful in avoiding him, so much he could almost say he's getting used to being back to living his old life. 

Except that's not true. Like, at all.

Not seeing him around, seeing him only from a distance, has been the only reason why Jisung has managed to keep himself so grounded, but he knows the moment he's forced to face him, all he's been working to achieve will crumble down in an instant. It will take all his self-control to keep himself from looking past the security boundaries he set himself not to throw it all over the board—it already does.

Today might just be the day that happens.

Jisung sits at the edge of the bed, his hands rested on his lap. He taps his fingers anxiously against his knees as he stares at the bottle of perfume that has been standing on his desk for days on end, unused, untouched. Now that Minho isn't in the picture anymore, who would he want to smell good for? 

But.

He's faced with a bit of a very big doubt about whether he should spray some on or not. He's divided between what he considers ethical and the small part of him that wants, so bad. Smelling good specifically for Minho would be like trashing these past two weeks of effort and constant suffering, but he also doesn't want to become stuck in a situation where he's forced to stand within arm's length of him and he's not wearing any perfume. Smelling of himself only. Even though they're not a thing anymore, that doesn't mean Jisung doesn't care what Minho thinks of him.

But if he does this for him, what will have been the goal of these past two weeks? If he was just going to throw it all away, what was the purpose of saying all those things; those awful, hurtful things, most of which he didn't even mean? It's like erasing the pathway he's been meticulously carving with his own hands.

But. Yet again.

Jisung shakes his head. He's supposed to be downstairs in five minutes so Changbin can drive him to the restaurant and he's not even halfway through consuming this hesitation of his. He curses under his breath, fetches his keys from the table and leaves the room without sparing one more glance at the bottle.

However, he doesn't even make it a step before he turns on his heel, gets back into his dorm, and hastily bathes himself in rainfall of vanilla perfume.

Internally cussing himself out for being so damn weak, Jisung hurries the way down to the lobby, where Changbin welcomes him impatiently. As soon as he's close enough, the older boy frowns and sniffs him.

"Are you wearing girl perfume?" he asks.

Jisung looks at him, eyes unpleasantly wide as saucers. "This is not girl's perfume! It's vanilla cologne for men."

Changbin shoots him a suspicious glance, clearly not buying into the half-assed reply. "Whatever. Let's go."

And soon enough, they're on their way. It's a short ride to the restaurant all of which Jisung spends wringing his hands in his lap, staring out the window at the passing cars with a skidding heartbeat. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. No, not nervous—more like scared to fucking death.

How is he going to endure a whole meal sat on the same table as Minho with those penetrating eyes set on him, expecting something from him? How is he going to avoid even looking at him? How is he going to find within him any self-control not to give up on this impossible quest of his as soon as Minho so much as utters a word in his direction? And as life is against him, as soon as they arrive at the restaurant, there are only two free spots left at the table: one next to Minho and the other right at the other end.

Jisung tries to beat Changbin to the second seat and he knows Minho notices him scurrying around, which is why it's twice as mentally painful when he fails to achieve his goal and is forced, therefore, to sit right next to him. The closest he can be.

After greeting everyone shortly, Jisung avoids eye contact like the plague. Minho's eyes are intently trained on him the moment Jisung is settled on the table.

"You smell nice," Minho says.

Jisung looks up from his lap with a trembling lip. Minho is not even looking at him anymore, but Jisung burns. And the fucking perfume. He knew it was a bad idea.

"Huh?"

"You smell nice," Minho repeats, aligning his chopsticks with the edge of the table absentmindedly. "It's that vanilla perfume, right? That you wear for me. I love that one."

Jisung can feel himself twitching. Some muscle along his thigh jerks uncomfortably.

How does this man speak to him so calmly? So carelessly, like it's an everyday thing. How does he not hate him? Wasn't Jisung hurtful enough? He chooses to answer only with a hum, trying to implicitly hint at his reluctance to starting a conversation without actually saying it out loud, but Minho is not one to give up easily.

"I bought a similar for my grandma some time ago," he says through a shrug. 

And now, Jisung turns to him with cocked eyebrows and takes offense to the statement.

"Are you saying I smell like your grandma?" he echoes angrily.

"I don't know. Let me check."

Minho grabs the flap of his jacket and he's too fast for Jisung to process it, tugging him in and bringing his nose to his neck. At the sudden shiver traveling his spine, Jisung squeals and pushes him away. 

"Yah! What are you doing?"

Minho chuckles faintly. Says, "No, I don't think you smell like my grandma. It's nice on you."

Jisung is absolutely baffled. He scowls.

"I'm sorry, uh—" He raises a hand through nervous laughter. "Did I not make myself clear last time? I thought we agreed on—"

"But I'm just smelling your perfume."

Jisung sees red. He clenches his jaw, watching Minho's lopsided grin blink on his vision mockingly. Jisung gets up from the table, lets his chair scrapes loudly against the floor. A few curious heads turn to him.

"Excuse me," he mutters angrily before leaving for the restroom.

He can feel Minho's eyes posed on him as he storms out, getting lost behind the push-pull doors leading to the toilettes. When he's safely locked inside the luckily empty men's restroom, Jisung leans over the sink and sighs deeply. He can't bear to look at himself in the mirror because he doesn't want to know how red his face has gotten.

He knew it. He knew wearing that fucking perfume would only cause trouble in the long run. Now, as he splashes some cold water over his face to lower the (extremely high) temperature of his body, all he can do is replay in his head the feeling of Minho's lips so close to his neck over and over again until he has to take a second to calm down before he collapses right there and then.

Thoughts of Minho fucking him into the mattress while nosing at his neck make Minho let out an aborted sound in his throat, weak and heady. He tries to will them away, but it's hard to focus, so he takes his time.

Once he feels ready enough, Jisung goes back to the table and arrives just as the waiters start serving the food. He doesn't spare even glance in Minho's direction, fearing eye contact with him might just be the last straw, so he only sits and proceeds to eat in silence as the remaining members discuss the approaching showcase and their nerves on the matter.

Even so, as he does, he can't help but feel that in his absence, his chair seems to have somehow inched closer to Minho's.

He tries to eat quickly, too nervous to stay there much longer, but everyone takes their sweet time lunching on the different side dishes and chatting eagerly so even after he's finished, he's forced to lean back on his seat and watch the tortuous pace at which everyone moves, as if they were purposefully extending the meal just to watch him suffer.

Jisung can't get his heart to sit still for a second. He expected everything, anything but this. He expected screaming or crying or glaring or even utter, cold silence, but not Minho sat to his left smirking smugly as if he had all the control over him. Which he absolutely fucking does.

When it's time to order dessert, Jisung excuses himself to the restroom once again only because he can no longer stand the situation. He stays in there a while, pacing about the confined space, listening to the ticking of water droplets, wanting nothing but to get out of this place as soon as possible. He tries to regain his composure and only comes out once he's managed to soothe his anxiety, at least temporarily. And it doesn't last long, because as soon as he opens the door, there he is again.

"Hi, there," Minho smiles through a frown, scanning his face hungrily.

Jisung jumps back.

"Are you following me?" he exclaims accusatorially, immediately taking a step back to break the proximity. 

"I'm just going to the restroom," he fires back, brow cocked. "Are you following me?"

Jisung rolls his eyes, scowling quietly under his breath because he actually does not understand this man. He pushes past him and out into the hallway, but Minho's hand on his arm stops him.

"What are you doing?" Jisung huffs out loud when he's roughly pulled back toward him.

Minho spends a few short seconds in silence before he beckons with his head.

"Get in."

Jisung frowns. "Huh?"

"Get in the restroom, Jisung."

"I'm not getting in, what are you—"

Minho tugs at him. Suddenly, Jisung crashes against his chest and he hears the door slammed shut behind them, effectively trapping them both in. 

"Are you a psychopath?" he exclaims, immediately pushing away from him, but Minho doesn't let go of his wrist. "Let me go!"

"Jesus, can you stay still for a moment?"

"No! What else do I have to do to prove it to you? Do I have to tell you to your face that I hate you and I don't wanna see you for you to stop following me around once and for—?"

Minho slaps a hand over Jisung's mouth and slams him against the door, so hard that the breath is knocked out of him. Jisung falls immediately, instinctively quiet, eyes wide as he becomes prey to Minho's imposing gaze. At last, there is a loaded silence in the restroom.

"You don't hate me," Minho states. "No one switches up like that all of a sudden when you were begging me to fuck you two weeks ago."

Jisung reddens, so much that he wonders if Minho can feel how hot his skin is. There's a hand on his waist that he doesn't know how or when it landed there, squeezing him, gripping him with that characteristic possessiveness of him. Somehow, Jisung finds the strength inside him to snatch Minho's hand off his mouth.

"Sorry if I hurt your ego, Minho," he spits out. "But I'd appreciate it if you left me alone now."

Minho pouts, just a little. His eyes become fixated on Jisung's lips.

"I can't."

Jisung's heart is hammering in his chest. They stand so close he can feel Minho's breath fanning on him, the feeling so intimate and so real it makes his stomach flip.

"Do you just love to suffer?" Jisung asks now. "Going after me knowing I won't give you what you want. After everything I said to you! Do you have any self-respect?"

"Maybe not." Minho shrugs, voice downcast. "But I don't care. I'm not gonna give up halfway through. Not when I know you're lying."

"What exactly am I lying about, again?"

"Wanting this to end. Saying you hate me. Because if you do, then you're a damn good actor, Jisung," he lists. "I'm starting to think that you're the one who was using me, and I don't enjoy being toyed with."

Jisung shakes his head. Scowls, for a lack of anything to say. "You're unbelievable."

Minho leans in and kisses him.

His body cages Jisung in, lips on him with such irate desperation that it winds him. Jisung is frozen for the few seconds it takes for Minho to take and take and take, until he finally regains his sense, even for a moment, and pushes him away.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Jisung exclaims breathlessly.

Minho leans in so, so far in, until his lips are on Jisung's again, but it's not a kiss. He exhales heavily, strong arms enveloping, keeping him from escaping

"I wanna fuck you again so bad," Minho sighs breathily. "You have no idea how many times I jerked off thinking about you this last week."

Jisung gasps. Overflows. A water glass at its very limit. 

His voice stoops down a notch when he speaks. He closes his eyes and tries to think straight, but Minho's scent and his hot breath and his everything makes Jisung short-circuit. 

"Why aren't you even angry at me?" he asks, just as breathless.

Minho squeezes him tight. Presses himself up against him enough that the hints of hardness on the front of his pants make Jisung melt.

"I'm fucking pissed at you." Minho breathes faintly, and he kisses him again.

This time, Jisung can't find it in him to push him away a second time, so he lets himself be. Minho's tongue fills his mouth within seconds, licking into his teeth and his every crevice. His hands roam all over Jisung's body as if two weeks spent apart was too long. Like he's been waiting ages to satisfy a craving. And Jisung can't say he feels any differently.

Minho pulls him in closer and they pant heavily against the other, trying to be impossibly closer. This time, Jisung gifts himself with the luxury of touching him, of voluntarily feeling him, hands slipping under his t-shirt for the first time to feel the heat emanating from Minho's body. He hears him suck in a sharp breath at the contact of his gentle fingers on his muscles but Jisung doesn't stop, pushing him back against the sink to deepen the kiss even more, gripping him, scratching his back under his t-shirt.

Jisung feels Minho's body pushing against him until he has no choice but to step back. When they're locked up together inside a cubicle, scrambling uncomfortably around the toilet seat, privacy is granted. Minho slams him against the nearest wall and attacks his neck.

"Fuck, you smell so good."

Fucking perfume.

Jisung's mouth falls open at the feeling of one of Minho's hands around his neck pushing his head back, his lips working wonders upon his skin. Minho presses himself against him until he can feel his growing erection through his pants, and so Jisung grips his hips, squeezes his eyes shut, and just lets it happen.

Minho cradles his jaw unceremoniously rough and kisses him, fumbling for Jisung's fly. Jisung gasps when he feels him groping his hardening dick, hand squeezing him firmly, palming him through his jeans. He bucks into the touch and feels his erection rubbing uncomfortably against the wet patch of precum on his underwear, before Minho is hastily undoing his belt with practiced ease and undressing him.

Jisung shivers, hesitates. The cubicle is small, the restroom deserted, yet there's a busy table waiting for them. 

Thoughts disperse when Minho starts stroking him. Jisung throws his head back, moans out loud, and Minho forces a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

"Shut up, will you?" he grumbles. "Somebody might hear you."

Jisung all but cares. Minho thumbs at his tip, smears the beads of precum down his shaft, wets the length of him to create an easy glide as he strokes him, up and down, up and down. Jisung lurches forward into the touch, fucking into Minho's fist, craving sweet release that crams at the bottom of his spine in a pool of heat and honey.

He whines when Minho pulls away, gasps when he feels his hands snaking around his thighs to hoist him up and slam him back against the wall. Now with Minho's crotch pressed against his groin, his dick bobbing and twitching uselessly between their bodies, Jisung whimpers and sighs in respite upon Minho's hand resuming its job.

"Fuck," he whispers. "Fuck, I'm gonna come— hyung."

"Already?" Minho tilts his head. "I thought you hated me?"

Jisung grumbles and tosses his head back. Minho holds him up so easily, no effort on the press of his body keeping him flush against the cubicle wall. Jisung can feel his erection straining in the front of his pants and whines when Minho starts rubbing himself up against him, seeking friction, chasing his own orgasm, as his hand bobs up and down even faster.

Jisung becomes liquid in Minho's arm when he comes. Minho cups his tip and envelops it carefully, cum spurting into the dip of his palm to avoid staining their clothes. He ruts harder and harder against Jisung until the flimsy wall separating the cubicles starts jerking with his desperation, and then he stills. 

"Shit," Minho hisses in Jisung's ear, mouthing at his neck in an attempt at muffles his cry as he finishes untouched in his pants.

Jisung works hard to school his breathing back into tranquility, but it's hard to cool down with Minho's shivering body pressed against him, his working hand still teasing circles on his swollen tips in careful ministrations. It's a few seconds before pleasure turns into pain, and Jisung grows uncomfortably overstimulated.

"Min—Minho," he whimpers, trying to bat his hand away. "It hurts."

The words snap Minho out of an all-consuming high. He freezes and pulls away immediately, and when he stares up into Jisung's eyes, he looks pathetically needy. It's a second before his features dissolve into a grin.

"How crazy is that?" he asks in a breathy whisper. "That you hate me so much but you're so pliant for me whenever I ask you?"

Jisung hums. His head is filled with cotton where his thoughts once used to be. He can't even remember what he was mad about in the first place.

When Minho settles him back down on the floor, Jisung's knees are wobbly. He holds onto his strong arms to keep himself upright as Minho fetches some toilet paper, carefully cleans up his oversensitive, pinking tip and his own sticky hand, and finally tucks him back into his pants. He leaves his belt undone, maybe as a reminder.

"Hurry, hm?" he coos, swiping the hair off Jisung's forehead. "They'll be wondering where we went."

Jisung has no doubt in his empty mind that he will. He watches Minho unlock the door and shuffle out of the cubicle, then the distinct sound of the tap reaches Jisung's hear before Minho is gone.

Maybe it's a punishment for being the little bitch he usually is. Either way, Jisung cannot complain. 

So much for trying to stay away from him.

Jisung basks in the feeling after the orgasm, but blushes inevitably at knowing Minho can make him come undone with just a hand. Pressing him up against a wall like he weighs nothing, thrusting into him through their clothes. Using him to get off. The thought makes Jisung equal parts uncomfortable and hot. 

When he comes back to the table, he doesn't chance a single glance in Minho's direction, even though his heart has yet to calm down. He sits down and wonders what it must feel like to be walking around wet with cum, as is Minho in his pants right now, but he doesn't seem the least bit bothered. Minho watches him amusedly, leant back on his seat calm, unfazed, knowing what causes Jisung's blush and who's responsible for it. Around them, no one seems to suspect anything.

Jisung drives back to the building in Changbin's car. He spends the whole ride quiet because he can't physically shoulder the fact that he actually let Minho jerk him off in the pub restroom after swearing he'd stay away.

Where does this leave them? Minho is smart enough to know that this doesn't mean anything, right? That he should still stay the hell away from him. Or is Jisung thinking too highly of him?

Why does this feel like one of those situations with no escape? Why does it feel like, no matter what he does to save this, someone is going to end up getting hurt?

He can't shake the feeling. And the showcase is tomorrow.

Notes:

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Chapter 27: he'll manage

Notes:

tw; explicit sexual content

It's definitely not a good night's sleep. As soon as he wakes up with the drowse and the lightheadedness of only a few hours' worth of slumber, Minho knows he's off to a bad start of his day.

He stayed up late rehearsing, went to bed right before the sun rose, and woke up two hours and a half later to the sound of chirping birds coming in through the open window he forgot to close in his hazy blunder into the room. The exhaustion doesn't weigh him down immediately because he's still basking in the effects of last night's energy high, so he confuses his woke mind for a well-rested one and makes the mistake of getting up for breakfast as soon as he opens his eyes.

Minho is in a good mood for the first time in a while. Even though he hasn't slept, as his tire has yet to fall upon him, the aftermaths of lunch yesterday have been left lingering in the bottommost part of his stomach. He has yet to see Jisung again, has yet to discover what effect yesterday had on him, but albeit, having proven a point has left Minho satisfied enough to last him the remainders of the week. Just knowing that everything Jisung said to him in the common room weeks ago wasn't true, that he didn't mean it, is enough.

Minho arrives at breakfast earlier than usual, while their usual table for eight is still feeling up. There's a bubbling atmosphere in the half-crowded table as everyone crouches over their food.

Tonight's big event might cost them a lot, but Minho is focused elsewhere, his eyes searching the perimeter of the table in search for a particular someone. A brief disappointment topples him when he realizes Jisung is not yet here, the same way he hasn't been here for the past two weeks. Minho sits down deep in thought, thinking to himself that he would've expected something to have changed. 

But then, halfway through the meal, when Jisung arrives late as if hesitation had delayed him, the smile returns to Minho's face, fast and unapologetic. He watches the young boy take a seat across the table from him, only sparing a timid glance in his direction, and the fact that he even is here, that he chose to break his fast with them today morning for the first time in a while, speaks louder than any words.

They eat quietly, seconded by the incessant chatter amongst the other members. Minho can't rip his eyes off of him and Jisung sure can tell, as his ears shine a bright shade of red under the older boy's imposing gaze. The ambience is stretched taut between them, but for the first time in days, it's pleasant. 

When Jisung feels the tip of Minho's slipper brushing up against his leg, he immediately pulls back his chair, his breath catching in his throat. Minho was never shy, but he's gotten bolder, and it makes Jisung's brain stumble to catch up.

When everyone is done with their breakfast, Minho watches Jisung scurry away at full speed. He tries to run after him, maybe manage to steal a kiss or two on the passing, when they're alone and no one is watching, but a hand on his shoulder stops him. Hopes withering, Minho can only sulk as his opportunity slips through his finger.

When he turns, he finds Hyunjin, who smiles at him with spontaneous softness.

"Hey," he greets. "So, how are we feeling?"

Minho stares at him bemusedly. "Ab—About what?"

"About the showcase." Hyunjin frowns at him like it's obvious.

"Oh." Minho nods. "Yeah, no. I'm good. I've been rehearsing a lot so I think I'll probably be fine. You?"

"I'm a little nervous," he admits as they pace out of the cafeteria.

Minho looks around for any signs of Jisung, but Jisung has vanished into thin air. He sighs, a little disappointed.  

"Hey, you saw Han today, right? He finally came down with us," Hyunjin claims now through a laugh, as if the thought has just occurred to him.

"Oh, yeah."

"Did you guys make up?"

Minho grimaces. He told Hyunjin only a vague part of the whole story. Left out some of the details, including the sex in the diner restroom thing from yesterday, which he doesn't plan on ventilating. But he gets the feeling that there's a hidden meaning to Hyunjin's questioning the matter.

"I'm not sure." Minho shrugs, and it's sincere. He'd give anything to know what's going on in Jisung's head right now.

"Did you guys talk it out?"

"Just a little yesterday, but we got nowhere."

Hyunjin shrugs. "I mean, at least you spoke, right? Wasn't he ignoring you up until yesterday? And if he came today to breakfast, then that's definitely something."

Minho glances at Hyunjin sideways and wonders where exactly his interests lie. As far as he's concerned, Hyunjin should be praying for Jisung's downfall instead of helping Minho patch up with him, and it only makes him wonder the true nature of their rivalry.

"I hope so," he claims curtly.

For the following minutes, Minho's mind is elsewhere, only half listening to Hyunjin as he speaks, up until the moment they finally part ways and he can continue to walk around peacefully, submerged deep in though.

 

Jisung rarely goes to the sauna.

Actually, he never goes to the sauna. He abhors that place as much as Han Jisung can abhor something.

But today, that's exactly where he wants to be.

Something about the quiet and the nakedness and the sweltering heat and the excessive sweating, despite those being the top things he hates the most, seems especially attractive today. He needs some time to think—really think—and for some reason, even though he's avoided the building natatorium like the plague for years on end, that's the first place that comes to his mind. 

No one goes there, anyway, only trainees that invite their families over on the weekends, so it's empty when walks in. He bashfully undresses in the locker rooms and then stalks into the steam room wrapped in a bathrobe, behaving almost like he's committing a crime by doing so. It's overwhelming almost before he's even finished closing the door behind him, like he's getting brewed in a soup, but he sits and stays still and his mind, for the first few minutes, rests easy.

He starts sweating almost immediately, so he tugs down his bathrobe to bunch it up at his waist and stresses in his nakedness. The thick water vapor, low-lying like mist, makes it hard to breathe inside the sauna. Jisung closes his eyes and focuses on the motions of his body, of his blood, of his working lungs. It helps center his attention, somehow, and he eventually gets to thinking of what's been bothering him the most.

Jisung's body is sore, for some reason. The feeling of Minho's hand easily getting past his belt is enough to rile him up, to warm his body deeper than only the surface. Heat sizzles in his very core.

Somehow, Jisung has been left wanting much more. He thought of it all night last night, so long he barely got any sleep. He thought of feeling him buried deep inside him, of his lips on his neck, of his hands on his waist. He replayed the memory like a broken record until it was almost morning and he had to force himself to sleep for at least a couple of hours if he didn't want to be spent for the whole day after. Then, when he arrived at breakfast for the first time in two weeks and saw him again, he couldn't even look him in the eye without remembering how it felt to have to choke on his own moans, to have Minho's hand on his face keeping from uttering a sound while his hand inside his pants made him want to scream.

Intense, really. 

Jisung has to stay focused. He has reasons and a goal and he can't give up on all of that right now, not to mention the fact that even though he loves it, it still bruises his ego that he's at this man's complete and utter mercy. That no one has been able to have control over him for years and within a second, Minho is grabbing him by the neck and getting him to do things he would never agree to do with anyone else.

A month ago, he wasn't even gay.

Again, intense.

He's struggling.

It's a similar feeling to one he used to get as a kid, that of wanting something he knows he shouldn't want. Something he should stay away from. Except this isn't about protecting himself. Actually, he's never cared so deeply for anyone the way he cares for Minho.

Jisung leans back against the pine roost, feeling the sweat trickling down his forehead and the line of his back, the vapor suffocating him to exhaustion. His chest rises very slowly as he tries to control his breathing the way his mother used to say should be done in saunas.

Jisung tuts to himself, at his own incompetence. No matter what changes Minho is sparking in him, Jisung is still him and that anger he feels inside, bubbling, boiling, waiting for its following victim, is still there. And he's terribly frightened that he'll one day say something he can't take back.

He thought pretending to hate Minho would drive him away, but he misjudged it. Minho is all in for him and Jisung has the blinding fear that he doesn't really know what he's getting himself wrapped up in.

Exasperated, Jisung groans out loud. Then, the door opens. 

When he looks up with a frown at the man who walks into the sauna, whose face he can't immediately discern through the estelle of vapor between them, the atmosphere shifts. As soon as their eyes lock and the stranger flicks his hair away with a careful pinky finger in that feminine fashion of his, it's almost as if Jisung was thinking about him so hard, he summoned him.

The laugh that Minho lets out is laced with a sneaky malice.

"Of all the places I could've found you, you're in the only place where we both have to be naked," he says.

Jisung is slapped by the sudden itching urge to cover himself, pointedly, acutely aware of how naked he is. He sits upright, lips parted in shock.

"How did you find me?" he mumbles out, even though his voice is quivery from nerves.

"By accident, it seems." Minho shrugs, closing the door behind him and tossing a hand towel over his bare shoulder to take a seat across from him. "Or you found me."

Jisung blinks. Suddenly, it's like the temperature has risen well above the normal heat within the sauna. His eyes flicker to Minho's spread legs where he sits leant back on the roost, his hooded gaze set upon him. He catches beads of sweat starting to trickle down his glistening chest, honey skin bright and tan in the dim orange lighting of the room. Damp hair hangs over dark eyes, smooth and pretty. Jisung swallows dryly.

"I was here first," he notes.

"I come here all the time. Never seen you before," Minho argues, "so I guess we could say you came here on purpose to see me?"

