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Han Jisung is not having a very holly jolly Christmas Eve. In fact, fuck this day. His grades came back and those weren’t filling him with any cheer. His hard drive with an entire semester’s worth of tracks melted down. Tuition is due and he’s short. Again. It’s cold as fuck and his balls are seeking refuge. And to top it off, his favorite cafe is overrun by all of campus. Apparently everyone decided to spend their break crowding in one space, because an entire semester of seeing each other’s faces isn’t enough.
It’s a small cafe off the street corner, a couple minutes walk from his dorm. It’s cozy, usually, with little wooden benches along the walls, soft lighting, planters hanging from the ceiling with overflowing ferns, and, more recently, colorful garlands and ornaments have been hung along the walls for the holidays. Gentle music plays from speakers peppered around the small space to add to the cozy vibe, separating it from the busy streets of Seoul outside. Not that it can be heard over the crowd filling every bench and table, even the few outside on the tiny enclosed patio carpeted with a plastic green mat meant to imitate grass. What little notes he can hear are most definitely Christmas music, though, and he’s a little glad he can’t hear it today.
He scoffs to himself, scuffing his shoe on the linoleum floor, another mark to match the thirty others showing he’s barely moved in the last ten minutes. All he wants is his dolce latte and Nutella croffle and to get back to his dorm. Preferably before his nuts freeze off and drop in the street.
The line moves another centimeter. He marks the occasion with another scuff on the floor, the chatter in the cafe muffling the frustrated grunt that escapes his chest.
“A bit crowded today, isn’t it?”
The voice is barely above a whisper but close enough to his ear he hears every syllable, feels the warm breath as it skirts over his face and sends a chill down his spine. His eyebrows pinch together and he turns to face the stranger who would be so bold to interrupt his disgruntled thoughts with such a familiar, dare he say intimate, action. He’s met by a pair of eyes, straight nose, and chiseled jaw that sends his blood boiling. His mind immediately wants to purge the earlier chill. He has to suppress the urge to recoil violently.
Lee fucking Minho. The god walking among men and, boy, does he know it. Ever since Minho transferred to their school, he’s done nothing but terrorize Jisung.
Okay…terrorize might be a bit strong. So might “making his life a living hell.” But Jisung’s having a bad day, so he’s allowed to be dramatic.
Lee Minho is a snarky, cold, cocky dancer who looks like a marble statue and has a greasy charm that makes Jisung feel like he needs a shower every time Minho talks to him. Which is far too often for someone who obviously detests him.
The thing is, there’s no reason for it. Other than being friends with Hyunjin, who Jisung may have pissed off over some petty bull shit. It really was his fault for being childish, but neither of them have been able to let it go. Now, Minho’s chosen a side without actually knowing Jisung and takes every opportunity he gets to taunt him. Which, again, is weirdly too often.
“Having a good break?” he asks, his tone already mocking.
“What do you want, Minho?” The line moves another couple centimeters. Jisung refrains from marking the floor this time.
Minho shrugs, keeping along beside Jisung. “I want a pizza,” he deadpans. Jisung’s eyes flick to him, and he’s met with that fuckass cocky expression. “What do you think I want?”
Jisung slowly exhales a pained sigh. “I meant with me, dip shit.”
“Oh, ouch,” Minho gasps, grabbing his chest. “You scorn me.”
Jisung rolls his eyes, taking another step forward. “You piss me off.”
“That’s not very Christmas Eve spirit of you,” Minho sing-songs.
“I don’t feel very Christmas Eve spirit.” Another step forward. “Why are you bothering me?”
Minho chuckles under his breath, earning a curious look from Jisung. “I want a kiss.”
That one earns a recoil, his brain scratching like a record. He nearly steps on the woman behind him and has to apologize. “What?” he asks, turning back to him with fire in his eyes. Not because he thinks he heard him wrong. No, that’s definitely what he said and his heart rate is betraying him in the worst way. But how does one respond to the bane of their existence saying that?
Minho’s lip curls devilishly as he points up toward the ceiling. Confused, Jisung follows the direction of his finger to find a small bundle of mistletoe, tied with a bow to a stretch of garland hanging over the line.
Jisung blinks at it, as if trying to solve a math problem or make it disappear. “Are you insane?”
Minho shrugs. “No,” he answers simply. “Just weird, I guess. I get caught up in Christmas traditions.” He turns to flash Jisung a playful wink.
Jisung’s system is shutting down. He doesn’t know how to respond, his mouth not working, his blood pumping overtime. Minho can’t be serious. This is another of his fucked up games to get under Jisung’s skin, right? It seems to be working, because all he can muster up from his malfunction is, “I’m normal.”
Minho pins him in place with a delicate smile and eyes that can pierce through steel. “I like normal.”
The line moves. Minho sighs, almost wistfully, as they take another step closer to the counter. Out from under the mistletoe. Crisis averted. Only one more customer and then it’s finally Jisung’s turn.
Jisung feels Minho’s shoulder rub against his own and the sensation spreads like cracked ice, spider-webbing across his body. “What are you getting?”
Jisung squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before answering, exasperated, frustrated, wound too tight. “What do you care?”
“Sheesh,” Minho breathes, putting a sliver of merciful space between them. “Just trying to be friendly.”
“Weird way to be friendly,” Jisung grumbles, eyes fixed on the cashier handing back change, ready for an excuse to break away.
He can practically feel Minho’s greasy smirk. “I told you. I’m weird.”
