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ONE.
The pavement was too hot beneath Jisung’s bare feet. Even slick with lake water, he felt it sizzle at his skin as he padded back across the parking lot. They’d arrived earlier in the morning as a group; well before the sun had reached its peak. Chan had looked the weather up ahead, but no one had really conceptualized what ninety-two degrees would feel like until it was bearing down on them. The murky depths of the chilled lake weren’t enough to stop the sunburn developing across their cheeks and shoulders. Thus, Jisung had been sent back to the car to grab the extra sunscreen. Between eight people, the first tube had run dry quickly enough.
Burning heels aside, Jisung didn’t mind the opportunity to collect his thoughts.
“CANNONBALL!” Jeongin shouted in the distance, leaping gracelessly from one of the rafts lake-center. Well, lake left-of-center. In the now rippling waters surrounding his dive, Seungmin and Felix flailed happily, splashing at each other. Jisung was too far away, on shore, to hear much more. But it felt like a gift just to see them all so happy and relaxed to begin with. The year had been a long one; tumultuous in its course, the unflinching and inevitable end of an era. There were only weeks left before summer ended and their eldest friends would begin to pack. Head off to university. Minho’s dorm wasn’t far, but Chan’s school was over three hours away. Some of them were dealing better with the impending split than others. Felix had been sour for weeks.
Thus a moment of camaraderie and peace had been desperately needed. It wouldn’t be the last time they saw each other, but it might be their last chance to do it as a group.
Jisung himself had been coping just fine. Nothing more, and no less (that he was willing to admit to). Minho had been his closest friend for years now. He wasn’t sure what his last year of high school would look like without the other by his side. Still, the campus wasn’t that far. Minho knew how to drive. Graduation didn’t have to be an ending, even if Jisung had the sneaking suspicion things were about to change regardless. Growing up was tricky like that. One moment everything felt fine, and the next he’d find himself wondering just how quickly life as he knew it was about to shift into recent memory.
Minho wouldn’t drop off the face of the earth. That, at least, he was confident in. They’d text, or call, and see each other some weekends. Minho might even feel the same gaping void in his daily routine that Jisung was positive he would. It would work in their favor; that rabid missing of one-another. It would be the glue that kept them coming back together as time passed.
And yet, Jisung couldn’t help but feel another window closing. Initially, he’d planned on taking the nagging little crush on his best friend to the grave. Sure, the man was affectionate with him. But the chances of having his feelings returned were slim to none. He’d seen Minho’s type; tall, easy-going, handsome. It wasn’t him, and he’d done his best to bury the feelings on more than one occasion. It wasn’t for lack of trying that they’d always managed to slip back through the cracks; well up in the heart of him, overwhelming and needy.
Except, the decision to keep them hidden had been based on the foolish assumption that nothing would change. They’d grow older just as intertwined as they always had been, and Jisung hadn’t considered having to watch the other man wander off. College was new and exciting. Minho would likely meet dozens of people who were funnier, prettier, and more interesting than Jisung. It felt equally inevitable that he’d meet someone he wanted to kiss. Someone he’d love deeply enough to one day bring them home. Introduce them to his parents, and the boy-next-door childhood best friend that Jisung would have become by the time he did. If he said nothing now, he was almost guaranteeing his obsolescence. The very real, very permanent death of the teeny-tiny chance he sometimes pretended he had.
It was a funny sense of defeat. It scared him more than Minho packing his bags and driving off did. Jisung was sure that the day Minho brought some stranger home, he’d lose a piece of himself he’d never be able to recover. He too would make a home for himself in other beds one day, but the sheets would always feel suspiciously scratchy in comparison to Minho’s. Plain and cheap as they were. Just a kind of endless, subconscious second-place he’d be giving everyone else until he was able to give himself closure. Not fair to anyone, but least of all himself.
So he’d decided to speak up. Somewhere between walking away and rummaging through the bags in the backseat of Changbin’s car, the necessity of it had set in. Jisung would make his feelings known and then disappear for the last few weeks if needed. He’d bring about the demise of years of romantic daydreams, but with it would come the very real opportunity to move on. Alongside it, enough time to settle any awkward feelings before Minho moved out of the house next door for good. It didn’t have to destroy their friendship.
Though, Jisung had also assumed he’d have more time to plan what he wanted to say. His resolution had had a fair amount of procrastination built in. The lot of them preferred to move in pairs, and it was rare to find alone time when together as a group. Rare on all days except today, The Day. The golden opportunity mocked him with its immediacy.
