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Jisung lay on his bed in silence , a kind of silence that didn't feel peaceful.

It wasn't the warm, lazy kind of quiet that usually filled their apartment on slow mornings when Jisung would roll over into a sleepy Jaemin's arms and whine for five more minutes of sleep.This silence was heavier , something was missing from it.

Jisung sat up in bed, blinking at the sunlight peeking through the half-closed curtains. His side of the bed was rumpled, sheets kicked off. Jaemin’s side was smooth, untouched , already cold.

Again?

He stretched with a quiet groan, toes curling against the wooden floor. When he walked out into the hallway, he didn’t hear music. No clattering dishes, No Jaemin humming something under his breath like he used to. Just the hum of the fridge and the faint buzz of the city outside their window.

Jisung found him in the kitchen.

Jaemin sat on one of the bar stools, barefoot, in a big hoodie with the sleeves swallowing half the length of his fingers. His hair were messy, sticking out in lazy directions like he hadn't bothered to check the mirror. His cup of coffee sat untouched on the counter, steam already gone cold.

His eyes weren’t focused on anything. Just staring through the window, blank.

Jisung leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.

“You look like a sad house cat,” he said, voice still thick with sleep.

Jaemin blinked. He turned his head slowly, lips tugging up in a tired smile. “Morning.”

Jisung padded over, barefoot, and slid onto the stool next to him. He nudged Jaemin’s thigh with his knee. “You could’ve waited. I was gonna make those egg sandwiches you like. The ones that make you say I’m better than your mom.”

“I only said that once.”

“You cried.”

A puff of amusement escaped Jaemin’s lips. It was faint, but it was something.

Jisung let the silence settle again. But now it felt intentional like he was giving Jaemin room, not letting it swallow them whole.

“You didn’t sleep again, did you?”

Jaemin shrugged. “Kinda.”

Jisung sighed. The dark circles under Jaemin’s eyes weren’t just from staying up too late watching drama reruns. They’d been there for weeks now, slowly deepening. He hadn’t been eating much, either. He still laughed at Jisung’s dumb jokes, still kissed him goodnight but there was a hollowness behind his smile that hadn’t been there before.
And Jaemin didn’t talk about it.

Not directly.

“Hyung,” Jisung said gently, drawing out the word like it was something sacred.

Jaemin’s eyes flicked to him, the sound of it pulled him out of whatever fog he had surrounded himself with.

Jisung offered a crooked smile. “I’m making breakfast. You’re gonna sit at the table like the sexy husband you are and pretend like I’m the only love in your life.”

Jaemin exhaled a quiet laugh. “You’re such a brat.”

“You love it. Hyung,” Jisung repeated, this time teasingly, the corner of his mouth curling up.

Jaemin rolled his eyes, but he stood up.

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting across from each other at the small kitchen table. The sandwiches were a little too toasted , burnt .Jisung got distracted watching Jaemin chew slowly, like he was trying to remember how food worked.

Jisung leaned back in his chair, chewing dramatically and eyeing Jaemin. “Rate my sandwich out of 10 . The way Gordon Ramsay does , be honest ."

Jaemin swallowed. “You didn’t put enough salt in the eggs.”
Jisung clutched his chest. “I almost burnt my hand while making the best meal of your life –”

“You used the microwave.”

“--and this is how you thank me?”

Jaemin cracked a smile at that. The real , genuine one . Jisung caught it like a spark in the dark, holding onto it. He reached out and poked Jaemin’s foot with his toe under the table.

“You wanna do something or even better nothing today?”

Jaemin hesitated. “Don’t you have a practice to attend to?”

“Skipped it.”

“You hate skipping practice.”

Jisung shrugged. “Hate seeing you like this more.”

That made Jaemin freeze for a second. His gaze dropped to his plate.

Jisung didn’t push. He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed, letting it be.

“I don’t want to be like this,” Jaemin said quietly, almost like he regretted saying it the moment it left his mouth.

“I know.”

“I feel like… I’m here, but not really. Like I’m watching things happen around me. But I can’t move. Can’t feel….Can’t… feel anything.”

Jisung looked up at him. The way Jaemin's fingers curled around the edge of the plate made his chest ache. Like he was trying to hold onto something tangible. Something real.

“You don’t have to fix it right now,” Jisung said. “You don’t have to explain it. You’re here. That’s enough.”

Jaemin swallowed thickly.