Jisung catches the edges of a glinting smirk on Minho's face and scowls, rolling his eyes even though he's more nervous than annoyed. He tries so hard not to rake his eyes all over Minho's body, covered only by the towel sitting lowly on his hips, but he fails miserably. It's hard to focus knowing Minho is wearing nothing under it.

"I'll just go," he says at last, scrambling to get up.

"Don't," Minho hurries to speak. "You're here already. Stay."

And Jisung obeys like a dog, sitting back down instantly even though he knows he should run fast and away, as far as he can. Instead, he watches Minho closely. He can't help but feel like a meal under those eyes of him that travel the extent of his half-naked body with no shame. A second ago, wanted nothing else but to kiss him. Now, the idea seems so scary.

"What do you want?" he manages to grumble. His mouth is frothing with too much saliva.

Minho shrugs. "To look at you. You're a nice view."

Jisung rolls his eyes. "Listen, the fact that we had sex—"

"Did I bring that up?" Minho interrupts him, and Jisung falls immediately silent, mouth bolted shut by the quiet assertiveness. The unspoken answer in the thick air is 'no'. "So, why do you?"

There are many things Jisung could say, but right now, not a single word comes to his mind. He's in short circuit, mouthing at the swollen air, trying to connect his thoughts that seem to have tangled up into a mess.

When Minho stands up and walks towards him, slow, predatory, Jisung squirms in his place. His usual confidence is gone, vanished into the water vapor hovering in the air.

Minho stands in front of him, towering high above him, looking down at Jisung with hooded eyes. Jisung can only stare up and gulp dryly, fighting demons not to glance down because he's at eye level with Minho's crotch. But then Minho slips a soft hand under his chin and holds him gently, and Jisung is trembling.

The air is still suffocating, but it's no longer because of the water vapor floating all around them. Minho's honey skin glistens with sweat, his every muscle carved into his body like that of a statue or a god, soft belly smooth and biteable. Strands of hair fall over his dark eyes, pupils blown with necessity.

"You are so fucking beautiful," Minho tells him breathily, mesmerized.

Jisung opens his mouth only a little, the words hitting him like a ton of feathers. The breath is knocked out of his body in one swift motion, body seizing, stomach spasming with the need for something.

"Do you regret what happened between us?" Minho asks now, his voice low and resolute.

Jisung answers quickly, too quickly. "Yes."

So Minho grips him tighter, his hold on his jaw shifting in an instant, acquiring a certain sharpness, a certain dominance. Jisung's breath hitches in his throat and his stomach swirls dangerously. He prays Minho can't see the way his dick reacts to the gesture.

"Do you?" Minho insists demandingly.

Jisung is weak to him. His voice comes out as only a tendril, shaky and unstable.

"No," he confesses, a truth they both know.

He blinks up at Minho through his lashes and basks in the feeling of his fingers still gripping his face. His thoughts rally, warmth crawling up his neck.

"I thought so." Minho nods, pleased by the answer he managed out of him. 

Jisung lets out a soft, coaxing breath. "Minho."

"Hyung," Minho corrects. "You either call me that or nothing at all."

And Jisung is well past having any self control. His body is screaming, begging, eyes darting down to trace the shape of Minho's lips. Arousal crowds at the bottom of his stomach.

"Hyung," Jisung breathes out. "Please."

Minho tilts his head, only a little. His gaze falls down to Jisung's lap, where the beginnings of an erection start to tent the bathrobe that still conceals him.

"You're hard? I didn't even touch you," he mocks.

Jisung's face reddens at record speed. He tries to shy away from Minho's imposing gaze, but Minho's tight hold on him makes it impossible for him to move.

"Please, what?" Minho now asks. "What do you want?"

"You," Jisung shifts forward to grab at Minho's towel, hoping it to be hint enough, but Minho laughs instead.

"You're gonna have to be a little more specific than that."

Jisung lifts himself up from the bench only enough to wrap a hand around the back of Minho's neck, tug him down to meet his height, and slam his lips against his to kiss him, all in one single motion that nearly sends them both tumbling over the floor of the sauna. Minho sucks in a sharp breath as soon as he's yanked into the kiss, startled by the suddenness of the action, but Jisung doesn't let him go, holding him tight, pulling him in impossibly closer to deepen the kiss with his tongue and show Minho how desperate he truly is.

It takes Minho a second to react, but when he does, he growls deep in his chest and pushes Jisung down onto the roost.

Relieved, Jisung lets himself be handled. He lies back on the bench and even though the pine boards dig into his bare back, even though he can feel his bathrobe slowly slipping off, Minho gets on top of him and that's all he can think about. Minho's hand cradles the side of his neck, his thumb caressing softly his Adam's apple, and he kisses him back so fervently that Jisung starts wondering how come he managed to go two whole weeks without this.

Their bodies are desperate for one another but the thick air in the sauna forces them to move slow, as their heartbeats are zooming in their chests. It's hard to breathe, hard to keep up. They both sweat profusely but they still keep close to the other, feeling the other's warmth, craving the moment.

Jisung has hated skin-on-skin contact for as long as he can remember. He's hated sweating, and being touched when he's hot. Yet he's hot and sweaty and naked right now, and if Minho was any less close, he'd probably be whining. 

Minho tugs at Jisung's bathrobe and tosses it on the floor, his own towel slowly riding off his body due to the force with which he rubs up against jisung. This is the first time they're both utterly naked and Jisung can feel their skins sliding against one another with the slick of sweat, water vapor enveloping them. Minho's leaking erection presses up against his lower stomach and even though it's a weird feeling moving so passionately in such thick air, it somehow makes it all so much better. They rub up against each other and Minho pushes Jisung's head aside to kiss his neck. In response, Jisung can only squeeze his eyes shut and moan, his stomach in a tight knot.

"You bullshit me again like that and I'll make sure you regret it," Minho whispers in his ear, reaching down a hand between their bodies to grip Jisung's dick hard enough that it's just short of painful.

Jisung lets out a choked moan at the pressure and he bucks up from the bench, his body set on fire. It sounds like a threat, but it makes his stomach clench so hard that he can barely register it. Minho circles his tip with his thumb, smearing the beads of precum all over his swollen head, and Jisung can feel himself throbbing, twitching in his grip, silently begging for something else. Minho knows, but for some reason, he seems to be prolonging this on purpose.

"Don't pass out on me, pretty boy," he tells him, kissing his jaw with practiced dexterity before slipping two fingers past his lips.

Jisung's mouth closes around them almost instinctively. He begins sucking on the digits, eyes locking onto Minho's dark ones. He hollows out his cheek and licks him messily, then gags when Minho pushes his fingers in further. Jisung's eyes watering in response to the forceful gesture, but he doesn't complain, basking in the sensation of being filled, perpetually surrounded by Minho's scent.

When Minho pulls away, his two fingers are slick with saliva, which he spreads all over Jisung's swollen lips indecorously. He runs a thumb across them, watching them slide sideways then bounce back into place, wet and shimmering and all too enticing. His pupils are blown and Jisung would feel embarrassed under his bare gaze, hadn't he even so aroused too.

He grips Minho's back, digs his nails into the sweaty skin and hopes to God it leaves a mark. Then, he watches as Minho drags his slick fingers down Jisung's body, leaving a wet trail behind, until he arrives at his ass.

"I want you so bad, you know?" Minho murmurs, groping the flesh before tracing a wet finger over Jisung's rim.

Jisung gasps out loud, arching his back and spreading his legs further to let Minho slot between them and give him easy access to the entirety of his body. He's burning hot and probably blown red, but he's not embarrassed. His vision is clouded by desire, so when Minho pushes in the tip of his finger, just a little, he gasps and lets it happen.

"Relax, baby," Minho coos encouragingly in his ear, filling him up to the knuckle and curling his finger, barely but in a manner that makes Jisung choke on his own breath.

Minho leans down to mouth at his exposed neck, breaching him tenderly, sliding in and out with the glide of Jisung's own saliva for a minute or two, until he finally introduces a second finger. Jisung writhes beneath him, overwhelmed by the heat in the air and the heat in his stomach, knowing the contact isn't nearly enough to make him come. The stimulation is too minimal, his swollen tip rubbing against Minho's belly, bobbing uselessly between their bodies. He feels like he's been twisted into a tight knot which he needs urgently to unravel.

"Don't be impatient," Minho whispers in his ear upon noticing the frantic stutter of his hips trying to rut up against his stomach. "You'll get to come, baby."

Jisung whines and grinds his hips into his fingers. When Minho brushes against his prostate, Jisung arches his back off the bench and moans, far too loudly considering where they are. He catches Minho glancing over his shoulder at the door, checking just in case that no passersby might hear the noise and peek in.

"You're gonna have to be quieter, Jisung," he demands lowly after that.

Jisung nods eagerly, readily, but then Minho introduces a third finger and he loses his focus. White spots fly in his vision when Minho purposefully stimulates his sweet spot, over and over again, fingers curling and scissoring inside him until he's a panting mess. He can't finish from it alone and it frustrates him.

"Hyung... hyung, please, I can't—I need—fuck," Jisung breathes heavily and chases friction by grinding into Minho, but Minho shifts away. 

"I told you to be patient," he grumbles, yanking his fingers out rather savagely. "You're gonna start crying as soon as it's in."

"I don't care," Jisung mewls, spreading his legs invitingly.

Minho grins a little, feigning offense but enjoying it nonetheless. He strokes himself a bit, tip prodding at Jisung's gaping entrance, presented for him so readily. Jisung wriggles his hips down onto his cock, yet Minho doesn't move, propped up to stroke himself only, lip trapped under his teeth.

"Hyung," Jisung calls upon realizing.

"What?" Minho replies absentmindedly.

"Hyung, c'mon."

Minho hums and kneads Jisung's thighs in response, watching it acquire a crimson shade with how hard he grips it. Soon enough, Jisung is desperately scooting downward, eyebrows downturned, cock throbbing and so uncomfortably swollen that he might burst any moment.

"Stop that!" he complains.

Minho laughs a little. He could certainly come on the sight alone, cover Jisung in his come and leave him crying and under-stimulated, but the whines and the look in his eyes makes Minho more sympathetic.

"I really need to teach you to be patient, don't I?" he murmurs as he finally positions himself on Jisung's entrance.

He angles his head and lets a thin dribble of saliva drip from his mouth down onto his leaking cock, and Jisung looks up to say something, but then Minho is pressing up against him, sliding halfway in, and the words die in his throat.

Startled by the sudden motion, Jisung hisses, arms flying to wrap around Minho's back and crawl at his slick skin. Minho buries his face into the crook of his neck and lets out a soft groan as he pushes all the way in, this time much less softly than the last time. Jisung doesn't seem to mind, anyway, as his hips are grounded and he wraps his legs around Minho's waist in an attempt at driving him in even deeper.

"You're so tight," Minho grunts, leaning in to peck his lips before he starts thrusting into Jisung with little delicacy.

Jisung moans out loud at the first sharp ministrations, feeling Minho gripping onto him for dear life, thrusting into him repeatedly, fast, as if wanting to do this quick. Jisung scratches lazy trails down Minho's back, arches off the bench to feel more. He can feel himself growing lightheaded, the heat all around him and the steady stream of pleasure from fucking himself onto Minho's cock playing tricks on his hazy mind. He's soaked in sweat and drool flows out of the corner of his mouth, the ends of his fringe wet over his eyes, his skin salty to the taste.

Minho watches him as he fucks him, delighting in the expression of pure pleasure on his face. He kisses his bottom lip faintly and sucks his saliva into his mouth, tasting him more than kissing him. Jisung is pliant, supple beneath him, too much to reciprocate, so Minho licks into his mouth and fills up every crevice until Jisung is nice and full from both ends.

The heat inside the sauna renders them both lightheaded within seconds. Minho forces himself to slow down to avoid passing out, the effort of fucking into Jisung proving itself harder than he thought. His muscles strain, yet the sweltering heat makes it all so much better, somehow. Fucking Jisung raw, feeling his skin slick with sweat and saliva gliding easily against his own.

Jisung's eyes are lidded, as if he was in a vapor-filled high. His moans turn lazy and sloppy, jaw slack. Minho whimpers in his ear in a manner so unlike him that it's hard for Jisung to be in touch with his body. He feels himself floating away.

When his orgasm hits him, it does so out of nowhere. Jisung is so wrapped up in the pleasure and the feel of Minho on top of him, on the prospect of giving himself up and letting him take control, that he's caught off guard when the cloud of make-believe bursts. He shoots thick ropes of cum all over his and Minho's body, making a complete mess out of the both of them.

He clenches so hard around Minho's cock that Minho releases a soft moan into his ear, buries himself deep inside, and comes so hard that he sees stars. He whimpers uselessly, body going slack on top of Jisung's, skin stick to each other with sweat.

"Fuck," Minho whispers, more winded than what he would normally be. He blinks a couple time to regain clarity in his vision.

Jisung can't bring himself to respond, still riding out the ends of his high. He traces a nimble hand across the planes of Minho's broad back, feeling the sweat trickle like water, his body inflating and deflating with his every heavy breath, and he's so heady he might as well consider himself drunk.

Mindlessly, Jisung leans in and plants a chaste kiss on Minho's lips.

"Bad idea," Minho mumbles into his mouth. "Bad fucking idea."

Jisung can't help but let out a laugh, regaining the remainders of his consciousness that have slipped away while Minho fucked him ruthlessly. 

"You should be focusing on tonight instead of having sex with me," he says.

Minho shushes him, although Jisung is right. A mistake, probably, to ignore what he should be truly worried about.

Jisung rolls his eyes playfully and shifts beneath him, prompting a soft groan out of Minho, who's cock is still trapped inside Jisung as it softens and it writhes with the pain of overstimulation. At last, he pulls out and shuffles to his feet to wrap the bathrobe around his hips and use a small hand towel to clean his and Jisung's bodies, both stained with sweat and cum and spit.

When Jisung has slipped back into his bathrobe, they both stumble out of the sauna dizzily, red-faced and panting, and part ways.

 

Jisung takes a seat in front of the mirror of the changing rooms to apply some make-up. He never cares greatly for the way he looks on stage, he knows his charisma makes up for what he's lacking on looks, but today, he wants to feel pretty.

He hasn't seen Minho since they had sex in the steam room and the least he can say is that he's been on edge all day waiting for the sun to set. Now, back at Ilsam Studio for the third time, he's nervous. And he's not one to get nervous easily for performances.

He touches up his skin with some foundation. He's been breaking out lately and even though he knows it's a response of his body to something, he's not sure what that is. It could be a number of things, though the most tangible might be Minho and his endeavors himself.

Minho has been the primary source of all that's happened to Jisung's body for weeks on end and it wouldn't surprise Jisung if he found out his acne was his fault, too. He just wishes it would stop because he has an anxious habit of popping pimples and his esthetician has told him to quit it if he doesn't want to have scars later on.

Jisung thinks into it as he looks at himself in the mirror. Today is not going as planned—not necessarily in a bad way, but definitely different. He should have gotten more sleep, should have skipped breakfast once again and should have never, ever had sex with Minho in the sauna. Now, his body is sore and spent, he can't keep himself focused on what really matters, and he's afraid, because his distraction equals chaos.

"We're out soon. You should get done already."

Jisung looks up and catches Hyunjin on the reflection. He turns over his shoulder and finds him adjusting his costume on a full-body mirror on the other side of the changing room. Hyunjin spares only a brief glance at him, his eyes cold.

"I'll be there in a moment," Jisung tells him halfheartedly.

There's a tense quiet for a few seconds. Jisung gets on with his make-up, glancing at Hyunjin every so often as if his presence unnerved him. Finally, Hyunjin deigns to break the ice.

"Are you and Lino fighting?" he asks without looking at him, as if it was taking all of his willpower and dignity to be asking this question.

Jisung frowns, side-eyes him. "How's that any your business?"

"He's my friend. He told me about... 'cause you guys were fighting," he argues.

Jisung runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek and holds back an insult that lies fervently on his tongue. If he was socially adept, he'd know if Hyunjin was being honest or simply looking to cause trouble—because he isn't, Jisung has no idea how to react.

"Congratulations," he mutters sarcastically instead of providing further explanation.

"Why are you fighting?" Hyunjin rephrases, the question equally nagging.

"We're not fighting."

"Why are you not talking, then?"

"If he's your friend, then why hasn't he told you that?"

Hyunjin grits his teeth and finally turns his body to him. Jisung meets his eyes through the reflection on the mirror. 

"I'm trying to help," Hyunjin claims with his hands on his hips, still seeming as though this is costing him a tremendous effort to even say. "I know you like being mean to everyone, but Minho is my friend and I care about him, and he's worried, so just fucking tell me what it is so I can help you solve it, because I know you're worried, too."

The offer is kind, but it's masked by tension and reluctance. Jisung can tell Hyunjin is forcing himself to do this and he doesn't doubt this isn't about him, but about Hyunjin's affection towards Minho (another key point which makes Jisung's blood boil). Still, his semblance, however little, softens.

"There's nothing you can do to help," Jisung tells him rather curtly, going back to his make-up.

Hyunjin huffs out loud. He shakes his head as if he was debating himself.

"Listen, I wasn't gonna say anything," he starts, "but Minho says you're good and even though it's fuckin' hard to believe, I trust him. If you're as good as he says, why can't you just be good to me, too?"

"Why would I wanna do that? All you do is treat me like shit."

"Yeah, 'cause you treat me like shit, too," Hyunjin retorts. "You were mean to all of us before we ever got to know you. No wonder we single you out, Han. You're selfish and mean and self-righteous and—"

"Are you tryna make friends with me or piss me off?" Jisung exclaims, suddenly riled by the extensive list of insults.

Hyunjin lets out a long sigh. "I'm tryna get you to understand that we're not just out to get you."

"No, but you are. All the time. Especially you. I understand I'm mean, I never denied that. But you can't make yourself a victim of fuckin' abuse when you're the one picking fights with me all the time!" 

"Well, fine! Can't we just admit we're both assholes to each other and start over?"

Jisung stares at him, jaw set. He couldn't possibly explain that he wouldn't say yes even if he wanted to because he's so tremendously envious of him, and not only because of his friendship with Minho. 

"What's going on?"

Both Jisung and Hyunjin jump around to face the door, where Minho ventures into the changing room with a frown, staring between them both. Jisung's lower lip trembles. Hyunjin shakes his head, excuses himself, and swiftly leaves the room.

"Jisung?" Minho enquires once they're alone, no one to turn to for answers but him.

Jisung clicks his tongue and turns back to the mirror. "Nothing. Your friend's a bitch."

Minho sighs. He heard enough of the heated conversation to know that that is, in fact, not the case, but he's not going to fight Jisung on the matter. Instead, Minho makes sure they're alone before coming up to stand behind him.

He towers over him where Jisung is sat on the chair. Minho places one hand on his shoulder and the other around his neck and pulls his chin up, then leans down to plant a soft, private kiss on his lips. Jisung responds to the gesture by letting out a gentle sigh of relief, anger deserting him by the mere press of Minho's mouth.

"Don't be mean to Hyunjin," Minho murmurs beseechingly.

Jisung scowls and makes to pull away, but Minho tugs him back to stare into his eyes, firm.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," he demands. Jisung blinks, lips parted. "If he's trying to make up with you, then let him. You'll see he's not as bad as he looks, and maybe you can start over with the rest of the team, too."

Jisung shakes his head and Minho finally lets him go, smoothing his hands up and down his shoulders in an affectionate motion. Jisung finishes applying his make-up, although he seems rather irritated.

"You should be focusing on the showcase," he tells him, yet again. "You've been following me around all day. You're too calm."

Minho rolls his neck and yawns, tire settling. "I've been calm."

"Aren't you even a little bit nervous? You could get cut."

Minho shrugs and cradles his jaw gently, looking at him through their reflection on the mirror. Jisung bites down on the inside of his cheek as he takes a look at the dark bags circling Minho's eyes. 

"I think I'll be fine," Minho tells him at last. "Anyway, it's better to stay calm than stress over nothing."

Jisung turns to look at him. "If you get cut—"

"I won't," Minho says.

"But if you do," he continues, "what do I do?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do I do?" Jisung repeats, as if that would help Minho understand. "I don't... what do I..."

"Well, you continue," Minho tells him with a soft shrug. "What else is there to do?"

"How do I continue without you?"

Minho feels his heart fluttering in his chest, something akin to little insects dancing in his stomach. He leans back down and kisses Jisung's forehead, and Jisung receives the kiss with eyes feathered shut.

"You'll manage," he tells him.

Minho flashes him one last grin before he turns to go, and Jisung watches him disappear through the door with a trembling lower lip, the words having done nothing to convince him that he can actually go back to living the life he had before. Things have changed so much that he barely recognizes himself anymore.

He gets up and follows Minho out. It's finally time to get on stage.

 

"Minho."

No answer.

"Hyung, wait."

Minho continues down the hallway. 

"Minho! Please."

He's fast as he walks out the backdoor to the parking lot. Jisung barely manages to catch up enough to grab at Minho's arm and spin him around roughly. When their eyes meet, Minho's are bloodshot and glistening under tears. 

"Please," Jisung begs, feeling the desperation wrapping him. "Just wait a moment, okay? Let's talk."

"Talk about?"

Jisung's eyes well with tears as he shakes his head vehemently, cleaved between blaming and forgiving.

"I told you you should have been focusing," he says, his voice quivering. "I told you! You should've listened to me instead of—"

He chokes up and falls silent. Minho shakes his head and when he averts his gaze, there's a muscle that protrudes on his jaw, tight and angry. 

"What good is it telling that to me now? It's done. It's over. I got cut."

Jisung refuses to accept it.

"No. No, no. It's—It's not over. There's still a chance—"

"Wake the fuck up," Minho groans, his frustration and his broken heart getting the best out of him. "What chance is there? I got eliminated, Jisung. I made a mistake today. I took this for granted and my—my head was someplace else and I... I got cut. They warned me I could get cut and I didn't listen."

Jisung sobs. No amount of mental preparation will ever ready him for that feeling he gets whenever someone speaks to him in that tone.

"I told you to—"

"I know what you said!" Minho exclaims angrily. Jisung flinches back, not for fear but out of complete bewilderment. "I know, okay? Stop telling me that! I know I should've focused on the showcase and I should've never thought spending my day following you around would do any good! I know that."

Jisung trembles as he cards his fingers through his hair, still sweaty from dancing. "This is my fault."

"You know what? Maybe it is. You were the one who convinced me to stay here! I should've gone back to Gimpo as soon as my father—" Minho stops talking, his face red in fury, the corners of his mouth trembling. "I never should've stayed."

The words hit Jisung like a ton of bricks. He stares at Minho in shock for a few seconds, eyes glassy and vision blurry under a layer of tears. 

"You—You regret staying?" he mumbles out.

"Yes," Minho says it without hesitation, face scrunched up like he—like he hates Jisung.

Somehow, in Jisung's head, those words and that tone and that look in his eyes all translate into Minho regretting ever staying in Seoul for him.

His knees buckle beneath him. Suddenly, he's short of breath, as if someone had cut out a piece of his lungs.

Minho only spares him one last glance before he turns to go. Jisung's heart hammers in his chest as he watches him open the door to his car.

"Min—Minho," he mumbles out, quietly at first because there's no strength inside him as the desperation settles. "Minho, wait."

Minho slams the door shut and the sound echoes in the parking lot, loud and unyielding.

"Minho!" Jisung screams, louder this time as the car engine comes alive with a low rumble. "Wait, wait, please! We can solve this, if you just stay—"

The desperation gets the best out of him, but he's cemented to the floor, unable to move for the life of him. He can barely talk clearly because there's a lump in his throat and he's lacking air, lacking everything. He's alone now and inches away from being alone for good, and it's terrifying.

Minho, in spite of Jisung's pleading, doesn't listen to a word he says. He steps on the gas and drives away with such determination that Jisung wonders if he ever meant to stay. The tears slip down his cheeks as he watches Minho speed up out of the parking lot and get lost in the night traffic.

"Minho!" he shouts again, at the top of his lungs this time, falling onto the pavement on his knees. It stings and it scrapes through his pants, and his make-up is washed away with his tears, but he doesn't care. "Don't leave me here! Minho!"

He continues to yell for him, over and over again, even after the sound of the revving car has long since withered. Jisung braces himself against the pavement and breaks down in uncontrollable sobs. His eyes itching and his throat protests in pain as he screams it off raw.

"Please come back!" he cries. "Minho!"

Two firm arms wrap around him and pull him to his feet, hugging him tightly, keeping him caged and contained as much as Han Jisung can be caged and contained. He still yells as someone talks him down, gently but firmly trying to drag him back into the studio.

"Minho!"

"Please stop struggling," Hyunjin begs in his ear, a sound so distant that Jisung can barely distinguish it through his lightheadedness. He can't see past the stars swimming in his blurry vision.

Jisung fights to free himself, but to no avail. His knees hurt where he scraped them with the floor and his voice slowly withers with his every passing scream, the feeling of betrayal, of heartbreak, of abandonment tying his stomach into a knot. He's in pain. Something is broken.

"Please, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! It's my fault!"

"Calm down."

"Minho, please! I love you!"

"Shh. It's okay."

