Work Text:
Let the record state that Han Jisung is only one drink in when he makes his latest life-altering decision.
He gets to the club nearly an hour after Felix had told him to be there, caught up in work stuff and then realizing he’d forgotten his after-work bag at home. He could have shown up in a suit, but the whole idea was to let loose (according to Felix’s flimsy excuse, it’s been two years this weekend since their little friend group all went out together the first time), and he can’t do that in clothes that made him feel like An Adult. It’s easy enough to find his friends, even in the dark and under strobing lights. He knows they’ll be as far from the speakers and lights as they could manage, so Seungmin can control the amount of stimulation, and once he gets close enough he hears Changbin’s cackling even over the pounding of the bass.
“You’re late!” Felix cries, hopping out of Chan’s lap and wrapping his arms around Jisung in an enthusiastic hug. “And you look hot as fuck.”
Jisung, who’d thrown on ripped skinny jeans and a tank top with some silver jewelry and hadn’t bothered with makeup at all, doesn’t feel hot as fuck. But, he supposes, he does look more like Chan and Changbin tonight than he usually does, and Felix definitely likes them. “Thanks, babe. Can’t hold a candle to you, though.”
Felix giggles and twirls, showing off the half skirt that hugs his hips and his crop top, which leaves little to the imagination. “Thank you. Come sit, we’ve got you a drink already.”
Felix returns to Chan’s lap. Changbin waves from next to them, arm thrown around Chan’s shoulders. Jeongin is beside Changbin, typing furiously on his phone, although he does look up and nod at Jisung before he returns to it. Jisung slides in beside Seungmin on the far side of the table, taking a long sip from the beer that Felix hands him. Seungmin presses a sweaty hand to his knee and squeezes.
“Hi, Jisungie,” he greets, smiling.
Jisung’s face reddens. Must be the beer. “Hi, Seungmin-ah. Where’s Minho-hyung?”
“Hyunjin dragged him to the dance floor.”
“Should have known. Is that why Innie looks constipated?”
Seungmin laughs, warm and full. Jeongin looks up only long enough to glare at Jisung.
“He’s been like that all night,” Seungmin says, leaning in to murmur into Jisung’s ear conspiratorially. His breath is hot against the side of Jisung’s neck, and it makes him shiver. “Sensitive. I keep thinking he’s gonna go get his man but then he goes back to his phone.”
Jisung laughs. “Give him time, it’s only been–”
“Two years,” Seungmin interrupts pointedly, and Jisung laughs again. Seungmin has a way of doing that, making laughter bubble up in Jisung’s chest without even trying.
Jisung remembers clearly the night Minho called him–actually called him, on the phone and everything–and told him he wanted his friends to meet this new guy he’d been seeing. Jisung had been ecstatic, agreeing enthusiastically. He’d seen the signs that Minho was starting to fall: the smiles directed at his phone, the way he’d catch himself staring into nothing. Jisung had been the one to make all the arrangements for the Big Official Hangout; Seungmin had requested only that he be allowed to bring his best friend, Hyunjin, so that he wasn’t entirely on his own being interrogated by all of Minho’s friends.
And then it turned out that almost everyone had connections before ever meeting. Chan and Seungmin went to the same high school and knew each other by face if not by name. Felix and Hyunjin had danced with the same troupe but never quite overlapped–the same troupe that Hyunjin and Minho both danced with now. Hyunjin hadn’t realized that Seungmin’s Minho was his own Minho, too.
What impressed Jisung about Seungmin then–and continues to impress him, two years later–is how intently he listens to anyone he’s having a conversation with. Even now, as Jisung chats mindlessly about a work project he’s been stuck on, Seungmin nods along, brow furrowed, offering sympathetic noises and advice when Jisung asks for it, his hand never leaving Jisung’s knee. He’s a good listener, and it makes him an excellent friend.
Minho returns to the table, then, beaming when he catches sight of Jisung. “Jisungie!”
“Hi, hyung,” Jisung greets.
He’s pulling Jisung up and into a hug before Jisung can blink. Dancing always gets him like this, loose-limbed and happy. It has a similar effect on Hyunjin, who’s giggling as he clambers over Changbin to sit next to Jeongin. Felix smacks his ass as he goes.
“You were late,” Minho says reproachfully, pulling back to frown at Jisung. He’s in a dark sweater tonight, black jeans so tight they look like they’re painted on, earring glinting from his lobe. “Rude of you to make us wait, don’t you think?”
Jisung laughs softly. “Doesn’t seem like you waited at all.”
“The party doesn’t start until Han Jisung walks in,” Seungmin deadpans, and Jisung finds himself being pushed back down into the booth beside him with Minho pressing in on his other side.
This is not the first time he’s found himself between the two of them. Actually, they facilitate it–a lot more often than can be considered coincidental. They love to sit on either side of him and talk at each other. Sometimes their hands end up on his thighs as they try to get closer together. He thinks it’s a combination of Seungmin’s general affinity for shit swizzling and Minho’s love for making Jisung just a little uncomfortable all the time.
And it was uncomfortable, the first time. Jisung squirmed out from between them eventually and sat next to Felix until he felt normal again. It wasn’t so uncomfortable the second time, and even less so the third. Now it’s just a part of life. Jisung, Seungmin, and Minho in a room–Jisung will end up in the middle.
It’s been a week and a half since Jisung last saw Minho, which is a lot longer than he usually likes to go without seeing his best friend. Seungmin has never minded sharing Minho’s attention, which is a good thing, considering how attached at the hip Jisung and Minho tend to be. Truthfully, Seungmin is the first of Minho’s boyfriends to stick around for more than a month or so; they’re at two-and-a-half years and counting now, so Jisung figures they’ll probably do something gross like get married sooner rather than later.
And if Jisung has to share Minho the rest of his life, he’s happy that it’s with Seungmin. In Felix’s words, Seungmin and Minho match each other’s freak . Minho can be weird, which is one of the things Jisung loves most about him. He’s unapologetic about it. And Seungmin, in Jisung’s opinion, sees all the weird and loves him for it. In return, Minho loves all of Seungmin’s weird, too. Even if neither of them will actually say those words out loud in front of other people. Jisung is lucky; he’s Minho’s confidante, has been for years and years, and therefore gets the privilege of knowing most of Minho’s thoughts the moment they form. And as Minho’s best friend, Seungmin came to Jisung early on in the relationship for ideas on how to win Minho’s heart. They’re a well-oiled machine, the two of them. Minho and Seungmin, Seungmin and Minho. Jisung loves them so much, is so happy he gets to witness them.
“I like the outfit,” Minho says, sliding his finger past a rip in Jisung’s jeans to poke his thigh.
“Hyuuung,” Jisung whines, flinching away from him–which only pushes him into Seungmin. “You know I’m ticklish.”
“Why do you think I like the outfit so much?” Minho answers with a smirk.
Jisung laughs. “Seungmin-ah, control your boyfriend.”
Seungmin hums like he’s considering it. Then he pokes Jisung in the same spot Minho just occupied with a wicked grin painted on his face. “Jisungie, control your best friend.”
“Attacked!” Jisung yells, squirming as Minho and Seungmin laugh. “Attacked from both sides!”
Across the table, Jeongin takes a long sip of Hyunjin’s cocktail, his eyes trained on Jisung the whole time. He shakes his head as he sets the glass back down.
“He’s practically vibrating over there,” he says, his eyes sliding to Minho. “You could give him room to breathe.”
Minho throws a dramatic arm over Jisung’s chest. “He’s breathing just fine. Right, Jisungie?”
Jisung snorts. “I’m breathing just fine, Innie.”
Jeongin raises an eyebrow and leans in to whisper something to Hyunjin, who rolls his eyes. Seungmin reaches over Jisung’s shoulder to tug at Minho’s earlobe, and even when Minho jolts and swats him away, Seungmin’s arm stays.
“It’s been too long,” Minho says, chin resting in his hand, gaze focused on Jisung. Jisung loves that they exist on the same wavelength, that he doesn’t have to feel embarrassed about missing his best friend–because his best friend missed him, too. “Tell me everything that’s happened to you in the last week and a half. Spare no details.”
Jisung spares a few details, but is happy to yap to Minho as long as Minho will let him. Minho listens attentively, nods occasionally, pokes fun at Jisung as often as he can manage it. Seungmin, who’s heard at least the bits about Jisung’s work already, flits in and out of their conversation and one with Hyunjin that, as far as Jisung can tell, regards naming conventions for the plastic flamingo in the store window near Hyunjin and Minho’s studio. His hand doesn’t leave Jisung’s shoulder.
Jisung leans forward to take a sip of his beer. He’s been slow with it, too distracted by chatting. Minho’s eyes slide to Seungmin’s hand, and his ears redden, for reasons Jisung can’t begin to fathom. His gaze returns to Jisung’s face, and he stares. Intently. Jisung is about to say something when Minho beats him to it.
“Alright,” Minho says firmly. “I’ve decided. Kim Seungmin, you’re coming to dance with me.”