Minho had been laying out in the grass with Chan when Jisung surfaced from the water, summoned to his chore. Now, the picnic blanket beside him was empty. If he squinted, Jisung could see Chan talking to a vendor at the lake entrance. Water bottles and snacks stacked under his arm as he fumbled for his wallet. Minho probably should have gone with him to help balance the load. Jisung wasn’t sure if he should be grateful the man hadn’t or tease him on Chan’s behalf. Maybe both.
Then again, Chan had probably insisted he was fine. Had it all under control.
“You’re going to melt into a little puddle.” Jisung announced his presence, flopping down beside Minho in a damp flurry of limbs.
“Big puddle.” Minho corrected, but didn’t disagree. “You got the spare tube?”
“Yeah, Bin said he was watching Jinnie cook out there. Well, actually he said something about the love of his life looking delicious, but you know- I tune them out at this point.”
Minho nodded. “You’re looking crispy yourself.”
“Not like you are. They could make lobster bisque out of you.”
“You’ll just have to fix me then.” Minho snorted, sitting up to relish Jisung’s confusion. “You get my back, I’ll get yours.”
“Oh,” he spluttered. “Yeah, sure.”
It was easy enough not to get lost in his thoughts while lathering Minho in sunscreen. The act itself took a sort of hyperfocus on not letting his mind wander to even be accomplished. If his hands lingered too long on the planes of his shoulders or the subtle curve of his spine, it would be too intimate. Obvious. He had to keep his touches brief and efficient. Minho, however, didn’t seem to share his concerns. When it was his turn, his fingers worked a moan out of Jisung before he could even register what was happening. Knuckles kneading the sunscreen into a point of tension along his spine.
“You’re a brick, Jisungie.” Minho hummed, tone concerned. Voice way too close to Jisung’s ear. “Jesus, you live like this?”
“Only during bad months.” He didn’t have the wherewithal to censor his thoughts in the moment.
“Bad months?”
Jisung froze, and the moment rose over him like a tidal wave. There was nothing he could do but sink or swim. Speak or let himself drown in the dead end silence would create. Minho wasn’t able to play life guard for his feelings this time.
“Listen, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” Jisung began, eyes trained determinedly on the water and not his friend. At his back, he felt Minho’s weight shift. Like he was leaning in to listen; take Jisung as seriously as he always did, all tender dedication. The time was now; a shift drew near. Jisung was seventeen, and oh so small. Sitting at the edge of the world.
And Chan was returning the blanket with a wealth of snacks and a cheery grin. “Hey Sung!”
He dropped the many bags of chips and candies down with a loud groan of relief. His perfect opportunity died in the same second it had arisen. It felt like a sign. Jisung didn’t find the courage to chase it again before the end of summer.
TWO.
He was nineteen before he plucked up the courage again. Though it arrived on the shoulders of a red solo cup; filled to the brim with a mix of not-quite-jungle-juice that left his throat burning every time he swallowed.
It had been dramatic to think he’d lose so much of his best friend just because they were half an hour apart. Minho drove to see him more nights than not; still used to collapsing on Jisung’s bed and keeping residence there until the early hours. And on weekends that campus absolutely demanded his presence, Jisung made the trek instead. A year into their new routine and he’d long since forgotten his fear of Minho meeting someone else. Slipping away and forgetting him. They’d simply adjusted, and that hadn’t even been brutal. If Jisung and Minho did one thing reliably, it was effortlessly click.
When Minho had been invited to the New Years Eve party by someone on the same floor of his dorm, it had been a given Jisung would tag along. Another one that their usual gaggle of friends would follow suit. Though in all fairness, Chan and Hyunjin had earned their own invites. The former by someone along his expansive network of friends, and Hyunjin by a senior who had been so far from smooth about it that even he’d recounted it as painful. Still, a party was a party. And when Changbin and Jeongin were done stewing in jealousy for their own (very similar) reasons, they were all in agreement on stopping by.
Of course, stopping by was supposed to be a quick thing. They’d all gotten lost amongst the crowd early on. By Jisung’s third cup of whatever, he was positive they’d all be spending the night to some degree. Even Minho was swaying a little where he stood, processing a change in the music. They’d been pseudo dancing for ten minutes now. In actuality, talking and side-stepping as people brushed behind them headed for the main room. But it was hard, while inebriated, to stay completely still with a soundtrack of 2000’s hits playing in the background. By the second loop of ‘Hey Ya!’, he’d been willing to forgive his awkwardness in favor of clinging and swaying.