In one fell swoop, money exchanges hands, customer departs the register, cashier waves the next person forward, and Minho steps in front of Jisung. “Hi. What can I get for you today?”
Jisung glares holes into the back of Minho’s black, tailored, expensive-looking jacket, debating taking a handful of his collar and yanking him to the ground. Not seriously, of course. He could never. But he can picture it extremely vividly.
“I’ll have a dolce latte and a Nutella croffle to go, please.”
Jisung’s whipped out of his violent daydream. There is no way in hell they have the same order. And that’s quickly confirmed by the smug smile Minho tosses over his shoulder as the cashier retreats to prepare his order.
Jisung’s heart leaps into his chest. Big fat fucking betrayer. Why the hell is Lee Minho, his nemesis, paying for his order? And how the hell did he even know what Jisung was getting? There’s no way Hyunjin knows what he gets here to tell Minho. They’ve never gone out for coffee together and certainly don’t sit around talking about their favorite desserts.
Is Minho a stalker?
That’s insane. Or maybe it’s just weird. Jisung’s mind starts spinning, trying to fit pieces together from a box with no picture. Minho shows up, cuts in line to wait with him, propositions him for a kiss under the pretense of Christmas tradition, and is now ordering and presumably paying for him.
Jisung swallows thickly, his mouth running dry, and has to clear his throat to shove his traitorous heart back down into his chest.
“Here you go, sir,” the cashier says cheerfully, smiling brightly as she passes over a brown paper bag and a festive cardboard cup with a white plastic lid.
Minho slips a card back into his wallet, shoves it into his coat pocket, and takes both in hand. “Thank you. Have a happy Christmas.” And turns on his heel, heading for the door without another glance back.
“You, too!” the cashier calls to him before turning to Jisung. “Next.” She smiles at him expectantly.
Jisung licks his lips, tucking them in, biting his cheek, cursing himself. He shuffles forward, hoping the flush he feels in his cheeks just looks like he’s been out in the cold too long. Which he has. And he has no reason to get swept up in embarrassment. “Hi,” he starts a little shakily. “Can I get a Nutella croffle and a dolce latte?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the cashier says sheepishly. “That was our last croffle.”
She says that and has the audacity to point toward where Minho left, as if they came together. As if Jisung would know what Minho ordered. As if Jisung should follow him and ask to share. Oh boy, how cute would that be?
Jisung clenches his teeth, taking a beat. It isn’t her fault. “Okay,” he finally resigns. “I’ll just take a dolce latte, then.”
Even more sheepishly, she responds, “that was the last of our condensed milk, too.” Jisung smiles, breathes, steam billowing out of his nostrils. The cashier girl looks mildly frightened. “Would you like to try a strawberry latte?”
He blinks at her, deciding he couldn’t care less, now. He just wants to get out of there. “Yeah, that would be great.” Fortunately, his body is so heated that he’s no longer in danger of freezing his balls off.
Not even ten minutes later, he’s slamming the door to his dorm closed, shoes kicked off at the doorway, half-finished latte on the kitchen counter, jacket flung on the back of a chair, and flopping back onto the sofa.
Chris watches him from the desk, his chair slowly rotating, following Jisung. “Everything alright?”
“Fuck Lee Minho.”
“Nah, I’m good,” Chris answers, blinking, a flat smile plastered on his face.
Jisung rolls his eyes, fists a throw pillow over his face, and grunts out all the air in his lungs.
Chris’s desk chair squeaks, followed by foot steps toward the kitchen. “I take it you ran into him?”
“Ee ohd uff ahkaffay adryed okiftee ushered amifildo asshole mikroffl.”
Chris sighs somewhere nearer Jisung’s head. “Wanna try that again without the pillow?”
Jisung groans, kicking his feet like a toddler throwing a tantrum, then flings the pillow onto the floor. “He showed up at the cafe, tried to kiss me under the mistletoe, and stole my croffle!” The words come out in a flurry and his face starts heating in rage again.
“I’m sorry, what?” Chris exclaims, coming out into the room in Jisung’s view, eyebrows up to his hairline.
Jisung gives him an I know, right look. “He stole my croffle!” Jisung swings his feet to the floor, sitting up. “Well, not technically,” he starts to recount. “He cut in front of me and ordered the exact same thing I was about to order, which is fucking freaky, and that was the last-”
“Um, no,” Chris cuts in, shaking his head, looking at him in disbelief. His eye might have twitched, too. “He tried to kiss you?”
Jisung’s mouth, left agape in the sudden interruption, slowly creaks closed. He blinks, recalling the scene like a cringey romantic comedy meet-cute. He rolls a tongue over his teeth, trying to strangle down the thought of how cute that would be, actually. He’s a sap for sappy love stories. So, what? “Yeah, kind of.”
Chris’s face does the blinky dumbfounded meme guy thing. “Kind of?”
Jisung lets out a breath, his head bowing between his shoulders. “There was mistletoe and he said he’s weird about Christmas traditions.”
Chris splutters through his lips before he can catch himself, holding up a hand as if that’s an apology for finding Jisung’s miserable morning so damn laughable. “Mistletoe?”
“Yes,” Jisung grumbles, wishing now he hadn’t said anything about Minho.
Chris clears his throat, a fist held to his mouth, before continuing. “And what about Christmas traditions?”
Jisung shifts, struggling to recall the exact words. “He asked me to kiss him and I told him he’s insane and he said ‘no, I’m just weird about Christmas traditions,’ like an insane person would.” Jisung’s sure to keep his tone full of disdain and disgust, because it was disgusting. Nothing about it was heart-fluttering in the slightest, because it’s Minho and Minho was most certainly playing some kind of mind game. And stole his croffle!