Seungmin grumbles. “Why, hyung?”
Minho grins. “Because I asked, and we all know you can’t say no to me.”
Seungmin’s brows furrow, and he looks like he’s going to argue, but he doesn’t. “Sorry, Jisung-ah,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Gonna have to climb over you. Blame hyung.”
Jisung starts to offer to move but Seungmin doesn’t hesitate and does, in fact, climb right over him. Jisung gets an eyeful of his ass as he stumbles out of the seat. Minho waves at the table and takes Seungmin’s hand, pulling him to the dance floor.
“They’re so weird,” Jeongin says on a sigh.
Jisung can’t even begin to argue with that.
He hadn’t given much thought, when Seungmin was beside him, to what Seungmin was wearing. Now that he's up, though, hand in hand with Minho and headed for an uncrowded portion of the dance floor, Jisung takes him in. He's wearing a long sleeve button down and a tie, which he's loosened around his neck, and a pair of jeans far tighter than any Jisung knew he owned. There's a chain dangling from his hip, catching the light, and a pendant laying against the lower part of his throat. God, he's gotta be sweating pressed up against Minho like that, but Minho only pulls him in closer. Throws his head back on a laugh. Makes Seungmin smile that private smile he reserves only for Minho.
They both look up and make eye contact with Jisung.
Jisung quickly looks down at his beer, takes a sip to occupy himself. By the time he looks up again, Minho and Seungmin are only looking at each other. Jisung's heart rate is through the roof. He bites his lip, takes out his phone and does a Naver search on heart attacks in otherwise healthy young adults. His search yields nothing, so he glances up again.
It’s just–there’s something hypnotic about them tonight. Magnetic. The way their bodies fit together, it’s like they’re two pieces of a puzzle. They complete each other, so wholly and absolutely. They look good. He’s allowed to acknowledge that.
“Jisungieeeeeee,” Hyunjin says, and Jisung blinks and manages to refocus his attention on the table. Chan, Changbin, and Felix are gone, lost somewhere to the depths of the club. Jeongin is tucked into Hyunjin’s side, still on his phone, and Hyunjin is playing with his hair. When did all of that happen? “We’re gonna go dance. Come with us?”
Jisung shrugs. “Not sure I’m up for it tonight, hyung.”
Hyunjin huffs. “Boring. Do it anyway.”
Jisung swirls what remains of his beer in the bottom of the glass. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Minho and Seungmin dancing again. Their hips are pressed tight against each other. The way they look at each other, it’s like there’s no one else in the room.
“Oh, ew,” Hyunjin says, and Jisung looks back in time to see Jeongin leaning away from him, a smirk painted across his lips. Hyunjin looks like he just ate a lemon. “Okay, well, you know where to find us if you change your mind, Jisungie.”
He taps Jeongin’s ass until he’s scooted out of the booth and follows him out. It’s just Jisung alone at the table now. He shouldn’t get up, he figures belatedly, because if he does someone could take their spot. He has to make sure the others have a spot to come back to. That’s all it is.
His eyes follow Hyunjin and Jeongin winding their way through the tightly woven bodies on the floor. They find Felix, which means Changbin is likely somewhere nearby. He finds Chan at the bar, leaning against the hardwood with his eyes on Felix. And then he finds Minho and Seungmin again.
Magnetic.
Minho’s hands have wandered lower, down to Seungmin’s ass. One’s slipped into Seungmin’s back pocket, the other hanging from a belt loop by the thumb. Their foreheads are pressed together, and Seungmin is smiling, and Minho is, too, although it looks like he might be a little breathless. Seungmin’s hands look good, look right , on Minho’s waist. He thinks Seungmin’s eyes flicker away from Minho for a moment, in Jisung’s vague direction, but it’s so brief–it’s probably nothing.
He doesn’t know how to name the feeling in the pit of his stomach. It might be anxiety, if he’s honest with himself. It feels a bit like that, like an unsettled thing that’s festering inside him. With his anxiety, if he lets it go too long, the festering becomes overwhelming, all-consuming. But it doesn’t–it doesn’t feel like that, not really. Similar, but not exactly the same. If he’s feeling any anxiety, he thinks it’s because he doesn’t know what to call the thing he is feeling.
What’s with his head tonight, anyway? It's not like it's the first time he's recognized that Seungmin or Minho is attractive, he's not stupid or blind. He's usually able to tamp those realizations down so easily, but tonight…tonight he wants them to ferment, to linger. He wants to swirl them around in his mind like the beer in his hand, savor them when he's away from the music and the lights, and alone. It's disconcerting. He doesn't know what it means.
When he comes back to himself, his eyes refocusing in the same place they've been all night, he catches Minho watching him. He swallows. Minho says something to Seungmin, who heads to the bar while Minho approaches the table.
Jisung's been caught, he realizes. His heart skips a couple beats.
“You’re staring,” Minho says as he leans down over Jisung, smirking.
Jisung looks away resolutely. “Wasn’t.”
Minho laughs, and the back of Jisung’s neck prickles in a peculiar way. He can’t tell if it’s good or not. “Oh, Hannie, you know I can tell when you’re lying. You’re so obvious.”
Jisung’s face is so hot. When did it get so hot in here? “I was just–you were there. Where I happened to be looking.”
Minho smiles, his eyes sparkling. “Okay, jagi. Whatever you say.”
Jisung takes the second to last sip of his beer. He’s a lightweight and everyone knows it–his friends give him shit about it all the time–but he hasn’t even finished a single drink. Why does he feel light and kind of floaty already?
“Do you want another?” Minho asks, eyes flickering down to Jisung’s beer and then back up to his face. He’s really close. He smells nice.
Jisung shakes his head. He wants to be clear-headed, even though he’s sure his skin is already starting to tint red like it usually does. “Thanks, though.”
“Mm. You really aren’t gonna come dance?” Minho’s gaze is piercing, like there’s something he’s trying to say with his eyes that Jisung isn’t quite understanding.
Jisung bites his lip. Shakes his head again.
Minho smirks. “You like the view from here?”
Jisung blinks up at him. Once, twice, three times. There’s still something in his gaze, something that Jisung desperately wants to understand. He wishes Minho would just say it , whatever’s on his mind. It’s not like him to hold back.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Minho says, and–oh, right. He’d asked Jisung a question. A question Jisung had entirely forgotten to answer.
“Hyung,” he says, and he has no idea where he’s going with it. Just needs Minho to–to what, exactly? To take it back? To say he’s just joking?
He doesn’t want that, he realizes abruptly. He doesn’t want Minho to backtrack on any of it. He stares at Minho and can’t find a single thing to say to him at all.
Minho, as usual, knows him better than he knows himself. When he leans over to speak, his lips nearly brush against Jisung’s ear, sending sparks right down his spine. “Do you want to keep watching?”
Jisung pulls back quickly, meeting Minho’s eyes, trying to confirm he really heard what he thinks he heard, that it means what he thinks it means. Minho just smirks, eyes sparkling, and reaches over to steal the last few drops from Jisung’s beer. Jisung sputters, helpless.
“I–you–”
“Keep up, jagi,” Minho says, tapping him on the nose. “Look over there at Seungmin.”
Jisung rips his eyes away from Minho to follow his line of sight. Seungmin is at the bar, a glass of water in his hand, but he’s staring right back at them.
“It was his idea,” Minho purrs. He sits down beside Jisung, throws an arm around his shoulder to pull him close. He’s speaking right into Jisung’s ear, hardly above a whisper, and Jisung is hanging on his every word. “He likes it. Being watched. And I like indulging him. Just don’t tell him I said that.”
Jisung doesn’t know how to breathe. He can’t believe any part of him is considering this. He can’t believe any part of him wants this. He’s straight, for fuck’s sake. Why would he want to watch his gay best friends fucking?
“Why me?” Jisung asks, instead of saying anything that makes sense.
Minho laughs, so softly that Jisung shouldn’t be able to hear it over the music, but Minho is right there , so close Jisung can almost taste him. “Because you were already looking at us. You made it so easy.”
Jisung swallows, and he wishes Minho hadn’t stolen the last of his beer. His throat is so dry. He wants Seungmin to bring that glass of water over here. Instead, Seungmin takes a long drink, sets the glass down on the bar, and wipes the back of his mouth with his sleeve. Jisung’s throat is so fucking dry .
“You can say no,” Minho offers. “And we can forget about the whole thing. It won’t change anything between us.”
“I–” Jisung stutters. Seungmin finishes the water. Starts walking over toward them. He should say no. He should say no and be done with it. Why isn’t he saying no?
“Or you can think about it,” Minho says.
“Okay,” Jisung breathes.
Seungmin stands in front of him, looking down at both of them. His eyes are intense in that way he gets sometimes, when he’s set on something. Is he set on Jisung?
Jisung feels dizzy with it, with all of it. The desire that’s clawing its way up his throat, desperate to be verbalized, the want that’s clear in Seungmin’s eyes as he looks at Minho. He doesn’t understand but he knows, he knows what he fucking wants.