One of his hands clung to Minho’s arm, at a junction where his had clung to Jisung’s waist for the last ten minutes. The other hand was holding his cup aloft in a cheer to the final half hour of the year; tongue still turning over the chemical ache of his last sip. Minho had justified their closeness by the lack of space in that corridor; tucked between the frat entrance and the back hall where the rooms began to span out. It was a private little spot, and thusly coveted. Or at least, that was what Jisung told himself. It was always a doorway, but that didn’t matter. Minho had chosen to pull him aside a while earlier, complaining that the quality of his company was lacking without him.
The two had been separated for maybe a whole fifteen minutes prior, but Jisung wouldn’t realize that until later. In that moment, it was bliss. Being the sole and desired focus of a man he’d been set on for years. Bickering back and forth about people’s outfits and the dated playlist had been elevated to an act of reverence. Which was perhaps what set him up in the end; mouth foolishly opening 20 minutes to midnight, words falling out in a rush.
“I love you.” Jisung gasped, interrupting Minho in the process. The way the other blinked, he wasn’t even sure he’d heard him. The comfort born of quiet and mixed-drink was gone just as soon as it arrived. Sung knew he’d never be able to repeat himself. Either Minho had heard him, or he’d stopped the man mid-thought on artificial fruit flavoring for nothing.
“I love you too, Jisungie.” Minho beamed, and for the briefest moment, Jisung felt his heart begin to soar. Only to come crashing violently down at the next words. Impacting the earth and digging itself a crater so deep, it might never see the sun again. “God, I’m so glad we’re friends.”
Minho released his waist in favor of cupping his cheeks, pulling Jisung’s face all too close. It was mocking, though he didn’t mean it to be. The motions of a kiss that wasn’t coming.
“You just get me.” Minho was rambling, sweet and tender and oh, so drunk. Either his borderline heart attack had sobered him up, or Jisung was just realizing exactly how much they’d been slurring the entire time out of sheer embarrassment. Mind desperate for any cover but the one that meant admitting that was all he’d meant. Good buddies, good friends. The best of platonic, never-romantic, super easy-going pals.
Normally, Minho would have noticed the way his entire body froze up. Luckily, obliviousness was thick in the air. Jisung merely relaxed into his grip with a roll of his eyes. “Of course I get you. That’s bare minimum. I’m the Minho expert.”
His laughter was bright, erratic. “Am I a Jisung expert?”
“I don’t know.” Jisung hummed, positive that in terms of simple detail, the other knew all there was to know about him. Where he’d grown up, what he liked, what his family named their dog. Even exactly what kept Jisung up into the early hours when his mind plagued him with vicious doubt. But there was that one, tiny, glaring detail. That obvious thing that Minho had either managed to miss for ages, or had purposefully looked away from. It was hard to know which was the better reality. Jisung settled for teasing. “I think you have some work to do.”
"No way.” Minho laughed, but there was a light in his eyes like he’d just heard ( and accepted ) a challenge. One Jisung knew would bite him in the ass if the man remembered this conversation in the morning. “Okay. I guess it can’t be an easy title to earn, even for me.”
“Especially for you.” Jisung poked weakly at his stomach, the fabric of Minho’s shirt failing to give much over firm muscle. “You had a head start. You’ll be held to a higher standard.”
“Head start over who?” Minho pried; hand sliding from Jisung’s cheek just to find a new home in his hair. Ruffling the strands he’d tamed with mousse right out of its hold.
“Shouldn’t you already know? I thought you felt like my expert already. You should know when there’s someone special in my life without me saying it. Informational osmosis.” That wasn’t how any of it worked. Not even the science. But Jisung was drunk, and there was no one else he wanted to flirt with. He’d just been rejected, sort of. It stung in a way he hadn’t prepared for because he hadn’t prepared at all. For the words or the spinning that his drinking was starting to stir in his head. That last thing he was going to do to that raw little ache was top it with the admission he was otherwise bitchless.