Jisung cries and cries while Hyunjin is still wrapped around him in a tight embrace, so tight that it's not comforting, but encasing—just another dog pound. Eventually, however, Hyunjin's strength exceeds him and he manages to drag Jisung back in.

"It's okay," Hyunjin whispers as they cross the door, Jisung crying and writhing and kicking in his arms. "Everything will be fine."

Though he's not sure of that at all.

Chapter 28: how can you find him?

Notes:

tw; panic attack (?)

TWO MONTHS LATER

"I'm sorry, but there's only so much I can do."

Minho glares at the florist. He's almost fully ready to throw hands because how come the most frequented flower shop on the main avenue of Seoul doesn't have peonies? Isn't it, like, the most common bouquet flower ever? It's outrageous.

"Fucking hell," he mumbles under his breath, his nerves creeping up on him. "Fine. Whatever. I'll take the buttercups."

So, already he's in a bad mood. The florist eyes him sideways as he wraps the yellow flowers into a delicate bouquet and even though the result is satisfactory enough for whoever, Minho still glares daggers at him as he checks out at the counter. At last, he leaves the shop, tucks his free hand into the pocket of his jacket, and steps out onto the sidewalk to get on with his day.

He was summoned to the JYP building tonight for a comeback announcement as a surprise to the members of the band, and even though it's only six in the afternoon, Minho is already on his way there. He planned beforehand to carry out a surprise of his own—and an apology—and for it, he must arrive a little early.

He'd be lying if he said he's not being consumed by his own anxiety.

The first step of his meticulous plan (getting a bouquet of peonies) is already going sideways. He has buttercups, not peonies. It's disconcerting.

 

THREE DAYS AFTER THE SHOWCASE

Chan visits Jisung in his room.

His presence seems to be of interest to Jisung, who looks up at him from where he's sat behind his desk shuffling through some papers. Chan smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring manner, closing the door behind him, relieved that at least Jisung isn't going through some kind of depression. He's seen it happen one too many times to be comfortable with the idea of it ever happening again.

"Hey," he calls, trying to not treat him like he's a delicate thing because he knows he hates that.

Jisung greets him only with a curt nod and a tight smile as Chan approaches the desk to take a look at what he's doing. He's sorting through drawings, arranging them and rearranging them noncommittally. It seems unimportant, almost as if he was just looking for things to keep himself busy with that didn't involve having to leave his dorm.

Chan can't blame him. Not after everything that's happened.

Maybe Jisung is a little ashamed, too. At this point in time, no one is sure that Jisung and Minho were a thing, but since word got out of his breakdown after the showcase, everyone suspects it. The prospect of Jisung being embarrassed to show his face doesn't seem too much like a stretch.

"How's everything going?" Chan asks calmly, hovering close above him with a gentle hand posed on the backrest of Jisung's chair.

"I'm fine," Jisung quips, probably already sussing out the true motive of his visit. Maybe Chan isn't even the first person to come check up on him—but if not, then who else?

"Really?"

Jisung looks up from the desk to meet his eye. Chan stares back expectingly. At last, Jisung clicks his tongue.

"If you're here to—"

"Yes, I am," Chan cuts him off almost immediately, determined to not let him bottle things up as he usually does. "We're supposed to be back to rehearsals on Monday."

"And why did you assume I wasn't gonna go?"

"Hyunjin told me what happened."

The words prompt a sudden stilted silence. Jisung clips his jaw shut and looks back down, feigning disinterest even though a light shade of pink creeps up his neck.

"Okay, so?"

Chan hates Jisung's stubbornness.

"So, you're my friend and I want to know if everything is okay."

"I'm just fine. Why the fuck wouldn't I be?"

Chan sighs, just enough that Jisung won't think he's tired of him. He looks around before taking a seat at the edge of the bed, coming up with a different strategy to approach the topic as he toys absentmindedly with some lint on the sheets.

"You know, maybe it's good for us. I mean, maybe it was a good decision," he suggests.

"What was?"

"That Minho's gone. Maybe JYP's right. I mean, I've doubted his choices more than once before, but he's either gone insane or he really sees something we don't, and I choose to believe that," Chan claims through a shrug.

Now, Jisung turns to him on the rolling chair at such a threatening speed that Chan flinches back. Jisung's eyes are squinted in disbelief.

"How can you even say that?" he exclaims. Scowls. "You can't possibly mean he wasn't good for the team. He literally coached us. You made him lead dancer and he was with us, what? Two months? Be fucking for real, Chan."

Chan catches him in the act. He tilts his head in question.

"But... aren't you mad at him?"

Jisung falls silent. He hates feeling called out. He turns back to his desk with a derisive sigh.

"That doesn't mean I can't admit he was good," he claims. "I meant his skills. He's still a fucking prick."

Chan nods. "So you'll be at rehearsal on Monday?"

"You know I will."

Chan nods again. Finally, he stands up, pats his friend on the shoulder in a somewhat reassuring manner, and finally leaves.

Jisung is alone once again.

 

He's excited, not nervous.

Minho swipes his sweaty palm on his shirt, holding the bouquet tight against his chest as he walks into the JYP building. He's dizzy, intoxicated by the artificial scent of the flowers crammed up below his nose, and for some reason, there's a small ball in his throat that keeps the air from flowing freely into his body.

The lobby is almost as big as Minho recalls it and it makes witnessing it once again feel strange. Like he's walking into some kind of trap. Straight into the lion's den. Memories, though short-lived, come speeding back in flashes.

Minho swallows as he presents his ID at the reception and gets past security controls.

The hallways are a complete maze, the way they always were, except he knows his way around this time. Two months isn't that long, anyway. Maybe Jisung won't be too shocked to see him. Maybe he won't even be that mad anymore.

Man, who's he kidding?

He'll be furious.

Minho shakes his head as he thinks back to the night of his elimination two months ago. All those things he said still haunt him to the day and the worst part is he can't even remember what went through his head, what made him act the way he did. He didn't want to hurt him, he didn't want to leave him there crying, but his body was moving on autopilot. All he knew was that he had to get away from there; far, far away where no one would find him. So he did, but at what cost? Jisung's screams still echo in the back of his mind, even now as he climbs up the elevator to the fifth floor.

He abandoned him, left him crying on the floor, begging him to stay. What kind of excuse of a person does that? The apology burns on his tongue.

After his elimination, Minho was so angry. He ignored all of Chan's and Hyunjin's texts and calls for days, canceled his scholarship, quit his job and went back to Gimpo, to his mother, without even stopping to think about what all that entailed. Without thinking of the promises he'd made to Jisung, of how much it would hurt him that he was breaking them all. Minho was as upset as he was completely heartbroken—and guilty, too. For lashing out on him, for leaving him.

Jisung was so worried protecting Minho from himself that he forgot to protect himself, too. Minho blames it on his own cruelty. 

He knows there's a very small chance Jisung will ever forgive him. He knows what it meant for him to open up to anyone, and he's been sure for weeks that whatever those feelings are that Jisung has for him now, he'll never look at him the way he did before the showcase. And that's on him.

But maybe, if there's at least a small possibility...

Minho gets off on the fifth floor and swallows down the lump in his throat.

 

TWO WEEKS AFTER THE SHOWCASE

As he listens to the voice on the other side of the line, Jisung hates the fact that he has no one to blame for the anger he feels inside. He could lash out at Chan, at Hyunjin, at so many people; he could break things, could tear himself apart. Hell, he could even lie. Make up a story. Spread a rumor. But no one would be guilty of the anguish he bottles inside.

"What am I supposed to do about that?" He shakes his head. "I'm not Lee Minho."

"Well, he's missed work for a few days now and he won't answer his phone. This is the only number we have under his profile," the woman on the other side of the line—the froyo store manager—claims. Her voice is gentle, but Jisung's isn't.

"I can't contact him either. It's not my problem that he's missing work. Am I his nanny?" he retorts angrily. "He could be dead, for all I care."

There's a faint silence on the other side of the line, then some inconclusive mumbling as the woman takes in the words.

"Well, uh... if there's any chance you can, uh, communicate with him, just let him know we're gonna have to cut his absences from his salary. And if he keeps missing work, we're gonna have to fire him."

"Fire him now and get it over with," Jisung rolls his eyes, "but don't contact me again."

He hangs up without waiting for a reply. As soon as there's silence, he tosses the phone onto the bed, watches it bounce off the mattress and snap against the carpet, and runs his fingers through his hair. A surge of utter fury overcomes him. He's trying to pretend nothing ever happened and no one is fucking letting him.

How can he move on when all everyone does is ask him about Minho? Minho isn't his child; if he wants to be irresponsible and fuck up his life, let him. Jisung doesn't care, won't care. He can't contact him and wouldn't do it even if he could because the last thing he ever wants to do is talk to him again. He's a blurry face and a hazy dream from his past that he's choosing to forget, and if he doesn't get on with it right now, he's scared he might never forget him at all.

The thought of a lifetime haunted by brown eyes and a half grin sounds tethering.

Maybe there's some sadness beneath all this anger, but how could he know? How could he ever pick it out if he can't keep in touch with his emotions long enough to heal? He cried the first three days and now, all he feels is an empty, boiling anger coursing inside him. He's holding on to his sanity, controlling himself so he doesn't snap at people who don't deserve it, but he's at the verge of collapse and growing tighter and tighter with every passing second. Now, if anybody mentions his name to him once more, he doesn't know if he's going to be able to control himself.

 

Minho turns left down the hallway and at last gets to the fifth dorm. As he stands there, he takes a moment to brace himself for all and any reactions his presence could bring out. He expects crying, screaming, cussing, silence. Maybe even the door slammed shut in his face. Minho has an answer, an appropriate reaction to anything that might be thrown his way.

He breathes in deeply and finally summons the courage to knock on the door.

He's still controlling his breaths while he waits, but a minute goes by and there's no answer. With a frown and the buttercup bouquet trembling on his hand, he knocks again—and again, no answer.

Minho grows nervous and the same way he's done once or twice before, even though he knows he probably shouldn't, he tries the knob. The door is locked.

He distinctly remembers once scolding Jisung for always keeping his door unlocked.

"Dude, why are you trying to break into my dorm?"

Minho jumps three feet in the air at the voice that suddenly speaks next to him. His heart gives a jolt in his chest when he gets the sudden idea that Jisung just caught him by his door, but when he turns, he locks eyes with a boy he, instead, certainly doesn't recognize.

"Huh?" he mumbles breathlessly, taking a hand to his diaphragm. "Who—Who are you?"

"I'm Myung. Who are you?"

"I think you got the wrong dorm," Minho tells him, counting the doors with his eyes just to make sure that this is, in fact, the fifth one. Jisung's room.

"Uh, no. Pretty sure I didn't."

Myung takes a set of keys out of his pocket and opens the door with the effortless quality of its owner. Minho is at a loss.

"So—So where's Jisung?"

Myung blinks at him, nonplused. "I don't know who the fuck that is, man. Are you okay?"

Minho can't link any of the trembling thoughts rallying in his head. He excuses himself, apologizes for the hassle, he walks past Myung, and rides the elevator back down to the lobby.

 

THREE WEEKS AFTER THE SHOWCASE

"The chocolate one is better."

Hyunjin shrugs absently and takes Jisung's advice, switching his coconut ice cream for a chocolate one. They close the chest fridge at the back of the convenience store and walk the aisle all the way up to the counter to check out.

It's Hyunjin's turn to pay today, as it was Jisung's last time, so Jisung stares out the glass doors as his best friend tends to the cashier. It's cold outside. The wind surges through the trees lined against the dark sky, cars running by only occasionally in this secluded area of Seoul. Hyunjin and Jisung both like the quiet better, so they visit this convenience store often when they're chasing some peace. Lit in white and blue and red, the convenience store sells all their favorite treats.

Jisung's birthday is coming up soon and it's disappointing that he's so sad. He's never cared for birthdays, though he says that mostly at face value. He does care. Plenty. And he's turning eighteen this year, so Hyunjin, aware that Jisung is not feeling the greatest right now, has been taking him out for walks and candy for a few weeks. It's been nice.

When he's done checking out, he hands Jisung his ice cream and each unwrap their own as they walk out onto the sidewalk.

The weather is not fit for ice cream. Jisung doesn't even like ice cream. But lately, he's been liking Hyunjin's company.

"I love ice cream," Hyunjin groans when he takes his first bite. "Don't you?"

Jisung shakes his head. "Not really."

"What? Well, why are we out for ice cream then?"

"Because you like ice cream."

Hyunjin rolls his eyes. "When was the last time you did anything for yourself?"

Jisung can think of one too many times—in fact, he does more for himself than he does for others. He's selfish. It's been known. But he doesn't say it out loud.

"Why is that bad?" he asks, genuinely curious.

"It's okay to be selfish at times," Hyunjin shrugs as they skid down the sidewalk with no destination whatsoever. Just wandering. "We don't have to go out for ice cream if you don't like ice cream. We can buy candy, like last time. I like candy and I'd rather you were happy with what we're eating than eating something you don't like because you think it'll make me happy."

It's selfless, the way Hyunjin says it. Hyunjin is kind, and smart, and funny, and he doesn't let Jisung do anything for him, even though he does everything for Jisung in return. It's contradicting. Their friendship is paradoxical.

Ever since he decided to give Hyunjin a chance, Jisung has been feeling less and less embarrassed around him. He senses comfort in him, like a dog sniffing out the air for signs of danger. Hyunjin smells of safety.

"But you wanted ice cream."

Jisung says it quietly.Hyunjin dismisses him by rolling his eyes and waving him off. The following seconds are silent before they sink into their usual small talk.

"Would you rather only be able to whisper or scream?" Hyunjin asks. He likes 'would you rather?' questions and Jisung indulges him because it's Hyunjin. He likes Hyunjin.

"Whisper," he replied. "Everybody hates loud people."

"But no one can hear you," Hyunjin claims.

"Who's paying attention?" Jisung shrugs. "Would you rather always be ten minutes late or thirty minutes early?"

"Thirty minutes early. Isn't it obvious?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

They both think it over, staring at their feet as they walk. Jisung's ice cream melts in his hand and drips sugary cream onto the pavement below. It's ugly and sticky and Jisung doesn't like how it feels as it seeps through his fingers, but he also doesn't make a move to clean it because even through the momentary contentment, the anguish still manages to settle on his chest.

"Do you think Minho is okay?" he asks. His voice is timid when he mentions his name for the first time in a long while.

Hyunjin eyes him warily. "I thought we agreed not to talk about him."

"I know, but—"

"So stop talking about him," he tells him now, rather curtly, but he means well. "Stop thinking about it. You're gonna hurt yourself even more trying to figure it out."

"But—"

"Jisung."

Hyunjin stops walking. Jisung stares at him.

"I know you don't trust me yet, but it'll be better in the long run if you can just... let it go."

Jisung sighs deeply because he knows Hyunjin is right. He resumes his walk in response to the statement and Hyunjin follows along, catching up in an instant, licking the melting bits off his chocolate ice cream because he likes ice cream, unlike Jisung.

After a long silence, Jisung finally speaks.

"I do trust you, by the way," he says. "More than I'd trust him right now."

 

Minho doesn't care if he spoils the surprise now. Anyway, he's sure Chan must already know Felix and him are coming back. Minho seeks him out first with little recollection of how long it's been since they last spoke.

"You're back!" Chan exclaims as soon as he sees him, going in for an amicable hug. A warm thing.

Minho dedicates him a half smile through his nerves, hugging him only sideways, needing to clear his doubts before he dives into formalities.

"Yeah," he mumbles. When Chan opens his mouth to say something, he stops him. "Listen, I know this might sound a little weird right now and I know we haven't seen each other in ages, but where's Jisung?"

Chan's expression shifts quickly. His smile fades and he hums as if he was—not thinking, but debating whether he should tell him. Minho swallows nervously when he realizes he's become the villain. In Jisung's life, that is. Hopefully not for long.

"Why?" Chan asks cautiously.

"I went to his dorm and he's—I mean, he's gone. Some other guy is living there now."

"Oh, well... Jisung moved out a couple of weeks ago. He's living in an apartment in Gangbuk."

The news catch Minho off guard.

"What? Why?"

Chan shakes his head. "I don't know much about it, actually. He only talks to Hyunjin nowadays."

Another piece of information that puzzles Minho even further.

"Hyunjin? But they hate each other!"

"Uh... not really. I mean, not anymore. I don't know. They keep to themselves mostly."

Minho doesn't possess the mental capacity at the moment to ask about it, so he shakes his head and chooses to live in ignorance until he feels fit enough to question it even further.

"Well, so, how can I find him?"

Chan knows Jisung's address. It's not like it's private information, since Hyunjin and him have visited him once or twice since he moved out recently. But he keeps that information to himself.

"Listen, Minho... I know you're here to make amends," he begins, treading the topic carefully, eyes flicking toward the neglected bouquet on Minho's hand, "but I don't think this is a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Jisung is not..." He sighs. "He's not going to forgive you."

"Well, but don't you think it's best if I at least try? So he can see that I'm really sorry about everything."

Chan shakes his head. "Don't."

Minho stares at him in silence, his heart starting to sink in his chest. Chan says nothing else.

"I have to go, but I guess I'll see you later today?" he tells him.

Minho is disappointed. Hurt, even, although Chan said nothing he didn't already know.

"Yeah... I suppose," he drawls quietly.

Chan thins his lips. "It's good to have you back, dude."

He pats him on the shoulder in greeting and then walks away, leaving Minho alone in the cafeteria, the bouquet now feeling like an anvil on his hand, weighing him down through his agony. Enduring.

 

FOUR WEEKS AFTER THE SHOWCASE

"Are you fighting with him again?"

Jisung doesn't reply.

"Jisung," Chan insists. "I know you're upset, but you have to tell me because I can't have you two bickering during rehearsals. I mean it. It's distracting you and everyone else. Did you fight with Hyunjin again?"

Jisung nods reluctantly because he knows he can't be an asshole about this. Not to Chan. Not to anyone else.

"Why?" Chan asks.

"I don't know," Jisung tells him.

"Did he say something to you?"

"No."

"What did he do?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you mad at him?" he insists.

"I don't know."

Chan sighs. He knows. Even though Jisung refuses to tell, Chan knows he's unstable. Hyunjin has been Jisung's only comfort these past weeks, but spending so much time together has also made him the most frequent target of Jisung's breakdowns.

And Jisung says he doesn't know, but he does know. He's been upset for weeks—Hyunjin just so happens to be the closest person he can yell at. 

 

FIVE WEEKS AFTER THE SHOWCASE

"Moving out? Where to?" Hyunjin asks through a mouthful of chips, the movie playing on the laptop long since ignored.

"I don't know, but I can't stand this place anymore. Plus, I'm eighteen next week and my mom said she'll help me rent an apartment."

"Well, that's cool." Hyunjin shrugs. "But do you really want to live alone?"

"Why not?"

"I don't know. We're all here together and you'd be apart. Won't you get... lonely?"

But it's always been like that, even with Jisung living in the same building as them. He's always been lonely, apart. He doesn't see a difference in making it official, somehow.

"Doesn't matter," he says lowly. "I think it'll be great. I'm gonna have more space and we can have sleepovers and stuff. I'll get a flatscreen and we'll watch those animes you like together, and we can order lots of ice cream."

Hyunjin presses his lips into a line. Jisung doesn't even like ice cream. He just likes having a friend.

Finally, Hyunjin nods, choosing to be supportive instead of listing all the reasons why he thinks this is a bad idea.

"Okay. I'll help you decorate once you have it, then."

Jisung chuckles in agreement.

 

Jisung arrives at the JYP building that night with little expectations. For weeks, after several showcases, this hasn't been his favorite place. It's cold outside and he had to get out of bed to come all the way here for an announcement he doesn't care to hear, so he's pissed—to call it someway. Actually, he's just very tired.

Hyunjin welcomes him in the lobby and they walk all the way to the dance hall together, discussing lightly what all of this could be about, what JYP might be announcing today. But none of their suggestions seem tangible enough, so they're still as curious as they are confused when they get to the gym.

As the rest of the member arrives, Jisung only greets with absent bows, staying by Hyunjin with his head down, not in the mood for any social interactions. Chan explains to them briefly that JYP will be coming over soon for a surprise announcement and so they wait impatiently, mumbling curiously about what all this could be about. Then, when JYP finally stalks into the dance hall, they all fall silent and bow respectfully.

"So, Felix and Minho," JYP begins slowly.

The boys all look up at him, the mentions of the names of the two eliminated members of the group stabbing ruthlessly at their attentions, at unhealed wounds. Jisung's head shoots up. At the mention of him, his breath suddenly catches in his throat.

"I called them here," JYP claims.

Through the shockwave of the news, most members laugh in disbelief. Jisung is frozen in place as JYP opens the door behind him. In comes Felix. Behind him, brown eyes and a half grin.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Jisung mumbles breathlessly when his eyes lock with Minho's across the room.

There's a certain ecstasy in the room, relief coursing the laughs of the members of Stray Kids as they recognize the two eliminated members finally coming back home, but Jisung feels like he's cemented to the floor. Like something is weighing him down, shrinking him to the size of nothing. Minho bows directly at him, eyes lodged, never ripping off, and Jisung feels like he can't breathe. His throat is in a tight knot.

"We're doing this so you, and also I, can make a final decision and have no regrets later on," JYP explains through the murmur that still bubbles in the hall, "so I hope you can do your best to prepare the performance once again."

Minho and Felix nod in agreement, the members watching them closely with smiles upon their faces—except for Jisung, whose jaw is gritted tight as he releases a shaky breath through his nose. He's trying to keep his composure, but his heart is racing in his chest. Too soon, too much.

"But," JYP continues, "in order to have a more thorough evaluation of your work, I will ask you to prepare a performance for the six of you and another for the eight of you together. I will watch those two performances and then decide the final members."

Everyone nod. Jisung screams in silence.

"It will be precious for you to face your final mission all together once again. Prepare it well and I hope the result will be satisfactory. Understand?" he says at last. The members reply excitedly. "Do well."

JYP finally leaves the room through the greetings and the thankful bows of all the members. At last, when they're alone, everyone can finally approach Felix and Minho for a hug, filled with excitement and a teary relief.

Jisung tucks himself away in a corner. He backs up towards the wall with no interest whatsoever for displaying any kind of gratitude towards this, because why would he every be thankful? He feels like he's been set on the line on purpose, like he's been plotted against. Jisung falls behind and his heart sinks in his chest as he watches Hyunjin hugging Minho, welcoming him back warmly.

His eyes sting with tears of anger and frustration and betrayal, and he could scream if his throat wasn't shut tight, so instead, he fetches his bag from its usual corner and runs out of the hall when no one is paying attention, feeling like he might be at the verge of collapse.

Jisung speeds down the hallway, except he doesn't know where to go because his dorm is not his dorm anymore, and this place looks strange, and the walls are moving. He ends up at the common room. Luckily, it's empty, so he tosses his bag on the couch and braces himself against the wall with a hand to his chest to feel the dull pounding of his heart against his fingertips. It aches to breathe, so he doubles over and tries to catch his breath, though to no avail. His heaving echoes in the quiet room and Jisung can do nothing but let the tears prick his eyes.

His lungs burn. It's like there's not enough air in the world that could possibly fill him.

Jisung doesn't know how much time goes by, but it feels like ages which he spends struggling before Hyunjin finally runs into the room, chasing after him, and catches him doubled over by the wall, clutching at his stomach. He takes a second to process the scene, then stays apart, fearing he might crowd Jisung if he gets too close.

"Jisung," he calls through his concern. 

Hyunjin receives no reply but that of the panting breaths Jisung struggles through, all of which sound awfully low in spite of the silence being louder in the room. Hyunjin doesn't know what to do, so he takes a step forward and rests a soft hand on his best friend's shoulder. He feels him heaving, feels the blood rushing frantically through his veins. Jisung looks up and his eyes are wet.

"I think I'm having a heart attack," he cries.

Hyunjin presses a hand to Jisung's chest and feels his beating heart drumming against his fingers. Healthy, but sad.

"You're having a panic attack," he says. "It's okay. You'll be fine. Take a deep breath."

Jisung tries to follow the motion of Hyunjin's hand as Hyunjin guides his breathing. It hurts, he grimaces in pain, but Hyunjin's voice is soothing nonetheless.

"I—I can't..."

"You can. Just follow me. You're not gonna die," he tells him. "This is just a moment. It'll pass. Breathe."

Hyunjin keeps on droning along and it's a nice sound to fill the silence and replace the static crackling in Jisung's brain. Jisung doesn't take his eyes off of him. Slowly, with his words, Hyunjin manages to help him find the calm again.

Jisung used to hate Hyunjin and now he wonders why. Hyunjin has a gentle hand. He treats Jisung delicately, just like Jisung knows he should be treated. He'd crack if Hyunjin was any harsher with him. He'd cry. But Hyunjin handles him like he's learnt the guidebook by heart.

Minho, who followed Hyunjin out of the dance hall in a frenzy, desperate to make sure Jisung was okay, stands by the door and witnesses the scene. He feels like an onlooker. He feels like he never should've come back at all.

Notes:

twt and alterspring

Chapter 29: what can you do?

