Archive of Our Own

Minho's alarm went off at 8 AM—ridiculous for a Saturday. He stared at his phone screen through half-closed eyes, seriously considering just going back to sleep and ignoring the entire day. 

He didn't, though. 

His apartment was quiet when he finally dragged himself out of bed. His roommate had left for the weekend—something about visiting family—which meant Minho had the place to himself. 

He padded to the bathroom, catching his reflection and scoffing. His blonde hair was sticking up in every direction, and he had pillow creases on his face. 

It kind of worked. He'd fix it anyway, though, because "kind of works" was for losers with low standards.

The shower was scalding. He stood under the spray longer than necessary, letting the hot water work out the tension in his shoulders. Dance practice had been brutal yesterday, and his body was reminding him of every single jump and turn.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, he felt marginally more human. Less like a corpse, more like a functioning college student.

His hair got towel-dried and styled with some product, blond strands falling into place with minimal effort. He'd been maintaining this color for months now, had the routine down. It looked good. Not trying-too-hard good, just... good.

His phone lit up with messages.

Felix

MINHOOO HYUUNGGGDUHDYFS
we're coming over
hyunjin's bringing coffee
BE AWAKE

Minho

i am alive

Felix

we'll be there in 20

Minho spent the waiting time cleaning up his room because Felix would definitely comment if it were a mess. Not that Felix had any room to talk—his place looked like a bomb had gone off in a laundry basket—but still. Minho had standards for himself, even if no one else did.

His apartment wasn't small—one of the newer buildings on the edge of campus. The rent was kind of insane, but his parents helped with that, and having his own space was worth it. White walls, minimal furniture, a few plants he'd somehow managed not to kill yet. His dance bag was in the corner where he'd dropped it yesterday, still unpacked. He'd deal with that later.

Twenty minutes later, someone knocked on his door.

"It's open," Minho called.

Felix burst in first, carrying a coffee carrier, followed by Hyunjin, looking effortlessly glowing despite wearing sweatpants, and Seungmin, not looking up from his phone.

"Coffee delivery!" Felix announced, handing Minho an iced americano. "Iced, no sweetener, extra ice-"

"You're a saint," Minho said, taking it gratefully. The first sip was perfect. Cold and bitter, exactly how he liked it. "This is the only reason I tolerate you."

"Lies, you love me," Felix said, already making himself comfortable on Minho's bed, shoes off and everything like he owned the place.

"Strong word."

Hyunjin took the desk chair, spinning it around to face the room, and Seungmin claimed the bean bag in the corner.

This was standard procedure—Saturday morning hangouts in Minho's apartment because his roommate was never around and the place was actually clean.

"So," Felix started, and something in his tone made Minho roll his eyes.

"Whatever you're about to ask, no."

"You don't even know what I'm gonna say!"

"Don't need to. Still no."

Felix pouted, which might have worked on someone weaker. "Chan's having a party tonight."

Ah. There it was. 

Minho took another sip of coffee. "Okay?"

"You should come!"

"Now, why the fuck would I do that? I don't even know the guy."

"But I do! And he's-" Felix's entire face went soft and stupid, like someone had hit him with a happiness beam. "He's really cool, hyung. Like, genuinely cool. He produces music, he's got his own studio setup, and he's really talented, and he's got dimples, and-"

"And you wanna sit on his face?" 

"I—well-" Felix turned red. "I mean, yes, but also, I actually like him? Like, as a person?"

"Wow, character development," Hyunjin commented, examining his nails.

"Shut up!" Felix threw a pillow at him, which Hyunjin dodged without even looking. Show-off. "The point is, I really want to go, but I don't want to go alone and look stupid."

"You are desperate," Seungmin said without looking up from his phone.

"Shut up, so what?"

Minho sighed. "Felix, sunshine, light of my life," he said sweetly, "I would literally rather die than spend my evening with a bunch of music majors talking about, I don't know, fucking synthesizers or whatever."

"It won't be that bad! Chan's friends are cool. There's gonna be actual good alcohol, not just shitty beer. And-" Felix brightened like he'd just remembered the selling point. "-his friend's band is playing!"