As the night turned morning, Minho slipped away. Brushed off Jisung’s confession with a soft hum and a look of odd disapproval. Like the thought of it was sour on his tongue. Jisung missed the warmth of his body instantly. He had to replace it with Hyunjin’s jabby elbows and Jeongin’s saucer-wide eyes just to quiet the screaming at the back of his mind. At least he found a sense of camaraderie sat on that cramped couch. The main room reeked of weed and Hyunjin’s tongue was so far down Changbin’s throat that Jisung wondered if he’d lost it there. But the jealousy painted clearly across Jeongin’s furrowed brow could have been spotted from space. Jisung had to wonder if Innie saw that look on him, too, every time Minho was stolen away.
He knew he wasn’t the best actor. Then again, apparently he’d never needed to be.
THREE.
There was something about the way Minho interacted with animals that really ate away at Jisung. He was always caring and gentle with them; indisputably attentive to their needs and whims. It wasn’t that Jisung was jealous. Sure, he wanted someone to look at him the way Minho regarded his cats; all sunshine and love and pure glee. Someone to hold his hands with the same tenderness reserved for forehead petting and belly rubs. But a cat was a cat, and Jisung was Minho’s best friend. If he asked the other man to hold him, he’d be held without complaint. If only he asked.
No, this was something far more inconvenient stirring in his gut. A long buried instinct of some sort that fought its way to the surface every time Minho proved yet again he’d make a good partner, a good companion, a good dad. A feral, twisted little thing that nagged at Jisung until he had to admit to himself in the privacy of his mind that if Minho asked, he’d raise a child with him. Find some way to give him a baby, cherish the life they’d build together atop the foundation of a shared home. It was layer upon layer of daydreaming, inescapably hoisted onto his shoulders by the presence of a new tiny, furry creature.
Minho was cooing at the kitten atop his kitchenette counter with an audible fondness that had Jisung aching for domestic bliss. A scritch here, a kiss there; the man was radiant in his joy. Just like the other knew he would be when he’d found the tiny thing on a walk the night before. If the cat would be safe with anyone, it was Minho. Minho who’d taken one look and fallen in love with her crooked whiskers and muddied feet.
They’d worked together to wash her off in the confines of the dorm and towel her dry despite her angry cries. Then Jisung had kept her company while Minho tried to schedule a vet appointment for a being with no name.
“You should think of one.” He’d suggested, like it was nothing. Like the idea of co-naming the cat wasn’t going to give Jisung all sorts of dizzying and wild ideas about co-parenting it too. “You found her.”
“I know I’m like, literally a genius, but don’t you think you should be the one to name her? She’s yours.” Jisung deflected, desperation hidden in his shifting gaze.
“I’ll veto it if it sucks.”
That was the other thing about Minho. He had a way of cutting right to the heart of Jisung’s blustering; dragging him out of the heart of his worries with a reliable grip. Facing down the kitten and his fully autonomous fantasies in one, he took a moment to wrangle his thoughts into order.
The kitten’s fur was tortoiseshell and fluffed up now that she was clean. Tiny nose worked at top speed to take in the new environment around her. Her curious eyes flitted left and right, dragging the rest of her head along behind the fervent glances. Unlike many stray cats might, she wasn’t hiding. She was shuffling her paws along Minho’s sleeve, yanking away only when her too-long nails caught in the fabric. Or mewling her dissatisfaction to the world whenever he made to withdraw himself from her reach. It was incredible the command of a room a creature so tiny could possess.
“It should be something bold, I think.” Jisung hummed, reaching to pet her himself. It was atop her head that their hands brushed; tiny skull not large enough for the attention of both of them, regardless of how loudly she demanded it. Minho withdrew, then repositioned. For several moments it was a dance of give and take; neither willing to stop petting the screeching baby, and repeatedly bumping into each other as a consequence.
Jisung was trying to ignore the way his skin tingled and burned at every small brush of Minho’s fingertips. An antsy kitten and a stray angle later, his own hand was what was being pet. The most beautiful man in the world dragging feather-light affections across the back of his palm and then laughing at his mistake, light and airy.
Minho traced the curve of Jisung’s knuckle and prodded a little. “You can be bold.”
Could he? Jisung felt the words well up on his tongue in a rush; as sudden as the last time, but not as lucky. He caught the sliver of that damned sentence between his teeth. “I love–” It wouldn’t have made sense here and now, even if he felt the emotion lodge itself in his throat so violently it could suffocate him. Minho’s unwavering faith in his judgment, his presence, his ability to help; it left him feeling warm, seen, wanted. Quickly and with little room for compassion, Jisung had to remind himself that it was not the kind of want he ached for.