Chris nods slowly as he ponders, blinking. “He asked you to kiss him?”
Jisung throws a pillow at Chris’s head with a groan. “Would you stop repeating everything I say as a question?”
Chris catches the pillow, giggling behind it as if to hide from Jisung’s outburst. “You should have just kissed him. See what he does with that.”
“Fuck that.” Jisung rolls his eyes. He refuses to entertain the idea.
Chris lowers the pillow, shrugging dismissively. “What’s the worst that could happen? He likes it?” Chris laughs again because that’s so fucking laughable.
Jisung’s eyes narrow into laser beams, desperately trying to hang onto the mental image of Chris’s head exploding into a gory mess of bone fragment, blood, and brain matter all over their living room. But it slips. A flash of mistletoe and lips. A flash of hands cradling his jaw. In the middle of the cafe. Fingers tilting his chin. Knitting his hands through hair. Tugging. Would Jisung say yes or just lean in and take his lips?
“You thinking about it?” Chris flicks an eyebrow.
It takes a moment for Jisung to realize Chris is asking if he’s thinking about fucking with Minho the way he’s been fucking with Jisung. Not if he’s thinking about fucking Minho. He scrubs his hands roughly down his face.
“Whatever you did to piss him off-”
“I didn’t do anything,” he whines into his hands.
“Well, he’s sure got it out for you.” Jisung groans, his fingers turning into claws encasing his face in a protective prison. “You’re gonna have to start fighting back.”
Jisung flings himself against the back of the sofa, slinking low into the cushions. “No,” he says stubbornly, pouting with all his might. “I’m staying right here where I can’t run into him anymore. I refuse to leave this spot.” He swings his legs out wide to emphasize the territory he’s lain claim to.
Chris blows a raspberry as he crosses back toward the kitchen, pushing his rolling chair back against the desk. “No chance. Felix invited us to a get together tonight.”
Jisung pulls his head up to glare at Chris over his chest. “Tell him I can’t come. My chastity’s at stake.”
Chris’s head falls backward and he sighs at the ceiling. “He wants us to meet his new boyfriend.” He tilts his head to look at Jisung, his expression conveying the unspoken words you will not let Felix down, I will drag your sorry ass there if I have to. “He sounds really excited.”
Jisung’s head hits the back cushions, his arms and legs flailing, releasing the pent up energy of frustration and rage, and a horrific wail fills the dorm.
Jisung stomps the freshly fallen snow off his boots in the building’s entryway before following Chris to the stairwell. It’s not one of the dormitories on campus. It’s an apartment complex that’s a bit more upscale, just short of fancy. From the windows overlooking the small courtyard out front, though, these apartments are big. Jisung briefly wonders if Felix managed to snag himself a sugar daddy, but he knows if Felix were aiming, he would never settle for Myeongdong when he can have Gangnam.
“He said third floor, right?” Chris pants over his shoulder.
“Fourth,” Jisung responds, listening to his boot steps echo off the walls, mingling with the muffled Christmas music coming from above. It doesn’t grate at his nerves as much as it did this morning. He had a chance to chill, watch some Transit Love, organize some notes from his professor to get a head start on next semester. He’s almost forgotten about what’s-his-face and his fuckass traditions. He takes a big sigh as they reach the fourth landing and approach the door to 403. It doesn’t matter now. He’s spending Christmas Eve with his best friend, meeting his new boyfriend, and the rest of the break he can stay locked up avoiding any public spaces where little gremlins with rabbit teeth can hide.
Chris knocks on the door and they wait about 8.1 seconds.
“Hey, you must be Chris,” says a tall, blonde, Gangnam fashion model of a man. Jisung just stares, unblinking, jaw slack and frozen. “Hey, Jisung.”
Chris turns to look at Jisung with a curious expression and Jisung tries his hardest to shake himself. Say something. Do something. Step inside. Push him to the ground and bolt. Do a cartwheel out the stairwell window, if it would break. Probably not. He’d just go splat like a bug.
“Guys,” Felix says from behind the ‘Red Eye’ Adonis replica. “You made it,” he says brightly, nudging Mr. Myeongdong aside to give them both hugs and drag them in. “This is Hyunjin,” he says, his tone a little tighter as he does the behold, a woman pose unironically. His eyes shift over Jisung. Jisung gives him a knowing look. Because Felix knows Jisung and Hyunjin don’t get along. This was a planned attack. But Jisung’s look is met with Felix’s own, because Jisung knows Felix has had a crush on Hyunjin for, like, ever. Which…obviously. Jisung has functional eyeballs.
“Good to meet you, Chris,” Hyunjin says sweetly, exchanging a bow before turning to Jisung. “Jisung, it’s been a while. I hope you’re feeling better than this morning.”
Jisung nods, his response reflexes working on instinct thanks to that good ole’ social anxiety. Working overtime today. He’s already talking about mundane school work, his go-to when avoiding anything complex, when his brain finishes processing the words ‘this morning’.
Now, how would he know about Jisung’s morning?
