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The cold has crept in slowly, a whisper that’s slid between the minuscule space between the door and the floor. Jisung shivers in a sweatshirt that droops down his shoulders, the hem of the sleeves reaching past his knuckles. His feet with mismatched socks pad softly down the dimly lit corridor, unwilling to disturb the quiet that has settled in with the night. It’s nearly midnight, too late to be still up given that they’re gearing up for a new comeback this month, and schedules placed tightly between the long working hours of every other day; but his mind is abuzz, refusing to unwind. Thoughts bounce around in his head a mile a minute, making sure that no matter how comfortable he gets in bed, he’s still not sleepy enough. So in search of some chamomile tea to help his nerves, he heads towards the kitchen. Besides, Minho is still up, likely packing up their leftovers from dinner and putting them away in the fridge.
The space is small but neat, thanks to Minho’s presence in it and Jisung’s thankful absence; it’s painfully clean too, the counters all wiped down, the two plants on the window sill above the sink thriving despite them routinely forgetting that they have to water them. There’s water simmering in the kettle already, like Minho just knew that Jisung would come along and need it any minute now.
“Min-hyung~” Jisung says in an uncharacteristically soft tone, the word melting like cotton candy in his mouth.
Minho turns his head around just a bit, his profile lit by the mellow light hanging above the sink where he’s drying their mugs. Jisung’s ribs feel snug with the swell of affection that he feels at the sight of Minho in their kitchen, putting away dishes they use to have dinner that they share together, almost every night. If that isn’t a miracle of its own, that they simply get to have this, then Jisung doesn’t know what is.
“Do you want me to make you some camomile tea?” Minho asks, his own voice unbearably gentle despite his next words, “You’ve sighed so much that the next one probably would have swept the house clean with its depth.”
Jisung’s face breaks into a proper gummy smile despite his best efforts to look chastised; he nods and settles into one of the four chairs at their tiny dining table in the middle of the kitchen, his socked feet tucked underneath him. They don’t speak anymore for a while. Minho takes out the teabags from a drawer, dunks them into two mugs with piping hot water and adds a spoonful of honey to each because it would seem egregious to not satiate Jisung’s sweet tooth just a little. Jisung, on the other hand, feels his nerves already calming down as he watches his… his Minho do something as simple as making them tea before bed. It’s not that they don’t have labels- everyone close to them knows that they are boyfriends. Hell, more than half of the internet speculates quite often that they’re either engaged or already married but to him, to them, they’re just-
Jisung and Minho. Minho and Jisung.
The chopsticks that cannot be separated, because one cannot exist without the other.
“Here-“ Minho hands Jisung his green mug with tiny alien heads, making sure that the handle is free so that Jisung doesn’t burn his fingers, “let it cool for a few minutes.”
They make their way to the living room by the kitchen, where Soonie, Doongie and Dori nap in a pile on the heating pad by the credenza underneath the TV. Minho sits down with his own mug- pink and decorated with little cat paws- before making space for Jisung so that the latter can snuggle up to him. It makes Jisung smile a little, remembering how years ago they used to choose the most crammed spaces to sit together so that they’d have an excuse to be as close to each other as they could be.
How far they’ve come from there; now they cuddle in bed together, sometimes sweat-slicked and kiss-bitten and unimaginably happy.
Minho has his free hand in Jisung’s hair, which has stopped curling from the humidity now that the colder months are here. Minho cards them through the silky strands, the blunt edge of his nails scratching against Jisung’s scalp like he is nothing but a big cat. Jisung steadily sips his tea, eyes trained yet unfocused as they watch another episode of the newest anime that they’re getting into lately. He’ll have to rewatch it later but that’s okay; he’d rather exist in this stretched out, languid moment with Minho anyway.
“Do you remember the way we ran away from each other and didn’t know how to start talking again-” Minho begins and Jisung knows that there is a smile curving his lips upward without even looking.
“When I accidentally fell right into your lap during dance practice and stayed there for an embarrassingly long moment? Right before we debuted? Yeah, I do.”