“I know I’m not easy to be around.”

“Hyung,” Jisung said again, soft but firm. “I didn’t fall in love with you just because you were fun to be around.”

Jaemin’s eyes flicked to him, wide and wet.

“I love all the versions of you,” Jisung said. “Even the quiet ones. Even the ones where you forget how to smile.”

A beat of silence.

Then Jaemin stood and walked around the table. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against Jisung’s. Their noses brushed.

“You’re so good to me,” he whispered.

Jisung smirked. “I know.”

They stayed like that for a moment breathing the same air, heads leaned together .Eventually, Jisung stood and wrapped his arms around Jaemin from behind and said, “We’re doing nothing today. And by nothing, I mean Mario Kart, blanket fort, and me trying to seduce you with my deep and sultry reading voice.”

Jaemin huffed a breath of laughter. “You really do know how to ruin the mood.”

“No such thing,” Jisung said. “Mood is whatever we say it is. Right now? The mood is boyfriends being soft and clingy. And maybe a little horny. Only a little.”

Jaemin’s eyes closed, and Jisung felt the tension ease slightly from his shoulders.

“Yeah,” Jaemin murmured. “Okay.”

The living room looked like a war zone. A very soft and colorful war zone.

Blankets were everywhere on the couch, over chairs, half-draped from the ceiling where Jisung had haphazardly attempted to “engineer” a fort using pillows, safety pins, and sheer optimism. A stack of Mario Kart controllers sat in the middle of it all like ammunition. The air smelled like buttered popcorn and Jaemin’s favorite citrus candle.

Jaemin stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, watching Jisung crawl on all fours into the fort with a flashlight in his mouth.

“I’m a little concerned,” he said.

Jisung made a muffled noise, then popped his head out. “That’s not concern. That’s awe.”

“That’s 'my boyfriend is a menace and should be contained.’ ”

“Contain me then, hyung.” Jisung winked.

Jaemin’s mouth twitched despite himself. “You’re such a gremlin.”

“You like gremlins,” Jisung countered, flopping down on a mound of blankets with exaggerated satisfaction. “They’re unpredictable.Scrappy. Kinda hot in a weird way.”
Jaemin snorted and sat next to him, legs stretched out. Jisung immediately slid closer, tossing his legs over Jaemin’s thighs.

“Hey,” Jaemin murmured.

Jisung raised a brow. “Hey.”

“You know you don’t have to do all this, right?”

Jisung shrugged. “I know. But I want to. I like taking care of you.”

Jaemin looked down at their tangled legs. “What if I don’t feel like talking? Or smiling? What if I just want to sit here and... exist?”

“Then I’ll exist next to you. Quietly. Or loudly. However you like it.”

There was a beat of silence before Jaemin whispered, “Quiet’s okay. I just don’t want to feel alone in it.”

Jisung’s chest squeezed. He leaned forward and rested his head on Jaemin’s shoulder. “I’m right here, hyung.”

Jaemin closed his eyes, hand lifting to thread into Jisung’s hair. They sat like that for a long while, tucked into the ridiculous warmth of the blanket fort, the game console long forgotten.

Later, they played. Jaemin was quiet, but he didn’t pull away when Jisung leaned against him, laughing at his own terrible driving. He even smiled when Jisung called him a “washed up Mario man.”

“I beat you twice.”

“Was it worth it if you didn’t emotionally damage me in the process?”

“Oh lord, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Jisung drawled, leaning close to Jaemin’s ear, “here I am. warm. cute. Cuddled up in your lap like your human blanket.”

Jaemin didn’t respond, but his arm came up instinctively to wrap around Jisung’s waist, tugging him closer.

“See?” Jisung teased, voice quieter now. “You’re totally whipped for me , hyung.”

There it was again – that flicker. Jaemin’s breath caught just slightly when Jisung had said it.

“Say it again,” Jaemin murmured, eyes still on the TV screen.

Jisung tilted his head. “What, that ‘you’re whipped’?”

“No.” Jaemin turned to him. “The other thing.”

Jisung blinked. “Hyung?”

Jaemin nodded, like hearing it had carved a tiny crack in the shell around his heart.

Jisung shifted in his lap, straddling him now. He cupped Jaemin’s jaw and whispered, “Jaemin-hyung.”

A breath hitched. Jaemin’s hands clenched around Jisung’s thighs.

Jisung smiled knowingly . “You always react when I call you that.”