He really wishes he had chosen the window. Being a bug would be better than standing on the tracks as the train barrels down, lights blinding him, horn blaring. He could say the whole apartment is trembling but it’s more likely his own nervous system, preparing to fly or fight as he comes into view between the mountains that are Felix and Hyunjin’s shoulders. His smug ass smirk as if not a single muscle in his face has changed since the cafe. If Jisung’s going to make a total ass of himself and bolt, now’s the time-
Chris rests a hand on his back, pushing him forward slightly. “You’re kind of in the way.” Jisung spins and watches Chris bend over, untying and taking off his shoes. Right. He takes a sharp inhale, releases it just as sharply. Guess they’re staying.
“Jisungie,” Minho purrs. Jisung wants to gag. The audacity to be cute right now.
Cute?
“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon.” Jisung rolls his eyes and yanks his boots off, not bothering with the laces. “How was your croffle?”
Chris snorts behind him, just quiet enough to come off to anyone else as an old man grunt as he sets his boots in a cubby by the door. Jisung huffs out his nose, setting his boots beside Chris’s and giving him a look that tells him to keep his damn mouth shut. He receives one nod of acknowledgement.
“Do you have anything to drink?” Jisung asks, straightening and avoiding looking in the direction of the sadistic tease lingering beyond the entryway.
“Yeah,” Felix answers. “I’ll show you the kitchen.” And before Jisung can spin a new thought, he’s being dragged past Hyunjin, past Minho, through the minimalistic yet sophisticated living room, and into an all-white and matte chrome kitchen. Several drink options and matching glasses are gathered on the large rectangular island in the center.
“Damn, you really did bag a sugar daddy,” Jisung blurts out, running a finger over the marble surface of the island, producing a quiet squeak.
Felix huffs a laugh as he picks out a bottle filled with a suspiciously blue liquid. “He shares it with Minho. Their parents split the rent.” He pulls two glasses toward him and scoops ice from a fancy ice bucket into both. “Look, I know you two hate each other-.”
“He’s the one who hates me,” Jisung interrupts in a hushed but agitated voice, coming to stand beside Felix. “I didn’t even do anything to him. He’s had it out for me since day one, always showing up just to torture me, going out of his way to make my life a living hell. It’s like he’s obsessed with seeing me suffer.”
Felix grabs two tiny drink stirrers with little foil Christmas trees adorning the ends from a caddy with assorted drink mixing accessories, drops one into each glass, and hands one to Jisung, looking at him with one cocked eyebrow. “I was talking about Hyunjin.”
Jisung blinks, taking the glass. “Right.” He takes a drink, hoping the alcohol will somehow impart powers of teleportation or invisibility. “I don’t hate Hyunjin.”
Felix scoffs, taking a sip of his own drink. “Sure. You two just can’t stand being in the same room without bickering about trivial bull shit.”
“I’m okay with you dating him.”
Felix glares over the rim of his glass. “I didn’t ask for your permission.”
“I know,” Jisung quips. “And I’m really hurt by that.” He pouts out his bottom lip, holding a hand to his chest to show how sincerely stricken he is by this betrayal.
Felix rolls his eyes, pushing him roughly. “Fuck off.”
Jisung laughs under his breath and it eases a tiny fraction of the tension.
“Obsessed with seeing you suffer?”
And the tension comes right back ten fold. Jisung takes a generous gulp, letting the alcohol burn his throat, and lets out a deep sigh. “I don’t know what his problem is with me.”
Felix puckers his lips like he’s about to impart some common sense to an idiot. “Have you asked him?”
Jisung splutters a laugh, glad he wasn’t taking a drink. “Who do you think I am?”
Felix huffs, nodding, and takes another drink as he considers. “He hasn’t said anything to me, and Hyunjin hasn’t told me anything.” He tilts his head, as if hit by an interesting conspiracy theory that makes a little too much sense. “Maybe he does like seeing you suffer.”
Jisung groans, setting his drink on the counter and flicking the miniature foil tree.
“…and this is the kitchen.”
Jisung’s head jerks up as Hyunjin enters, waving a hand majestically, followed by Chris, Changbin, Seungmin, and Jeongin. The gang’s all here, a minor relief for Jisung. He can just cling to Changbin and Chris all night.
They take turns expressing their admiration of Hyunjin and Minho’s apartment as they pass around the island. Jisung and Felix greet the others as everyone starts picking out and making their own drinks. Chris gives Jisung a check-in look and Jisung bounces it off, already resigned to stuff his suffering down with an uncomfortably fake smile until they’re back home, where he can release his bitching at max volume. He swears he can see Chris cringe, picturing it himself.
After a few moments of pouring and small talk, the group starts to filter back out into the living room. Jisung, with every intention of acting out his plan to use Chan and Changbin as social shields, starts to follow close behind Changbin. “Do you need more to drink?” Felix asks suddenly, pausing on the other side of the island behind Hyunjin, gesturing toward the now empty glass in Jisung’s hand. Hyunjin also stops, turning to look over his shoulder as everyone else leaves them behind.
As someone who avoids confrontation and uncomfortable social situations like it’s a hobby, Jisung shrugs a shoulder and flicks his wrist. “I got it,” he says flippantly, urging them to join the rest.
They nod and look at each other. Hyunjin drapes an arm over Felix’s shoulder, leaning in slightly to sniff his hair, a smile creeping up his softened face, and they turn and leave.
Jisung uses every muscle in his body to not burst from cuteness aggression on the spot. He returns to the bottles to pour a new drink, strangling down a giggle. Any ill thought he’d ever held toward Hyunjin steps up to be weighed, measured, and eliminated. Maybe his only beef with Hyunjin had been for stealing his best friend’s attention away. Or, for not noticing and worshipping his best friend sooner. The absurdity of being willing to drop his grudge over a silly hair sniff has him smiling to himself as he finishes the drink and turns toward the doorway.