They both shake with silent laughter, the space between them warm from not just their combined body heat but the sweetness the memory holds. Jisung had been so panicked, not just about how Minho might have been disgusted by the way he had clung onto their proximity but the fact that he had liked it to begin with. It had felt like an end all moment, like their friendship would never recover from something like that. But then Minho had linked their pinkies one day in an empty aisle of some grocery store after a few weeks and Jisung had been able to breathe right again.
They quiet down, almost done with their tea; slowly, with their hands still loosely held between their bodies, they turn off the TV and the lamps and head down the hall. There is a row of framed photos of them, mostly candid and rarely serious, hanging on one side; Hyunjin had gifted them a dozen as a house warming gift when they moved in last year. There is one where Jisung has a drawn on cat nose and a couple whiskers, mouth wide open with a goofy smile while Minho looks at him with such tenderness that it makes sense that the world thinks that they’ve been in love forever. Very few people know that isn’t true; they started as best friends, still are on some level and always will be.
The proof of it is in the next one; they’re both covered in blotches of paint and laughing so hard that they’re doubled over. Minho is actively trying to elbow Jisung, their bodies moments away from tumbling to the ground. They look like a pair of unruly kids exuberant about causing chaos.
Another one has captured them napping on the couch before they had to perform live for some music show, still in their early twenties and woefully new at being two idiotic boys in love. In the photo, Jisung has his head tucked underneath Minho’s chin while the older boy has his arms wound tight around his body. The next two are of them just looking at each other, their eyes so soft and wholly intimate that it still makes a faint blush rise to his cheeks when Jisung looks at it for too long; one displays Jisung’s face, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as his eyes smile at Minho like the latter’s presence is the purest form of joy that Jisung has ever experienced. It’s the kind that kids feel when catching frogs by the pond on a lazy midafternoon, during the summer holidays. The second photo is of the same moment, but it only shows Minho’s face as he stares at Jisung. There’s a steady devotion there, in the way he looks, like he’s bound to spend his whole life in an attempt to protect the softest, most delicate parts of the younger boy in front of him.
The last picture of the row is of them at the end of a hiking trail in Japan, taken by Hyunjin; they’re on the edge of a mountain, Jisung’s cheeks flushed and his grin wide as he looks out at the breathtaking view in front of them; Minho has his arm curled around Jisung’s waist, his nose buried into the latter’s hair. Even though most of his face is covered up by Jisung’s messy locks, it’s so evident that Minho is smiling too. The photograph captures them in their truest, simplest form- two people who are just happy because they’re together, wherever that may be.
“Sleepy?” Minho asks as they enter their bedroom, a museum of their personalities colliding in every corner.
“Mhmm-“ Jisung only hums, pressing a fleeting kiss on the underside of Minho’s jaw before climbing into bed; the latter slips in with a chuckle, his hands automatically reaching for Jisung.
As they slot into place against each other, Jisung feels his body drifting off instantly. His mind is still awake, although barely. He isn’t sure how much of his drowsiness has to do with the chamomile tea or if he is simply relaxed just by Minho’s solid, unbearably warm body. As if sensing his thoughts, Minho starts peppering a flurry of kisses along Jisung’s shoulder, the tip of his nose a blunt blade of devotion against the shell of Jisung’s ear. The kisses are a simple act of affection, not desire and for a moment, it soothes every ache Jisung has ever carried in his lifetime.
“You know, I don’t think I would have regretted that one embarrassingly long moment of you being in my lap-“ Minho murmurs against the nape of his neck, “if not for the fact that I would have lost my best friend if we didn’t feel the same way. I think I would have kept you in any shape or form you would have allowed me to- as a friend, as a boyfriend, as whatever really.”
Jisung only raises their joined hands up to his lips and kisses all the bruises on Minho’s knuckles that he has from boxing, his body too sleepy to form actual, coherent words. In his mind though, the last thought that passes by is that their love has always existed, so much so that the form of it has always been rather inconsequential to them. It transcends names and binaries, a whole dimension of its own.