“Cats.” He cleared his urges in a rush, like the awkward pause in his speech had only been a fumbling of the tongue. “I love cats. They’re so silly. She looks like an Oscar fish.”
“You want to name her Oscar?” Minho quirked a brow, but forgave his fumbling all the same. “Yeah, vetoed.”
FOUR.
Despite his lack of courage in the Minho department, Jisung didn’t have a tendency to spend Valentine's Day alone. Whether it was going out to drink with friends or finding a date on campus through organic means, he almost always had plans in mind for the holiday. That year, however, things had aligned terribly. The girl he’d been on and off hooking up with in the background of his pining had gotten a boyfriend two weeks ago. And most of their friends had decided this year was the year to finally get their shit together; cut off their own routines of pining and pacing in circles around one another. Well, as much as any of them were actually guilty of it.
When Changbin and Hyunjin had broken up three months ago, Jisung had known better than to expect Hyunjin would still be single for February plans. The man was antsy when it came to being single, and more than pretty enough to catch the eye of whoever he wanted in return. Changbin, however, had always been a little more intentional about his crushes. Rush was rarely a factor, except when he’d needed to lay it on thick to charm his siren-like ex before someone else did. So it wasn’t that Jisung had expected him to still be single; more that he hadn’t expected him to finally do something about the Chan Situation he’d been stewing in for at least three years. Jeongin seizing the opportunity to ask Hyunjin on a date two weeks after the fallout settled? Yeah, that, Jisung had seen coming. Then envied, green from head to toe for at least a week and a half when Hyunjin said yes.
So, as the 14th dragged ever-closer, Jisung did what any antsy, slightly jealous, hopelessly yearning 20-something year old would do. He asked if Minho had any plans. In a very chill and not at all telling way.
“Huh?” Minho had blinked at him, spoon halfway to his mouth. They’d been sharing breakfast in his dorm, sleepy and quiet until then.
“Well, because you were saying you might see that guy from your History lecture next week.” Jisung clarified, the fingers of one hand wringing at the other nervously. His face was a mask of honest curiosity, but it had been doomed to crack the moment he’d slid it on.
“Why?” Minho teased, lips dragging back in a mischievous grin. “Hoping to ask me out?”
“What?!” Jisung had no idea how he could make the suggestion sound so easy, so empty; say it and not feel like the fabric of his reality was rearranging at the mere suggestion of the shift. Tangling itself into new shapes and forms, heady visions where Minho knew what Jisung tasted like – felt like, whimpering beneath his touch. It must have been that surge of dizziness that caught his tongue. “Maybe I am.”
It was novel to see Minho freeze up for once. His soft eyes grew round; wet lips parting in surprise. Jisung was relieved to note that the idea didn’t seem to repulse him, or even push him into an uncomfortable slouch. Still, jealousy hadn’t made him brave enough. When the silence threatened to drag on and the courage to confess his feelings remained absent, Jisung scrambled to move the moment along.
“Because, you know, all those date spots in town have couples discounts. We could just hangout. Have a fun day, get around for cheap, and just… pretend we’re dating if anyone actually asks.”
“Oh.” Came the soft reply. Jisung didn’t like the odd look Minho gave him to accompany the single syllable. Like he was seeing right through him to a corner of his soul yet-discovered; analyzing it inch by inch. “If that’s really what you want, it sounds fun.”
“Doesn’t it?” Jisung was relieved he’d go along with it all the same. As a concept, it sounded cute and harmless. It was an excuse to spend the entire day closer to his crush than he would have gotten to be under any other circumstances. Selfishly, he wanted to take the excuse to curl up to Minho’s side every chance he got. Hold his hand like they weren’t just playing at a future he’d been envisioning for years.
In practice, it was a hell of his own design.
When the 14th arrived, they quickly discovered couples discounts also meant couples activities, and not in the sense that two people could do them together. They could get a cheap sundae or a milkshake, but it would come as a single treat with two spoons, or two straws. More than once, they’d bumped noses absently trying to take sips of their milkshake at the same time. Purchased in place of the sundae because Minho insisted they should leave room for movie snacks; blissfully unaware of the roiling desire he inspired in Jisung at all times.