“It makes me feel like… I’m something to you,” Jaemin said hoarsely.

“You are,” Jisung said. “Even when you’re not smiling. Even when you think you’re hard to love.”

He kissed Jaemin then, slow and patient. Not desperate. Not for show ,soft and grounding. Jaemin’s fingers gripped the hem of Jisung’s shirt like he needed something to hold onto.

When they pulled apart, Jaemin’s eyes were glassy.

“You okay?” Jisung whispered, thumb brushing his cheek.

Jaemin nodded. “Can we… go to bed?”

Jisung understood the task. Not sleeping. Not crashing. Just be alone with him. Quiet. Safe.

He took Jaemin’s hand, laced their fingers, and guided him to the bedroom.

They undressed slowly.

Not in the rushed, frantic way they usually do but carefully , taking their sweet time. This time, it was quiet. Intentional. Like undressing wasn’t about getting naked but about shedding weight.

Jisung tugged off his shirt and stood by the bed. Jaemin just stared at him for a long moment, eyes trailing over his collarbones, his shoulders, his breath rising and falling
“You always look at me like that,” Jisung whispered.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to memorize me.”

“I am.”

Jaemin stepped forward and kissed him again, deeper this time. He slid his hands around Jisung’s waist and pressed their bodies together, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.
When they sank onto the bed, Jaemin hovered over him. He hesitated for a moment hand splayed flat over Jisung’s chest, thumb brushing skin.

“You lead,” Jisung said, voice barely audible.

“But–”

“You don’t have to perform. You don’t have to prove anything. Just feel.”

He reached up and stroked Jaemin’s cheek, then whispered, “I’m yours, hyung.”

Jaemin shuddered.

It wasn’t about dominance. It wasn’t about roles. It was about anchoring Jaemin letting him be needed, be wanted, be held in the way he was afraid to ask for.

He kissed down Jisung’s neck, reverent, slow. Jisung tilted his head back, sighing his name like it was a lullaby.

“Jaemin-hyung.”

Jaemin’s breath caught. He pressed their foreheads together, eyes closing tight.

“Say it again.”

“Jaemin-hyung,” Jisung whispered, wrapping his legs around his waist. “I’m right here. I’m with you.”

When they moved together, it was tender. Unhurried. Each touch said I’m here. Each kiss said I see you. Every whispered “hyung” said I won’t let you fall.
Jaemin held him like a lifeline.

And Jisung let him.

Afterward, they lay tangled in the sheets, sweat cooling on their skin. Jisung curled into Jaemin’s chest, fingers tracing lazy lines on his stomach.

“You okay?” he asked again, voice muffled.

“Yeah,” Jaemin said. “Yeah. Better.”

“Good.” Jisung leaned up and kissed his jaw. “You don’t always have to be okay. But I’m glad you told me this time.”

Jaemin swallowed. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not.” Jisung kissed his cheek. “You’re Jaemin-hyung . My Jaemin hyung. That’s never a burden.”

A soft silence settled between them.

Then Jaemin said, “I’m glad it was you.”

Jisung smiled against his skin. “Of course it’s me. I’m the hot one.”

Jaemin laughed, choked and real.

It was the best sound Jisung had heard all week.

Morning came slowly.

Light crept into the room through the cracks in the curtains, soft and gold, brushing over the bed like warm fingertips. The air was still, quiet, the kind of quiet that felt like everything loud had been left behind at the door.

Jaemin woke up before Jisung did.

He lay on his side, one hand tucked under his pillow, the other resting in the center of Jisung’s back. His thumb moved slowly, back and forth, in lazy arcs. It wasn’t even conscious. Just something his body did on instinct.

Jisung was sprawled over him, one leg thrown across his waist, breath warm against Jaemin’s neck.

Jaemin took a slow breath.

This was what safety looked like.

Not neat. Not fixed. Not sudden happiness but comfort. Warm skin, soft breathing, a room where nothing was expected of him except to be here.
He’d forgotten what that felt like.

“Hyung,” Jisung mumbled sleepily against his collarbone.

Jaemin’s hand paused. “Mm?”

“You’re awake,” Jisung said, voice heavy with sleep.

“So are you.”

“Lies.” Jisung snuggled closer. “I’m unconscious. You’re dreaming this. I’m not real. You are not real .”

Jaemin huffed a laugh. “You’re annoying, that's what you are.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

They stayed like that for a while. Not talking. Not needing to.