"Oh wow, live music at a house party. How very 2015."

"Hyung, please." Felix's expression shifted to genuine anxiety, which was the thing that always got Minho. Felix didn't do vulnerable often, but when he did, it was hard to ignore. "I really like this guy. Like, I think I actually really like him. And I need backup in case I say something stupid or he doesn't feel the same way or-"

"You will definitely say something stupid," Minho interrupted.

"Exactly! Which is why I need you there to save me from myself!" Felix leaned forward, hands clasped. "Come on. For me? Your best friend who loves you and brings you coffee and tolerates your bitchy morning moods?"

"I don't have bitchy morning moods."

"You once told someone to eat glass and kill themselves before 10 AM," Hyunjin pointed out.

"They deserved it."

"Minho hyung," Felix whined. "Please. I will owe you. Big time. Name your price."

Minho looked at him. Felix had that anxious energy he got when he actually cared about something, when it wasn't just casual interest but real feelings. And fuck, Minho was too soft for his own friends.

"Fine. Jesus Christ. I'll go."

Felix actually squealed and launched himself at Minho, wrapping him in a hug that nearly made him spill his coffee all over his clean sheets. "Thank you, thank you, thank you-"

"Calm down. I'll go to your stupid party and watch you embarrass yourself trying to flirt. But-" He held up a finger. "If it's boring, I'm leaving. If the music sucks, I'm leaving. If anyone tries to talk to me about their SoundCloud, I'm immediately leaving."

"Deal!"

"Get off me, you're gonna wrinkle my shirt."

"You love me."

"Debatable."

"Are we all going, then?" Hyunjin asked, looking mildly interested now. "Could be entertaining."

"I'm going," Felix confirmed. "Minho hyung's going. Hyunjin?"

"Sure, why not. I have nothing better to do, and watching Felix try to flirt is always fun."

"Seungmin?"

"Absolutely not," Seungmin said flatly. "I have standards."

"Boring," Felix declared. "But fine. More fun for us."

They spent the next hour talking about nothing important. Felix went on a tangent about some drama in his dance class—apparently, two people were fighting over formations, and it had gotten weirdly hot. 

Hyunjin complained about his figure drawing professor, who kept assigning models in stupid poses. Seungmin mostly listened while he scrolled through his phone.

It was comfortable. Easy. This was why Minho actually liked these people, even if he gave them shit constantly. 

Around eleven, Felix's stomach growled loud enough to interrupt Hyunjin's story about some art gallery.

"Okay, food run," Felix announced. "I'm starving."

"There's ramen in the kitchen," Minho offered.

"Ugh, ugh. Instant ramen isn't real food."

"It's food that you eat. That's literally the definition."

"Ugh, you know what I mean." Felix was already up, grabbing his phone and wallet. "Hyunjin, come with me. We'll get something good."

"I'm not moving," Hyunjin said from his comfortable position in the chair.

"Hyunjin."

"Felix."

"Please? I'll buy you that fancy latte you like."

Hyunjin considered this. "The one with the cream and cinnamon?"

"Yes."

"Fine." Hyunjin unfolded himself from the chair. "But you're carrying everything."

"Deal!"

They left, the door closing behind them. Seungmin looked up from his phone for the first time in twenty minutes. "He's got it bad."

"Yeah," Minho agreed, settling back against his headboard. "It's kind of gross. But also kind of cute?"

"If this Chan guy does anything, we're keying his car."

"Obviously. We could also kill him or something."

"That sounds nice."

"Are you texting someone? You've been on your phone all day." Minho asked.

"No."

"Okay." Minho could see the lie as clear as crystal, but decided not to comment. He'd find out soon enough.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. This was the thing about Seungmin—he didn't feel the need to fill every second with conversation. He was just there, solid and reliable, and sometimes that was exactly what Minho needed.

"You didn't have to agree to go," Seungmin said eventually.

"I know."

"But you did anyway."

"Felix would've been sad." Minho shrugged. "And I can handle one shitty party for a few hours."

"You're nicer than you pretend to be."

"Don't spread that around. I have a reputation."

Seungmin smiled. "Your secret's safe with me."