Even when their faces weren’t close enough to send the man stumbling, crashing back into his oldest daydreams, Jisung’s eyes were locked on the way Minho’s lips would wrap around his straw – or the veins of his hand as he dragged the metal cup of extra shake over to refill the glass. It was a tumultuous thirty minutes in the ice cream parlor, spent fighting off his most feral of urges. He’d thought it would be a fun little opportunity to hold hands or eat out. Instead, Jisung realized he’d managed to arrange a vivid glimpse into his dream life, dangled in front of his face for an entire day. A carrot on a Valentine-pink string, taunting him every time Minho acted like his boyfriend for a minimum wage worker who couldn’t care less if they were lying or not.
Even the movie set out to mock him. They managed to get the tickets at half price after all, but only because they accompanied a particular film. Some sappy romcom about the inevitability of love in heterosexual friendships between men and women. Truthfully, Jisung had caught about half of the saccharine plot. Minho’s hand had settled on top of his knee about thirty minutes in and his head had gone all fuzzy after that. There had been moments of quiet joking between them about certain lines or characters, but his entire perception of the world was laid beneath the rosy hue of Minho’s touch. Those fingers sliding slowly up his thigh; though seemingly unintentionally. Moving as Minho did, to laugh, to lean close and whisper, to squeeze Jisung’s leg in endearment.
On the screen, the main characters fumbled through the steps of an emotional dance Jisung had been leading himself through for a long time. In the dim light of the theater, he tried his best not to allow much more self-awareness.
When it was over, he felt vaguely targeted by the whole thing anyway. A sentiment he had to keep to himself, even as Minho suggested they buy matching hoodies from a boutique near the theater. They were gaudy and ugly; designed by someone who clearly knew nothing about design itself. ‘Us until infinity’ was embroidered in looping, gold script, looking distinctly Hallmark as it blended into an infinity sign laurel. But Minho had joked that they could call the expense a couples discount too if they only bought one.
“It’d only be a matter of time before you stole it from me anyways.” He snorted; eyes wrinkled and fond. “You’re always taking my sweatshirts.”
Jisung hadn’t even been able to defend himself, because it was true. He’d ended up buying the second hoodie at full price just to maintain the illusion he wasn’t the type to cling desperately to any little piece of the other he was given. Jisung loudly ignored the way the message on its front made him look like exactly that. Because he knew Minho didn’t actually mind the light thievery. He’d sacrificed several of his sweaters on purpose over the years. If Jisung had wanted this one too, he’d undoubtedly have gotten it.
They walked back to the dorm at the end of the day, arm in arm, shoved into the hideous garments. Jisung’s composure had been wrung dry over and over, and he felt like his entire body was wired; the tension point of a thread about to snap. But Minho was beside him, radiant and laughing at an old inside joke. The most attainable he’d ever been to Jisung, and watching his lips tremble around his giggles still felt akin to an out of body experience. The man’s presence felt so much like being home it winded him. His body didn’t know how to settle the tug of war at the pit of him. The resulting emotional confusion gave way to impulse; left room for stupidity.
“Are you crashing here tonight?” Minho stopped them at the front door of the dorms; Jisung’s arm still woven under his own. The tips of his fingers were rubbing slow circles over his chilled knuckles; lulling Jisung into a sleepy sense of security. One that would betray him.
“No.” He huffed, eyes slipping shut at the dread creeping in. “I have an eight AM tomorrow. My professor doesn't care that it’s cruel.”
“Poor baby.” Minho hummed, brushing Jisung’s hair back to soothe his whining. “How ever will you survive?”
“I won’t. You’ll have to plan my funeral.” And maybe it was his imagination after a long day of sitting on the cliff’s edge of action, but Jisung could have sworn he felt a kiss pressed to his temple. A warm little brush of skin that left him feeling braver than he ought to have.
“I’ll make sure it’s a fun one.” Minho chuckled, hardly drawing back at all. Jisung… Jisung felt distinctly reanimated. His body moved without permission, wrapped up in a temporary bliss.
“I’m putting my trust in you.” He hummed, and pressed upwards. Kissed Minho soundly on the mouth, sweet and brief. It was only as the other’s lips parted between his that he realized what he’d done. And, well. There was nothing he could do to fix it then.
Jisung rounded the kiss off gently, and then quite literally fled.
FIVE.