Until Jaemin whispered, “I’ve been scared to touch you.”

Jisung blinked against his skin. “What?”

Jaemin’s fingers tightened slightly at Jisung’s waist. “Lately. I’ve been... afraid that if I touch you like I want to, I’ll mess it up. Like there’s something ugly in me, and you’ll feel it.”
Jisung sat up slowly, straddling Jaemin’s hips. His hair was messy, lips pink and puffy from sleep.

“You won’t mess anything up,” he said. “You never have.”

“I don’t feel like myself,” Jaemin admitted, voice raw. “And if I can’t be him , the version you fell for , how do I still deserve this?”

Jisung leaned down and kissed him softly. Then he kissed his jaw. His throat. The hollow of his collarbone.

“You’re still him,” he whispered. “Even now.”

Jaemin’s hands rose hesitantly to Jisung’s waist, holding him gently like he was afraid to press too hard.

“Can I touch you?” he asked.

Jisung smiled. “You don’t have to ask.”

“I want to.”

That meant more than Jisung could say.

He nodded.

Jaemin’s hands slid up his sides, over his ribs, settling just under his shoulder blades. There was something reverent in the way he held him – like Jisung was fragile, or precious, or maybe both.

“You make me feel safe,” Jaemin said quietly.

Jisung lowered himself until they were chest to chest again, foreheads pressed together.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because that’s all I want. To be that for you. Always.”

They didn’t rush. They never did .

There was no frantic edge to their touches, no desperate hunger. It wasn’t about getting off. It wasn’t even about comfort sex.

It was about Jaemin finding his way back.

Every time Jisung whispered “hyung,” Jaemin’s hands got steadier. Every time Jisung moaned softly into his ear, Jaemin’s lips found new places to kiss, to explore, to claim. And when Jisung wrapped his arms around him and said, “You’re doing so good, hyung,” Jaemin shuddered like he’d been seen for the first time in weeks.

That title “hyung “ , he later realized was never just about age.

It was about trust. Care. A want .

And in Jisung’s voice, it always sounded like love.

“Let go,” Jisung whispered, breath hot against Jaemin’s cheek. “Just be here. With me.”

Jaemin did.

Afterward, they lay tangled together in the blankets, limbs still buzzing.

Jisung drew slow patterns on Jaemin’s chest, humming under his breath. Jaemin stared at the ceiling, heart still racing, not from sex but from the aftermath—the sheer emotion of being held and wanted in the middle of his mess.

He turned his head to the side.

Jisung was watching him.

“What?”

“Just checking,” Jisung said softly. “Still with me?”

Jaemin nodded.

“Good.” Jisung leaned over and kissed his shoulder. “We can stay like this all day if you want. No one’s waiting on us.”

Jaemin reached up and brushed Jisung’s hair out of his eyes. “You’re really good at this.”

“At what?”
“This. Loving someone like me.”

Jisung smiled, but it was smaller now. Honest. “It’s not hard,” he said. “I love you the same way I breathe. I don’t have to think about it. I just do.”

That cracked something in Jaemin, finally.

His eyes burned. He pulled Jisung close, burying his face in his shoulder.

Jisung held him through it.

The trembling. The quiet sob. The moment Jaemin stopped pretending he was fine.

And not once did Jisung flinch.

By evening, the blanket fort was still standing, the dishes were still in the sink, and Jaemin’s hair was still a mess.

But his eyes were clearer.

He sat on the couch with Jisung curled beside him, head in his lap. They were watching some old drama, neither of them really paying attention.
Jaemin’s fingers traced slow lines on Jisung’s arm.

“Can I ask something?” he said.

“Of course.”

“Why me?”

Jisung turned to look up at him. “What do you mean?”

“You could’ve had someone simple. Someone always happy. Someone less…” He hesitated. “Broken.”

Jisung sat up slowly, shifting until he was nose to nose with Jaemin. “Don’t say that.”

“But–”

“You’re not broken, hyung. You’re human. You feel things deeply. You get overwhelmed. You fall apart sometimes. So do I.”

Jaemin swallowed hard.

“You don’t need to be perfect for me to stay,” Jisung said. “I’m not here for the easy parts. I’m here for you.”

Jaemin reached up and cupped his cheek, thumb brushing his lower lip.

“I really love you,” he whispered.

Jisung leaned into his palm. “I know.”

It wasn’t linear.