Of course.
“Hi, Minho,” Jisung drawls, trying to put on an air of being completely bored, uninterested, unintimidated as he walks toward the doorway where Minho stands. In the way. Jisung steps to the left. So does Minho. Jisung steps to the right. So does-
“What do you want from me?” Jisung grits out, indeed ruffled. He’s not one for playing it cool for long.
Minho’s head rears back, as if stung. “Nothing,” he says defensively, resting a hand on the doorway above Jisung’s head. “This is my house. Can I not stand here?”
Jisung rolls his eyes, letting out an agitated breath. “Yes. Stand there. Stay there,” he says sternly as if explaining it to a child. “And I’ll go over here.” He steps to the side but
“I’ll go with you,” Minho says calmly, a shit-eating grin carved into his face as he puts himself right back in Jisung’s way.
Jisung suppresses a natural instinct to whine, pout, stomp his feet, blaming the childish impulse on just how ridiculously childish Minho’s being. “Why are you doing this?” he manages to get out in a level, non-whiny tone.
“Hmm,” he hums, puckering his lips. “Maybe I’m still upset about you snubbing me this morning.”
Jisung scrunches his nose, blind-sided and thinking back on this morning. It was most certainly Minho who cut him in line, copied his order, and ensured Jisung didn’t get the breakfast he was craving. It’s not like Jisung was welcoming when he showed up out of the blue but why would he feel snubbed by…Jisung looks up.
“But I’m willing to make amends if you are,” Minho sing-songs. Right above Jisung’s head, dangling from Minho’s hand on the ledge of the door frame, is a red-ribbon tied bushel of mistletoe. “For the sake of keeping the peace.”
Jisung clenches his jaw, really not wanting to make a scene or draw attention getting into whatever-the-fuck this is with the roommate of his best friend’s new boyfriend his first time in their house.
“You’re gonna have to start fighting back.”
Jisung licks his lips, deciding against all of his better, and even most of his more questionable, judgements to give it a shot. “Oh, I get it,” Jisung starts, giving his best impersonation of Minho. “You’re obsessed with me.”
Minho’s head clicks to the side, the grin still there, giving him the appearance of a deranged doll from a horror movie. “What would make you think that?”
Jisung rolls his eyes at the lame crack at playing dumb, again deciding to charge on directly. “You’re always giving me shit.”
Minho shrugs a shoulder. “Kind of like how you’re always giving Hyunjin shit.” His demented smile starts to fade as Jisung feels his cool act evaporating. He leans in closer, his voice lowering, hand still holding that damn mistletoe like a threat above Jisung’s head. “All he wants is to get closer to you ‘cause he’s in love with your best friend, but you keep picking stupid fights with him.”
Jisung blinks, his body frozen but his mind spinning faster than an overworked hard drive. Hyunjin wants what? He’s in love with who? Jisung can admit to himself now maybe he was the one starting shit, but he can’t fathom since when Hyunjin has had any non-spiteful feelings toward him. Or at what point he wasn’t anything other than oblivious about Felix. “In love?” is all he manages to spit out.
“Don’t tell Felix, but yeah,” Minho says, voice still hushed as a corner of his mouth curls up. “The guy’s hopeless.”
“Oh.” Jisung’s eyes are round, wide, eyebrows lifted halfway to his hairline. This night has been everything unexpected and more. All except Minho, still being Minho and still standing in his way. “And you thought you should be the one to put me in my place?” he huffs, eyes narrowing.
“I felt for the guy,” he retorts.
“Felt for him?” Jisung asks incredulously. Something about the whole idea is too soft and gooey for him to imagine coming from Lee Minho. It’s too endearing.
Minho runs a tongue along his cheek in a way Jisung finds infuriatingly distracting, especially this close. “We have a lot in common.”
“Can you two stop having a go at each other for one night? It’s Christmas Eve, for fuck’s sake.” Both of them jolt as Seungmin walks up behind Minho. Jisung looks up just in time to see Minho’s hand curling into a fist before lowering to his side.
“We’re not fighting,” Jisung blurts out. Minho raises an eyebrow, his lips pressed together like he’s trying not to laugh, and Jisung wants to crawl into a cabinet.
“I was telling him about the apartment,” Minho says, his tone surprisingly nonchalant for someone who’s going along with Jisung’s idiotic lie for some reason. “He didn’t get the tour earlier.” His fingers close around Jisung’s wrist, rendering Jisung completely offline error 404 file not found. “Mind making me a drink?”
“I’m not your dog,” Seungmin protests, completely oblivious to the hard drive crash out Jisung’s experiencing.
“Well, yeah. Dogs can’t make drinks, Minnie.” Minho scoffs, sticking a tongue out in response to Seungmin’s offensive gesture as he pulls Jisung away.
Jisung’s heart thunders in his chest as they pace through the living room, passing behind the sitting area where the others are huddled together, distracted by the beginnings of a drinking game or something. “This is the living room, obviously,” Minho whispers, waving a hand through the air. Jisung nods, unable to speak, finding it hard to even think about anything other than whether or not Minho can feel how accelerated his pulse is through the grip on his wrist. He could say it’s out of fear, entirely plausible. He doesn’t know where Minho’s taking him. Or why. He should be scared, shouldn’t he?