Minho settles down in his old dorm with a bitter taste in his tongue. It's strange to be back. Stranger, even, to be alone.

When Hyunjin finds him outside in the gallery of the fifth floor smoking a cigarette, the ambience is a little tense.

They stand side by side for a moment, the air stretched taut between them, the cigarette smoke wrapping them up in a cloud. Minho has acknowledged Hyunjin's presence as much as he's been able to, but he's said nothing about it. He doesn't have to. They both know why Hyunjin is there.

The air is cold, their warm breaths show in front of their mouths, and the city lights glimmer below them. Hyunjin shifts on his feet until Minho, at last, dares to speak.

"Has he been okay?" he asks, his voice weak.

There's no question of who he's talking about. Jisung is present, even in his absence.

Hyunjin sighs and shakes his head. Minho purses his lips as he looks down at the passing cars below them, the parapet being the only thing between them and the abyss. He could so easily jump. It baffles him.

"What can I do?" he asks now.

It sounds like a plea, which makes it so much harder for Hyunjin to tell him that there's not much that can be done. Not for him, anyway. 

"Minho... I know you want to help," he begins, turning towards him, "but I think the best thing you can do right now is give him some space. He's still processing the fact that you're even here at all. You caught him off-guard."

"Well, h—how can I do that? It breaks my heart seeing him like this... I know it's my fault, but if there's any chance he might forgive me—"

"Would you forgive him if it was the other way around?"

Minho looks at him like the answer is obvious.

"Without a doubt," he whispers.

Hyunjin watches the gloss of tears over Minho's eyes. He sighs.

"You're not being reasonable," he tells him then, his voice soft, understanding. "He opened up to you and you abandoned him. D'you think he'd ever forgive himself if he forgave you? Would you?"

Minho falls silent. His lower lip trembles. He doesn't want to admit the truth.

"When did you two become so close?" he asks instead. It's not reproach. He's just curious to know.

Hyunjin shrugs. "A lot changed since you left. The showcases, the eliminations. Everything's been pretty... intense. For all of us, but especially for him. You know he doesn't deal well with pressure.."

Minho nods in understanding. Of course he knows. He's memorized even the direction of each of Jisung's hair strands.

He takes one last puff out of his cigarette before putting it out on the parapet, leaving a dark ashen stain behind. 

"Can you just let him know that I really am sorry?" he begs. "I—I know he doesn't want to see me or... or hear of me at all, but... could you just tell him? That I'm sorry and I'm ashamed and that I'm back here for him. And if there's any chance he ever wants to talk, then I'll be right here. I'll wait for him. Could you make sure he knows? So he makes his decision without thinking I'm not sorry."

Hyunjin hesitates, but at last, he nods. It's hard to tell Minho that he doesn't see it happening, so he opts for silence instead. He turns to go, patting Minho's shoulder in what he hopes is a somewhat reassuring manner, but then stops himself, moments away.

"He said he loved you, you know?" Hyunjin says.

Minho's head shoots up. His eyes, when they fall on him, are suddenly wider. 

"What?" he mumbles out.

"Yeah. The night of the showcase, after you left. He said he loved you and I had to drag him back inside, but... he said that. And he meant it. He loved you."

The silence that follows stretches on for a second too long.

"Loved? And he doesn't love me anymore?" Minho asks. 

Hyunjin shakes his head. "I don't know."

Minho then watches him go. There are so many things he has to say, but none of them leave the comfort of his body; none of them step out into the cold night air. He holds back tears and holds back words along with them, and wishes he could take it all back.

 

Jisung struggles to get out of bed for rehearsals the following morning. As soon as he wakes up, it first takes him a second to recognize his surroundings as he's still unaccustomed to his new apartment, but then he quickly notices that the ceiling fan above the bed is off. It irks him.

Something weighs him down. Jisung can't bring himself to face today's rehearsal if Minho is going to be there after two months with no sight, no mention of him whatsoever, only his constant rambling thoughts. The idea seems daunting enough, not to mention the fact that he's feeling a little sick already and he can't shake the feeling that it has something to do with Minho's presence.

Jisung groans as he turns over to hug a pillow. His alarm isn't even off yet. His stomach is stirred and the cloudy day he sights through the open window seems pleasant enough to lull him back to a sleep he'll never want to wake up from, but he knows he wouldn't be able to sleep even if he wanted to. At last, heavy yet lightheaded, he gets up and takes a shower to freshen up and hopefully wash away a sleepless night.

He skips breakfast that morning, almost certain that he won't be able to keep any food down. As he takes the subway all the way to the JYP building, he dozes off against the stanchion, his mind veering in and out of focus with a thousand of spontaneous what-ifs careening like insects through his mind. He forces himself upright, even though his anxiety plays tricks on his stomach and shortens his breath. By the time he arrives at the building, his hand is on his chest and he inhales slowly, deliberately, the way Hyunjin taught him so he can satiate his nerves, all because there's a wall of cement in his lungs and he struggles to breathe through it.

When he gets to the dance hall, Jisung meets his friend by the mirror bars.

"Did he get here yet?" he whispers, looking around cautiously.

Hyunjin doesn't need to ask to know who he refers to.

"No. Good morning."

Jisung sighs out in relief, dropping his bag by a corner. "Thank God. Hi."

"How do you feel?"

"Just fucking fine."

Hyunjin flashes a brow at the statement and they continue to warm up together. Then, when the door to the dance hall opens and in comes Bang Chan, followed closely by Minho, Jisung stares straight ahead and keeps stretching without batting an eye.

Minho notices him almost as soon as he enters the room. Jisung barely acknowledges him.

When the rehearsal begins, Hyunjin can't keep himself from gazing between the two boys, noting Minho's insistent stare and Jisung's attempts at ignoring him. He grows nervous by the second, knowing his friend well enough to be able to tell that the tension is slowly pushing him to his limit. Then, when the opportunity arises during a water break, Hyunjin approaches Minho sat on a corner of the hall and kicks him gently on the knee.

"Stop staring at him like that," he murmurs.

Minho frowns, idly glimpsing at Jisung once again. "Like what?"

"Like a wet puppy. He can tell. You're not making this any better."

"Well, I don't do it on purpose."

"Try to control yourself," Hyunjin mutters, shooting a wary glance in Jisung's direction. "Let me at least talk to him before making it so obvious that you're terribly sad and lost without him."

Minho opens his mouth to say something, but Hyunjin walks away quickly before he can and joins Jisung on the other side of the room. He watches them sit together with a glint of jealousy, wondering when exactly did the tables turn so drastically, but he looks down and swallows his discomfort because he knows he's in no place to demand anything of anyone.

Once the rehearsal is over close to midday, Jisung invites Hyunjin out for lunch. They leave the building together under the shadow of Minho's jealous stare and once they're on their way, Jisung finally huffs out loud.

"Oh, my God. One more second in there and I would've died."

Hyunjin snorts. "Don't be dramatic."

"Dramatic? Did you see the way he wouldn't stop staring? I thought he'd get the hint halfway through the rehearsal but he just... kept on going."

"Well, he's upset."

Jisung eyes him weirdly when Hyunjin doesn't immediately agree.

"What are you trying to say?" he asks now, sussing him out almost instantly.

"Nothing." Hyunjin shrugs. "I mean... I just— I know you're mad at him, but he obviously regrets what happened. It's better that he's looking at you like that than not looking at you at all, right?"

Jisung shakes his head. "I'd rather he understood I don't care how much he regrets it. He still did it."

"Don't be so hard on him," Hyunjin tells him then. It's a gentle thing, with a hand posed on Jisung's shoulder to soften the blow. "He's sorry."

"Are you on his side now?"

"I'm on no one's side. I agree that he was an asshole, but I won't talk shit behind his back when I know he's not bad. Something shitty happened to him and he reacted... not in the best way, but he was angry, too."

Jisung stops in his tracks on the middle of the sidewalk, then rolls his eyes and storms the way back to the building. It takes Hyunjin a moment to process the sudden shift before he huffs out loud and follows after him.

"Where are you going?" he exclaims as he catches up to his frantic sprint.

"I don't know. Somewhere else."

"C'mon, Jisung, don't get mad at me." Hyunjin grabs his hand to stop him. Jisung crosses his arms over his chest and avoids his eyes with a tight jaw. "I know you hate him. Okay? I'm not saying you shouldn't. I know he said some awful things and then left you. But you have to cut him some slack, you know? He got eliminated from the band and he was upset, too. You can't blame him for lashing out at you when that's something you do all the time."

"Are you comparing me with him?"

"Yes— No! Yes? Maybe I am!" He throws his hands in the air when he grows exasperated. "You're blaming him for his reaction without even knowing what he felt. You get mad at us and treat us like shit all the time!"

"Yeah, and you singled me out and hated me for years because of that. What's your point?" Jisung replies angrily. "Am I supposed to just let it slide because I'm the same? Do you let it slide when it's me who's doing it?"

"I'm not saying you should just let it slide, Jisung. Are you listening? This isn't some kind of double standard where it's right when Minho does it but it's wrong when you do. I'm just saying you should consider his perspective. You get mad and I'm sure you have a good reason, I'm sure you feel misunderstood, so why can't he? He's sorry and he's upset, and he came back for you," Hyunjin exclaims. "You can't just be a hypocrite about it."

Jisung falls silent staring at him. That word certainly doesn't sit right with him.

Hyunjin seems to notice, as he closes his eyes and sighs in sudden regret.

"I don't mean it like that, okay? I'm not saying you're a hypocrite, I'm just saying—" he stammers, his voice now softer. "Please try to understand."

But Jisung shakes his head in disbelief.

"I think I'm just gonna go home," he tells him.

"Jisung, wait."

But Jisung doesn't listen. He rarely ever does. He's many things, and stubborn is one of them.

This time, Hyunjin doesn't follow. Instead, he drags his hands down his face in exasperation. He knew beforehand that convincing Jisung would be an impossible task, but he didn't anticipate he'd be caught in the crossfire.

 

Jisung arrives back home and tosses his bag aside with as much force as his body can muster. He's alone now, he can cry, yet he doesn't. He would never breach his own walls. Stress and anxiety roil inside him like mud because it took him two whole months to even start healing and now, he's just back at square one. What's the point of trying to get better if it all just comes crumbling down when he least expects it?

He feels betrayed, somehow. By Minho, by Hyunjin. He can't quite place his own thoughts. He feels guilty for being angry but he feels right, too, like he should be angry. Maybe he's just hurt. There's a weak pulse inside him telling him that he is dramatizing this. That he's being too hard on Minho. After all, he's always the one lashing out and saying hurtful things—so could Hyunjin actually be right? Should he blame Minho for the same thing he's put everyone through his whole life? And he was always so sweet, too; always so understanding. Maybe Jisung could understand him for a change.

But he's so hurt, in such deep pain, that even thinking of ever forgiving him makes him feel like he's betraying himself. He confided in him and he broke his trust. Wasn't Hyunjin the one who told him that at times, people must be selfish?

Jisung throws himself on bed and stares up at the ceiling. The fan is still off and everything is still wrong, but he's too tired to turn it on or try to fix anything. He's past any of that. The tumult in his head is enough to weigh him down.

How come things can go wrong so quickly? How come one minute, he felt he was living in a dream, and the next, he's watching it all crumble down in front of his eyes in a parking lot late at night?

Jisung never begged for anyone the way he begged for Minho. He always sort of assumed people were only passengers in his life—not that there ever was someone he loved as much as he loved him. Because he loved him. After weeks spent debating it, denying it, forcing himself to forget it, even though he has no idea what love actually feels like, he assumes he must have loved him, or else how come he felt so strongly for him? And if he did love him, is it just a thing from the past now? Has he stopped? Did he love him or does he still?

Does he love him at all?

He has so many questions and no answers at all. He can't seem to figure himself out. Suddenly, a part of him misses Minho, wishes he would've spared him at least a glance today, wishes he would've locked eyes with him for just a moment to see if all this regret Hyunjin talks about is really there. Suddenly, he wants to give him a chance. To prove himself, to be forgiven.

But no, he tells himself. No will do. Not until he's healed.

He closes his eyes and dozes off into a faint sleep.

Notes:

twt and alterspring

Chapter 30: please?

Jisung arrives at the building on Monday feeling a little less angry—or unsure of how he feels, frankly, because even though his heart beats erratically as he walks into the dance hall, even though he can feel his palms clammy with sweat, he's not uncomfortable. Not per se, at least. He's just nervous, maybe. 

It's a little late but he still strides slowly into the hall as if he was looking to postpone it for as long as he can, and when his eyes meet Minho's across the room, he has to stop for a brief moment to catch his breath. 

Minho seems shocked that he's even looking at him, those beautifully-shaped lips of his parted, just a little. He stops searching for whatever he needed from the inside of his bag and his full attention falls on Jisung, a spark of light igniting in his eyes, dancing on his pupils. It's only a fleeting instant before Jisung at last wills himself to look away, putting his head down and slipping over to his corner of the room without sparing him another glance to save himself from having to withstand it.

Minho sighs in defeat. He glances back down at his hands lost inside the bag and pointedly realizes he's forgotten what he was even looking for in the first place. He feels within himself promise, as if Jisung finally deigning to look at him implied some sort of changed, and it's enough to make heat crawl up his spine. 

He tries to keep his word and not stare at him throughout rehearsal the way he was told, but weirdly enough, this time it's Jisung who constantly shoots nervous glances in his direction instead, as if he was hoping, waiting for the moment their eyes locked. It takes all of Minho's self-control not to stop to catch his breath right then and there, missing those big round eyes of his with all his self. The brief moments he dares to take a look at him, the wind is knocked out from his body. 

Then, when rehearsal is over and he has nothing left to do, he sits back against the wall with his water bottle between his legs and gazes at him, gazes at him for a long while. He watches the way Jisung focuses, the way he moves, the way he flicks his overgrown hair off his eyes with a flip of his head. He watches the sweat glistening on his bare neck, the jut of his throat bobbing as he swallows; the way he pants, the way he chugs his water down, all until Jisung at last senses his insistent eyes upon him and turns. When their eyes lock across the room, Minho straightens up, his attention suddenly fully captivated.

It's strange that Jisung isn't the one to break the eye contact first, as if this was a race to see who lasted longer. And it's Minho the one who eventually looks away when finally, a faint blush stretches over his cheeks. He looks down at his lap in quivering shame and Jisung seems satisfied with the reaction, turning his attention back to his bag as Minho shakes his head to himself.

He's quick to gather his things and run out after that, the atmosphere in the hall suddenly all too overwhelming to quell his anxiety, but he doesn't expect a delicate hand to wrap around his arm and stop him from moving any further when he's halfway down the hallway. When he turns, Jisung is looking at him, gritting his teeth, a concealed anger behind his expression, and Minho is in shock.  

It's the first time in three months they stand so close. Minho's heart beats erratically, the mere contact of Jisung's hand around his arm sending electrifying shocks of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He looks down at his thin fingers, his filed nails, his pretty pink knuckles, as he swallows dryly and presses his lips together.

"Stop staring at me," Jisung tells him grittingly.

"I wasn't staring at you," Minho is quick to fire back, but his voice is weak.

"Yes, you were. Stop it."

"Did you really chase me out just to say that? Hyunjin already told me to stop staring at you."

Jisung takes a step forward, his eyes menacing. "Then, why don't you?"

Minho swallows dryly, staring into his eyes. It's been even longer since the last time he experienced an angry Jisung and now he understands what it feels to be on the receiving end of his shot, as a faint discomfort wraps him over. But the smell of conditioner exuding from his soft air is intoxicating and Minho can only focus on that. He would kiss him right now if he wasn't unsure whether Jisung would punch him if he did.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles at last, treading down the thin line of Han Jisung's anger. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Whatever. Just stop it." Jisung lets him go with a shove, but Minho feels him sift away through his fingers once more and he can't bear the thought of it, so he takes a step forward to grab his hand. When their fingers interlock, electricity makes goosebumps erupt all over his skin. Jisung quickly turns back to him, snatching himself away as if the contact burnt him. 

"Wait," Minho says simply.

"What do you want?" Jisung spits out, seeming as though he's trying to put as much distance between them as it is physically possible.

"Can we talk?" 

"Jisung."

Both Minho and Jisung turn to Hyunjin, who runs out of the dance hall in a hurry to catch up with his friend. Hyunjin looks between them both for a moment, sensing the tension in the atmosphere, before leaning into him.

"Can we talk?" he whispers.

Jisung doesn't want to talk to either of them (how come so many people want to talk to him?, this is definitely new) but he'd rather talk to Hyunjin than Minho, so he looks at the latter and presses his lips into a line that denotes fake pity.

"Sorry. Next time," he quips sarcastically.

Hyunjin nods halfheartedly at Minho before he leaves, dragging Jisung along and leaving Minho by himself to run a hand through his hair and huff out in exasperation. Another chance—missed.

 

As soon as they're no longer within Minho's line of view, Jisung immediately parts ways with Hyunjin. Hyunjin looks at him with a frown before following after him.

"Where are you going? I asked if we can talk," he says.

"I just said yes so I wouldn't have to talk to Minho, but I don't want to talk to either of you, so I'm going home."

Jisung is short but he's fast, so Hyunjin has a hard time keeping up with his hectic sprint. At last, growing frustrated at his avoidance, he grabs his friend by the arm firmly enough, drags him into the closest empty room, and slams the door shut behind him, effectively caging them both within.

"Yah!" Jisung exclaims, wide-eyed. 

"I'm not letting you shut me out this time," Hyunjin tells him warningly. "Not when I know I'm right."

"Oh, fuck off."

"No!" he exclaims. "You need to stop thinking everything is black and white. There are no sides. Some people make mistakes and some others are there to help you figure them out. Why won't you just let me help you, you stubborn little piece of shit?"

"Why won't anyone let me be angry in peace? God!" Jisung shouts out into the air. "Why is being angry such a bad thing?"

Hyunjin sighs and shakes his head. He gives himself a moment to calm down. He doesn't want to yell at Jisung—he knows Jisung doesn't like that. He knows he'll take it as an opportunity to build his walls back up.

"It's worse than you think, okay?" Hyunjin says. "You may not notice, but the way you feel shows on how you act. We can all tell, you know."

"What the fuck does that even mean?"

"It means you can't live your life angry with him. Do you have any idea how terribly you've been treating me these past two months?"

Silence falls upon them. Jisung shakes his head through a frown. 

"What are you talking about?"

"You seriously don't know?" Hyunjin stands in disbelief. "You're fine one day, then you hate me the next. Over and over. I act like everything's fine because I know you're dealing with some shit but I can't live like this forever. This isn't about me doing what's best for Minho, it's about you doing what's best for yourself. If we debut all together, do you plan to resent him for the rest of our career? Because I can assure you, eventually, it will take a toll on you. And I know you. Okay? I know where your anger comes from. I know you're angry at him because you hate him but you miss him and so you don't know what to do. So why, why are you so hell-bent on acting like everything is fine?"

Jisung can't bring himself to say anything. Hyunjin takes a deep breath. 

"I'm not asking you to forgive him, I'm asking you to at least give yourself some closure if you're ever gonna talk to him again. So you don't have to live in resentment and drag us all down with you. And I'm saying it because I care about you, not to invalidate your feelings and not because I'm taking anyone's side," he tells him firmly. "You think you can go from trusting someone with your life to hating them in just one second? I know you still have feelings for him, so just... talk to him. Give him five minutes to explain himself and if he doesn't change your mind, then we'll agree that he's just an asshole and we'll move on and everything will be fine. But just give him a chance to help you understand whether you hate him or you love him, because you're gonna drive me insane. I'm begging here. Please?"

Jisung stares at him, half-shocked, half-stirred by his mature confession. He hesitates, but his eyes tread over the desperation on Hyunjin's face and he can't bring himself to say no to him. Not when Hyunjin knows him so damn well.

"Okay," he mumbles thoughtlessly at last. 

Hyunjin sighs in relief. "Okay."

They remain quiet as he catches his breath, his long ramble having knocked the wind out of him. Jisung is still hesitant, wringing his hands nervously. 

"Do I have to do it right now?" he asks.

"No. When you're ready," Hyunjin nods, then lifts a finger in warning, "but no talking shit behind his back until we're certain that you hate him."

Jisung nods obediently.

 

It's a week later, after various awkward rehearsals filled with stolen longing glances, that Minho gets a text. 

It's close to midnight. He's on his own, snacking on some candy in the common room when his phone buzzes, and he only glances absentmindedly at the screen when it lights up. However, when he doesn't recognize the unsaved number, he frowns and picks it up. 

Unknown: hello

Minho stares at the message with a grimace, then promptly types in a half-assed reply.

M: Not interested

He tosses the phone aside and focuses back on the bag of lemon drops he holds in his hand, careless for anyone that might be wanting to sell or promote something to him. When his phone buzzes again, he huffs out loud and picks it up reluctantly.

Unknown: wow
Unknown: one would've thought you'd be a little more respectful to someone you're trying so hard to impress
Unknown: guess not

His heart skips a beat. He stares at the text with a frown upon his face. 

M: Who's this?

Unknown: jisung

Minho jumps to his feet, the bag of lemon drops falling from his lap to the ground with a thud. His eyes are locked on the screen, reading and rereading the message over and over again to make sure he's not hallucinating this, that he's actually awake and somehow, it is Jisung who's texting him on the other side of the line. Against all fucking odds.

M: Jisung? How did you get my number?

J: none of your business
J: i have an offer

M: What?

J: meet me at the park and i'll give you one minute to say whatever you want to say

M: Right now? It's midnight

J: fine bye 

Minho feels a sudden panic. His heart hammers against his chest.

M: Wait
M: Wait
M: I'll go

J: ok

¡

Jisung cusses out under his breath as he paces in circles around a bench, on the same pathway he visited with Minho months ago, though under completely different circumstances. He curses Hyunjin for convincing him to do this, Chan for giving him Minho's phone number and himself for ever thinking this would be a good idea. His chest aches and he's short on breath, nervous, waiting for the man in question who he really, really doesn't want to see. 

He's only doing this for Hyunjin, to give him some peace of mind, because he sure as hell doesn't think he'll get anything useful out of this. He'll be here exactly one minute, just like he told Minho, and then he'll go and leave all this madness behind. Things will continue the way they are and everything will be fine. Right?

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, tucked inside his jacket because it's fucking cold today. 

When he hears a set of footsteps behind him, Jisung turns and finds Minho, who stops a few feet away from him, staring at him with a pair of parted lips as if the mere fact that they're looking at each other left him breathless. Jisung stares into his eyes for a moment.

"Jisung..." Minho mumbles.

He opens his mouth to say something, but falls silent when Jisung only takes out his phone and shows him the screen, the one minute timer set on it already starting to run. Minho frowns—he didn't think it would be literally one minute. 

"You're wasting your time," Jisung announces boredly.

"But—"

"Tic, tac." 

Minho snaps his mouth shut, his mind suddenly going blank as he's faced with the pressure of a ticking clock. Jisung stares at him expectantly.

"Jisung, I'm sorry," Minho starts hurriedly, taking a step toward him. "I—I know I hurt you. I know you feel betrayed because I abandoned you out of nowhere. Trust me, there's not a day that I don't regret what happened. I was upset and I wasn't thinking straight, and I was also... embarrassed, I guess. I was ashamed that I got cut, so I took it out on the wrong person."

Almost like a reflex, Jisung feels tears stinging his eyes, as if these were all the words he's been waiting to hear for weeks.

"I took advantage of your vulnerability," Minho admits with a sigh, looking down at his feet. "I—I was an asshole. I broke your trust. You opened up to me and I left you and I'm so sorry for that."

Jisung looks away so as to not let him see the way he's holding back tears.

"I can't take it back now. What's done is done. But I can prove to you how sorry I am, if you let me," he tells him, taking another step forward to close the distance between them. "I can prove to you that the person I was the night of the showcase is not the person I am. That I do care about you and that I'd never, ever leave you again the way I did. Whatever you might think of me, even if you hate me, just please know that I love—"

The alarm goes off. 

"Time's up," Jisung says immediately and doesn't waste a second in turning on his heel to leave.

He doesn't want to listen to him anymore. Not when he knows that one more word will make him cave.

Minho's heart sinks in his chest. Before what feels like his last chance slips away once more, he grabs Jisung's hand and turns him back toward him. 

"No, wait—please," he begs, feeling his throat coiling into a tight knot, tears threatening to pour down his cheeks. "Please."

"I said one minute and—"

"One minute couldn't possibly be enough for you to decide that I'm really not worth it." Minho shakes his head desperately. "Look me in the eye and tell me that you really hate me."

Jisung doesn't say anything. He doesn't move, keeping his head down. Minho tugs at him.

"Look at me," he repeats. His eyes become glassy under the overflowing tears.

At last, Jisung dares to look up. There's a glint of tears in his eyes. With a heavy heart, still caging his hand within his own, Minho kneels down in front of him.

"I'm begging," he tells him now. 

Jisung scowls and shakes his head. "Minho, get up."

"No. I'm begging you."

"Get up."

"Jisung," he continues, putting his head down, holding his hand gently. "Please. I'll prove to you how I really feel. I'll do anything."

"Minho, get up!"