They should talk about it. They have to talk about it, because of all the ways Jisung and Minho have been close – casual kissing has never been one of them. Running away afterwards had been even more damning; the flurry going on in Jisung’s heart a dead giveaway to exactly how genuine a kiss it had been. Of course Minho would have been able to see through him as he panicked. The man had always been able to cut him open with ease; peer right down to the depths of his mind. He’d been lucky that Minho hadn’t had a reason to go looking for his crush. Jisung had simply been careless enough to hand deliver it to him on a platter.
Except, talking about it means admitting what he’s been hiding all along. Opening his mouth and finally, finally spitting out those three little words that have been haunting him for the better half of a decade now. It should feel easier, less daunting — as something he’d been wanting to do already. Instead, it’s the same sky-high roadblock it’s always been, and Jisung hasn’t spoken to Minho in three days.
Not that Minho hadn’t been trying. He’d left a handful of texts for Jisung to latch onto. Little peace offerings, ranging from humor to willingness to forget the situation entirely. It was obvious the silence was eating at him too; dragging them both into a miserable confusion there was truly no reason to drag on. No reason except the terror of the worst possible resolution. It was unlikely that, even if Minho rejected his interest, the man would drop him forever. Pretend they’d never been friends at all and move on with his life separate from Jisung; separate from the unit he’d always felt most whole a part of. Like their years of friendship had meant nothing to him at all when faced with the reality of Jisung’s greed.
It was unlikely, but not impossible. Jisung had always been the one to latch onto the smallest, most insidious ‘what if’s. This one was simply taking a lot more effort to turn over. Desperate as he might be to brush it off, it demanded a certain amount of stewing in its misery first. Left to his own devices, Jisung probably would have let the mire suck him under for another two days at least. It was a blessing in a vicious, nerve-wracking disguise that he wasn’t, then.
Minho brought flowers with him to the door. Not a wrapped bouquet, but a smattering of roadside plants that had blossomed in spite of winter’s clinging vestiges. The sight of him standing on Jisung’s welcome mat, expression open and hopeful, had his cheeks warming against his will. He should have known better than to expect Minho would be angry.
“Hey?” It was the least he could do to speak first. “What’s that?”
“For you.” Minho huffed, holding out the mass of white and green. “Seemed like a better end to the other day. More on theme than running away.”
“Hah. About that…”
“Yeah, I was hoping you’d explain. But I was willing to wait.” Minho’s nose scrunched; brows furrowing into confused concentration. “Until I wasn’t.”
It was funny. Even though he knew their conversation would have to be awkward and unpleasant, the mere sight of the other had sent a calm creeping outward down his limbs. Jisung stepped from the doorway and let him in like he’d done a thousand times before, without that persistent fear tangled up in the gesture. “Come on. I’ve got those noodles you like. I won’t make you stand around.”
It probably should have been a strategic pause, the noodle ritual. Minho made himself comfortable on Jisung’s couch while he boiled the water and tore the packet open. Jisung wasn’t usually the one cooking for them, but it was hard to fuck up instant noodles. He could have used the ten minutes it afforded him to consider his wording, or what path forward he was even looking for. There had to be some way or another to brush the kiss off as an impulse. Just a moment he got caught up in a bigger, less meaningful rush. But Jisung knew the truth of the matter, and giving Minho anything less than that would feel cheap. Wrong. Actively dishonest, rather than skirting away from simple discomfort.
Jisung had kissed him, and Minho had kissed back. It was time to completely and utterly destroy his cover.
“I’m sorry.” He started, when the noodles were finally ready and he’d drained them into a real bowl. Minho accepted the meal with a curious look, not an ounce of judgement in his gaze. “I didn’t mean to get swept up like that.”
“Swept up?”
“In the moment. The… romance of it all.”
Minho snorted, mouth full. His eyes had strayed from Jisung; now landing anywhere but his face. “So I was just a really good date, huh?”
“Something like that.” He wasn’t sure why that alone left him feeling rejected, but Jisung was trying his hardest to swallow down the bile threatening to cut his confession short. It felt like freefalling, shoving the words out between his tensed lips. “I mean, I’ve always wanted that.”
“A good date?” Minho seemed entirely nonchalant. Entirely easy going, as if Jisung hadn’t just opened a door he’d never be able to close.
“Well, the timing never seemed right. I mean, you were leaving for school, and then you were always busy, and…” Minho was squinting at him as he spoke, head tilted in blatant confusion.
“Sungie, anyone could have given you that. Anyone would be lucky to give you that.”