“Okay, you want to think about it?” Minho clarifies.
Jisung shakes his head. “Okay as in–okay. Yes.”
Minho’s breath catches, which Jisung probably wouldn’t notice if Minho weren’t still pressed directly up against his side, his lips almost making contact with Jisung’s skin. Seungmin’s expression doesn’t change. His eyes flicker from Jisung up to Minho, who breathes again.
“Come home with us, then,” Minho murmurs, and Jisung–can’t help it. He shudders, and he catches the beginnings of a smile on Seungmin’s lips.
“Yeah,” Jisung agrees. He doesn’t know what the hell has gotten into him tonight. “Yeah, okay.”
Minho’s hand–the hand that was in Seungmin’s back pocket earlier–finds Jisung’s hip and guides him out of the booth. Seungmin disappears for a moment; Jisung’s eyes don’t follow him, because he’s busy focusing on the floor, and on the heat of Minho’s palm pressed against him, warm even through the fabric of his shirt. He almost trips, but Minho catches him. Instead of replacing his hand at Jisung’s back, he wraps his delicate fingers around Jisung’s wrist and pulls him gently through the club. Jisung’s heart is pounding , and he wonders again about premature heart attacks. When he looks up again, they’re outside, and Seungmin is hailing a cab. Then they’re pressing side by side by side into the back with Jisung in the middle again.
Over his lap, Minho and Seungmin link hands. They rest intertwined on Jisung’s knee. Jisung stares at them and doesn’t blink.
“Jisungie,” Minho mutters. Jisung manages to look up at him long enough to see his eyes flicker to the front of the cab and then back. “If you change your mind, or you want to slow down or stop, just tell us, yeah? We can do whatever you want.”
Jisung nods rigidly, unable to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Minho lays his free hand on Jisung’s other knee. His thumb slips into one of the holes, and it’s burning hot against Jisung’s skin.
“You know the stoplight system?” Minho asks, casual, as if he’s not breaking Jisung with just the slightest touch.
Jisung nods again. Seungmin shifts beside him, his weight pressing more firmly into Jisung’s side. Grounding him.
“We can use that,” Minho replies. “All of us. Just keep that in mind.”
Jisung breathes: in through his nose, out through his mouth. “Okay, hyung,” he manages, and he’s rewarded with Minho’s brightest smile.
The taxi ride takes what feels like hours to Jisung. Minho talks aimlessly; Seungmin replies, sometimes, his cheek nearly pressed against Jisung’s. Jisung doesn’t manage much at all. Between the weight of Minho and Seungmin’s joined hands on one knee and the feeling of Minho’s fingers against his skin on the other, he can’t focus on the words. He lets the sound wash over him until–
“We’re here, Sungie,” Minho says, his breath against the nape of Jisung’s neck. It makes him shiver. Seungmin is already scooting out of the backseat, offering a hand to Jisung to help him out, too. Jisung takes it, and Seungmin smiles at him, squeezes his fingers as he tugs. Minho follows right behind him. Seungmin doesn’t let go of his hand as they start up the stairs and into the building. Minho takes his wrist like before and reaches out to touch the small of Seungmin’s back.
Linked, all of them. At least for this moment. Jisung won’t let himself think about it more than that.
When the apartment door closes behind them, Minho uses one hand to grab Seungmin by the back of the neck and pull him in for a kiss that has to be bruising. He’s still holding Jisung’s wrist with the other, and his grip tightens a little, and Jisung might choke on it. They’re right there , mere breaths from him, and they’re kissing like they’re the only two people in the world. Jisung swallows hard.
Seungmin makes a noise, a sort of choked off moan, and breaks apart from Minho to look at Jisung with wild eyes.
“Bedroom,” he says breathlessly, staring at Jisung. Minho still hasn’t let either of them go. Jisung licks his lips and nods.
Seungmin breaks away from Minho and heads into the kitchen while Minho pulls Jisung to the bedroom. Jisung feels more than half out of his mind. He’s been in their bedroom before, plenty of times, but never in this context, and it’s frightening how–easy it is. How not-weird it feels, when Minho pushes him gently onto the edge of the bed and goes to shoo the cats out of the room. When he and Seungmin return at the same time, Seungmin with one of the chairs from the kitchen table in his hands.
He sets it near the edge of the bed, bites his lip when he looks at Jisung like he’s making sure it’s all still okay with him. Jisung gets up and sits in it deliberately, looking to Minho and Seungmin.
They’re all on board.
Minho groans and grabs Seungmin again, grasping him by his jaw and kissing him harshly. Seungmin sags a little, melting into Minho’s touch. Minho pushes him down on the mattress, and his head lands so close to Jisung that he could reach out and push his bangs out of his face, if he wanted.
Does he want that?
He doesn’t get a chance to dwell on it. Minho follows Seungmin down, pausing their kiss only briefly to look up and smirk at Jisung before claiming Seungmin’s lips again. Jisung’s hands find the holes in his jeans, play with the loose threads just to give himself something to do. Minho’s hands get busy, too, untucking and unbuttoning Seungmin’s shirt blindly. How many times, Jisung thinks, must he have done this before, to be able to do it completely without looking? How many times will he do it again?
Minho raises himself up a little to look down at Seungmin, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He runs his hands over Seungmin’s stomach, up his sides. His fingers skirt around Seungmin’s chest deftly.
“Hyung,” Seungmin moans. Jisung will never again live in a world where he doesn’t know the sound of Seungmin’s moan. “Hyung, come on, please.”
“Patience, Seungminnie,” Minho chides. “We just started.”
“I want–” Seungmin begins, but he cuts himself off. His eyes dart toward Jisung and then back again, so quickly that Jisung barely catches it. “Want you, please,” he tries again, softer this time.
Minho makes a thoughtful noise. His palms lay flat on Seungmin’s stomach, and he looks Seungmin up and down as if he’s considering. “Hmm. Up, then.”
He backs off, and Seungmin sits upright, catching Minho in the briefest of kisses. Minho hums his pleasure as he strips Seungmin’s shirt off of him and tosses it to the side. He turns Seungmin so that he’s facing–Jisung. So that they’re only a few breaths apart from each other, Seungmin sitting on his knees, Jisung in the chair across from him. Seungmin licks his lips.
“Hyung,” he murmurs.
“I know what you want,” Minho says. He positions himself behind Seungmin, hands coming around to splay across his abs again. “You want to be seen like this, hm? You want to show off how sensitive you are?”
Jisung watches as Seungmin fights his urge to blush and loses miserably. It takes up his whole face, his collarbones, his chest. He huffs and turns his head to the side.
“I’m not that sensitive,” he mumbles.
Minho laughs at that. “Okay, love,” he says agreeably. His fingers find one of Seungmin’s nipples and begin to rub slow, deliberate circles. Seungmin’s breath catches in his throat audibly. “What’s this about, then?”
Seungmin groans, shifting so that he’s pushing up into Minho’s hand. He doesn’t say anything in response, doesn’t give a retort or fight it or anything. He reaches back and threads his fingers through Minho’s hair, and Minho lets him pull his head down until his lips find Seungmin’s shoulder and lay a trail of kisses there.
“Is it good, Seungminnie?” he asks near Seungmin’s ear. “Does it feel good?”
Seungmin forces an exhale from his lungs, eyes fluttering as he looks at Jisung. “S’good, hyung, s’really good,” he says.
Jisung realizes (again, possibly, or maybe for the first time) that he’s hard . His cock is pressed painfully against his jeans as he watches Minho tug at Seungmin’s earlobe with his teeth, as he pinches Seungmin’s nipple just a little meanly and Seungmin makes a soft cry. Jisung doesn’t touch himself, though. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, but he doesn’t touch himself.
Minho finds Seungmin’s other nipple, starts rolling it the same way he did to the first. Jisung can see the bulge in Seungmin’s pants as he adjusts again, like he’s trying to sit still and can’t quite manage it. Jisung understands the feeling; he’s feeling pretty restless himself. He sits carefully on his hands.
Minho must catch his movement out of the corner of his eye. He presses a kiss to Seungmin’s neck and lifts his chin so that he’s forced to meet Jisung’s eyes.
“Seungmin,” Minho murmurs. “Look at our Jisungie.”
It sends a jolt down Jisung's spine. Our Jisungie? Like he belongs to them? Fuck, that–that shouldn't turn him on, shouldn't make his stomach twist or his head go fuzzy with desire, but it does. He snaps out of it to catch Seungmin’s response.
“He's so quiet,” Seungmin observes, voice strained. Minho hasn't stopped toying with his nipple with his other hand.
“And still,” Minho agrees. “It's unlike him.” Seungmin hums a flat note of agreement. “I think he's waiting for something.”
“Waiting?” Seungmin parrots back. They're both staring at him. Jisung feels like a prey animal caught in the gaze of two very hungry predators. “Waiting for what, hyung?”