Some mornings, Jaemin would wake up with enough energy to make breakfast, tease Jisung, and fold the laundry before noon. Other days, he stared at the ceiling until the afternoon sun sliced across the sheets and Jisung was shaking his shoulder gently, coaxing him out of a dreamless, aching sleep.

“I don’t get it,” Jaemin said one gray morning, his voice muffled by the pillow. “I felt fine yesterday.”

“That’s how it works,” Jisung said simply. He perched on the bed’s edge, brushing his fingers through Jaemin’s hair. “Some days are quiet. Some days bite. It doesn’t mean you’re back at square one.”

Jaemin let the words sink in.

He didn’t say thank you. Not every time. Jisung didn’t expect him to.

But he let Jisung pull him upright. Let him press kisses to the corners of his eyes. Let him wrap him in the big hoodie he liked to steal and let the weight of it soften the sharpness in his chest.

That was enough.

They had good days.

The kind where Jaemin was the one who tugged Jisung down into the blankets first, curling around him with his face in the crook of his neck.

“Missed you,” he’d whisper, even if they hadn’t been apart.

And Jisung would grin, roll over to straddle his waist, and say, “I’m right here, hyung. You didn’t lose me.”

Sometimes Jaemin was the one who initiated kisses, dragging Jisung into his lap, sliding his hands under his shirt like he needed to memorize every rib again.
Those moments—intimate, soft, weighted—meant the most.

Because even when Jaemin felt too tired to smile, or too heavy to speak, he still reached.

Still wanted.

Still let Jisung in.

One afternoon, they sat on the floor with open takeout containers and greasy fingers, watching the stupidest anime they could find.

Jisung made a face at the screen. “Why is the villain hot? I’m confused.”

“He’s tragic,” Jaemin replied, deadpan. “And you’re weak.”

“You say that like you’re totally not going to ogle at his edits on tiktok later.”

Jaemin shrugged, stealing a fry. “No comment.”

Jisung leaned his chin on Jaemin’s shoulder, eyes narrowing. “You’re getting your spark back.”

Jaemin paused. “Am I?”

“You’re making jokes again. Stealing fries. Roasting fictional men.”

Jaemin smiled slowly. “You missed that?”

“I missed you.”

That night, Jaemin lit a candle and pulled Jisung into bed with him early.

They weren’t tired. Not really.

They just wanted the quiet. The closeness. The weight of each other.

“I want to do something,” Jaemin murmured as they lay together, chest to chest.

Jisung blinked. “Okay.”

“Something for you.”

Jisung blinked again. “...Why?”

“Because you’ve been carrying me. And I want to give you something back.”

Jisung smiled, soft and slow. “You don’t have to prove anything.”

Jaemin kissed his temple. “I know. But I want to.”

That night, Jaemin touched him with a kind of worship.

It wasn't a performance. It wasn’t about dominance or reassurance.

It was about devotion.

He kissed every inch of Jisung’s skin like it deserved gratitude. He whispered things . A thank you, and you’re my light, and I see you.

And when Jisung whispered Jaemin-hyung back, like a prayer, Jaemin fell apart.

Not in a bad way. In a real way.

Like a man letting go of armor and finally learning softness could protect him too.

In the days that followed, they kept finding little moments.

Jisung drawing sleepy smiley faces on the fogged bathroom mirror for Jaemin to find.

Jaemin reaching for Jisung’s hand without thinking while walking through a crowd.

Jisung pressing a hand over Jaemin’s chest one night and whispering, “Still here. Still loved.”

Jaemin never said I’m cured. He never claimed it was over.

But one morning, he caught his reflection brushing his teeth, and instead of flinching, he just looked.

And he thought , Maybe he’s not ugly for this. Maybe he’s still worth something.

Then Jisung came in behind him, wrapped arms around his waist, and kissed his shoulder.

“Good morning, hyung.”

Jaemin looked into the mirror, at them both, and smiled.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “It is.”

A month later, Jisung caught Jaemin on the balcony, wearing one of his oversized shirts, legs tucked under him like a cat.

“What are you doing on your phone?” Jisung asked.

Jaemin smirked. “ Watching edits of our tragic anime villain.”

Jisung groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Say it.”

“Ugh. Fine. Jaemin-hyung.”

Jaemin beamed. “God, that never gets old.”

Jisung climbed into his lap. “You’re still annoying.”

“And you still love me.”

Like breathing