“I didn’t want just anyone.” The words were little more than a hurt murmur. Jisung could take the hint. Anyone would be lucky to have him, but Minho had never wanted him. A good date had been available if only he’d looked elsewhere, and he should have been all along. Jisung wanted Minho, but Minho had just politely turned him down. There was no point in pushing the confession further. There was no guarantee he’d recover from having his feelings brushed aside any more directly.
“What?”
“Nevermind. It wasn’t bad for you, though? Right?”
“Of course not. It was actually pretty cute.” Minho sucked down the last of his noodles, and Jisung swallowed the welling ache in his throat.
“What do you know about cute?”
“Apparently enough to have you swooning.”
ONE.
“I’ve been made aware that I was oblivious and potentially cruel to you.” Minho was back on his doorstep.
They’d joked off their previous conversation and spent the evening watching tv, goofing off. Jisung had stomped the ache in his chest as flat as possible and swore he’d ignore it right out of existence. It wasn’t like being Minho’s friend was a loss, or a hardship. What they had between them had always been sacred to him, romantic or not. Except, it was a lot easier said than done. And sure enough, he’d woken up the day after with no desire to put himself out there again just yet. The other’s texts had once more gone ignored in favor of nursing himself through his disappointment.
Only this time, Minho had come to drag him out of bed with his own answers in tow. His own, terrifying conclusions.
“What?” Jisung didn’t have the energy or the clues to be more eloquent.
“The other night. When you said…” Minho trailed off, looking suddenly unsure of himself.
“Which part?” If the man had shown back up to reject him more formally, Jisung wanted it over and done with.
“The bit about not wanting a date with anyone else. Was that true?”
Jisung scoffed softly. “Do you think I’d joke about that?”
“No, I-” Minho’s shoes became an object of immense interest. “I misunderstood you in the moment.”
“What? How?” Jisung blinked, slipping out of his intense focus on the other. He took Minho’s hand in his own, pulling him out of the cold. When the door was once more shut, his hand lingered there. Neither felt a need to let go.
“It sounded like I was a stand in for a bigger fantasy.”
“That’s insane.” Jisung hadn’t meant to sound so harsh about it. He really hadn’t. To his credit, Minho only snorted in amusement.
“Felix thought so too.”
“You told him about it?”
“I tell him about you often.”
“Oh?” That was an entirely new concept to process. What backlog of their moments had Felix been made aware of? Had Jisung’s crush been obvious to him all along?
“He told me I should come back. Try again.” Minho continued, squeezing at Jisung’s fingers. “Tell you how I feel.”
“How you feel?” Time had stopped. It had to have, because Jisung was hardly breathing. All the world was still and quiet; the now a moment balanced on a pin’s point. He didn’t dare to hope for anything before the words were settled in the air.
“How I feel.” Minho nodded, pulling him close by that shared hand. “Because I don’t want you going on dates with anyone else either.”
Jisung was only human; his eyes flickered up and down, across the smooth ridges of the other’s features, and over the slope of his lips.
“Will you tell me again?” The other prodded. “I’ll hear you this time, I promise.”
There was a moment of silence where Jisung struggled to find oxygen let alone the words. But sure enough, he leaned into the hair’s width of space between them. Spoke up for himself, no matter how vulnerable it made him feel to do so. He knew that when his heart threatened freefall, Minho would be there to catch it. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”
Minho’s eyes fluttered shut, lips pressed in a satisfied grin. “And will you still have me?”
“Of course.”
“I want you too. I want to try this, us.”
“I don’t think you understand.” As tempting as it was to lean in and close that tiny bit of space, Jisung knew he needed to make himself clear. There would be more hurt than happiness in ruining a friendship because Minho thought something was casual that wasn’t. He pressed back against the palm melded to his. “I’ve been crazy about you for years. Like, since we were teenagers. This isn’t– I know. I’m so sure of you, Minho. I’m like, practically in love with you. I’ve put in the hours.”
The other stretched to kiss his forehead. “You weren’t alone in that.”
Unable, unwilling, and disinterested in examining the shift in the planet’s tilt that Minho’s words caused, Jisung worked instead on accepting his new reality. One where he got to kiss him right back, sliding their lips together with long-fermented excitement. He no longer felt overexposed and raw. Instead he felt seen, and desired as he was.
He was in love, in love, in love. And that was allowed. That was more than okay.