Jisung gets him to his feet with a rough shove. Then, he clenches his jaw and wipes his cheek with his palm.

"Don't be ridiculous," he tells him, seeming reluctant to even say a word, but doing so regardless. "I'll give you one more chance, but stop embarrassing me."

Minho's heart shines with hope. 

"Really?" he whispers.

"Yes, fuck. Whatever."

Minho blinks in a desperate shock. Then, he bows for him, all the way down to his waist. He hears Jisung scowling once again.

"Thank you," Minho mumbles. "I promise I'll be good."

"Aish." Jisung groans and rolls his eyes. "I'm getting the fuck away from you."

Minho doesn't get up, still bowing at him as Jisung walks away, glancing at him over his shoulder, trying to pretend he has no sort of affiliation to him. Finally, when he's fled the scene, Minho gets up and sighs loudly, feeling like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, like a pleasant spark of hope has been ignited deep in his chest. He can finally breathe peacefully—if it comes to proving to Jisung that the regret he feels is real, then he'll prove him just that. He'll see.

That night, he skips the way back home with his hands in his pockets and a big, big smile upon his face. 

Notes:

twt and alterspring

Chapter 31: you can't just kiss him

M: Dinner tonight.
M: Say yes?

Jisung stares at the message, his mouth frothing with toothpaste. Simple words, but they make his heart feel a little jittery in his chest.

J: not gonna happen

He snorts at his own malice. 

M: What? Why not?

J: i have plans

He doesn't really, but he figures it's better to make Minho believe that he does. To make himself seem unreachable, somehow. Like he has friends. He's still mad at Minho, after all: the fact that he's giving him a chance doesn't mean he's forgiven him just yet. 

While he spits toothpaste out on the sink, he watches his phone screen attentively. Minho types and stops, types and stops, over and over, as if he was debating what to say next. The thought of leaving him speechless makes Jisung laugh. 

M: With who?

Of course that's what Minho cares about the most. Jisung feels himself sweating with the possessiveness dripping from his words.

J: none of your business 

M: What about right now? Are you busy?

J: yes

M: You're lying
M: Don't make me come find you

J: nuh-uh
J: btw the fact that you have my number doesn't mean you can text me whenever u want 
J: weirdo
J: good fucking bye

M: Hm

Jisung rolls his eyes and tosses his phone aside, but he can't ignore the zooming in his chest. That feeling of belonging is real and sentient, and no matter how much he tries to convince himself that he doesn't want Minho, he really does. He comes out of the bathroom smelling of spearmint and thinking about it. 

He's never texted with anyone before. His phone has been only a prop most of his life and maybe this is the longest online conversation he's ever held with anyone without losing his focus. But all jokes aside, it feels kinda nice. Almost better than real conversations, because he has time to think out his answer and only say things he really means. 

That's a lie. He's dying to see Minho again. But he won't let that happen so easily. Minho has to earn it.

The thought makes Jisung shudder. He's always had a particular hatred toward people who live life attached to their phones. He decides to leave home that day without his. 

 

"Are you serious? That's too easy." Jisung rolls his eyes. 

"Well, answer. Pause or rewind button?" Hyunjin exclaims, repeating his question frantically.

"Rewind. Duh."

"So no sleeping for five more minutes?" his friend pouts.

"If something embarrassing happens to me, I can just rewind and prevent it," Jisung counters. "Or if I say something mean, I can just take it back."

"I disagree."

"Well, you're a bitch."

Hyunjin rolls his eyes playfully and sips from the straw of his iced coffee. Jisung leans back on his seat, looking around, enjoying the first nice day in a while. He likes winter better. He thrives in the cold. But autumn has been kind.

They don't normally frequent this café, but neither Hyunjin nor Jisung had anything to do on a free Saturday and they decided to go out for some breakfast. They landed here and are now sat on a sidewalk table, enjoying the pleasant weather. Jisung eats nothing but delights in the calm breeze and the soft sun nonetheless, closing his eyes to breathe in the smell of warm autumn and dry leaves that still lingers in the air. 

He takes a look at Hyunjin, whose ray-bans sit comfortably on the bridge of his nose. He's also looking around at passersby, sipping from his iced americano. It's pleasant to have a friend, Jisung realizes now. These friendly gatherings were something he didn't know could be so enjoyable, or maybe it's the fact that the person in front of him is the one he enjoys the most.

For some reason, being with Hyunjin isn't exhausting to Jisung. He doesn't have to worry about saying the right thing or accidentally making a mistake. Hyunjin doesn't mind anymore, not like he used to.

Never in a million years would Jisung have expected to find a loyal partner in his archenemy, but now that it's happened, he can't even remember why he hated Hyunjin in the first place. They're so alike, it's terrifying. That's one good thing he takes out of his short-lived relationship with Minho—that it led to this.

Maybe it's not healthy that he relies on Hyunjin so much. Maybe spending all his days with one same person, turning that person into his life support, is not a good idea. As it has been his whole life, people are only passengers to him. But Jisung was never one to know how to set boundaries.

Is that the reason why he is how he is nowadays? Because he struggled to say no in the past?

Jisung shakes the thought away and focuses on the present. It's no use to well on things from before. Hyunjin is here right now. That's all that matters.

"Would you rather always have to say exactly what you're thinking or never be able to speak again?" Jisung asks out of the top of his head.

Hyunjin looks up, his attention caught by the question. "Oh... tricky."

Jisung nods in agreement, then watches his friend momentarily as he thinks. Hyunjin seems to be debating his answer and Jisung finds him unbelievably pretty. 

"Honesty can be cruel," he says, "so I think I'd rather be quiet."

Jisung laughs sorely. "So, if you're charged with murder, how do you defend yourself?"

"Actions speak louder than words." Hyunjin shrugs. "Anyway, would you rather be hurt or hurt someone else?"

Jisung snaps his mouth shut because he doesn't have an answer to that.

 

When he rounds the corner to get to the café Hyunjin summoned him to earlier this morning, Minho sights Jisung sat on that pretty metal sidewalk table and freezes. It catches him certainly off-guard to see them both chatting livelily. Whatever intentions Hyunjin had inviting him over, they couldn't have been any good. But once he thinks it over, it's not that what calls his attention the most.

Frozen by a corner, Minho watches them for some short minutes. He watches them laugh and interact, the idea still strange, the sight still amazing to behold.

How come two months could bring them so close together? When Minho left, Jisung and Hyunjin still despised each other, the only attempt at reconciliation being that of Hyunjin the same night he got cut from the band—and fruitless at that, too. But he didn't expect that to stem into this. Minho assumed perhaps they would establish a relationship of mutual respect and avoid messing with each other again. He assumed polite silence. Never would he have imagined it would turn into affection. It makes him wonder if his leaving had anything to do with it. If, in his absence, Jisung sought comfort in Hyunjin. 

The thought makes him weirdly uncomfortable. It still strikes a nerve inside him that Jisung seems so comfortable with Hyunjin, especially knowing Minho was the mediator between them in the past. He wishes he was the person sitting on that table with Jisung, making him smile. Yes, he's jealous—he knows it and he's not afraid to admit it. But how far does jealousy goes? He remembers months ago when Jisung was the one jealous of Hyunjin and now the situation has been twisted and turned until it became this.

Minho knows he deserves it, but God, make it stop.

He clears his throat and adjusts the glasses on the bridge of his nose before continuing his way, skipping down the sidewalk to the café to get to the table that Jisung and Hyunjin share. When Hyunjin catches sight of him, he smiles faintly, causing Jisung's attention to deviate. He glances curiously over his shoulder.

"Hello," Minho calls with a half grin. "I didn't know you'd be here, Jisung. What a pleasant surprise."

When he recognizes him, however, Jisung seems immediately appalled.

"What are you doing here?" he exclaims.

"Hyunjin invited me."

Jisung turns to Hyunjin with that same look of horror. He seems ready to complain, but Hyunjin is sipping from his coffee and feigning distraction, looking around, everywhere else but at him. He damn well knows the mess he just made. 

"Did you set this up?" Jisung gestures with an angry finger. 

Minho stands amused, wetting his lips, staring between him and Hyunjin. He's not at all bothered by this seemingly unfortunate—but schemed—encounter.

"Yeah, no. I, uh... I actually had some stuff to do and I thought it would be cool if you two, uh..." Hyunjin claims nervously, rising to his feet without even finishing his sentence.

Jisung's eyes go even wider when it suddenly dawns upon him. He glances at Minho like he's some sort of alien specimen, eyes wide in utter terror.

"What? You're not leaving me alone with him!"

Minho cocks a brow. He's still right there, but he doubts Jisung would care. It's still somewhat amusing. 

Hyunjin takes a few bills from his wallet and drops them on the table, already rushing away. "Tip's on me. You two, uh... have fun."

"Hyunjin!" Jisung jumps to his feet.

But Hyunjin only sends an apologetic look his way and hurriedly slips away, rushing past the neighboring tables, then picking up pace to leave the crime scene behind. Some heads turn to glimpse the situation curiously—Jisung seems outraged, whereas Minho stands amused. 

"Fucking asshole!" Jisung exclaims, then looks at Minho with pursed lips. "I'm not staying, by the way."

He makes to turn, but Minho grabs his arm and stops him, pulling him in before he can leave. 

"Wait. Let's go for a walk."

"Why are you forcing me into hanging out with you? This is assault!" Jisung stomps his foot on the floor like a child, which makes Minho actually laugh out loud.

"Stop!" he tells him through a cackle. "Is hanging out with me really that bad?"

"Yes."

"You didn't say that before when you were begging me to fuck—"

Jisung punches him on the shoulder and Minho lets out a squeal. He's small, but he's not weak.

In his distraction, Jisung takes the opportunity to flee. However, through his laughter, Minho follows him down the sidewalk, quick enough to catch up and pulls him in by the waist. Jisung struggles against him, squirming to escape.

"Stop it. People will think I'm kidnapping you!" Minho exclaims playfully.

"You are. This is a kidnapping. Help! He's assaulting me!"

People on the streets turn to look, so Minho snaps a hand over his mouth and smiles kindly at the passersby, some of who laugh in response knowing this is probably a joke (even though, to Jisung, it most definitely isn't). He wraps a firm arm around his waist and drags him over to a more secluded block, away from the main avenue.

Once they're not in the public eye anymore, Minho finally lets him go. There's still a trail of laughter in his voice when he speaks up again.

"Are you calm?" he asks with fake stiffness.

Jisung throws his hands in the air. "I said I'd give you a chance! That doesn't mean you're forgiven. You can't just show up like this!"

"I know I'm not forgiven, but if you won't even give me a minute to talk to you, then how could I possibly prove myself to you?"

"I don't know, you're the one who's so desperate to be forgiven! Figure it out," Jisung snarls. "Why do you guys plot against me like that!"

"Wait, I had no idea you were here. This was all Hyunjin's idea. I thought we were going out for some coffee, just us two."

"I'm gonna kill him! I swear I'll—"

Minho steals a very brief kiss from him and Jisung's eyes go wide.

He falls silent, suddenly frozen, unblinking before he blinks once, twice, thrice. Minho looks at him with a cheeky smirk on his face. When he finally regains his composure after a few long seconds, Jisung shakes his head. 

"Why the fuck did you do that?" he asks.

Minho shrugs. "I felt like it."

"You can't just kiss me, you fucking freak."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm mad at you!" Jisung shoves him back, but the attempt only makes Minho's smile tighten his cheeks, his hands wrapping gently around Jisung's prodding wrists. "What part don't you understand? I'm actually furious at you and I'm only giving you one more chance because Hyunjin asked me to."

"Really? I got on my knees for you and you're doing it because he asked you?"

"What? Are you gonna get jealous now?"

"Yeah." Minho shrugs. "I'm jealous."

Jisung purses his lips. Minho can't say it out loud because he knows he'll get punched, but Jisung is like an adorable fluff ball when he's angry that bluffs without actually producing any damage—right now, at least. It makes Minho want to kiss him even harder. It makes getting him flustered an entertaining task.

"Shut up," Jisung tells him, a faint blush having stretched across his cheeks. 

Minho bites down on his bottom lip to repress a smile. Jisung's speechlessness makes all sorts of butterflies flutter in his stomach.

"Can you give me a chance right now?" he asks. "You said you would."

"For the record, if Hyunjin does this again, I'm gonna fucking—"

"Please?"

Minho bats his eyelashes at him and Jisung falls silent, as if suddenly captivated by the looks of him begging. Minho is not afraid to do so, almost ready to fall down on his knees right now and start pleading once again, but at last, after gazing at him for a moment, Jisung finally rolls his eyes.

"Aish," he groans out loud. "Fine. But shut up, okay? I can't stand you anymore."

Minho's smile grows wider on his face. He nods triumphantly.

"Awesome. Can I take you somewhere? I promise it'll be fun," he suggests.

"Whatever. But don't you even think of spending any crazy amounts of money on me, 'cause I guarantee you, it's not gonna work this time."

Minho grins as he thinks back to their sushi date some months ago. The money wasn't even his own. Considering his economic situation, he probably shouldn't even have spent it.

It doesn't matter. Minho achieved his goal.

"Does that mean it worked the last time?" he asks playfully.

"No! Fuck!" Jisung huffs. "You're infuriating."

Minho grabs his hand and drags him along. "This is just like a first date."

Jisung tosses his head back and groans out loud. 

 

"A fucking planetarium?"

Minho nods eagerly. "Have you ever been to the planetarium?"

"No. It's fucking boring."

"How can you know it's boring if you've never been to one?" He rolls his eyes. "C'mon. Let me show you exactly what you're missing out on. You're gonna love it."

He takes him in by the hand and tugs him on. Jisung lets himself be guided because his focus is suddenly snapped down to the way Minho laces his fingers with his own, almost like it's nothing, but the contact sends shivers down Jisung's spine, enough to make him forget everything for a second. He doesn't acknowledge his surroundings until he has been dragged all the way into the dome and by then, there's no escaping anymore. He can but try to keep his breaths steady. 

Jisung lets out a half sigh and stands behind Minho like a child as Minho buys two tickets for them. His mind is so scattered he can't bring himself to say anything, not even offer to split the payment (even though Minho doesn't ask). He struggles to make peace with the fact that he's here and Minho is here—after weeks spent thinking nothing like this would ever happen again, here they are. Jisung can't wrap his head around it.

Minho seems content enough with the fact that he's not complaining, so once they're ready to go, he grabs him by the hand again and leads him further in.

And they hold hands. Like a couple.

Jisung's eyes are on the contact once again. He can't pull away. Minho can tell, but he looks around, feeling at ease as he caresses the back of Jisung's hand with his thumb—mindlessly, like it's something they just do, even though Jisung can't recall one sane instance in which they held hands this way. It's off-putting.

The inside of the planetarium is lit dimly in black and blue, beads of light scattered across the dark walls to resemble a starry night sky—and it's awfully real. Faint music plays from somewhere, only adding on to the ambience, and beautiful planets in various sizes hang from the ceiling, framed by shining constellations that grab at his attention.

Jisung feels like he's ascended into heaven.

"Look up, Jisung," Minho whispers.

Suddenly snapped out of his reverie Jisung complies and at last glances up at the ceiling. His mouth falls open in awe of what he witnesses, eyes trailing over the fake Milky Way lined above them, the solar system grand and beautiful. Lights catch on his big, round eyes. Everything is so quiet. 

"Wow..." he mumbles subconsciously, a sigh escaping him. Minho gazes at him and feels himself blushing, this boy so beautiful he could tear him to pieces if only he knew the power he held over him.

"You'll love the auditorium," he mutters instead of saying that out loud.

Jisung is so immersed in his surroundings that he barely takes into account the fact that they still hold hands, that the people around them can see them holding hands and that to any passerby that doesn't know the first thing about them, they're a couple. Minho tugs at him and he follows blindly, staring at the walls, at the screens displaying all sorts of planets and shooting stars and constellations. He was never nerdy enough to be passionate about something so silly, like space, but now, he understands the appeal.

They ride up the stairs into the auditorium a moment before the show begins.

The seats are unusual, Jisung notes, as they are reclined in order to be facing up. Minho chooses two nice spots for them and they lean back to stare up at the ceiling—no, at the huge dome-shaped screen that stretches above them. The show starts. 

Minho has been to the planetarium thousands of times before. He knows this exhibition by hard. When the planetarium becomes too dark for anyone to notice, he turns and stares at Jisung instead. Jisung's eyes glimmer as he stares up in shock, the colors of the planets and the conglomerations of stars reflected upon his face. He doesn't move, doesn't blink, as if he didn't want to miss a single detail. As if he was so amazed he could only stand in shock. And Minho, naturally, gets lost staring at him.

Jisung's hair is soft, just like his skin. Minho gets the sudden urge to reach out and trace the lobe of his ear, tuck strands of his chestnut curls away from his pretty face, but he doesn't do it. He doesn't want to overstep. Not yet. No matter how much he wants it.

"Do you like it?" he asks, his voice low, soothing. He could even lean in and kiss Jisung if he allowed himself to, but Jisung wouldn't want that and Minho won't push him.

Jisung only nods. He can only think about the fact that after two months spent battling his own self, seeking answers within his head, this is the first time he's felt at peace.

The show goes on. Once it's over, Jisung takes a moment before actually getting up from his seat, blown out of his mind. Minho still watches him closely, his hand having inched closer to his on the armrest until their pinkies were upon each other, and he doesn't move. None of them does, even as the planetarium empties out, becoming devoid of any watchers.

At last, Minho rests his hand on top of Jisung's to gently help him snap back in.

"Let's go, bug," he tells him.

Jisung pulls away as if the contact had burnt him, abruptly snapped awake. Minho didn't expect any less, so he doesn't complain, nor does he insist. Instead, he gets up and lets Jisung lead the way, following him out of the auditorium and back into the main hall, where another sort of galaxy awaits them.

"Was it too boring?" Minho asks, feeling his face warm. 

Jisung eyes him sideways, then grimaces. "Shut up."

"You're all red."

"You, too."

They both look away, suddenly embarrassed. Minho fills the silence by leading Jisung into the gift shop as he takes steady breaths to lower his body heat.

They spend the following minutes apart from each other, scouring the aisles, staring at the dainty little souvenirs. When Minho finds a delicate planet snow globe, he waits for his chance to buy it discreetly, then offers it to Jisung when they're back out in the open air. 

Jisung's eyes grow wide when he sees the little trinket. A faint breeze blows at his lovely curls.

"Did you steal that?" he exclaims.

"What? No." Minho chuckles. "I bought it for you."

Jisung's eyes flick from his face to the present, once, twice. He scowls, as if he appreciated the gesture but didn't want to show. 

"I don't want it," he mumbles.

Minho presses it against his chest. "It's yours."

"No!"

Minho grabs his arm, slams the snow globe down on his hand and forces him to keep it. Jisung glares at him. The artificial buds of snow inside the globe stir around, the tiny galaxy beautiful within it. 

"What you mean is thank you."

"You can't force me to go on a date with you then expect me to be thankful."

Minho steals another kiss. Jisung jumps back.

"Yah!" he exclaims. "Stop doing that!"

"It's not my fault you're so inattentive." Minho simply lets out a laugh.

"Minho!"

"Sorry. I can't help myself."

He kisses Jisung again. This time, Jisung almost manages to escape before Minho's lips find him, but by whatever stretch of destiny, the kiss lands anyway. Minho pulls back with a laugh to catch Jisung completely red in the face.

"Minho..." he repeats sheepishly.

"That's okay. I'll stop now," Minho announces. "C'mon, I'll walk you home."

"No. I'll go home alone. You go stand over there." Jisung presses his palms down on Minho's chest and pushes him towards the nearest tree. His face is still a bright shade of red. "Close your eyes."

Minho blinks. "If I close my eyes, you're gonna run away."

"Obviously not! C'mon, close your eyes." 

Minho knows he's lying, but he figures it will be better if he just plays along. It might have been enough for one day already. Jisung is delicate—he must treat him accordingly. That means no overdoing it, so he won't.

With a light grin of bemusement, Minho obeys and closes his eyes.

"And now?" he wonders.

"Count up to ten and then open them."

Minho sighs and starts counting, knowing exactly what will happen next. He'll miss Jisung dearly, is all he can think about, until the moment he gets to see him again. On the meantime, he hears Jisung's rushed footsteps on the dry grass as he runs away.

Minho chuckles to himself, but continues to play along, letting Jisung go the way he knows he should. The way he knows is best. Even though Minho knows he looks stupid standing alone with his eyes closed in the middle of a park. Even though the only thing he wants right now is to stay by Jisung's side and keep him for the rest of the day. For the rest of his life.

When he gets to ten and opens his eyes, Jisung is, in fact, gone, no trace of him left in the open field behind the planetarium. The occurence doesn't disappoint him. Instead, Minho smiles an even brighter smile, chuckles to himself, and then heads back home.

Jisung, hidden behind a tree not too far away, close enough to spy on him, watches Minho closely as he does. He stares as Minho smiles, stares as he goes. Then, before heading back home himself, Jisung rests his forehead against the trunk of the tree and presses a hand to his chest, trying to regain his breath, trying to calm down the frantic beating of his heart that seems to have started pommeling inside him.

He's folding already. Minho is going to get what he wants so easily, and Jisung will be guilty.

Chapter 32: he's right, you're sorry

A wide-eyed Jisung stares at his mother in shock upon recognizing her standing on top of the mat at the front door of his apartment. 

"Surprise!" She flails her hands dramatically in the air, the smile on her face as wide as it is just slightly cautious.

Jisung struggles to form words.

"What the fuck?" he mumbles at last the first thing that comes to mind. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd come visit, since you haven't been answering any of my calls..." She shrugs. "Are you gonna let me in?"

Jisung feels an unbearable need to scream. "You can't just randomly show up here."

She huffs. Jisung knows she did this on purpose.

"Jiji..."

"Don't call me that," he barks.

Lee Sun-young rolls her eyes. "Jisung. Don't be so ill-mannered. I'm still your mother. You owe me some respect."

Jisung clamps down his jaw and looks away in an attempt at keeping himself together, keeping himself from telling her the first few things that come to his mind. He lets out a long sigh, hoping she can imagine them herself, then moves out of the way to let her into the apartment, though reluctantly. He doesn't slam the door shut as Sun-young rests her bag on the floor because he has enough self-control left, but he feels the urge to.

"Wow. Quite a place you got here." His mother whistles. When she spins around, her jewelry clinks loudly. "Glad to see this is what you spent my money on and not some shit-hole."

Jisung purses his lips. "I'm still not done packing."

"Why did you move out, again?" Sun-young asks, running ring-clad fingers over the backrest of a chair. "I thought you liked your dorm."

"I felt like it," he quips. "Why are you here?"

Her long auburn curls sway at waist length as she continues to take a look around. Jisung's eyes travel down to the colorful patched dress she wears, a matching suede belt around her hips and a pair of leather loafers clicking against the wooden boards. That style of his, Jisung always hated. Especially when he was young and his school peers would gawk at her whenever she came to pick him up. Sun-young is wild and carefree, and maybe the fact that Jisung is so full of cares is another thing that makes him despise her.

"Can't I visit my son?" She grins. "I missed you. You've been avoiding me like the plague and I got tired of spending time alone. When was the last time I came to Seoul, anyway? I'm curious to know what you're up to."

Jisung scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. He wants nothing but to outrun this situation. Sooner rather than later.

"I've been up to the same thing for three years and you still ask?" he mutters. 

Sun-young shoots him a warning look. "Have some manners, Jisung."

"Listen, I have a lot on my plate. I can't be dealing with you right now. You should go back to Seochang."

"Why? I was hoping you'd finally introduce me to your friends!"

Jisung's bottom lip quivers at the mere thought of it. His mother is young enough that she would raise curiosities in the company, unwanted attention from people who should stay in their lane but most definitely won't. He doesn't even want to think about what others would say behind his back at the fact that Lee Sun-young doesn't look a day older than thirty.

"No fucking way," he tells her, finally regaining his senses, long enough to shake his head and take a step back. 

"Mind your language! My God. You're just like your father!" She chuckles in disbelief. "What do you mean no? I think it's about time I meet them, huh?"

"Dressed like a fucking hippie? Yeah, as if."

"Are you embarrassed to introduce your mommy to your friends?"

Jisung presses his lips into a tight line. His thoughts travel to Minho. The simple idea of him meeting this woman is enough to awaken palpitations inside him. What if he runs away upon discovering that the insanity runs in the family?

"Where are you even gonna stay?" Jisung diverts focus from the topic because it unnerves him.

"I rented a hotel room not too far from here, but I can always come here if I need anything."

He fights the urge to tell her she is not, in fact, welcome here.

"Do you have practice today? Can I come watch?" she asks now, jumping eagerly.

Jisung shakes his head vehemently. "Nuh-uh. No."

"Aish." Sun-young huffs, muttering a string of profanities. "You know what? I don't care. I'll go anywhere. I'm your mother."

She doesn't give him half a second to even think of an answer before squealing excitedly and grabbing him by the arm to push him out the door. Jisung's stomach roils with anxiety, but something inside him stops the words from coming out of his mouth. He can but follow her down the stairs and hope for the best.

 

"What's that?"

Jisung sighs. "The studio."