Felix and Hyunjin came back forty minutes later with bags of Thai food that smelled incredible. They spread everything out on Minho's coffee table—pad thai, spring rolls, and curry that was probably going to destroy Minho's taste buds in the best way. 

"So what time are we actually going to this party?" Minho asked around a mouthful of noodles.

"It starts at ten, but," Felix said, "we should probably get there around eleven because showing up on time is for losers with no social awareness."  

"Showing up right on time is desperate. You want to arrive when things are already going, but not so late that you miss everything." Hyunjin nodded. 

"This is why I don't go to parties."

"You're going to this one!" Felix said cheerfully.

"Against my will."

"You literally agreed."

"Under duress."

They argued while finishing the food. By the time everything was cleaned up, it was early afternoon.

Felix and Hyunjin left around two—Felix had a dance class he was teaching, some kids' program he volunteered with on weekends. Seungmin stayed a bit longer, sprawled in the bean bag, scrolling through Twitter and occasionally showing Minho particularly silly tweets.

When Seungmin finally left around three, Minho was already half-regretting his decision. 

A party full of music majors and wannabe producers? He was going to be so fucking bored. But Felix had looked so hopeful, and Minho wasn't actually a complete monster, so. 

He tried to do some homework—he had a paper due Monday that he'd been putting off—but his focus was shit. He kept thinking about the party, about being surrounded by strangers, about having to make small talk with people he didn't know.

It wasn't that Minho was antisocial; he wasn't. He just... didn't see the point in wasting energy on people he didn't care about. Parties meant forced interactions, and stupid people he couldn't care less about.

But he'd promised Felix. And Minho kept his promises, even when they were inconvenient.

He gave up on the paper around five and decided to just relax for a bit. Put on a playlist, lay on his bed, scrolled through Instagram mindlessly. Time passed weirdly when you were dreading something—simultaneously too fast and too slow.

His phone buzzed around eight.

Felix 

what are u wearing tonight

Minho 

clothes hopefully

Felix 

hyung

Minho 

idk
does it matter?

Felix

no but like. you're gonna look hot right

Minho

i always look hot

Felix

true. okay im gonna start getting ready
hyunjin's picking us up at 10:30

Minho

oks

He should probably start getting ready, too. Minho rolled off his bed and surveyed his closet without much enthusiasm. It wasn't like he was trying to impress anyone.

He ended up changing to a leather jacket. Swapped his plain rings for ones with a bit more detail. Touched up his hair, made sure it looked intentional rather than messy. Added some cologne, just enough.

Good enough.

His phone buzzed at 10:25.

Hyunjin 

downstairs

Minho grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone, gave himself one last look in the mirror, and headed out. Hyunjin's car was idling in front of the building, Felix already in the passenger seat, looking excited and nervous. Minho climbed into the back.

"Looking good," Felix said, turning around to grin at him.

"I know."

The drive to Chan's place took about fifteen minutes. It was off campus, in one of the nicer neighborhoods where actual houses existed instead of apartment complexes. They could hear the music from down the street.

"Oh god," Felix said as Hyunjin parked. "Oh my freaking god, I'm nervous. Why am I nervous?"

"Because you like him," Hyunjin said simply.

"Fuck, I do. What if he doesn't like me back?"

"Then he's an idiot," Minho said. "But he probably does. You're hot and funny and nice. You're a catch."

"You think so?"

"I wouldn't lie to you about this."

Felix took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay. Let's go."

They got out of the car and headed toward the house. The front door was open, warm light spilling out onto the porch, people visible through the windows. Music was playing—something with a good beat, not the shitty top-40 stuff Minho had been expecting.

"Ready?" Hyunjin asked.

Felix nodded. Minho shrugged. And they walked in.

The party was already in full swing.

The first thing Minho noticed was that the house was actually nice. Not frat-house-sticky-floors nice, but actual adult-who-has-their-shit-together nice. Hardwood floors, decent furniture, art on the walls that looked like someone had chosen it intentionally rather than just filling space. The lighting was warm, not those harsh overhead fluorescents that made everyone look like corpses.