Minho–Minho fucking licks his lips. He looks at Jisung and he licks his lips and Jisung is aching . “Permission,” he says, and. Well. Jisung didn’t know he was waiting for permission, but it turns out he was waiting for permission. “Were you waiting for permission, Jisungie, sweetheart?”
Jisung nods. “Yes, hyung,” he answers, and his voice is hoarse. His throat is still dry.
“He’s a good boy,” Minho says, eyes flickering to Seungmin. (And oh , Jisung wants it. To be good. To be good for Minho, for Seungmin. For Minho and Seungmin.) “Unlike you, brat. What was that about not being sensitive?”
“Yah,” Seungmin replies carelessly.
Minho rolls his eyes and focuses again on Jisung. “Go ahead, jagi,” he says, voice syrupy sweet. “You can touch yourself while you watch us.”
Jisung reaches slowly for the button on his jeans. Minho and Seungmin don’t resume what they were doing; instead they watch Jisung, as if he’s the one on display here. Is it weird that he’s about to pull out his dick in front of two of his best friends? He isn’t sure. He doesn’t dwell on it, focuses instead on the want that’s coursing through him. He unzips himself and lifts his hips, and after a moment’s hesitation, decides to shuck them all together. He kicks them off to the side somewhere. Minho, evidently satisfied by this much, nods and turns his attention back to Seungmin.
“Look at that,” he murmurs into Seungmin’s ear. He bites Seungmin’s earlobe again, and Seungmin jumps. “At least someone knows how to follow directions.”
Seungmin doesn’t answer, not in words, at least. He huffs and tilts his head, and Minho laughs quietly as he lets his lips trail down Seungmin’s neck again. Jisung carefully wraps a hand around himself through his boxers–and sighs in relief at the contact. Seungmin and Minho’s gazes both catch on him for a moment. Minho goes back to kissing Seungmin’s shoulder. Seungmin closes his eyes.
“You should lose the pants,” Minho says after a moment, nudging Seungmin’s cheek with his nose. “Come on, up.”
Seungmin obeys, because despite Minho calling him a brat, so far he’s done nothing but exactly what Minho has asked of him. Jisung wonders, somewhere distant, if that’s because of his presence. If he’d be more defiant if Jisung weren’t there. If he’d be more defiant if Jisung came back and watched again. Maybe it would take several times for Seungmin to feel comfortable enough to fight back a little.
Seungmin loses his pants, and his underwear, too. All of it crashes to the floor, tugged down unceremoniously by Minho. He’s hard, which Jisung knew, had observed a few minutes prior, but it’s different seeing it like this. Seeing Seungmin like this. And this is the main event, he was always going to, but–he’s face to face with it now, literally. He drags his eyes down Seungmin’s body, gaze sticking in random places: his shoulders, his abs, the trail of hair that leads down to his cock, his thighs, his ankles. Jisung squeezes his dick, taking a shaky breath. Minho sinks his teeth briefly into Seungmin’s shoulder before pressing him back down onto the bed.
“Hyung,” Seungmin complains, but he doesn’t look all that put off by it. Some part of Jisung wonders if he’d always known Minho would be a biter in bed.
Minho shrugs, stripping out of his own clothes without ceremony. His back is to Jisung, so Jisung stares at his traps, his spine, his ass. His thighs, too. Thick, strong. Jisung bites his lip so hard he tastes a bit of blood.
Minho returns to his place behind Seungmin, and Jisung gets only the briefest glimpse of his cock, enough to know that it’s big. A dazed part of him wonders what it would feel like in his hand. What they’d both feel like in his hand, if he wrapped his palm around both of them–Seungmin and Minho, Minho and Seungmin. A well-oiled machine. What would they sound like as Jisung touched them? What would they look like?
Jisung isn’t sure where the lube came from, but it’s beside Seungmin’s thigh now, and his eyes are closed again, head tilted back. Minho wraps one arm around his waist, and Jisung sees movement between Seungmin’s legs and knows his other hand must be occupied. Seungmin is quiet as Minho works, but Jisung kind of wishes he wasn’t. He wants to hear, wants to bask in all of it.
“Seungminnie,” Minho says, as if he’s heard Jisung’s thoughts. “You’re holding back.”
“Not,” Seungmin answers, and his voice is tight. Breathless. Jisung knows immediately Minho is right.
Minho knows it, too. He laughs softly, and his hand moves behind Seungmin, and Seungmin cries out, loud especially against the quiet that had settled over them. His hands grip his thighs, nails digging into his own flesh. His cock twitches hard against his stomach.
“Oh, fuck ,” Seungmin says fervently. “Fuck, Minho, please–”
“Stop holding back, Kim Seungmin,” Minho interrupts. He lifts his head and makes eye contact with Jisung, drags his eyes down to where Jisung’s gripping himself through his underwear, and then looks back to Seungmin. “Let us hear you.”
Us . Jisung’s stomach twists. It’s not enough, suddenly, to be touching himself through fabric. He needs his hand, needs it to be wetter, hotter. He scrambles to get his underwear all the way off. Seungmin gasps as Minho does something inside him again.
“Lube,” he manages, grabbing the bottle and tossing it gracelessly to Jisung, who only fumbles it a little. “If you want it.”
Minho only smirks, make Seungmin gasp again, louder this time. Jisung coats himself in lube and tosses the bottle back onto the bed beside them. He sighs softly as he wraps a hand around his cock, swallowing down the noise he might usually make. It’s not about him.
Despite this, he sees Seungmin’s eyes flicker down to where Jisung is touching himself. They linger, and Jisung is almost shy enough to stop, but the honest truth is that it feels good. To have them watch him, too. He refuses to analyze it, refuses to give it any more thought.
Minho steals Seungmin’s attention easily enough, anyway. He withdraws his fingers, wiping them on Seungmin’s thigh. Seungmin huffs, but doesn’t protest out loud.
“Turn around, Minnie,” Minho says. “Want you to get me nice and wet for you.”
Jisung’s breath catches as Seungmin goes to his knees. He gets the full frontal view of Minho that he’d been denied earlier: the hard lines of his stomach, the scar from his surgery as a kid, the curves of his hipbones. Jisung has the truly insane thought that he wishes he were in Seungmin’s place, hovering with his mouth over Minho’s hard cock, looking up as Minho pets through his hair and gently guides him down.
Minho sighs, a pleased smile warming his face as Seungmin takes him down. Seungmin moans loudly around Minho’s cock, as if he’s getting more out of it than Minho is. Minho huffs a laugh.
“Yeah, you love it, don’t you?” he praises, running his fingers through Seungmin’s hair. “You’d be on your knees all the time if I’d let you, hm? Such a good pup for me.”
Seungmin moans again, louder still, and Jisung’s cock twitches in his grasp. Minho’s eyes find him for a moment, and he gives Jisung a smile as he pulls Seungmin by the hair off his cock.
“Spit on it, baby,” he says softly, looking back down at Seungmin, and Jisung’s mouth waters. Seungmin obeys easily. Jisung wishes he could see Seungmin’s face better right now, but Minho solves that easily enough, too.
“Up,” he commands, and Seungmin goes. He gets back on his knees on the mattress, where he’d been before, but Minho presses a hand to his lower back, forcing him almost into a bow. “That’s it, Seungminnie. Gonna fuck you like you want now.”
Minho wraps his hand around himself and strokes a few times, the tip of his cock just barely pressing against Seungmin’s rim. Seungmin whines, but Minho only pushes him down harder.
“Impatient,” he chides under his breath, but he doesn’t seem intent to pursue it. Instead, he pushes into Seungmin, forcing a long moan from both their lips. Jisung is shaking as Seungmin raises his head to look up at Jisung with nothing short of desperation in his eyes. He’s so pretty , Jisung thinks, with Minho over him and inside of him and Jisung in front of him. Minho swears to himself and pushes in further. Seungmin’s fingers grab hard at the sheets, looking for something to cling to.
And then their hips meet, and Minho lays himself over Seungmin’s back. “Good pup,” he says again. Seungmin whines as Minho presses kisses down his spine.
Minho is pretty, too. Minho is so pretty. His red lips on Seungmin’s skin, his little hands holding Seungmin’s waist, his dark eyes roving over Seungmin’s body–he’s gorgeous. Jisung’s always known Minho was attractive, but like this? He’s fucking ethereal.
“Move, Minho,” Seungmin whines, face pressed into the mattress.
“Yah,” Minho replies. His fingers tighten on Seungmin’s hips, making him moan. “So much for my good pup. Where’s your manners, brat?”
“Please,” Seungmin answers immediately, like it’s been wrenched right out of his throat. “Please, Minho-hyung, please move, I need it, need you–”
“Better,” Minho says, and he gives Seungmin exactly what he’s asking for.
Seungmin cries out again, hands balling tightly into fists. Jisung wants, more than anything in this moment, to reach out and lace their fingers together, to give Seungmin the anchor he’s searching for. Instead he speeds up the motion of his hand on his cock as Minho starts to fuck Seungmin in earnest.