"And that?"

"It's a classroom."

"And what about that?"

"That's just a broom closet," he tells her through a long, long sigh. "Start figuring it out on your own or get the hell out of here. It's really not that hard."

Sun-young slaps him across the back of his head. "Mind your tone, Han Jisung."

Jisung winces and rubs his nape, glaring at her at the same time that he gris his teeth. He walks with his head down, hoping to God he doesn't run into anyone who might confuse his mother for a sister or worse, a girlfriend, and luckily, they make it to the dance studio safely. 

Before crossing the door, Jisung stops his mother with a rough hand to her shoulder.

"You can't go in. It's a private rehearsal," he lies bitterly.

Sun-young seems disappointed. "Well, can't I just stay quiet by a corner?"

"No. You have to wait outside."

She huffs out loud. "Okay, fine. Can I at least peak in?"

"No."

Jisung doesn't give her a chance to object. He pushes the door open with his shoulder and slips into the dance hall quietly, trying to go by unnoticed. He avoids Minho's gaze, specifically, at all costs, meets Hyunjin by a corner, and changes into his dancing shoes before the rehearsal finally starts. 

One general run-through of the choreography is all it takes for Minho to stop the music and approach him for some corrections. Jisung is pretty sure he was doing everything just fine, so he can't help but wonder if this is only an excuse to be close to him, but he minds only a little. His priorities lie elsewhere at the moment.

However, as Minho shows him some of the moves properly while the rest of the members go over the choreography or chat amicably amongst them, Jisung can't help but pay more attention to the way Minho's lips move when he talks than to what he's actually saying. It makes focusing harder than it's ever been. He could even swear Minho is wearing some lipstick. Or gloss. Maybe it's just his own spit, and at the thought, Jisung is salivating.

"Are you paying attention to me?" Minho asks all of a sudden with a hidden grin.

Jisung snaps out of his trance and grimaces. "Obviously."

"Well, get your moves right. I taught you better than that." 

Minho flashes a brow then reaches out to tug down Jisung's crumpled shirt. Jisung stares down at the brief contact of the pads of his fingers with the bare strip of his belly, the gesture so gentle, so simple that it somehow feels even greater than what it is. He frowns. On the other end of the room, a soft gasp makes everyone's heads turn to the redhead woman that peeks through the door.

Jisung's eyes widen.

"Oops. Sorry, don't mind me." Sun-young chuckles, giving everyone a thumbs-up. "Y'all are doing great."

Felix glances at Hyunjin with a frown. "Who's that?"

Hyunjin shrugs. "No idea."

Across the room, Jisung is glaring at his mother, gesturing with a hand and mouthing for her to go, go immediately, run away and hide somewhere else before I murder you, but Sun-young only smiles a dimpled smile at him.

"Do you know her?" Minho asks, squinting his eyes curiously.

"What? Of course not." Jisung scowls. "Can we just keep going? I think I'm done with this."

Minho doesn't believe half of what he says, naturally. He studies Jisung with a suspicious eye, but eventually, he lets it go. 

 

Jisung is the first to leave when rehearsal is over, seeking to drag his mother as far away as possible from the crowd before anyone sees her, but her struggling and constant complaints cause him to fail prematurely. Hyunjin comes out of the studio after him and Sun-young snaps free of her son's grip to bow at him with a polite smile.

"Hello!" she exclaims.

Hyunjin looks up from his phone and frowns, but bows back even through his confusion. "Oh. Hi."

"Lee Sun-young. Jisung's mother."

She reaches out a hand for him to stretch and Hyunjin's eyes become wide in response. His gaze flickers from the redheaded woman to Jisung, who stands behind her pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation and shame.

"Mo—Mother?" Hyunjin stutters out, then quickly stretches her hand and bows deeper. "Oh, excuse me, ma'am, hello. I'm Hyunjin, Jisung's friend. I didn't know you would be joining us today."

"Mom, let's go." Jisung tugs at her arm. Hyunjin eyes him strangely.

"Quit it," she replies as she shoves him away, then turns her attention back to Hyunjin with a wide smile. Too wide. "Oh, don't you worry, darling. Y'all are doing an excellent job. I'm glad Jisungie let me come today!"

Jisung wants to run away, run as fast as he can, but he's cemented to the floor. When Chan comes out of the dance hall followed by Changbin, all he actually wants to do is die. Die on the spot.

"Oh, Channie! Long time no see!" Sun-young quickly comes up to him and hugs him, the only boy out of the eight she's known for some time.

Chan seems startled at first as he receives her in his arms. He glances at Jisung over her shoulder, but Jisung avoids returning his gaze, his face a deep shade of red in embarrassment. In shame. All in between.

"Lee Sun-young," Chan states, rather surprised but smiling at her politely nonetheless. "Long time, yes."

"How have you been, dear?" she asks once she pulls away, stroking his shoulders, paying special attention to his muscled arms. She then turns to Changbin without even waiting for a reply. "And you must be...?"

"Seo Changbin, ma'am." He bows, his eyes flickering towards Jisung briefly. "Pleasure."

"Oh, Jisung, all of your friends are so handsome!"

Jisung turns to look away from the scene, his face red, his eyes stinging with tears of frustration. He doesn't say anything—not that his mother notices, too focused elsewhere to even care—but when Minho comes out of the dance hall, everything is even worse. Jisung doesn't see him at first as he's facing away, but when he hears his voice, the sky crumbles all around them.

"Lovely boy!" Sun-young exclaims when he introduces himself, shaking Minho's hand vehemently.

Minho looks over her shoulder at Jisung and smiles faintly, teasingly. Unbeknownst. In an attempt at being playful, he winks and bows at the woman, and Jisung is seething.

"Thank you, ma'am," Minho says, shooting her a charming smile. "Now I see where Jisung gets his looks from."

The comment is wrong in so many ways. Jisung damn near collapses, feeling the back of his neck wallow in heat, his palms becoming clammy with sweat. He's nervous because Minho just called his mom attractive, but he also just called him attractive, and he also just kind of outed their thing in front of everyone, and everything is such a mess!

Sun-young turns to Jisung with a shocked smile. "Did you hear that, Jiji? He says you're handsome!"

At the verge of collapse, Jisung finally is able to summon the courage to mutter out an excuse, grab his mother's arm roughly, and storm down the hallway, away, away from everyone. His heart pounds in his chest and there's something blocking his airway. Maybe his own anxiety.

"Yah!" his mother calls for him when they're far enough, angry for being ripped out of her place with no previous warning. 

"What is it with you embarrassing me in front of everyone, all the time, huh?" Jisung exclaims through gritted teeth. "God! I said no and you insisted. I never should've let you come here!"

Sun-young scowls and crosses her arms over her chest. "Are you seriously insecure for having a mother? You're seventeen, I thought we were over this."

"No, I'm insecure because you're my mother! And I'm eighteen. My birthday was two weeks ago, if you even care," he exclaims. Her mouth snaps shut. "Those guys are not my friends, okay? They hate me. You really think you showing up here is gonna make it any better? All you do is make things worse!"

"How can you say that?"

"Mom, you're thirty-three years old! You know how weird that is, that we're only sixteen years apart?" Jisung throws his hands in the air. "And you're perverted. They're minors! You can't just touch them like that."

"I'm perverted? Aish. If they don't like you, that's not my shit, Jisung! That's your fault," she yells back, growing heated. "Maybe you should focus more on your behavior instead of mine. What about that? So you can get some fucking friends at last instead of being scared you might get bullied for having a mother that fucking cares for you!"

"Excuse me."

Sun-young and Jisung both turn to Minho, who peeks shyly from a corner, his hand braced against the wall. Minho's eyes flick between them both, from her clenched jaw to Jisung's bloodshot eyes.

"I don't mean to interrupt. Can I talk to Jisung for a moment?" Minho asks, his voice small, quiet.

Sun-young glares at his son. It's blazing and angry, but eventually, she backs away and storms out. The two boys are left alone on the hallway.

Jisung swipes his arm across his forehead, trying to somehow hide his face and the fact that he feels the unnerving urge to break down. As soon as Sun-young is gone, Minho approaches him in a hurry and leans down to look into his eyes, his concern glittering.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle. "I heard what she said."

Jisung purses his lips. "Why the fuck would you follow me?"

"To get you away from her," Minho replies like it's obvious, shaking his head in worry. He takes a step forward to close the distance between them and rest two soft hands on Jisung's waist. "Fuck, Jisung. Are you alright?"

Jisung feels the touch of his slender fingers and something feels warm inside him, but he still shoves him away, taking a step back to regain the distance between them. There's shame burning hot on his chest, making his skin crawl. Minho blinks at the sore gesture.

"I'm fine," Jisung snarls. "It's none of your business, Minho. You're not my friend."

Minho shakes his head. "Do you tell anything to anyone at all?"

"What the fuck do you want from me?" Jisung suddenly bursts. He feels trapped, cornered, like a bird in a cage. "If I wanted to talk to anyone, I'd talk to Hyunjin. He's my friend—you're not. I don't wanna talk to you! Jesus, can you just let me breathe?"

The air turns thick. Minho's heart jostles in realization as he scrambles to make it right.

He nods slowly. "You're right. I'm sorry. Fuck, okay. I'm sorry."

"Stop acting like you're my boyfriend," Jisung exclaims then. "We're not a couple, okay? We're not even friends. I don't like you. You can't just kiss me or grab me or talk to me like that. Quit pretending you know anything about me at all! Just leave me the fuck alone, will you?"

Minho opens his mouth to say something, but Jisung doesn't wait for his words. Instead, he pushes past him, bumping his shoulder into his in the process, and storms down the hallway, far and away, leaving Minho behind with a bitter taste in his tongue. Only once he's alone can Minho finally release the air that was trapped in his lungs, and only then does the weight of it finally fall upon him

Notes:

twt and alterspring

Chapter 33: he follows patterns

Minho resorts to Hyunjin because he's the only person he trusts enough—the only person, other than him, that knows half a thing about Jisung, as well. He spends the day lost deep in thought, then makes a last minute decision and turns left instead of right, leading himself to the younger boy's dorm instead. 

When Hyunjin recognizes him at his door, he's as stunned as he is confused. He watches him, blinks, then his face falls in realization.

"Did you guys fight again?" he asks, noting Minho's sunken shoulders, his weary eyes.

Minho only nods, so even though he's already wearing his pajamas, ready to go to bed, Hyunjin moves out of the way and lets him in. Charitably. Minho thanks him silently and sits at the edge of the mattress as Hyunjin closes the door behind him. Then, he approaches him with his hands on his hips.

"What happened this time?" He sighs, sort of chiding.

"He's mad at me," Minho musters.

"What for?"

"I heard him fighting with his mother."

"So?"

"I tried to hug him and he told me that I wasn't his boyfriend and that I should stop acting like it." Minho's head is down.

"Well, you aren't his boyfriend," Hyunjin notes.

"I know that."

"He's still mad at you, too."

Minho glares at him. "I know that."

"But you weren't taking it seriously, weren't you?" Hyunjin concludes, and Minho nods in shame. Read so easily, like a book—or simpler, like a magazine. "Yeah. Figured. He was mad but acting like he wanted it so you thought he actually wanted it?"

"I know he wants it," Minho corrects. "I know he does, he's just scared. And I... overstepped, I guess."

"So you're aware that he still hasn't forgiven you."

"I am now." He shrugs. "But he's mad at me."

"You know he'll be better tomorrow though, right?" Hyunjin flashes his brows. He knows his friend a little too well and it's a bit frightening. "He's under a lot of pressure right now. I doubt he planned for his mother to visit him, and you know how serious he is about his routines. He probably took it out on you the way he takes it out on everyone all the time—he's done it to me, for sure. But it'll pass."

Minho stays silent, staring at his lap.

"You should give him some space," Hyunjin suggests at last. 

It makes Minho's head shoot up to look at him. "Again? How much space? For how long?"

"I'm not saying ignore him or pretend he's not there, hyung. I'm saying be present, just not all the time, not so intensely. Jisung doesn't do well with that stuff—he likes his routine, his own patterns, things his way. No pressure on him," he tells him with a flash of his brows. "Make sure he knows you're supporting him, but let him figure out his emotions on his own. He prefers that. At least until he forgives you."

Minho thinks it over. Hyunjin lets out a faint sigh.

"He likes being chased, but he struggles setting boundaries," he confesses at last. "He won't say no to you until he reaches his limit—that's what happened today. He might want to forgive you, he's just not ready for it, and your constant seeking him out, treating him like you're a couple, might feel like you're rushing him. You can't make him feel pressured because he's still very much upset, even though he's letting you back in. That's why you need to give him space. Because he doesn't understand what he wants."

Minho stares at him, blinking once, twice. He shakes his head. He can't digest all of this.

"How do you know all this stuff?" he asks. "You've known him for, like, a few weeks."

"Well, personally... yeah, I guess. But we've known each other for years." Hyunjin shrugs. "If you look at him just a little, you can tell he's very predictable. He follows... patterns, kind of."

"Patterns?"

"Yeah. It's always the same things that trigger him, certain very specific things. He doesn't set boundaries but gets upset when someone pushes them. Even when it was only four of us in the band, he still never said no—to himself, either. Didn't rest," he explains, leaning back on his hands. "Pay attention and you'll notice."

"But... then why did you hate him before?" Minho asks now.

"Well, understanding him doesn't make his behavior any less infuriating." Hyunjin shrugs. "It sure helps to know why he is the way he is, but his anger is still disruptive. As cruel as that sounds." 

Minho stares at him for few short seconds, slightly awed. He laughs in disbelief.

"Wow," he says  "You're very smart, you know that?"

"Yeah, I kinda know that already." Hyunjin chuckles. "Wanna spend the night?"

Minho nods, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Sure."

 

When Minho and Hyunjin arrive at the dance hall together the following morning, slightly belated due to having struggled to get out of bed after a sleepless night spent talking, Jisung is the first to notice. Arriving before Hyunjin already felt weird to Jisung, and now that he watches them come in side by side five minutes late to rehearsal, laughing and chatting amicably, he's certain something is off. Like the world has shifted off its axis.

He watches them interact until they finally part ways and then Hyunjin meets Jisung on a corner of the hall.

"Morning," he greets, strangely content.

Jisung doesn't reply and instead takes to studying him scrupulously, quiet for an instant. 

"What happened?" he asks then, seeking to satiate his suspicions.

"With what?" Hyunjin asks.

"Why did you and Minho come in together?"

"Oh, we had... like, a little sleepover. Nothing, it was nothing," he replies with a dismissing wave of his hand. "He was a little upset yesterday. Told me you guys fought and he needed some advise, so I helped him."

Jisung stops doing what he's doing, drops everything at the words. He can't even begin to explain all the ways in which that feels wrong. In which it... hurts to hear it, for some reason. Something inside him fails to trust Hyunjin's words, as if he had the feeling he wasn't saying the whole truth, not to mention the fact that knowing they talked about him, that Minho resorted to Hyunjin for advise on their fight, is unnerving in itself.

"What did you tell him?" Jisung asks, his heart a little heavy.

"I can't tell you that." Hyunjin laughs. "Do you want advice, too?"

Jisung clenches his jaw. "Uh, no, thanks. I can handle myself."

He gets up to stand in formation already, wanting to not think about that right now, but before moving, he leans back down to look at Hyunjin.

"By the way, we didn't fight," he says. "I just told him what he needed to be told."

Staring into his eyes, Hyunjin at last realizes that something about the whole situation has led Jisung to get mad at him. He tries to stop him before he leaves, but he doesn't grab his hand in time and so his friend manages to slip away and Hyunjin ends up sitting with a sudden lump in his throat. Too big to swallow. Too salient to ignore.

This time, he is the one staring at Jisung throughout rehearsal. Jisung avoids looking in his direction, avoids standing close. Avoids him, overall. He keeps to himself, dancing quietly, going by unnoticed, but Hyunjin notices every single little thing about him.

"So much for that passing," Minho mumbles to Hyunjin at some point now that they've both been ghosted.

Hyunjin doesn't answer because he's as much at a loss as Minho is. Now, everyone is confused by Jisung's behaviors, and no one can figure him out. 

During one of their short water breaks, Hyunjin is quick to sit by him, seeking to make the most of this five minutes.

"Are you mad at me?" he asks, acerbic.

Jisung only glances at him. "What?"

"You're mad at me. Did I do something wrong?" Hyunjin insists.

"I don't think now is the time to be talking about this."

Jisung makes to leave, but this time, Hyunjin is in time to grab his hand and hold him back.

"Don't shut me out. We're supposed to be friends," he says. "Tell me what's on your mind."

Jisung only looks at him for a moment or two. There seems to be hesitance in his eyes. Then, Chan calls them back for another run-through and Jisung doesn't waste a second on snatching himself free of Hyunjin's grip, as if he preferred avoiding the conversation altogether and outrunning the discomfort. Hyunjin can only sigh to himself.

 

It's hard for Jisung to be mad at him, though. He wants to, but he can't. Not when Hyunjin is so understanding of everything. So damnably good.

 Hyunjin pulls Jisung aside before heading into the cafeteria for lunch, right after practice. He only stares at him for a few moments, as if waiting, expecting, but Jisung says nothing.

"If you're not gonna talk, then—"

Hyunjin suddenly grabs his face. 

"If you don't tell me what's wrong, I'll kiss you."

Jisung's eyes go wide. "Excuse me?"

"You have three seconds to tell me why you're mad at me or else I'm kissing you. On the lips and with tongue."

"Ew! Why would you—?"

"Three."

Jisung falls silent. "Wait, what?"

"Two."

"Wait, wait, wait."

"One!"

Hyunjin leans in and Jisung squeals in pure terror. 

"Okay, I'll tell you!" he screams in a sudden desperation, rapping his hands at him in an attempt at shoving him away. 

Hyunjin pulls back and breaks apart, opening a good distance between them both at the same time that he sighs in relief with a hand clutching his chest.

"Oh, thank fuck," he exclaims. "I was scared for a second there."

Jisung swallows, having lost his breath. 

"So, you're gonna tell me?" Hyunjin concludes.

"Fine! Okay, whatever." He rolls his eyes, then takes a deep breath to steady himself. "I don't think it's fair that Minho and I fight and you have a sleepover with him and give him advice, then tell me about it like it's nothing when you're supposed to be my best friend. Shouldn't I be the one getting a sleepover and advice? Because now I know you guys talked about me last night and—and fuck, who knows what else happened? I don't know if you're telling the truth! And plus, he's my ex... whatever! And you're my best friend and I'm mad at him and you're supposed to be on my side for this. So, yeah! It's not fair! There. I said it. Happy?"

By the end of his speech, Jisung is panting, as if speaking so much, so quickly, had taken his breath. Or maybe it's just sharing his feelings with someone else what winds him. Hyunjin blinks, his eyebrows arched atop his forehead.

"You think something happened between me and Minho?" he asks at last the most prominent bit of information he could pick out of Jisung's ramble.

Jisung puts his head down. "I don't know. Okay? I don't know what I think."

"Why would I ever do that to you?"

Jisung stares at him and presses his lips into a line. He tries to tell him with his eyes that he doesn't know the answer to that either, tries to ask him why do people normally do the things they do. He's not responsible for the thoughts that pester him, so he stays silent. 

"Nothing happened, Jisung, I can assure you that. And the rest..." Hyunjin nods. "I understand. And you're right."

Jisung eyes him cautiously, waiting for his following words.

"I didn't mean to rub it on your face that we had a sleepover. I didn't think it was a big deal," he explains. "Minho was really sad yesterday. He came to my room and I helped him out because he's my friend and I don't like seeing him like that. Neither of you. I hate that you're fighting. But I'm still sorry if I made you upset."

He sighs deeply, putting his head down in apprehension. Jisung clicks his tongue.

"I wasn't gonna stay mad for long, anyway," he says, rolling his eyes, then slipping into the cafeteria.

Hyunjin looks up through a laugh to catch him fleeing just in time. 

 

Jisung is trying not to worry too much about his mother. He doesn't know where she is, if she's at the hotel or even if she went back to Seochang-dong. He hasn't gotten any calls or texts, where he usually wakes up to one every morning, and it's jarring.

Frankly, it's not unusual for them to fight and alienate each other for few days after that, as it is also not unusual for Jisung to spend those days a little on edge until he gets her text and they go back to their usual routine. Like nothing ever happened. He doesn't care about it, probably would live a quieter life if his mother never actually bothered to contact him, but even though he'd much appreciate it if she just left him alone, if there is one pattern that has been constant throughout his whole life, it's her morning texts. And Jisung is not one to be comfortable with change: whenever she stops texting, he can't help but sense the shift in his routine and therefore, feel the weight of the world as it comes crushing down upon him.

After yesterday's fight, when he doesn't get a text the morning after, he starts off his day feeling odd. Not even seeing Minho during rehearsals strikes anything inside him aside from his (very brief) fight with Hyunjin, as if this matter required all his other problems to be left unattended on momentary standby. And it's weird.

It gets him thinking, too, gets him wondering who raised him like this. What part of his childhood conditioned him to such structured life. At times, he feels the need to break the cycle, to live a day differently from all the others, but so much as thinking about it frustrates him. Makes him tip over the edge off his anxiety. It makes him constantly wonder what is this thing that feels so misplaced inside his body. An organ or an emotion, or just a leak somewhere in his gut.

He rolls the thought over in his head as he heads over to the common room after his vocal lessons. He has a free afternoon with nothing to do but sulk. On the way there, however, he runs into Minho.

"Oh, hey," Minho greets gently at the sight of him, his voice soft but with a note of hesitance.

Jisung blinks when he recognizes him. "Hi."

They stand apart for a moment. None of them know exactly what to say, not until Minho finally summons the courage to bring himself to speak.

"You can just cuss me out if you want to, but..." he begins. "I just want to ask if you're okay. Like, really."

He doesn't touch him, doesn't even feign to move. Jisung tries to read his body language, but Minho keeps his expression steady and his hands latched behind his back, as if he was somehow trying to keep himself from reaching out to him, and it's a weird gesture—Jisung has always known Minho to be physical. To need, like oxygen, the faint brush of their skins against one another. 

"I'm fine," he tells him after a moment. 

Minho opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. He puts his head down to look at his feet and then lets out a soft laugh, as if he'd been flooded by a memory that brought him joy. The gesture makes Jisung frown.

"On a scale of one to twelve," Minho asks him then, "how happy are you?"

Jisung blinks. Once, twice. He processes the question as if he'd forgotten how to speak the language, until somewhere inside his mind, an old memory resurfaces. 

"You said... You said it's easier to express your feelings if you use a child's word," Minho says when he gets no response. "I guess, like, maybe it could work for you, too?"

Jisung still stares at him. One second. Two, three. 

He's in love. Desperately. Oh, wow.

"Maybe... I'm at a four?" he mumbles quietly, slightly stunned. 

Minho clicks his tongue. "That's not too good."

Jisung only shrugs, uncaring to carry out a deeper analysis on why he's feeling at a four right now, because all he can think about are Minho's lips. But when Minho reaches into his pocket and suddenly pulls out an open, half-eaten bag of lemon drops, his eyebrows shoot up.

"I know you said you don't like them... but, yeah. You're a bit thick, you tend to judge things before trying them and I really, really like these, so I want you to try them, like, for real before you discard them. They're actually better than you think," he tells him, handing him the little white and yellow pack. "Here. Maybe they'll brighten up your mood a little."

Jisung takes it slowly, as if hesitantly. Minho grins at him. 

"I hope I made it at least a six now. I won't keep you longer, but you can look for me if you need anything," he says, nodding confidently, reassuringly. "I'll see you around?"

Jisung is at a loss for words. He hasn't managed to get a word in. He hasn't had to push Minho away. Minho is standing at a distance, with a hand outstretched offering an olive branch, and it's so warm it's burning.

"I..." Jisung mumbles inconclusively.

Minho doesn't wait for a reply. He nods and smiles kindly at him before walking past him, leaving Jisung to stare at the little pack of lemon drops he holds in his hands, that feels warm and heavy.

Jisung doesn't have it inside him to admit that his stomach has been stirred for days, his appetite lousy, but either way and for whatever reason, his mood has brightened up. From a four to a five or a six. Maybe even a seven. 

Words do not occur to him. Then, when they finally do, he turns to talk, but Minho is already gone.

Notes:

twt and alterspring

Chapter 34: he's being unfair

M: The weather is nice today
M: You should go out for a walk
M: Clear up before the showcase

Jisung reads the text messages over and over as he breaks his fast early in the morning. He was woken up by his own consternation, which arose somewhere in the middle of the night when he fell into realization that the showcase is today, but Minho's morning text, he now realizes, warms his heart.

J: you mean with you?

M: No
M: Or yes, if you'll invite me
M: But I meant to help you clear your head for tonight
M: Please be gentle with yourself today

It's weird to think that Minho's thoughts early in the morning were of him, weird to think that he could have been clearing his own head for the showcase but decided to look after him instead. Jisung feels cared for in a way he hasn't experienced before. Cared for from afar. Gently. Quietly. Tenderly. It brings him peace of mind.