They head to a short hallway with three doors. Minho pushes open the first one and flicks on the light. “This is the bathroom.” He still hasn’t released Jisung’s wrist, and only now does Jisung think it might be a tad weird that he hasn’t tried to free himself at all. Should he?
Minho approaches the next door, tapping a knuckle a lightly against it. “This is Hyunjin’s room.”
Jisung nods, blinking, his mind turning as their journey continues to the third and final door.
“And this is mine,” Minho says as he finally lets go of Jisung’s wrist, taking his drink and opening the door.
It’s a surprisingly spacious room for a couple of college students. Must be nice, he thinks, bringing up pictures to his mind of his and Chris’s tiny dorm with the bunk beds in their single bedroom. And those are the nice dorms. Minho’s room has a queen size bed, a closet with two doors, a clothes rack, two night stands, and a bookshelf. Jisung hisses in a breath, wincing as he steps in, looking around at the anime movie posters on the walls and the manhwa stacked on the shelves. There are three cat plushies on the bed and a foldable exercise bike in the far corner. Somehow, it’s all different from who he imagined Minho to be. If they hadn’t met on bad terms, he’d really want to be friends with this person.
“What’s that look about?” Minho asks, stepping into the room, setting Jisung’s drink on a small desk.
“You’re a person,” Jisung says without thinking.
“No shit, sherlock,” Minho says, rolling his eyes as he turns and nudges the door closed.
“Why do you do that?” Jisung questions, choosing to ignore the door for a second, to be brave and finally confront his nemesis head on.
Minho turns back, cocking an eyebrow, his face grim. “Do what?”
Jisung swallows. Maybe he should ask about the door. He feels himself take a step back to match Minho’s step forward. “Give me shit.” He clears his throat, tightening around a lump. “And don’t blame it on Hyunjin.”
Minho laughs under his breath. “Okay,” he says, shrugging, taking another step forward, his eyes locking with Jisung’s. “Because you’re cute when you’re mad.”
Jisung scrunches his forehead. “What?” Ignorance, innocence, oblivion. The door? He gets huffy. “You’ve been giving me shit basically since you got here. When had you seen me mad?” His ground feels a little more firm for the moment.
Minho scratches the back of his neck, looking at Jisung under his brows with a whole fake sheepish act. “When you fought with Hyunjin.”
“You said you were mad at me for fighting with Hyunjin,” Jisung says, confused and mildly concerned about his powers of discernment. His feet shuffle back another step. “You think it’s cute when I fight with Hyunjin?” he asks skeptically. “Is this still you mocking me?”
“No, that’s not what I said,” Minho responds sternly, eyes darkening as Jisung’s back flushes against the wall. “I think you’re cute.”
Jisung fights against his lungs to not take that giveaway deep breath, sucking in all the oxygen in the room to feed the blood racing through his body and curdling in his brain. “Well, stop,” he commands, firm but a little lame.
A crooked smile blooms on Minho’s face as he continues to creep closer. “I also think you’re smart.” Step. “And funny.” Step. “And sexy.” Step. There’s a soft thud on the wall, Minho bracing himself by his arm, crowding in and trapping Jisung.
His traitorous lungs fail him when Minho’s hand touches his waist, barely there, as if hesitating. Minho’s eyes bore into him, his warm breath on Jisung’s skin. “I said stop,” Jisung says weakly, breathily.
Minho raises an eyebrow, his eyes shifting from questioning to knowing in the blink of an eye.
“You’re gonna have to start fighting back.”
“I really want to…,” Jisung breathes, not even knowing what he intended to say. He feels drunk, impulsive, and entirely too reckless all of the sudden.
Minho’s body leans in, brushing against Jisung’s, his hand finally taking purchase on Jisung’s waist. “Really want t…,” his voice shakes, pausing to swallow, “…to what?”
Jisung feels a small sparkler ignite in his chest, triumph blooming. He could push back now and win. But he’s not sure anymore what he would be winning. His fists clench at his sides, muscles fighting conflicting commands. The air is thick and thinning at the same time and Jisung is really not one for playing it cool for long.
Minho reaches a free hand in his back pocket and pulls something out in his fist. Jisung’s brain short circuits, static interrupting every thought as Minho’s arm raises above his head. Their eyes find each other and Jisung’s body fills with electricity. There’s a muffled crunch as Minho lets the mistletoe drop between his fingers, holding it in the air between them by the ribbon.
Jisung can feel his heartbeat in his throat. He can hear Minho suck in a breath.
“Do it.”
Jisung takes Minho’s lips in an aggressive crash as one hand comes up to cup Minho’s jaw and the other wraps around to his back, pulling him in tight. He’s met with equal intensity, Minho’s hand wrapping around the back of his neck as their lips part and tongues fight to enter the other. Minho’s knee slips between Jisung’s, their hips pressing together, and Jisung is inexplicably relieved when he feels Minho’s hardness pressing against his thigh. His own arousal’s been threatening his sanity since they were in the kitchen.
Minho breaks the kiss first, breathes out a “fuck,” as he moves to Jisung’s neck, kissing, licking, nibbling. Jisung fights not to whimper, biting down on his bottom lip when Minho moves his hips, his thigh dragging against Jisung’s erection. His head is a mess of unresolved tension, confusion, and a seedling of clarity. He rakes his hands down Minho’s neck, across his shoulders, leaning his cheek against Minho’s head. He hisses through his teeth as Minho hits a particularly sensitive spot just under his ear and is yanked back to reality.
“What about the others?” he whispers over Minho’s head, combing his fingers through his soft, dark hair.