The sound of Minho pounding into him is loud, but it’s not half as loud as the hungry keening that falls from Seungmin’s lips. He begs for Minho, for more, for everything. Jisung has a biting moment of clarity, realizing he might never be able to jerk off again without hearing Seungmin’s voice ringing in his ears. And then Minho pulls him upright again, back up onto his knees so he’s displayed for Jisung.
Jisung, whose hand works still faster over his cock as he watches. Jisung, who would rather die than look away from them. Jisung, who imagines what the sweat on Seungmin’s upper lip might taste like right now if he were to close the gap between their bodies and kiss him. He wants to know. He wants to taste .
“Are you gonna come like this?” Minho asks, and Jisung is going to hear him, too, his voice wrecked like he’s the one who’s had a cock down his throat. “You like it, Seungminnie? Does it feel good when I fuck you like this?”
“ Yes ,” Seungmin moans. He reaches back to grasp Minho’s hip, tries to fuck himself down onto Minho’s cock. “Love it, hyung, love–I–I want–”
Jisung can’t pinpoint one single thing that brings him over the edge–it’s all of it. Minho’s hands on Seungmin’s waist, Seungmin’s noisy, pleading cries, the way their hips move in tandem, mirroring the way they were dancing at the club. Jisung chokes on a moan as he comes over his hand, and Minho and Seungmin both look up at him. They watch as he shudders, biting his lip, trying not to interrupt.
“Fuck,” Minho murmurs, so quiet Jisung can barely hear him. He leans forward and buries his face in Seungmin’s neck, slides one hand to Seungmin’s cock and jerks him roughly. “Sung–”
He cuts himself off by biting Seungmin’s shoulder, and Jisung knows he will be haunted by it, the way his eyes screw up tight as he comes into Seungmin. Seungmin gasps, at the feeling of Minho’s teeth in his shoulder, surely, and then he’s finishing too, folding like his thighs are too weak to hold him and spilling over Minho’s fingers.
Jisung’s cock pulses in his grasp; more come dribbles from the head. His chest heaves with exertion, even though all he did was sit and watch and jerk himself off. He–
He watched . He watched as Seungmin and Minho– Seungmin and Minho , his best friends–fucked right in front of him. Touched each other in front of him. Came in front of him. He watched. He saw it all. He enjoyed it, a lot. Would enjoy doing it again. Wants to do it again–and again, and again, and–
What does that make him?
“Hyung,” Seungmin protests softly, bringing Jisung back to himself. “Sticky.”
“You’re such a baby,” Minho mumbles, but he kisses the back of Seungmin’s head and carefully pulls out. Jisung averts his eyes. His part in this is over. He needs to get out of here.
“Get Jisungie a towel while you’re up,” Seungmin says, his face pressing back into the mattress again.
“N-no, that’s okay,” Jisung says, standing quickly. He’s naked in front of Minho, who’s raising an eyebrow at him. Jisung can’t look at him. “I’ll–I’m just gonna hit the restroom.”
He flees before either of them can say anything, grabbing his discarded clothes and hurrying–still naked, come drying quickly on his hand and dick–to the guest bathroom. He wipes off as much as he can, refuses to evaluate the reason his hands are shaking under the tap. He’s still a little gross when he throws his clothes back on, but it’s bearable. He stares at his reflection in the mirror. He hasn’t changed, not physically at least. He’s still the same Jisung, although his hair is messier and his eyes are a little watery. He still recognizes the man he sees. It’s still him.
“You alright?”
Jisung jumps, turning to find Minho leaning against the doorway. He’s thrown a robe on, for which Jisung finds himself grateful. He doesn’t think he could come face to face with Minho’s giant dick right now and not say something he’ll regret.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Minho says, a little laugh escaping his chest.
Jisung is shaking his head before Minho even gets the whole sentence out. “No, no, you’re fine. Sorry, I zoned out. I’m…pretty tired.”
“You want the guest bed?” Minho asks.
“No,” Jisung says quickly. “No, I’m–I should head home.”
Minho looks at him for a long moment. Jisung finds he’s still having trouble looking back, even with Minho covered. He looks at Minho’s feet instead, only chancing a glance up toward his face when he senses a shift in his posture.
“Come say goodbye to Seungmin before you leave, at least,” he says softly.
Jisung nods, although he’s not sure how he’ll manage it. He follows Minho back to the bedroom, where Seungmin is sitting up and wrapped in a blanket. He’s rubbing at his eyes, yawning. He looks cute, Jisung’s brain thinks, and he really has to get out of here.
“I’m gonna go home,” Jisung announces, and Seungmin looks–confused, for just long enough that Jisung catches his furrowed brow and frown, and then the careful rearrangement of his face into something more neutral. Why would he be confused?
“We’ll see you soon,” Seungmin says. “Goodnight, Jisungie.”
“Night.” Jisung’s voice gives out, and it comes out as barely more than a whisper. “Night, Minho-hyung,” he says.
“I’ll walk you out,” Minho offers, and he takes Jisung’s elbow, so Jisung can’t really argue with him. His fingers are tight around Jisung’s arm. Jisung feels like his skin is flint to Minho’s fiery fingers, like he’s going to ignite with just this small touch. At the door, Minho turns to him and lifts his free hand to Jisung’s cheek.
“Don’t freak out about it,” he says, his voice quiet. “It’s just us, Jisungie. Nothing to freak out about, okay?”
“I’m not,” Jisung says. “Freaking out about it.”
Minho blinks at him. He’d said earlier that he always knows when Jisung is lying. But Jisung’s not even sure what he feels, much less if he’s freaking out about it. So–it’s not exactly a lie.
“Text me when you get home.” He leans in and presses a kiss to the cheek he’s not holding, gives Jisung a little smile, and heads back to the bedroom.
Jisung feels the burn of his lips all the way home and long after he’s in his own bed.
***
When Jisung wakes up the next morning, his first thought is that he wishes he’d showered before he crawled into bed last night. He feels disgusting.
His second thought is, wait–did Minho say “Sung” when he came? As in Jisung? Surely not–surely he said “Seung,” as in “Seungmin.”
Does he want for Minho to have said “Sung,” as in Jisung?
And the third, after a moment of anxious, wordless buzzing in his head: he does. He really wants for Minho to have said his name as he was coming in Seungmin.
That’s–not very straight of him.
A slow sort of panic begins to spread like ice in his veins. His heart pounds erratically in his chest.
Maybe he is freaking out about it.
Because–he’s not gay. Or he doesn’t think he’s gay. But Seungmin and Minho are both men, and he is undeniably attracted to them. To both of them , which is an entirely separate problem. They’re Seungmin-and-Minho, well-oiled machine, and he’s just Jisung, their straight best friend. Their maybe previously straight best friend. Their maybe not-quite-straight best friend. What the hell is he? What does any of this fucking mean?
Jisung fumbles out of bed and grabs his phone, dialing blindly, one of the only phone numbers he has memorized. Felix doesn’t answer; it goes to voicemail. He doesn’t answer the second time either. Or the third.
“Fuck,” Jisung says out loud, running a hand through his hair. “New plan.”
He runs through the shower at breakneck pace, hoping all the shampoo gets washed out, skipping conditioner altogether. Jeongin would be horrified to consider the total lack of skin care routine, but hopefully he’ll never find out.
He slips on some sweats and a pair of sneakers once he’s acceptably dry, pats himself down to make sure he’s got his phone, wallet, and keys, and just–goes. Starts jogging the minute he hits the pavement, and then his legs take him all the way to Felix, because he needs his sunshine twin right now, even if his sunshine twin doesn’t know it yet. He’s breathless by the time he’s all the way up the stairs and pounding on the door.
Changbin answers it a minute and a half later in a tank top and sweats hung low on his hips. He takes in Jisung’s appearance and narrows his eyes.
“What's wrong with you?”
Jisung huffs. “Felix didn't answer his phone.”
He pushes past Changbin and into the apartment. Changbin huffs right back at him as he's closing the door.
“Good morning Changbin, so nice to see you again, how are you, my favorite hyung?” he mocks as he follows Jisung into the kitchen. “I'm definitely not just here for Felix–”
“Felix,” Jisung says, stopping short at the kitchen table where Felix is sitting under a bleary-looking Chan's arm. “You didn't answer your phone.”
Inexplicably, Felix's bare chest reddens. “Eating breakfast,” he explains, even though the plates in front of him and Chan are full. He sits up and narrows his eyes at Jisung in an excellent imitation of what Changbin just did. “Why are you gross and sweaty?”
“Ran here,” Jisung answers.
“Why?” Chan asks, and his eyes narrow just like the other two. They really spend too much time together.
“Felix didn't answer his phone,” Jisung says again, desperate. He grabs Felix's wrist and attempts to pull him out from under Chan. “Need to talk to you, please.”
“My boyfriend,” Chan protests, as if Felix isn't already getting up.