He stops eating from his bowl of cereal just to reread the very brief conversation, over and over until it is engraved in his head. There's a pulsing hum inside him telling him to be careful, to watch out—this is unusual. Minho is present, he always has been. He needs that physical touch, that connection, but for some reason unheard, he's staying away. Keeping his distance. And yet, for the most part, Jisung can taste honey in the air. The feeling of warmth is so strong it crawls up the back of his throat, sweet and dense like molasses, like molten candy or sugar or something equal parts cloying and ubiquitous.

J: thanks

He replies only simply because he can't bring himself to say anything else. Frankly, he doesn't want company right now, not even Minho's, but it's the idea of Minho potentially knowing this beforehand what makes Jisung's heart ache with love. 

He sets his phone aside and tries to think straight, his thoughts having been scrambled in the brief moments it took for his heartbeat to accelerate. He takes a hand to his chest, wondering if he's experiencing a wink of anxiety or if this is something else. Whichever it is, he cherishes it.

 

Minho's second text message comes after lunch.

M: Did you eat?
M: Not asking to be annoying
M: Just wondering

There's a tender, fragile delicacy to the words that makes Jisung smile to himself, kind of like he spent his netire morning half expecting him to text again. Not that he did, obviously. Jisung doesn't do that. But he actually does, and it doesn't bother him at all that Minho is raiding his phone once again—actually, in a way, it almost makes him crave his presence.

J: i did

M: Good

The conversation ends there, Jisung assumes, as he doesn't reply and Minho says nothing else. He doesn't mind it, though. The check-up has been enough to become a second highlight in his day. 

He tucks his phone in his back pocket, his lips pressed together to contain the smile that rips through him. As he walks into the JYP building, he can't help but bear inside him a diffident hope that perhaps, somewhere within, Minho might be waiting for him. With flowers or chocolates or just a smile. JIsung shakes his head and the thought fades away with it.

"Someone's in a good mood," Hyunjin claims as they ride the way to the dance hall for some last day practice on their own. 

Jisung eyes him sideways. "What makes you say that?"

"The blush. The smile. Your face." He shrugs. "Did you and Minho sort things out?"

"No. He's still delusional, texting me and shit like I'm even gonna answer."

Hyunjin, naturally, finds it hard to believe him, but he only laughs to himself because if there is one thing he's familiar with, it's Jisung's stubbornness. He shifts focus away from the topic because he can see him blushing through the corner of his eye. 

"Your mother?" he asks.

"Don't know. Don't care."

Hyunjin shoots him a glance. "You sure?"

"Very much. She's probably holing up somewhere. Not that it changes anything for me." Jisung shrugs without any allusion to the fact that her usual morning texts today were replaced by something else, and that something else is more than enough to fill this deep, deep hole he bears in his stomach. "Has he been here today?"

Hyunjin frowns. "Who?"

At the look on his face, Jisung's cheeks burn hot, noting they weren't talking about him, but he was merely thinking of him inside his head. Never aloud. He tries to play it off.

"I meant... Minho. Sorry, I'm distracted." He shakes his head, brushing it off as unimportant even though Hyunjin can't keep himself from grinning.

"Thinking about him, huh?"

"What? No. I'm just asking because I don't want to run into him right now."

Hyunjin rolls his eyes. "You're a terrible liar. And no, I haven't seen him today."

Jisung tries not to break character, but the curiosity kills him. 

"Where has he been?" he asks coyly, failing to sound uninterested. Hyunjin is very much aware of that.

"Why would I know?" He laughs. 

"Are you teasing me?"

"I am, actually. It's so funny that you can't admit how much you really want him back," Hyunjin states confidently. 

"That's because I don't!"

"Why are you blushing then?"

"Aish!" Jisung groans out loud, looking away because he does, in fact, feel his face becoming warm.

"Why is it so hard for you to admit it? Who's gonna judge you? It's not like it's a bad thing if you wanna forgive him, you know?"

"Just let it go, Hyunjin," he tells him.

"Fine, but I will brag about this later."

Jisung doesn't say anything because there's nothing he can say. 

 

The only other text Jisung gets from Minho that day, he chooses to disregard, his anxiety for the showcase having roiled a turmoil in his stomach that impedes any kind of social interaction. He sees the notification and glances long enough to catch a few words on the text message that make his curiousity spark, but he doesn't take the time to actually read it because he can't focus, can't connect two thoughts without feeling like he might collapse.

He's never felt this nervous for any of the other missions. Maybe it has something to do with it being the last, the decisive performance to finally find out if they will debut as six or as eight. Maybe it has something to do with it being the first since Minho is back. Whichever reason, something inside him tells him that a six-member band is something he is not willing to engage in—in spite of his initial demurral. 

He gets to the studio in little to no time, certainly earlier, as his anxiety has made him restless to wait. He gets to the changing room and collapses on the couch with a hand to his chest, the air in the enclosed space feeling like it's most definitely not enough to satiate him, and then he lies there for a while, staring up at the white ceiling, imagining the motion of a fan spinning slowly above him. There's no fan, not in the changing room, but picturing it is enough to soothe him, even though his pants still prevail for a few long minutes. He didn't know he could get so riled up over something he used to consider so irrelevant.

"Han Jisung?" Minho's voice finds him from somewhere behind him. "Are you okay?"

Jisung wants to ask how he found him for a moment before answering, but he can't bring the words to his mouth. He hears footsteps around him, then the couch dips by his feet and a gentle hand is rested on his knee. When he looks up, Minho's eyes are stricken with concern, staring straight at him.

Jisung swallows. "Sorry."

"What for?" Minho asks, gently squeezing him. "Breathe. Easy there."

It takes him some long seconds to be able to, though. Somehow, Minho's presence in the room, known only by the faint touch on his knee, in ways unseen, is reassuring. When he regains his breath, just a little, Jisung sighs loudly. 

"Are you nervous?" Minho asks him, smoothing his thumb down the side of his knee. The contact sends shivers down his spine.

"A little," Jisung admits.

"Have you been running out of breath a lot lately?"

"Only at times. I think I might be asthmatic."

Minho laughs softly through his nose. "It's just a little bit of anxiety, Jisung. Don't worry."

Jisung sits up on the couch and brings his knees to his chest, away from Minho's touch. Not because he doesn't want it, but because he can't bear to think about the possibility that he does want it. Even though his chest is still blocked, he finds it in him to calm down. Minho watches him attentively across the distance that separates them.

"Why are you here so early?" Jisung asks at last.

"I get nervous before performing, too. I didn't want to sit around in my dorm waiting for the time to go," Minho explains. A small smile overcomes him. "I guess I'm lucky I came, anyway."

Jisung blinks a few times and feels himself blushing, yet again. Minho smiles and fights the urge to reach out a hand to touch him—is he even real?—but unfortunately, he's also a little bit sad.

"Tell you what," he says, though it pains him. "If we end up debuting as eight tonight, I'll let you have it your way and I won't bother you anymore."

Jisung, who was expecting a different kind of promise, feels his heart sinking. It's sudden. Sharp, even, with the way it hurts.

"What—What do you mean?" Jisung mumbles.

"I mean... I know you're still mad at me." Minho nods. "I know we're not together and we're not... friends. I fucked up. You want me out of your life. So if I don't get eliminated from the band again tonight, then I'll leave you be. I won't bother you again. So we can both do this together without getting in each other's ways."

Jisung is shaking his head before Minho is even done talking. He straightens up on the couch. A sudden rush of desperation takes over the sensations vibrating within him.

"No," he states, firmly.

Minho frowns. "No?"

"No! I never said that's what I wanted."

"But I thought—"

"Well, you thought wrong," Jisung exclaims. "No one said I wanted you gone, you fucking loser. That was before, but you know I don't mean half the things I say when I'm mad. We can both do this together without getting in each other's ways? What the fuck does that even mean? Does that mean you don't want me anymore? I'm in your way? How do you actually have the nerve to believe that—"

Minho kisses Jisung and Jisung falls quiet.

There's no urgency in the way he does it. It's almost as if he was just trying to find peace and quiet amidst Jisung's angry ramble, and Jisung doesn't complain, because the moment their lips meet, he does find peace and quiet. Everything goes very still.

Minho's hand comes to rest on his thigh where he's stretched across the distance that separates them. Jisung is frozen in place, incapable of escaping the pounding of his heart, the feeling of comfort he tastes in his mouth. It's a still kiss, a gentle kiss, a steady kiss. No underlying sexual denotation, no looking for pieces of clothing to rip off, no lust or hunger or desperation for anything other than this very moment. This isn't sex—it's intimate in some other way.

When Minho finally pulls away, it takes Jisung a second to finally be able to open his eyes. As he regains his senses, Minho stares at him, at the soft curve of his eyelids, at the shape of his lips where they're parted and letting out soft little breaths, at the dark lashes framing skin the color of honey and as smooth as butter. At last, Jisung opens his eyes and they look at each other.

"Okay." Minho nods, speaking in a quiet, soft voice. "I understand."

Jisung swallows. His mouth has gone dry. "Does that mean you'll still bother me?"

Minho lets out a chuckle that makes the apples of his cheeks tighten and his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"I will," he assures. "You're not getting rid of me just yet."

"Good," Jisung breathes out before wrapping his arms around Minho's neck and tugging him in for another kiss.

He's desperate this time, more than he was before. Minho is startled by the force Jisung uses to bring him in closer, but he accepts it anyway by resting his hands on his waist and letting him crawl closer, seeking to close all sorts of distance. He chuckles into the kiss when he feels Jisung gripping him hungrily and running a hand across the side of his neck to dig his fingers into his hair.

It's messy and sloppy. Jisung licks into Minho's mouth and he's not the most spectacular kisser, considering his complete lack of previous experience, but Minho can't be bothered to care. He squeezes Jisung closer and grapples with his tongue and relishes in the way their salivas mingle in the junction of their lips.

Then, someone clears their throat behind them. In an instant, Minho and Jisung break apart and end up on opposite sides of the couch, Jisung panting to himself and Minho putting his head down, taking a hand to his mouth, feeling the aftermaths of the kiss posed on his lips. The air is thick. 

"Sorry to, uh... interrupt," Hyunjin claims.

None answer.

"Should I go or...?"

After a moment, Minho rises to his feet. 

"No. That's fine. I was just leaving."

His faint grin doesn't go by unnoticed by neither of the two remaining boys in the room. Jisung looks up at him and when their gazes lock, Minho feels suddenly weak on the knees seeing his big round eyes sparkling. He has to physically fight the urge to not reach out a hand and touch him somehow, and instead only smiles at him softly before walking around the couch and past Hyunjin to leave the room.

When they're finally alone, Hyunjin flashes his brows and settles his bag down on a chair. He approaches the couch slowly, unsurely, and finally takes a seat next to Jisung.

"So, uh..." he begins awkwardly. "Care to explain?"

Jisung, whose heart still pommels inside him, suddenly whines out loud and throws himself onto Hyunjin's lap with a dramatic sigh. 

"I can't believe that just happened," he cries, fake sobbing into his arm.

Hyunjin grimaces. "Yeah, no... me, either."

"I'm so weak!" Jisung exclaims. "Like, actually. I just let him kiss me!"

"That's really terrible."

"It is! It is terrible, Hyunjin, because that wasn't supposed to happen, but he's been leaving me all these sweet texts all day and then he comes here and he tells me that he won't bother me anymore and that he'll stay out of my way and that we're not friends and what am I supposed to say to that? He's a fucking—"

Hyunjin slaps a hand over Jisung's mouth. "Oh, my God! Please, be quiet."

From his spot lying on his lap, Jisung stares up at him in shock, silenced. 

"We all know you're in love with him. We've known it for months. You've known it for months. Grow a damn pair and stop pretending like this isn't exactly what you've been waiting for ever since he came back, for fuck's sakes!"

There's silence in the room for a long while.

"I'm gonna remove my hand now and you're gonna stop talking."

It's a warning, so when Hyunjin does remove his hand, Jisung doesn't utter a word. The quiet is deafening.

"Damn," he mutters at last. 

"I'm sick of you whining," Hyunjin tells him, and Jisung laughs in surprise.

"I'm, uh... sorry?"

Hyunjin glares at him for a moment before he surrenders to a faint smile.

"No, I'm sorry. It's fine. You can whine to me all you want, but God, you're annoying," he groans. Jisung laughs. "On another note, I'm glad you guys are working it out."

"Because you won't have to hear me whine anymore?"

Hyunjin laughs. "No. Because I like seeing you both happy. Minho's trying really hard to adapt himself to your needs."

The words make Jisung feel a wink of insecurity inside him.

"You think I'm being a burden?" he asks.

"No, I think he loves you so much he's willing to change anything for you."

Jisung's heart swells in his chest. His eyes sparkle.

"He loves me?"

Hyunjin makes a face that tells him he definitely wasn't supposed to reveal that. He quickly shakes his head. 

"I'm just guessing he does," he corrects himself quickly.

But already, Jisung's head is spinning.

 

When Stray Kids are finally told they will debut as eight, the first person Jisung hugs is Minho. The first person he wants to hug, actually, is Minho. On the other end of the line they stand on, the first person Minho wants to hug is Jisung. They try to get across to each other but are intercepted each by a different person who seeks to hug them too, and so they stare at each other over their shoulders, their hands itching, their bodies craving nothing but each other. Then, when they are freed and finally find themselves together, they almost, almost kiss.

Jisung gathers himself at the last second, collecting the fact that they're on a stage, that no one is supposed to know about this. But even though he doesn't kiss him the way his whole body aches to, he still hugs Minho the tightest he ever has. The tightest he's ever hugged anyone, actually. The closest he's ever been to anyone, too. And maybe that's him telling him he forgives him. Whatever it is, it feels nice.

They don't let go for a long while, even while everybody else moves on to hug other people. They stay there. Minho's arms are wrapped so tightly around Jisung's waist he can touch his own elbows, and when they're forced to pull away, they are both reluctant. 

That night is also the first night all members of Stray Kids willingly go out as a group of eight. They hit a pub by midnight and celebrate the milestone. Even Jisung gets an in on the enjoyment, especially when some are already a little drunk and no longer care who it is they're hugging.

Minho doesn't drink. He stays aside, chatting comfortably with Bang Chan by the bar, watching a very drunk Jisung dancing sloppily to the choreography of Hellevator with Felix and Changbin even though the music playing in the pub does not resemble it at all. He smiles to himself, barely paying any attention to what Chan tells him, more focused on the red blush spread across the younger's cheeks, the high curve of his eyebrows, the loudness of his laugh. This might be the first time he's seen him look so free. So unconcerned. 

When their eyes meet across the distance, Minho doesn't avert his gaze, unashamed that he was caught staring. Jisung's smile fades and he swallows, suddenly nervous when making eye contact with him. He takes a hand to his belly because he feels something he can't quite name that starts to shift inside him.

It's neither too late nor too early when Jisung finally approaches him—or, more so, throws himself onto him. Minho catches him narrowly, receiving him in his arms. 

"Are you okay?" He chuckles, amused by the state he finds him in.

Jisung nods, nuzzling up against his chest, taking in the scent of his cologne. 

"I think it's time I get you home."

Jisung doesn't answer and Minho takes it as a yes, so he's quick to greet his friends goodbye and help him out the door. There's a skip to Jisung's steps while they head to the parking lot, as if he was still dancing in his head, and Minho, holding him firmly by the waist, finds it adorable. They get to his car and he helps him onto the passenger's seat (in spite of Jisung's constant claims that he can manage himself), and then somehow gets him to tell him his address. Soon enough, they're on their way.

Jisung stays quiet, the movement of the car lulling him into a state of silent dazedness. Minho eyes him sideways more than once, the curve of his Adam's apple where he rests his head back against the window feeling like something that deserves to be stared at.

"We're here." Minho clears his throat, pulling up in front of Jisung's building. "You have your keys?"

"Door's unlocked," Jisung mumbles absentmindedly.

"You really have to start locking it. It's dangerous."

"Yeah, yeah." He waves him off. 

Minho fondly shakes his head to himself and they get off the car. Even though Jisung complains, he still wraps an arm around his middle and guides him all the way to the second floor. He opens the door, then gets them both in and kicks it shut behind him before dragging Jisung toward the bed to rest him down on the mattress gently.

"There you go," Minho whispers softly.

Jisung stares up at him, his eyes heavy as he blinks once, twice. 

"Lee Minho, you got so pretty."

Minho feels himself blushing almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth, so he doesn't pay much attention to the statement and instead works to take Jisung's boots off.

"Did I?" he questions.

"Mhm."

"Wasn't I pretty before?"

"You were. The most," he drawls, "but you've gotten beautiful."

Minho swallows.

When his boots are off, he looks around and soon heads to the kitchen to grab him a glass of water, anything to avoid having to look at him. While his back is turned, Jisung slyly takes off his t-shirt and discards it somewhere on the floor, so by the time he comes back bearing the cold drink, Minho can't help but laugh.

"Are you stripping for me?" he asks, propping the glass on the nightstand. "If this is you trying to seduce me, Jisung..."

Jisung, lying on his side, lets out a faint chuckle. Minho turns to look at him, his eyes catching on his muscled arms, his round hips, the curve of his slim waist, and—

Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. 

"You got your belly pierced?"

Jisung smiles hazily. "Oh, that. Yeah."

Minho is in shock as he studies the little black ring on his navel that somehow gives the illusion that his waist is thinner than what it already is. Impossibly so.

"When?" he asks, his voice going up a few pitches in his surprise. 

"Right after you left," Jisung confesses absentmindedly. "It's still sore."

"What? I left and you got your belly pierced? Well, what else did you do when I was gone that I don't know about?" Minho exclaims, unable to keep himself from staring at the shape of Jisung's body. "Am I about to find out you also slept with someone else?"

Jisung bites down on his lip to hold back a smile and Minho's eyes go wide.

"You did?!"

"Okay, but if you hear me out—"

"With who!"

Jisung looks like he's sobered up already. He turns over in bed to face away from him. 

"I'm not telling you," he grumbles through his giggles.

Minho scowls in disbelief. "You little shit!"

Jisung laughs out loud and feels the mattress dipping when Minho crawls up towards him. Soon enough, he's turning him around and climbing onto his lap. 

"Tell me who you slept with," he demands as he tickles him. "Tell me!"

"No! You're gonna get mad."

"I'm not gonna get mad!"

"You're lying!"

Minho runs his hands all over his bare torso with little discretion, making Jisung come undone in little laughs as he feels his fingers pinching him, tickling him. At last, Minho groans and pulls away, lifting his hands by his head in surrender. 

"Okay, fine! I won't get mad. Just tell me already."

Jisung covers his face and peeks through his fingers at him, his cheeks tight with a mischievous smile.

"Who did you have sex with?" Minho asks.

Jisung mumbles something into his hand.

"What?" Minho leans in closer.

"Hyunjin," he repeats again a little louder. "But—"

"YOU HAD SEX WITH HYUNJIN?!"

"Wait!"

"HYUNJIN?!"

"Let me explain!"

Minho opens his mouth to say something else, but then quickly closes it and falls back, his gaze lost, his hands on his lap.

"I feel betrayed," he claims numbly.

"Will you listen to me?" Jisung laughs. He straightens up against the backrest and rests his hand on Minho's thigh. "It was nothing. Okay? We didn't even kiss."

"Like that's supposed to make it any better! I don't care if you kiss, you were both naked and—"

"You said you wouldn't get mad!"

"I'm not mad! I'm..." Minho shakes his head, letting out a sigh, "upset?"

"It was nothing, I swear. It was one time, we were drunk and I was sad and we decided to stop halfway through because neither of us actually wanted it."

"Wait, what? You stopped halfway through?"

"Yeah." Jisung blushes. "We weren't feeling it and it was mostly out of spite because I missed you."

"Are you trying to make me feel better about the fact you quite literally fucked your best friend by telling me you did it because you missed me?"

"Well, it doesn't technically count if you don't finish!"

"Yes, it does!"

"But we stopped!"

Minho shakes his head. "Well... I guess you stopping halfway through kinda makes up for it. That's actually so awkward that you tried to cheat on me and couldn't."

"Cheat on you? We weren't even together!" Jisung exclaims. "You're so mean!"

"You fucked Hyunjin and you got a belly piercing!" he fires back, ready to keep the argument going when suddenly, a thought occurs to him. "Wait, which one of you...?"

Jisung presses his lips into a line as if he was ashamed of the answer. "Me."

Minho blinks.

"Holy shit, are you kidding?"

Jisung shakes his head. 

"No. I even wore a condom and all. And Hyunjin said it wasn't bad."

Minho grits his teeth. "Well, just fucking great."

"What do you mean? You didn't wear condoms."

"Well, I know. Not my proudest moment, but you were a virgin when I met you and I get tested regularly. And anyway, why does Hyunjin get it from you and not me?"

"You're the one who likes it like that!"

"I feel really unimportant right now." Minho crosses his arms over his chest in childish offense and pouts his lips. 

"Don't," Jisung rushes to tell him. The remnants of alcohol in his system spur his boldness. He sits up and tugs on Minho's t-shirt to pull him in. "Let me make you feel important."

The words make Minho's eyes grow wide. He blinks in shock at the statement. 

"What?"

"You heard me." Jisung nods confidently.

"You're drunk."

"No, I'm not."

"You are."

Jisung stares at him, then leans in to kiss him. Minho startles, yet he still doesn't pull away. He tastes alcohol in his mouth but Jisung grabs his waist and pulls him in closer and he can't help but whimper, the feeling of the roles reversed so strange yet so weirdly appealing. He's never been the one to surrender and it awakens in him a lustful curiosity. 

He feels one of Jisung's hands slipping under his t-shirt to travel his bare back, his touch hungry and desperate. He's not used to not having control so he doesn't dare do anything, simply letting the alcohol in Jisung's gut handle the situation. The kiss becomes heated when their tongues meet, their salivas intermingling, Minho's hands at last taking Jisung by the neck. He arches towards him and Jisung runs a hand along his thigh to grip his hip, and Minho feels himself growing breathless.

Then, Jisung probes gently the front of his pants and Minho has to force himself to pull away. 

"Wait," he breathes out heavily.

Jisung tries to go back in to kiss him, but Minho plants a hand on his chest and opens a distance between them.

"What's wrong?" Jisung asks, his eyes flickering down to Minho's lips momentarily.

Minho bites his tongue as he looks at him, watching the longish hair falling over those pleading eyes of his. Jisung's lips are reddened and the drunken blush stretches over his cheeks, yet another reminder of why this cannot happen right now.

"You're drunk," he tells him. 

"So?" Jisung pants out, his eyes hooded, staring straight at his lips. Minho finds it hard to focus. His mind is in a haze.

"It's not gonna happen," he denies, though he sounds weak.

Jisung looks devastated. 

"Please," he begs silently, his voice quiet in the dimly-lit apartment. "Please, Minho."

"No. No, stop begging."

Jisung leans in and steals only a brief kiss, catching Minho's bottom lip between his teeth. He stares into his eyes as he tugs at it, the expression of repressed pleasure on Minho's face awakening a course of adrenaline inside him. 

"Please," he repeats because he knows the effect it has on him. 

Minho feels himself at an overload while Jisung's hands travel his thighs, grip his waist, touch him all over with a desperation that is unlike him. Jisung has never treated him the way he treats him right now. He leans in and nuzzles into his neck, planting chaste kisses to his jaw that make him whimper weakly, and Minho can't even think.

"No..." He shakes his head, trying to push him away but not finding the strength to do so within him.

Jisung grabs his jaw and looks up at him as he bites down hard on the muscle of his neck, deep enough to leave a mark. Even though it hurts, Minho likes it, and likes it even more coming from him. This animalistic behavior of him is one he doesn't recognize, but now he realizes it's something he's been craving for a while.

Jisung pulls away and looks up at him through his lashes. "Please, please, please."

But Minho pins him back against the backrest to break the proximity. He shoots him a warning look.

"I said it's not gonna happen, so stop begging," he tells him at last. "You're drunk. It's inappropriate."

Jisung leans back and bites down on his lips to shake his head. His hooded gaze falls from Minho's eyes to his lips to the tightness on the front of his pants, like trying to prove a point, and Minho can only swallow dryly.

"You're being unfair," Minho mumbles. "You can't beg like this when you know I can't do it."

"But why not?"

"It's not happening, Jisung."

"Please."

Minho gets up frustratedly. "I'm going home."

"Wait."

Jisung tugs him back with a hand on his wrist. Minho turns and they stare at each other for a moment. 

"Stay the night," he asks of him then.

Minho scoffs. "Why? So you can continue to beg until I can't control myself anymore? We're not having sex while you're drunk like this."

"No." Jisung shakes his head immediately. "I won't beg anymore. I just want you to stay with me."

Somewhere there, his voice has suddenly turned soft, the lust in his eyes gone and replaced by a gentle worry. Minho almost melts. He knows he can't say no to him, so he doesn't even try. 

"Alright," he says. "But I'll go look for an aspirin for your head while you calm yourself down. And you better be calm when I come back, Jisung."

Jisung nods obediently, back to his usual behavior. Minho answers to the gesture, then finally gets up and quickly ventures into the bathroom.