Minho huffs a laugh across Jisung’s shoulder as he starts to back away. Jisung instantly misses the warmth, fearing he shattered the moment and they’ll have to return to the living room and the rivalry they’d been playing out. “Jisungie,” Minho purrs, gently brushing hair across Jisung’s forehead. “You think they don’t know?”
Wrinkling his forehead, Jisung places his hands on Minho’s waist, caressing the hard body under his shirt. “How obvious have you been?”
Jisung feels Minho’s hands as they find and start to undo Jisung’s belt buckle. “Why are you blaming me?” Jisung braces himself and Minho pulls the belt free.
Jisung’s hands finally make contact with skin and he watches Minho’s eyelids flutter at the sensation. Emboldened by the reaction, Jisung hooks his fingers. “You showed up places out of nowhere just to mess with me,” he accuses, slowly pushing down, watching Minho’s face as his jaw slackens. “You knew my order.” Minho’s jeans fall in a puddle around his feet. Jisung slips his fingers under the waistband of Minho’s boxers, watching his face as Minho sucks in his bottom lip, his eyelids flickering closed. “You carried around mistletoe…,” he says, voice so soft it barely comes out as more than a breath, bristling Minho’s eyelashes as he leans in closer, “…because you were so desperate for me to kiss you.” Minho’s boxers fall to the ground and his eyes snap open.
Two hands are suddenly cradling Jisung’s jaw, gentle but insistent. “Yes. I’m hopeless,” Minho whispers before taking Jisung’s lips once again.
The confession stuns Jisung and he forgets himself, a small whimper escaping as his legs start to tremble. Their hunger for each other palpable, they frantically work to remove Jisung’s jeans, his underwear, and both their shirts. As Jisung’s shirt flies to the ground amongst a scattered pile with the rest of their clothes, they merge, their bodies connecting. Feeling Minho’s bare skin on his sends a wave of excitement and euphoria through his body that sets his brain on fire and starts to melt his insides. They hold each other, suspended for a moment, panting in the shrinking space between them.
Jisung’s voice cracks as he asks, “how long have you been ‘hopeless’?”
His body jolts. The shock of Minho grabbing his now achingly swollen cock nearly makes him moan, whine, curse, but he manages to hold it in. “How long have you?” Minho asks, his voice deeper and raspy with lust.
Jisung’s eyes squeeze tight as Minho strokes his length, up and down. “I don’t know what you’re-”
Minho’s lips are on his, shutting him up, licking into him, drawing out and swallowing every whimper that was threatening to escape as his hand continues to move. He pulls back, eyes locking on Jisung’s. “Don’t lie to yourself. You liked it.” Jisung tries to stay steady, meeting his gaze, boring into him, burning into his soul. “You liked me chasing you. Teasing you.”
His resolve breaks, his head falling to Minho’s shoulder, body shivering as his jaw falls open, gaping as he breathes harshly, trying to remain quiet. “Fuck you, Minho.”
Minho hums under his breath, his hand releasing Jisung. “That’s what I thought.” Then Jisung is moving, his feet stumbling to not trip as Minho guides him backward until the back of his legs meet the bed. He’s falling, fast and dizzying, and Minho’s hovering over him with one hand cradling his head until he’s laying flat on the mattress.
The air is cool on Jisung’s overheated skin, just starting to dampen, as he scoots himself further up the bed under Minho’s lustful stare. Minho licks his lips, makes a predatory sound in his throat, and pushes himself back. Jisung has only enough functioning brain power at the moment to open his mouth, but the words die off soundlessly when he gets the full view of Lee Minho. Naked.
His muscles are carved, long, solid under his soft, lightly tan skin. He moves like a prowling cat, powerful, purposeful, around the edge of the bed to the night stand. His cock, surprisingly big, long, girthy, bobs intimidatingly, a weapon that can do some serious damage. Jisung realizes he’s drooling and wipes his chin as Minho fishes around in the drawer and pulls out a pink bottle of lube and a green colored foil square.
Jisung’s throat constricts involuntarily, his heart pounding in his chest, a bolt of arousal spreading through his groin. Lee Minho, his nemesis, his foe, the agitator of his waking days and the incubus that haunts him during every masturbation session, is naked, crawling to him over the mattress, seating himself between Jisung’s legs, grasping his thighs, and widening them to bare Jisung’s hole. Lee Minho is staring at him, his eyes tracing over Jisung’s body, his fingertips running over the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, looking at him like he’s never wanted anyone this badly. The Lee Minho is hopeless for Han Jisung.
It’s more than he can take and he reaches forward, grabbing him around the neck and pulling him forward to meet in another heated kiss. When their lips part, foreheads pressing together as they breathe each other in, Jisung finally confesses, breathy and desperate, “I have wanted you for so long.”
“Fuck,” Minho breathes as he moves, his finger pressing into Jisung with a squelch, eliciting a sharp gasp from Jisung. “You have no idea,” he says gruffly, his hand moving urgently, finger pulling out and diving back in.
Jisung holds himself up, watching Minho’s arm pull back and forth, the subtle pain mixed with pleasure sending sparks through his brain, cutting off all thought. He lets his hips start to rock, meeting Minho’s pace, relaxing his body to be opened up and, hopefully, torn apart. He vaguely registers pressure on his chest, Minho nudging him to lay back, and Jisung eagerly complies, his head hitting the pillow just as Minho adds a second finger.
“You’re so beautiful,” Minho praises, pecking Jisung’s knee.