“You have a whole other boyfriend,” Jisung says, gesturing with his free hand at Changbin.
“That isn't the point,” Chan sighs, but Jisung pulls Felix into the living room anyway.
Felix sits carefully, his brows still knitted together. “They can still hear us here, you know. Was this meant to be private?”
Jisung lifts his head. “Don't listen,” he directs the others, and Changbin waves his hand in a gesture that Jisung takes to mean “okay.” He takes Felix's hands in his own. “Listen,” he says urgently. “I have to tell you something and I need you to not judge me, okay?”
“You know I wouldn't,” Felix replies, confusion evident in his voice.
Jisung takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay . Here's the thing. I had a sort of…experience last night. And I can't figure out if it was a gay thing or not.”
The apartment is eerily silent. Jisung tears his eyes away from Felix's unblinking ones to look over at Chan and Changbin, who are also not blinking.
“You weren't supposed to be listening!” Jisung cries.
“We're right here ,” Chan says, and Jisung supposes he hadn't been the one to agree in the first place. He's forgiven. Changbin, on the other hand–
“I need so much more information,” Felix says, and Jisung looks back at him. He's recovered the ability to blink. “What kind of experience was this? Wasn't it obvious if it was gay or not? Does this make you gay–or bi, or pan, or–”
“Stop,” Jisung says, shuddering. Labels are not something he's ready to deal with, that much he knows for sure. A part of him is still convinced he's dreamed up the whole thing and hasn't yet woken. “Let me just–explain.”
Felix falls silent again. Jisung looks over at Chan and Changbin, who are clearly invested, and sighs.
“None of this leaves this apartment,” he warns in, trying to channel his inner Minho to look threatening.
Chan and Changbin nod, Changbin rolling his eyes a little as if that were obvious. Jisung takes a deep breath and looks back at Felix. It's easier to focus on just him.
“When I left last night, I didn't leave alone,” he begins.
“Seungminnie said he and Minho-hyung were splitting a cab with you,” Felix says, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Jisung opens his mouth, trying to spin a half-truth on the spot, but he's not nearly quick enough. Felix gasps and grabs Jisung by his shirt to pull him close.
“You slept with Seungminnie and Minho-hyung?”
Jisung can't place his tone, but it's not surprise, not exactly. He doesn't know what to do with that and refuses to dwell on it.
“ No ,” he says emphatically. “No, I didn't sleep with them.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Changbin lean over and whisper something to Chan, and he's about to ask about it when Felix lets go of his shirt and squeezes his hands, drawing his attention again. “Okay, but you went home with them. And had an experience of undecided sexual orientation with them.”
“An experience of undecided sexual orientation,” Jisung repeats. “We'll go with that.”
“What does that mean?” Changbin asks, turning in his chair, no longer pretending to be interested in breakfast.
Jisung blushes, remembering. Skin against skin, mouth against mouth, his hand on his own cock–
“I, um.” He shakes his head, trying to clear it. “They–they fucked and I watched.”
It's silent again, heavily so. Jisung's eyes dart from Felix to Chan to Changbin and back to Felix. Chan slowly sets his chopsticks down, having evidently decided that breakfast is a no-go for the moment.
“They fucked and you watched,” Felix repeats, like he's trying to take it in, and Jisung nods. “And you–I assume you touched yourself?” Jisung nods again, heat rising rapidly into his cheeks. “That's, um.”
“Gay,” Changbin supplies helpfully.
Felix shoots him a glare.
“But–what if it wasn't?” Jisung says quickly. “I mean, it's basically like watching porn, right? And that's a heterosexual thing to do.”
“Watching gay porn is heterosexual?” Chan asks, under his breath but loud enough to hear.
Felix whistles. “Jisung, honey, I don't think getting off to your friends fucking is the same as watching porn.”
“But is it gay though?” Jisung asks.
Felix frowns in thought, which Jisung appreciates, because it means he's genuinely considering the question. Chan, on the other hand, has his face held in his hands. Changbin is shaking with silent laughter.
“Shut up ,” Jisung grumbles, pointing at Changbin.
“Focus,” Felix says gently, letting go of Jisung's hand momentarily to pat his knee. “Ignore the peanut gallery.”
Behind him, Changbin stops laughing to huff indignantly.
“Okay, so, I'm going to confirm the obvious just so I have all the data,” Felix says. “You, uh, enjoyed yourself?”
Jisung narrows his eyes. “If you're asking if I came, the answer is yes.”
“Oh, my god,” Chan says into his hands. Changbin pats him on the shoulder.
“Okay, yeah, that's part of it,” Felix says. “More than that, though. Like, what did you feel like after?”
“Terrified,” Jisung replies honestly. He remembers, again, the feeling of Minho’s lips on his cheek. He hopes his blush isn’t too obvious.
“Oh, you ran, didn't you?” Changbin guesses.
“Shut up ,” Jisung hisses, shooting another glare in his direction.
Felix bites his lip and squeezes Jisung’s knee. “Immediately?”
“I said my goodbyes and everything,” Jisung whines. He frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. “I'm not an asshole. Most of the time.”
“I have some concerns,” Felix says gravely.
“Agreed,” Chan mumbles, which, rude. Jisung would have thought Chan, as his oldest hyung, would automatically be on his side.
“It wasn't like they invited you to stay, right?” Felix asks.
Jisung furrows his brow. “With them? Why would they do that?”
Changbin groans. “Because they–”
“Were worried about you getting home,” Felix says, too quickly, shooting another glare at Changbin. Jisung gets the distinct feeling he's missing something. It's probably a couple thing. Throuple thing. Whatever. “I’m sure it was late when you left.”
“Anyway,” Jisung says. “They offered me the guest bed but. I went home and pretty much went straight to bed.”
“And woke up panicking,” Felix guesses.
Jisung hums an affirmative.
“Okay,” Felix says. He looks concentrated. That's good. At least someone is taking him seriously. “Let me ask a question you might not know the answer to. And even if you do, you don't have to share with the class.”
“Okay,” Jisung says slowly. “You should know you're making the anxiety worse.”
“Let him cook,” says Changbin.
Felix waves him off. “What exactly is it you're so afraid of? Are you afraid you're not straight?”
“Homophobic,” Changbin interjects.
“I'm going to kick you out,” Felix says mildly, turning to him, and Changbin shuts up. Felix turns back with a smile that says he knows he's won.
“I…I don't think it's exactly that,” Jisung says. “Like. You're all gay. Obviously they're gay. Hyunjin and Jeongin are doing…whatever they're doing. It would be weird if I were totally straight among all of that, right?.”
“We've rubbed off on you,” Changbin says, and then he giggles maniacally.
“ Changbin ,” Felix warns again.
Changbin’s laughter stops. Chan slumps further into the table.
“And everyone is like, at least a little gay, right?” Jisung continues, ignoring the contributions from the kitchen table. “Like. Doesn't every straight man have a couple guys he'd fuck if he had to?”
There are several moments of silence that hang ominously over them. Felix clears his throat. “Uh. I, um. Wouldn't know.”
Jisung thinks that might be code for absolutely not . He looks to Changbin and Chan.
“No,” Chan affirms with a heavy sigh when it continues to be silent. “No, they don't.”
“Ah.” Jisung fidgets in his seat, uncomfortable. Changbin shoots him a smile, and Jisung tries to smile back.
When the silence stretches again, Felix asks, “Have you…always had a list like that?”
Jisung runs a hand through his hair, considering. That one professor from university (Jisung forgets his name but remembers his face very clearly). The barista at the coffee shop closest to his first apartment. Minho, before Seungmin. And after Seungmin…
He sighs. “I think I have.”
No one says anything for a few moments. Jisung stands and begins to pace.
“Okay, but am I gay or is it just them?” he asks. “Because they're hot, right? Objectively, as three men who are attracted to men, you think they're hot?”
“Yes,” all three of them answer in unison.
“So maybe none of this says anything about me at all,” Jisung says, even though he knows, he knows what they’re going to say. But there’s no way he’s never realized this about himself. There’s no way this is what it took. “Maybe they're just so incredibly hot that they override existing sexual preferences with their hotness.”
“Jisung,” Chan says, looking serious. Felix’s face is screwed up tight with–something.
“You know what you should do,” Changbin says thoughtfully. Jisung pauses in wearing a hole in the carpet to look at him. “You should watch other hot gay people have sex and see if it does it for you. Oh, you could watch us!”
Chan sputters in disbelief. “Changbin!”
Changbin looks like he’s trying to hold back laughter. Jisung sighs, unable to help the smile that forms on his face.
“Sorry, hyung, but no.”
“Hm.” Felix taps his chin thoughtfully. “In that case, you might not be as gay as I thought.”
“Okay, stop.” Chan stands, wiping a hand over his face before coming to stand in front of Jisung. He places both his hands heavily on Jisung's shoulders, which is nice. Grounding. “Sung. You don't have to do anything you don't want, alright? You don't have to pick a side or come out to the world or anything. But listen. The things you're telling us are suggesting that you are not as straight as you previously thought. And I think you knew that before you came here. We’re not telling you anything you didn’t already know, are we?”