As soon as he's alone, he braces his hands against the sink and squeezes himself over his pants, letting out a shaky breath. He's so hard it has actually become unbearable—he had to get out of there as soon as possible before he really lost control. His every fiber throbs to be inside of Jisung—or even better, to have him inside himself—and it aches deep in his soul that Jisung is drunk right now. Otherwise, he's sure he knows what would have happened.

Once he's calm himself, Minho splashes some cold water on his face to get ahold of his body and soon starts searching the cabinet for some pills the way he said he would. 

"Hey, Jisung," he calls, coming out of the bathroom. "There's no aspirin. I found some ibuprofen, but it looks a bit old—"

He freezes when he hears faint snoring and looks up to find that Jisung is fast asleep. His pants have been discarded on the floor and he lies on his side, hugging his pillow, the white sheets bunched up around the soft dent of his waist. His lips are only slightly parted. Minho feels he could fall on his knees for the sight in front of him, but alas, he only smiles and approaches the side of the bed.

"Jisung," he whispers very softly, leaning by him and resting his chin on the mattress to caress his head.

He gazes at him fondly for a few short seconds, long enough to realize that Jisung is not waking up. Then, once he's sure he's fully asleep, Minho smiles.

"I love you," he tells him out loud.

He leans in and plants a soft kiss on his forehead. Then, he undresses, folds his clothes neatly by a corner, slips into a pair of sweatpants he finds on the floor and gets into the queen-sized bed next to him. This time, he doesn't hesitate to hug Jisung, wrapping an arm around his middle to drag him in closer and be able to mold his body against his. Somewhere along the lines of it, he also feels Jisung nuzzling into him, grabbing his hand and interlinking their fingers, and even planting a soft kiss to his knuckles before, at last, falling asleep once again.

That night, they both rest easy. And it's been a long while since they did.

Notes:

twt and alterspring

Chapter 35: he's safe with you

Notes:

cw; blowjob what the hell, also some talk about religion (very mild)

Minho wakes up pretty early, almost right after the sun starts to rise. The room is cold but inside the sheets, clinging to Jisung's body like a lifeline, his body is warm. An estelle of dust particles flow freely about the sunlight cast into the flat through the open window and he can see the city through the glass, but aside from that, everything is very still.

Jisung is still fast asleep, his mouth hanging slightly open, soft breaths drawn in and out from his puffed-up cheeks repeatedly. Minho watches his half-naked body peeking from under the sheets as he breathes, the way his cheek is bunched up against the pillow, his lips pouted. Minho is not sleepy, not tired, simply in awe of the morning view.

He reaches out a hand and gently tucks Jisung's hair away from his forehead, running his finger down the side of his face, lingering for a moment on his mouth before finally pulling away. He wouldn't mind waking up to this every morning. Creepy though it may be, he finds comfort in watching Jisung sleep.

Maybe Jisung was too drunk to notice how desperately he clang to Minho on his sleep. Maybe, in his sobriety, he would have pulled away. But it happened and Minho remembers it vividly; in fact, Jisung's hands are still on him, warm and gentle under his t-shirt, with no intention of ever pulling away, and they're real. Not violent. Not a whim.

Minho can't remember the last time he felt such peace.

Jisung suddenly shifts, but Minho doesn't avert his gaze, unafraid to be caught staring. The younger boy stretches and looks around in his morning haze. His eyes are puffy. He's everything Minho wants.

"What time is it?" Jisung asks, and his voice is hoarser, deeper.

"I don't know," Minho says back quietly.

Jisung lays back down against the pillow with a sigh, his eyes meeting his. "Were you watching me sleep? 'Cause that's creepy."

Minho can't fight the obvious answer, so he laughs and instead leans in to kiss him. However, before he can get too close, Jisung slaps a hand over his mouth.

"My breath smells," he tells him.

Minho frowns and takes his hand off his mouth. "I don't care."

"No, you care." Jisung nods, then turns to face away from him. There's a tight silence for a moment. "You can hug me, though."

Minho laughs sweetly, with no hesitations. He scoots closer and wraps an arm around Jisung's waist, tugging him in to kiss his bare shoulder. Jisung nuzzles back against him and sighs out in what Minho recognizes as relief—a stranger feeling. 

"I have a terrible headache," Jisung comments through a groan, still too sleepy to properly manufacture his slurred speech.

"I figured. There's an ibuprofen on your nightstand."

But Jisung doesn't want to get up.

"Just a sec."

Minho chuckles and rests closer to him, finding comfort in his warmth.

"Thank you for letting me in," he whispers close to his ear, running his nose along his neck, delighting in the scent of him.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. I'm just thankful." He chuckles. "You make me really happy."

"Do I, really?"

"Really." Minho kisses him softly once more.

Jisung's body shudders in response to the contact. He cranes his neck and feels him rest on the crook of his shoulder. Holding on to his pillow, Jisung becomes immersed in the feeling of Minho hugging him so tightly.

"Are you not disappointed in me?" he asks, his voice diffident. 

"Disappointed?" Minho echoes, the word sounding far too harsh. "Why would I be disappointed? I'm the proudest of who you are."

Jisung shakes his head. "Be honest with me."

"I am being honest."

"Am I a problem?"

Minho closes his eyes and kisses him a third time. "No, jagi. The world is the problem."

Jisung turns back around to look at him. Each lie on their own pillow, Minho's hand rested on the gentle curve of his waist as if he needed that physical contact even when they're apart. Jisung opens his mouth to say something, but his gaze soon flicker to Minho's neck and his eyes widen in horror.

"Oh, my God," he says, grabbing his face to turn him away and inspect it better. "Did I do that?"

Minho recalls getting bitten last night, so he chuckles.

"Yeah," he tells him. "You were a bit out of hand."

Jisung turns red. "I'm so sorry. Did it hurt?"

"Just the right amount." Minho shrugs, not too interested in hearing him apologize for something he enjoyed so much. "Can I kiss you now?"

Jisung immediately shakes his head. Within a second, before Minho can complain, he jumps up to his feet and sprints into the bathroom wearing only his boxers. Minho sits up against the backrest through a laugh and watches his round little ass jiggle with every stomp. After that, he hears the sound of the tap, and five minutes later, Jisung is back.

"Fuck, it's cold," he complains, shivering as he shimmies back into bed. 

He turns and clings onto Minho for warmth. Minho laughs and wraps an arm around him, looking at only Jisung's hair peeking out from under the blankets where he hides. His hands are cold when they slip under Minho's t-shirt, but Minho doesn't complain.

"Now, can I kiss you?" he asks one last time.

Jisung mumbles a reply that sounds like a yes, so Minho scoots downwards in bed, throws the covers over their heads to hide them both beneath them, and finally pulls him in. Under the warmth of the bedsheets, they share a gentle kiss.

Jisung tastes of spearmint, so Minho can't help but slip his tongue past his lips, searching for that fresh taste. Jisung wraps his arms around his neck and he squeezes his waist in response, tangling their legs together, going through the motions like they're natural, like they're mundane.

At last, they emerge from under the sheets together, both flush and panting. 

"I could get used to this," Minho comments, looking at Jisung from up close.

"What?"

"Waking up with you."

"Slow down, cowboy," Jisung tells him through a nervous chuckle. "I don't even know if I like you enough for that."

Minho laughs out loud and soon changes the topic.

"I still can't believe you had sex with Hyunjin," he comments, deep in though. "I am offended, by the way."

Jisung blushes. "I told you about that?"

"Unfortunately." Minho sighs.

"Well... consider yourself punished for being such an asshole to me."

"If you're punishing me for that, should I punish you too for every time you've been a total dick to me?" he suggests. 

"Depends."

"On what?"

"What type of punishment are we talking about?"

Minho squints his eyes. "Not that type of punishment."

"Then, no, you most definitely shouldn't."

"Maybe I'll fuck Hyunjin, too."

"Nuh-uh."

"Yeah, and you'll know how it feels," Minho jokes with a cheeky grin. "We're just friends us, anyway. Aren't we?"

Jisung stares at him, visibly offended by the words, and then spins around to face away from him. Minho lets out a sweet laugh and pulls him in by the waist. 

"Come back here. I'm just joking," he tells him, proceeding to plant a trail of kisses on his bare back that seek his forgiveness. "You're not my friend, Jisung. You're mine."

"I'm not your property!" Jisung exclaims indignantly.

Minho presses himself harder against him. "Mine."

Then, Jisung feels Minho's hand groping his ass and he lets out a yelp. 

"Yah!"

Minho laughs maliciously and gets up to straddle his lap. He hovers over him for a moment, then leans down to kiss him. Jisung certainly doesn't object when their lips meet, only for a short instant. 

"You are mine, aren't you?" Minho asks when he pulls away. "Or should I be worried that someone might steal you from me?"

Jisung purses his lips. He's stubborn, but he can't win a fight against the obvious. 

"No," he says. "I'm yours."

"Good."

Minho kisses his chin, then crawls down to kiss his neck and his warm chest. Jisung rests a hand on the back of his head and watches Minho with parted lips as he travels down his bare torso. His breathing picks up pace. He feels him licking him, nibbling gently, seeking to mark him, all the while maintaining eye contact with him in such a way that Jisung can feel his stomach clenching, and it's all too much. Soon enough, the wind has been knocked out of him.

Minho toys with the waistband of his boxers and Jisung fights the urge to buck his hips from the bed, the slow kisses sending lax coils of heat curling around his spine. But his body yearns for something else.

"Wait," he says, grabbing his wrist.

Minho looks up at him with a frown. "What?"

Jisung hesitates for a moment, but at last, he tugs on Minho's arm to get him to crawl back up. Minho complies, slightly confused. Then, he follows Jisung's guiding hands and sits down on the bed against the backrest.

"What are you doing?" Minho asks when Jisung kneels in front of him.

"It's my turn," he replies, reaching out to undress him.

Minho is still confused, but he lets Jisung take off his t-shirt and then crawl onto his lap.

"Your turn to what?" he questions, even though the idea already takes shape in his head.

"Didn't I say I'd make you feel special?" Jisung squints his eyes at him. "I meant it."

"What?"

Jisung leans in and kisses Minho. Their bare bodies are against one another, warm and pulsing. Minho feels him holding the back of his neck, so he props his hands on his hips and lets Jisung take a comfortable seat on his crotch.

Jisung kisses him passionately, slipping his tongue into his mouth, taking control of the situation in such a way that makes Minho's breath hitch. He grips his thighs and lets him run his hands down his bare torso, his fingers not even stumbling over the scar above his belly.

Jisung squeezes his chest, his thumb flicking over his nipple. Minho doesn't know if he knows what he's doing, but whatever it is that he's planning, it's working. He feels himself lacking breath so he inhales deeply through his nose, letting Jisung have complete control over him where he rubs himself over his growing erection.

Then, when Jisung's hand unexpectedly finds the front of his sweatpants, Minho sucks in a sharp breath and pulls away. 

"What...?" he asks breathlessly, blinking in surprise.

"Do you not trust me?" Jisung laughs, fondling him over the fabric of the sweatpants.

Minho's breathing is uneven, interrupted by faint whimpers of complete surrender.

"I..." he breathes out heavily.

"Will you stay still and shut up?"

Minho clamps his mouth shut and nods obediently, Jisung's sudden dominance sparking his curiosity. Jisung boy grips him, then stands on his knees between his legs and leans down to plant a soft kiss on the front of his pants. Minho watches him with hooded eyes. He swallows dryly, the eye contact feeling so intimate and intense that his whole body is vibrating.

Then, when Jisung hooks his fingers over his waistband, Minho leans back against the backrest of the bed and helps him tug down his pants. His erection springs free and Jisung's eyes fall upon it, full of desire. When he looks back up, his eyes are glazed and somewhat pleading. He kisses Minho's leaking tip softly and Minho grips the pillow behind him.

Jisung certainly takes his time. He only kisses him at first, holding his gaze, wrapping his small hand around Minho's base to grip him firmly. Minho can't help but think Jisung might have imitated that tortuously slow pace from him. When he's so painfully hard he bucks his hips from the bed in response to every single stimulation, Jisung licks his lips and finally wraps his mouth around him. Experiencing this for the first time, Minho tosses his head back and lets out a soft moan.

Jisung pulls away only momentarily to spit on his tip and use his saliva as lubrication to stroke him. He proceeds to take him into his mouth once again and finally start bobbing his head, acquiring a steady pace of swallowing him almost whole and pulling almost all the way out, over and over, without going in deep enough to trigger his gag reflex. Minho groans quietly. All the while, Jisung watches him closely, attentively, trying to find out what kinds of things Minho's body reacts to the best.

Even though the thickness of him is hard to handle, Jisung opens his mouth wide and forces himself to take it, his eyes watering whenever he goes in too deep, punching out of him a gag as his throat tries to fight off the intrustions. He strokes Minho's base with his hand at the same time, cupping his balls, fondling the part he can't fit into his mouth and feeling the saliva slick up his chin. When he hollows his cheeks, Minho's fingers lace into his hair and Jisung whimpers at the sound that leaves his throat.

Minho is gentle at first, as if he was scared to hurt him, but he soon stops holding himself back and holds Jisung down instead. Jisung gags around him and feels tears stinging his eyes, but Minho keeps him in place for some seconds before letting him go. When he pulls out, Jisung looks up at him, a thin string of saliva connecting his swollen lips to the tip of his cock, dripping down his chin.

"Fuck..." Minho breathes out, holding his jaw gently to run a thumb across his wet mouth.

Jisung looks up at him, his eyes teary, his eyebrows curved, his throat raw. Minho admires him for a second before Jisung goes back in to finish the job, the wet sounds of him sucking and Minho's pants filling the small flat. It gets harder and harder to breathe, Jisung can't take him in too deep without gagging, but watching Minho toss his head back due to the pleasure is enough for him to be able to enjoy it and progressively work to swallow him in even deeper. He seeks his reactions and delights in the feeling of being pushed down, forced to take it. He knows Minho is being gentle in comparison to what he could really do, but for the time being, it's okay. 

When he feels his orgasm approaching, Minho lets go of him, as if giving him the choice between keeping it going and pulling out. Jisung doesn't stop and so Minho tries to steady his breathing, bracing himself against the backrest until a familiar feeling erupts through him along with his orgasm. When he finishes, Jisung pauses and helps him ride out the high by continuing to bob his head, swallowing every last drop of his release.

"Stop... stop," Minho begs once Jisung's tongue on his tip causes him to become overstimulated.

Jisung pulls out and strokes him very slowly by the end. He watches him as he breathes ruggedly, his head tossed back in ecstasy. Then, when he finally manages to come down from his orgasm, Minho regains his breath and looks down at him through weary eyes. 

"Fuck," he mumbles, and Jisung laughs. "Who taught you how to do that?"

Jisung shrugs. "No one. I just did what you did. And I, uh. I might have watched some porn, too."

Minho shakes his head at the sight of him, of his swollen lips, his flush cheeks. There's a sparkle in Jisung's big eyes product of the tears welled on his waterlines. Minho reaches out a hand to stroke his cheek with his thumb and clean the edges of his wet lips with the pad of his finger.

"My smart boy. Practicing for me," he breathes out through a laugh, his honey skin glistening with sweat. "I need a shower now."

"You do that and I'll see what we can have for breakfast. Don't pass out in there, or anything."

Jisung leans in and plants a soft kiss to Minho's cheek. Then, as Minho tugs up his pants with a hidden grin, Jisung leaps up from the bed to get dressed.

 

"We're supposed to have the EP ready for next week?" Jisung exclaims in shock, standing by the kitchen counter. "How?"

Minho, recently out of the shower and dressed in Jisung's clothes, sneaks up behind him and slips two hands around his waist. He presses his body against Jisung's and dips to kiss his shoulder through his t-shirt.

"Why is it a problem? You take, like, five minutes to record your parts."

Jisung shrugs. "I don't like being rushed."

Minho traces his waist and his hips, then squeezes his ass. Jisung clicks his tongue and slaps him away while Minho giggles cheekily. 

"You're still not my boyfriend. You don't get to do that," Jisung claims.

But Minho shows no disappointment—in fact, his eyes sparkle.

"Still?" he echoes. "Does that mean I will be?"

Jisung's face falls. He sets his phone down and makes himself busy by propping his shoulders on the counter and toying with the fake plant next to him.

"I didn't say that," he mumbles.

Minho, noting the shift in his behavior, tries to waft his way around the topic. He chooses his next words carefully, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.  

"I'm not rushing you, by the way," he hurries to say. "It was just a joke. Okay?"

Jisung nods dismissively. Minho rests a hand on his back. 

"Did I make you uncomfortable?" he asks, his panic growing bitter.

Jisung straightens up, swiftly shaking his hand off. "No. I'm fine. I'm gonna go take a shower."

Minho doesn't insist, even though he's not so sure if he should give him space this time. Ultimately, he only nods and watches him go. Then, once he's alone, he rests himself against the counter and runs his hands across his hair.

"Fucking stupid," he mumbles under his breath, sensing that maybe he screwed it up again.

His thoughts veer immediately to Hyunjin, to what advice he'd give, but something tells him he knows exactly what he'd say—not to rush him, not to pressure him. But how can Minho do that when all he wants to do is marry Jisung right now and worry about the consequences later? He reprimands himself for the speed at which he moves.

When he's done pacing, he lies back on the undone bed and stares up at the ceiling with a hand under his head. He listens to the sound of the running shower for some minutes. When Jisung finally comes out of the bathroom, Minho sits up and watches him shuffle around the room, changing into some loose clothes.

"Jisung," he calls.

"Hm?"

Minho speaks even though Jisung is facing away from him, feigning disinterest.

"You know I'm moving at your pace, right?" 

Jisung glances at him over his shoulder as he slips on a t-shirt.

"Yeah," he tells him quietly.

"Are you sure you know that? You don't sound too sure," he insists. Jisung says nothing. "Come here."

Jisung seems to hesitate for a moment, but Minho's open arms soon welcome him warmly. Shyly, Jisung stands between his spread legs and lets Minho's hands land on his hips. 

"What?" Jisung asks.

"I don't want you to think that anything I say is meant to rush you or force you into something you don't wanna do," he explains. "I'm not so sure you know that."

Jisung doesn't reply.

"We don't have to call ourselves anything if that's not what you want," Minho adds. "We can be just friends."

"I thought you said I wasn't your friend."

"You're not," he admits. "But I'll call you that if you ask me."

It takes a second. Finally, Jisung draws only a half smile, enough to let Minho know that his words got to him somewhere, at least a little, and he's relieved. He squeezes Jisung's waist and looks up at him fondly.

"Fine," Jisung caves at last. 

Minho smiles. "Should I call you my friend, then?"

"No," Jisung gripes back immediately, crawling onto bed to curl up next to him.

"Alright, then."

Minho scoots closer and lies on his side to look at him. Jisung's cheek is squashed against the pillow beneath him, so Minho reaches out a hand to touch at the stray hairs falling over his eyes. The sun, now risen up into the sky, shines through the open window, coming in peacefully along with the distant sounds of the city below. 

It's intimate in some other way. Jisung feels like a cat chasing the sun whenever he looks at Minho. Always there, feeling it slip away, but catching it again a moment later.

"Minho," he calls, "how did you come out to your parents?"

The question is as striking as it is interesting. Minho flashes his brows.

"Oh, I didn't have to. My mother already knew."

"Really?"

"Of course."

"How?"

"Aren't parents always aware of this stuff?" Minho laughs, rested on his palm. "She knew about my first crush on a boy before I even knew myself."

"Well, that's great that she was supportive, right?"

"Yeah." He nods, fond of the memory. "Will you tell your parents about this?"

Jisung shakes his head. "I'm not a kid anymore. There's no need for them to know who I'm dating."

"Fair enough."

Jisung nods. Then, a thought strikes him. 

"Do you think there's anyone that might have already known I like boys before I did?"

"Do you like boys?" Minho asks instead of answering. "I think it's too early to decide what you are. You might change your mind along the way. You might not even wanna label yourself. So... no, I doubt it. I doubt people even thought you liked anyone at all, Jisung."

Jisung thinks about it, then realizes—not with bitterness, but with something else—that Minho is right. He doesn't even know if he's into boys. Minho is the first person he's ever allowed himself to actually like.

When the silence stretches between them once again, Minho fights the unbearable urge to ask him everything he wants to know. He can see it in his eyes, see something missing, something unmentioned.

"I wanna get to know you, Jisung," so he says, scooting over closer to drape his hand along the side of Jisung's neck. He strokes the lobe of his ear between his fingers.

"Don't you know enough already?" Jisung scowls, the contact so delicate it makes him shiver.

"What?" Minho laughs. "I know barely anything about you, Jisung... Only that you like sweets and that you're lovely."

Jisungy blinks and blushes. The description seems far too simple for the mesh and tangle he actually is inside. Such an empty word. Such a children's words. Lovely, like he's not a wreck or a terrible person, too. Jisung looks up at the ceiling to somehow hide the glint in his eyes. 

"What is there to know?" he asks now.

Minho traces his jaw. "What's your favorite color?"

"I don't have one."

"No? That's disappointing," he comments pensively before quickly moving on to the next question. "Cats or dogs?"

"Dogs."

Minho takes offense. "What?"

"What?"

"You're kidding."

"Why would I be kidding?"

Jisung seems genuinely confused and Minho seems genuinely upset.

"I think I have to break up with you," he comments.

"What? Why?"

"I have three cats and you're telling me you're a dog person? How will we live together?" he exclaims, then quickly grabs Jisung's face. "Joke."

"Actually," he begins, staring into his eyes, "I was gonna say that I prefer dogs, but I wouldn't mind cats in here."

Minho blinks.

"Really?" He frowns.

"Yeah." Jisung nods, then smiles cheekily. "Joke, too."

After his brief puzzlement, Minho giggles fondly and Jisung is pleased to hear him laugh. A sense of relief seems to have settled in Minho's stomach.

"Tell me something you've never told anyone," he asks now when the silence becomes loud once again.

Jisung's expression seems to shift at the question. His eyes drift, as if he was either thinking or refusing to answer. Either way, Minho awaits his response in a patient silence.

"I've noticed something lately," he begins, and Minho is slightly surprised he's actually getting a reply. He pays full attention. "Something I do."

"What's that?"

"I've had the feeling since I was young that I'm not my own person," Jisung claims slowly. "That everything I do or say is just stuff I took from someone else."

Minho frowns. "How?"

"Like—okay, this might sound kinda crazy. I don't believe in God, but if there was one, I just feel like... like maybe he's an asshole or something. Because he gave me the talent to do things, but not the creativity to create them, so I just steal. I copy everyone else. Someone's laugh or someone's joke or someone's whatever. It's just not mine." Jisung sighs. "He gave me the talent, not the creativity, so I'm stuck copying everyone else's work."

Like it's just nothing. Minho watches him carefully.

"Do you mean that?" he asks.

"I mean it in the realest way possible."

Minho nods pensively. "But... I think you're a pretty special person."

Jisung scowls like the thought of it is ridiculous. "Special? How?"

Minho looks at him for a moment. He studies his face rested on the pillow. The light catches on Jisung's beautiful brown eyes, makes it shine tawny like glitter or milk coffee.

"You make my heart race," he explains, his voice low and gentle.

Jisung looks at him in question. "Do I, now?"

Minho nods and grabs his hand. Softly, he guides it to his own chest for Jisung to feel his heartbeat hammering against his fingers. When he notices, Jisung blinks in surprise.

"You make me very nervous, too," Minho confesses, stroking the back of Jisung's hand with his thumb. Jisung no longer refuses the physical contact. "Not everyone does that to me."

Jisung squints. "I've never seen you get nervous."

"Sure you have. I only feel like that when I'm with you. Like I said, you're special," he insists. "If you steal a part of everyone you ever meet, you're creating something new by joining all of that into the way you are."

Minho means it in the realest way, too. Still, Jisung shakes his head.

"I don't get it," he murmurs. "How come you don't hate me like everyone else?"

Minho licks his lips as he studies him. So many thoughts raid him in a split second. Too many to count.

"Do you believe in soulmates?" he asks.

Jisung's brows twitch. "I... don't know."

"Well, I do. And I think you might be mine," Minho says confidently. "Why would I hate you? You've done nothing wrong. You're not the one to blame for the way you were raised, or the things that happened to you. You're just trying to get by."

Jisung's breath hitches a little. He can't bear to look into Minho's eyes anymore, the contact feeling unpleasantly intimate, so he removes his hand from his chest and scoots closer to nuzzle into Minho's neck instead. Minho receives him with a warm chuckle, wrapping his arms around his tiny figure, delighting in the heat he irradiates. He understands the time to share feelings might be over, that it's enough for he day, so he doesn't complain or utter a word. 

But Jisung is at ease, against all odds. Watching the puzzle pieces fall into place, one by one, like it's just that simple. 

He won't try to guess who warned Minho, who told him that Jisung must be treated delicately. Minho's hands are made of lilies when he touches him, as if he found comfort in the wreck instilled by him, and that's just the way it is. Because Jisung is a mess—a closed, impenetrable fucking mess—and Minho is both calm and chaos. And he brings Jisung peace.

"Get some rest, dream boy," Minho whispers when Jisung has closed his eyes, as if he could somehow sense the turmoil of thoughts happening inside his head. "You're safe with me."

Notes:

twt and alterspring