Jisung’s eyes roll back into his head, the words sending tingles through his skull and down his spine. His hips buck against Minho’s hand and he feels the warm sensation of precum leaking down his shaft. He wraps his fist around it, sucking in a breath between his teeth at the contact.
“Yes, baby. Let me see you play with yourself,” Minho whispers against his skin, a third finger now working him open.
Jisung chokes down a moan, gripping the base of his cock, already dangerously close to the edge. He steadies himself and looks down, past his slickened member to Minho. Minho’s eyes are dark, shuttered, hungry, ready to devour every centimeter of Jisung’s body. Feeling grounded in Minho’s gaze, Jisung’s hand starts to move again. Minho bites his lip, fully entranced as his fingers continue moving in and out of Jisung, faster now and more eager. Jisung keeps his eyes locked on Minho, the view sending him into a void of bliss. It’s surreal, better than any fantasy, and he feels the edge fast approaching. “Minho,” he whines, “I need you inside me.”
An expression crosses over Minho’s face, as if something inside him breaks and crumbles. His head droops between Jisung’s knees and Jisung feels featherlight kisses peppering his thigh. “Jisungie.” His voice is full of yearning, desire, barely audible as it ghosts over his skin. It tugs at something inside Jisung, the desperate plea of a carnal need to be closer. Minho looks up and rakes his nails down Jisung’s thigh, sending a shiver through his body, before sitting back on his heels, opening the wrapper and rolling the condom over his erection.
Head falling back against the pillow, Jisung feels his heart beating against his rib cage, hears the blood pumping in his ears. Ecstasy flows through his body as he pumps his cock, the anticipation rising. He feels Minho move on the bed, leaning over him, lining himself up and nudging against his rim. His free hand finds Minho’s chest, skirts over his skin, gripping his shoulder, fingers pressing in, preparing to hold on for dear life. The ring of muscle starts to relax and Minho pushes inside.
It’s immediately intense, searing in the best way. Jisung’s back arches as Minho lowers his body onto Jisung’s and starts driving his hips forward. Jisung releases himself, wrapping his arms around Minho, pulling him close, his cock trapped between them and pulsing with every thrust. Minho drops his face to Jisung’s chest, his muffled grunts and whimpers sending Jisung into euphoria. Jisung’s hips buck into Minho eagerly, satiating a craving he hadn’t realized he’d been stifling. Their hands roam up and down, grabbing and pawing at each other, mapping out every line and curve and sensitive spot. Jisung turns his head, burying his nose in Minho’s hair as faint moans escape.
A hand creeps up to capture Jisung’s jaw and Minho raises his head, keeping Jisung fixed in place, watching him as he continues rocking in and out, his pace slowing. “How long?” he pants breathlessly.
Jisung blinks at him, his mouth slightly open, struggling to work. Minho leans in, brushes his nose against Jisung’s and gives him a soft peck. Somehow, it helps to reconnect the wires in Jisung’s brain. “Since the first time I saw you,” he answers in an earnest whisper. “I thought, ‘how can anyone be that handsome’?” Minho blinks at him, his eyebrows scrunching, his hips now moving agonizingly slow. “Now you,” Jisung prods.
Minho’s eyes instantly soften, a small smile curling his sweat-beaded lips. “Since the first time I saw you smile.” Jisung swallows, his chest heaving, breathing ragged as something knots in his stomach. “I wanted to be the one to make you smile.” Minho’s expression lightens and darkens somehow at the same time as his hips pick up pace again.
Jisung’s nails dig into Minho’s flesh, his climax fast approaching as Minho pummels into him. “You had a weird way of showing it,” he gasps out.
Minho lowers his forehead to meet Jisung’s, smiling down at him impishly. “I told you. I’m weird.”
Jisung’s eyelids flutter closed when Minho reaches a hand between them, his fingers wrapping around Jisung’s throbbing cock. “I think I like weird,” he says between swallowed whimpers, barely able to speak as Minho fists his cock, matching the rhythm of his hips.
“I like you,” Minho whispers across Jisung’s ear.
Unexpectedly, Jisung is crashing, a wave cresting and taking him under. He cums in Minho’s hand, clawing at his back and biting down viciously on his lip to remain quiet. His back arches him off the bed, his head pressing back into the pillow. Waves of pleasure keep crashing through him as Minho’s thrusts become frenzied and erratic.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking amazing,” Minho groans above him, his whole body tensing as he chases his own climax.
Jisung regains enough of himself to open his eyes, a finger swiping hair to the side and cupping his jaw, wanting to watch as Minho falls apart inside of him. “I like you, too.”
Minho’s jaw falls slack as his hips jolt forward, once, twice, three times, until stilling with the quiet dregs of repressed moans. His body relaxes, melting over Jisung like butter, and Jisung pets his damp hair. Jisung’s body is thrumming, the aftershocks rising and falling as contentment settles in. He feels Minho’s heart beating in tandem with his own.
“Damn,” Minho hisses into his hair before raising up, the cocky look back on his face. “I really love Christmas traditions”
Jisung freezes, perplexed, eyebrows pinched above his nose as he searches Minho’s face. “What are you talking about?”
Minho gives him a cheeky, crooked grin. “I can’t believe the mistletoe worked.”
Jisung’s face falls into an indignant pout, glaring as he slaps at Minho’s chest. “You owe me a croffle,” he says flatly.
Minho huffs a laugh, his smile widening. “It’s a date,” he says softly, lowering to capture Jisung’s pouting lips with his own.