It's quiet while Jisung sits with that. Digests it. And–Chan is right. Jisung had known this morning when he woke up that he was always going to reach this conclusion. He’d probably known last night, and maybe, maybe some part of him knew but refused to acknowledge it before now. Maybe he just needed someone else to say it to make it real. Chan is looking at him with concern and hesitation and love. When he looks over at Changbin and Felix, he sees them looking more or less the same.
“I have another question,” Felix says softly. Jisung turns his head to look at him. “If they asked…would you want to do it again?”
This time, Jisung doesn't hesitate. “Yeah,” he breathes out shakily. “Fuck, Lix. I want it so badly. It’s scaring the fuck out of me.”
“Oh, Jisungie.” Felix stands and comes over to him, and Chan steps out of the way so Felix can wrap him up in a hug. “You're scared because you want them .”
Jisung finds, suddenly, that his face is wet. “Yes. And it's not–I don't just want to fuck them. I do want to fuck them, but like.” He lifts his head to look at Felix. “I want more. In the cab on the way home last night I kept thinking about holding Seungmin's hand and kissing Minho's forehead. What the fuck? What am I supposed to do about that?”
Felix's eyes flicker to Changbin and back. “Don't you think it's possible they want the same thing?” he asks.
Jisung shakes his head. “It wasn't like that. It's just me. And now I feel like I'm drowning.”
“Jisungie,” Felix begins, but Jisung shakes his head. He buries his face in Felix's shoulder, wanting to hide, completely overwhelmed. One of the things Jisung loves most about Felix–he knows when to keep pushing and when to stop. And in this moment, he knows Jisung can’t keep talking about it, so he stops. He wraps his arms tight around his twin and just holds him. “Okay,” he murmurs. “You’re okay, Jisungie. We’ve got you.”
A second set of arms wraps around him after a moment, and then a third. It's not the first time he's had a breakdown in this apartment, and it almost certainly won't be the last. He's glad Chan and Changbin didn't leave, after all. This is a really nice hug.
Into the quiet, Changbin murmurs, “The offer to watch us fuck still stands, just so you know.”
Chan groans and turns around to pull Changbin off him. Felix giggles into Jisung's neck.
“God, I'm starving,” he says, stepping back and using his thumbs to wipe away the tears left on Jisung's face. “You probably didn't eat yet, huh? Want to join us? We've got plenty.”
Jisung tilts his head in confusion. “I thought you didn't answer the phone because you were eating breakfast.”
“If Channie-hyung is breakfast, then that's absolutely what we were doing,” Changbin says, and then he cackles as Chan's face goes beet red.
“Nevermind,” Jisung says, going into the kitchen. “I think I'm straight after all.”
Felix's subsequent laughter fills the whole apartment.
***
Acknowledging it makes Jisung’s life both easier and harder.
He spends Saturday morning with Felix, Chan, and Changbin. Watches the way they love each other. The little touches, the affectionate looks, the way they go soft for one another. Jisung has seen it all before, but he considers it in a new light. In the cab on the way home–because he might be stupid enough to run to their apartment in a panicked haze but he’s not so stupid that he’ll walk his sorry ass back all the way home–he lets himself fantasize about what it would be like if he shared that with Minho and Seungmin. He thinks about sitting at the kitchen counter while Minho cooks–which he’s done a million times before, but now he thinks about Minho leaning in to kiss his cheek when he passes from the stove to the counter. He thinks about setting the table with Seungmin, grabbing his elbow to pull him close, just to be in his space. He thinks about watching them together, bickering over whose turn it is to wash the dishes, until Jisung starts without them and they end up elbow to elbow to elbow, scrubbing and rinsing and drying, and then Jisung flicks a bit of soap at Minho and blames it on Seungmin and they start splashing each other and Minho pins Jisung against the counter and–
The problem with this fantasy is glaring. The problem is that Seungmin and Minho are Seungmin-and-Minho . Already a well-oiled machine, not looking to add any more moving parts. Last night was an exception, not a rule; they wanted to spice up their sex life and Jisung happened to offer a convenient means to that end. He was, as Minho said, easy, because he’d already been looking. If someone else had been looking, it could just as easily been them.
As he’s letting himself into his apartment, he gets a text from Minho.
Come over if you’re not busy later. Trying a new recipe for zucchini jeon and want your opinion.
The normalcy hurts in a way Jisung isn’t expecting. He knows what he is to Minho, to Minho and Seungmin both, but–shouldn’t there be some acknowledgement of what they did? Didn’t the foundation of their lives change the way Jisung’s did?
No. Of course not. Because they’re Seungmin-and-Minho, and they always will be. And he knew that when he said yes.
He’s not proud of it, but he doesn’t send a response. He sets his phone face down on the coffee table and ignores it the rest of the day. He curls up on the couch with a blanket and watches Howl’s Moving Castle –twice. The tears haven’t yet dried from the first viewing when he starts crying at the second, his carton of leftover takeout forgotten in his hands.
Before he goes to bed, he sees a second text from Minho, several hours after the first.
Are you freaking out about it?
Jisung doesn’t answer that one, either, not even when he wakes on Sunday. He feels a frantic energy building inside him, and he channels it into cleaning parts of his apartment that have needed cleaned for months. He skips breakfast, throws his headphones over his ears, and hyperfocuses in a way he can’t usually accomplish when it comes to mundane tasks like cleaning. It’s easy to not think about Minho and Seungmin if he can’t think at all, he reasons, and so he turns his music up louder. Doesn’t think about their smiles, their hands, touching each other, touching him. Doesn’t think about the way their lips would feel against his own. Definitely doesn’t think about being held by them. Between them. Absolutely not.
He doesn’t realize hours have passed until his stomach growls too loudly to be ignored. When he checks his phone, he finds it’s almost 4 in the afternoon–and he’s got a text from Seungmin, sent just a few minutes prior.
Minho is going to kill me if he ever finds out I sent this but–you’ve got to talk to him. Please, Jisung. He’s catastrophizing. He thinks he’s going to lose you.
“Fuck,” Jisung says out loud. It’s the first time all day he’s spoken, and his throat croaks with it.
He takes his phone to the couch, sits down heavily. Rereads the text ten or fifteen times. Feels guilt and shame and embarrassment settle on his shoulders.
A part of him wants to pretend it never happened. To text Minho back, say he lost his phone for a day, brush it off like it meant nothing to him. But he knows, as soon as he considers it, that he can’t do that. He has to tell Minho and Seungmin, at the very least, that what happened has made him realize things about himself that he wasn’t previously aware of. He needs to make sure they know they didn’t do anything wrong, that it’s Jisung who is reckoning with a part of himself he didn’t know. He picks his phone back up from where he’d tossed it aside and answers Seungmin.
Are you home?
Seungmin’s answer comes almost immediately.
Out getting groceries. Minho’s home. I’ll be back in an hour.
Jisung has spent the last day and a half overthinking, and he decides he’s fucking tired of it. He throws on his shoes, pats down his pockets–wallet, phone, keys–and starts running. Again. He’s at Minho and Seungmin’s door, knocking insistently, before he gives himself the chance to turn around.
Minho answers a moment later, and he looks shocked, immediately, and then reserved. Confused.
“Hi,” Jisung says, breathless.
Minho raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You haven’t sent a single text in almost two days and now you’re at my door without warning.”
Jisung’s face reddens. “Sorry, I’m–I’m sorry, hyung.”
“You’re also kind of gross and sweaty.”
“Ran here.”
Minho’s brow furrows, and he runs his eyes over Jisung from top to bottom then to the top again. “I’m glad you’re alive, anyway.” He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms over his chest. “You were doing what I told you not to and freaking out about what happened between us,” he accuses.
Jisung opens his mouth, prepared to defend himself, and then closes it again. He knows there’s no point in trying to hide anything from Minho. He’ll just torture it out of him. “I was freaking out about what happened between us,” he admits.
Minho hums, a single note. “Come in. Kim Seungmin will be home in ten minutes with food.”
Jisung follows, albeit hesitantly, as Minho turns and retreats into the apartment. He carefully removes his shoes at the door and sets them on the rack, even as Dori does his best to trip him up. Minho’s already cross-legged on the couch with Soonie in his lap by the time Jisung reaches him. He mirrors Minho, crossing his legs and sitting with his back against the arm. It’s quiet for several awkward moments, in a way it’s never quiet when they’re together. There’s so much space between them. Jisung doesn’t know how to cross it.
“Did you see Itzy announced their new comeback?” Minho asks, his eyes trained on Soonie.
And it’s okay again. Jisung breathes, and he and Minho talk about Itzy, and then Twice, and Soonie gets up after a few minutes to sniff Jisung’s hand and then lay down in between them. Jisung is laughing, caught off guard by a comment Minho makes about Jeongyeon flaying Jimin alive, when the apartment door swings open again.
“Dori, for the hundredth time, you don’t belong in the hallway, you are an apartment cat–oh.” Seungmin catches sight of them and freezes.
“Look what Doongie dragged in,” Minho says lightly, gesturing to Jisung.
Seungmin convinces Dori to come back inside and closes the door behind himself. He sets the bags of groceries on the counter. “Hi, Jisung.”
“Hi, Seungmin,” Jisung says, feeling sheepish again.
Minho looks back and forth between the two of them and huffs. “You texted him, didn’t you?”
Seungmin smiles, caught. “Guilty,” he admits.
“Kim Seungmin,” Minho mumbles under his breath, sounding half-exasperated and half-fond.
Minho gets up, Soonie following shortly after. He and Seungmin quickly put away the few refrigerated and frozen items. Well-oiled machine , he reminds himself. They leave the rest for later, and Minho leads Seungmin to the living room. He takes up his previous post on the opposite end of the couch; Seungmin sits on the floor, facing them.
“The only thing you’ve missed is Jisung admitting he was freaking out about it,” Minho says, and it shouldn’t surprise Jisung that they’re just starting right in on it, but he could have used another moment or two to prepare himself. (Not that it would have helped). “Well–and then we talked about girl groups, but you won’t think that’s really missing anything.”
“No,” Seungmin agrees. He turns to Jisung, his face neutral. Or–carefully blank, maybe. “So you were freaking out about it?”
Jisung swallows. “I was freaking out about it,” he agrees.
“Are you still freaking out about it?”
“I’m…freaking out about it less,” he says, which is most of the truth.
“Hm.” Minho stretches one leg out. His foot makes contact with Jisung’s thigh. Jisung’s face gets warm. “But you came anyway. Brave.”
Jisung does not feel brave. He feels like a small insect waiting to be stepped on. “I have…had some realizations,” he begins. “And it turns out maybe I’m not straight.”
“Maybe,” Seungmin says, smirking.
Minho taps him with the foot not next to Jisung. “Down, boy.”
Seungmin barks.
“I’m not–I haven’t, like, put a label on it, because I guess I don’t really know who exactly I’m into or not into or whatever,” Jisung continues, undaunted, because he thinks if he doesn’t get it all out now he never will. “But I really, um, enjoyed it. Watching you. So thank you for inviting me. And if you ever decide you wanted that again–someone to watch, I mean–um, I would do that. And like it. So.” He clears his throat. He hadn’t really meant to say that last bit–it sort of slipped out before he could stop it. He’s sure his face is redder than it’s ever been. “That’s it.”
Minho and Seungmin exchange a long glance.
“Also I’m sorry I haven’t texted you in two days and made you think maybe I was dead,” Jisung adds. “I wasn’t. Dead, I mean.”
Seungmin snorts. “Thank you for clarifying. You look white as a ghost so I was worried.”
“Please ignore the dog,” Minho says, kicking out in Seungmin’s direction again. Seungmin catches his leg and tucks it under his arm. “Thank you for telling us all of that, Jisung.”
He reaches out and squeezes Jisung’s ankle. Jisung can only nod.
“How do you feel about a follow up question?” asks Seungmin.
Jisung isn’t sure what there is to follow up on. He swallows past the lump in his throat. “That would be fine, I guess.”
Seungmin looks at Minho for a long moment, and they do that thing where they communicate without words. This time, Jisung has no idea what they’re trying to say. It makes his heart ache. Seungmin turns his attention back to Jisung.
“Is that all you want?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at Jisung. It feels like a challenge. Jisung’s breath catches. “Because if it is, we can do that. You can watch us as much as you want. Every night.”
“Apparently we aren’t sleeping anymore,” Minho says lightly. Jisung blushes.
“But if that’s not it,” Seungmin continues, as if there was no interruption, “if you want more, you can have it. You can touch us, if that’s what you want.”
Jisung freezes. He imagines it, for a brief moment. Reaching out to them in all the ways he’d thought of the other night and in the time after. Brushing Seungmin’s hair off his face, running his thumb across Seungmin’s upper lip, curling a hand around Minho’s waist to guide him into Seungmin. He swallows hard.
“We certainly want it,” Minho adds.
Jisung shakes his head, trying to push the fantasies away. “I can’t–I can’t do that.”
Seungmin hums thoughtfully, not turning his intense gaze away from Jisung for even a moment. “Not that you don’t want to. But you can’t. Why is that?”
Minho’s eyes flicker to Seungmin for a moment, and he looks briefly like he’s going to chide him, but he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes find Jisung again. They’re watching him the way they did that night, like predators desperate for prey. Like they want to eat him alive.
“I can’t–be what you want,” Jisung explains. His voice is fighting him, but he fights right back. He has to get this out. He hadn’t really come here planning to bear his feelings, but he loves Minho and Seungmin too much to not tell them the truth and give them the chance to walk away, if it’s too much. If he’s too much. “I can’t–I can’t touch you and just do it casually because I have feelings for you. For both of you. And they’re not casual. I’m sorry.”
Jisung manages to hold eye contact while he explains, which shocks him, but has to tear his eyes away as soon as he finishes speaking. He feels like the words are hanging over him like a cloud. He’s said too much, probably, rambled like he always does. Minho and Seungmin are going to hate him, or at least be so uncomfortable around him that their friendship falls apart.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, desperate to fill the silence. He manages to look up at them again. Inexplicably, Seungmin starts to smile. He turns to Minho, who stands.
“Jisungie. You don’t need to apologize.” He takes one step closer, then another, until he’s standing over Jisung, looking down at him. He’s smiling, too, warm and gentle. His hands come to cradle Jisung’s face. Jisung’s heart skips a beat. “Do you know what the very first thing I ever said to Seungmin was?”
Jisung shakes his head.
“He said, and I’m quoting here, ‘I’m in love with my straight best friend. Have been for years, probably will be forever.’” Seungmin huffs a laugh. “And for some reason I still sat down for the rest of the date.”
“You–what?” Jisung manages, furrowing his brow at Minho.
Minho lets out an uncharacteristic giggle. “Hannie,” he says. He leans down and presses their foreheads together. “Han Jisung, there is nothing casual about the way I feel about you.”
“The way we feel about you,” Seungmin corrects. Jisung’s gaze slides to him; he’s standing beside them now, arms across his chest, smiling at Minho. At Jisung. At both of them. “Because I met the straight best friend and I got it, Jisung. Of course Minho was in love with you. How could he not be? How does anyone meet you and not fall?”
Jisung doesn’t know what to say. This can’t be–they can’t be serious. They’re Minho and Seungmin. A well-oiled machine, not looking for any extra parts.
Right?
“Look at me,” Minho says, and his voice has gone so, so soft. Jisung wrenches his eyes away from Seungmin to look at him again. “Jisung. I love you. I’ve loved you as long as I’ve known you. Do you hear me?”
Jisung nods, numb. He does hear. He’s not sure he understands, but he hears.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, okay? And we can go as slowly as you want,” Minho continues, sitting down beside Jisung on the couch and taking one of Jisung’s hands in his own. His eyes look a little shiny and wet. Jisung wonders if his own do, too. “But Jisung, baby. My jagiya. We want everything with you. We want you to be part of this, if that’s what you want.”
Jisung swallows hard. He reaches a hand out to Seungmin, who takes it almost immediately. “You’ve talked about this?”
Seungmin huffs a little laugh and squeezes his fingers. “At length.”
Seungmin-and-Minho. Minho-and-Seungmin. Could they become Seungmin-and-Minho-and-Jisung? Can he fit alongside them? In between them?
But–he’s always been in between them, in a lot of ways. They’ve facilitated it, a lot more often than can be considered coincidental. He thought they were trying to mess with him. Have they been reaching for this all along?
“I’ve never dated a man,” Jisung murmurs, as if they don’t already know. “Much less two at once.”
“We’ll go slowly, Jisungie,” Seungmin repeats. “As slow as you want. There’s no rush.”
Jisung looks at Minho, who is worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, and then down at his lap, where he holds one of each of their hands. Slowly, so slowly, he lifts Minho’s hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to his knuckles. Minho gasps, and the wetness in his eyes spills onto his cheeks. Jisung repeats the action with Seungmin, whose face turns a lovely shade of pink.
“Okay,” Jisung whispers.
Minho sniffs, and the tears fall down his cheeks. “Okay, you want to think about it?” he asks, the ghost of a smile on his face.
Jisung laughs breathlessly and shakes his head. “Okay as in–okay. Yes.”
Minho turns to hide his face–and his smile–in Seungmin’s shoulder. Seungmin turns to him to drop a kiss on his forehead, and the sight sets Jisung’s heart ablaze. They’re going to make it work, the three of them. Minho and Jisung and Seungmin. He doesn’t have to figure everything out by himself, because they’re going to figure it out together. They’re going to be together.
Let the record state that Han Jisung made a pretty fucking great decision this time.