The second thing he noticed was that there were way more people here than he'd expected.

"Fuck," Felix breathed beside him, scanning the crowd.

"You good?" Minho asked.

"Yeah, just—there's a lot of people."

"We can leave if you want."

"No!" Felix said quickly. "No, I'm good. I just need to find Chan."

They pushed further into the house. The living room was packed with people standing in clusters, talking and laughing. The music was coming from a decent sound system in the corner—some indie rock thing that Minho didn't recognize. In the kitchen, visible through an archway, someone was mixing drinks at a counter covered in bottles.

"Felix!"

They turned to see a guy approaching—bright smile, curly hair. He pulled Felix into a hug that lasted maybe a second too long to be purely friendly, and Felix's face went pink.

So this was Chan.

Minho had to admit, Felix had good taste. Chan was hot in that effortlessly attractive way—casual clothes, nice arms, dimples when he smiled. He looked genuinely happy to see Felix, which was the main thing Minho cared about.

"You made it!" Chan said, pulling back but keeping a hand on Felix's arm. "I'm so glad you came."

"Yeah, of course!" Felix's voice went slightly higher than normal. "Uh, this is Minho and Hyunjin, and, uh, Seungmin couldn't come."

"Hey!" Chan's smile extended to them, warm and genuine. "Thanks for coming. There's drinks in the kitchen, and we've got the band setting up in the basement if you want to check that out later."

"Cool," Minho said, because he should probably say something.

"I'm gonna grab a drink," Hyunjin announced. "Anyone want anything?"

"I'll come with you," Minho said, mostly to give Felix and Chan some space. The way Chan was looking at Felix was almost sickeningly sweet, and Minho was not about to be a third wheel right off the bat.

They walked to the kitchen, which was slightly less crowded. A girl with red hair was making cocktails, measuring and pouring drinks.

"What can I get you?" she asked cheerfully.

"What are you making?" Hyunjin asked.

"Right now? Vodka cranberry. But I can do pretty much anything if we have the ingredients."

"I'll take that," Minho said. Something simple and not disgusting sounded good.

"Same," Hyunjin agreed.

The girl made their drinks quickly. Minho took a sip. It was actually good, not too strong but not weak either.

"So," Hyunjin said, leaning against the counter. "How long do you think before Felix and Chan disappear?"

"Give it an hour," Minho predicted.

"I was thinking thirty minutes."

"You have no faith in Felix's self-control."

"I have perfect faith in it, which is why I said thirty minutes."

Minho snorted. They stood there for a bit, observing the party. It was... actually not terrible? The music was decent, people seemed to be having fun without being obnoxiously drunk yet, and the house wasn't a complete disaster. Maybe this wouldn't be as painful as he'd thought.

"Minho!"

Felix appeared, dragging Chan behind him. "Chan's gonna introduce us to his friends. Come on."

"Do we have to?" Minho asked, but he was already moving.

They ended up in the living room, where Chan led them to a group sitting on and around the couches. 

There were three guys—one who looked like he spent a concerning amount of time at the gym, one younger-looking kid with dark hair and dimples, and one with dark blue hair scrolling through his phone, looking disinterested in everything happening around him.

"Guys, these are Felix's friends—Minho and Hyunjin," Chan announced. "This is Changbin, that's Jeongin, and that's Jisung."

The blue-haired guy—Jisung—glanced up for half a second, his eyes sliding over Minho for half a second before dismissing him entirely and going back to his phone.

Minho felt his eye twitch. 

Not that he cared what some random emo kid thought of him, but still. At least pretend to have basic social skills.

"Jisung's the guitarist," Chan explained, like that was supposed to be impressive. "For the band that's playing later."

"Cool," Minho said flatly.

Jisung didn't even acknowledge that he'd spoken.

Yeah, this guy was already on Minho's shit list.

"You play guitar?" Hyunjin asked, because Hyunjin was actually good at small talk.

"Yeah," Jisung said without looking up. "Among other things."

His voice was lower than Minho expected, with a slight rasp to it. Minho took another sip of his drink and told himself he was not intrigued. He wasn't. This guy had looked at him for one second and decided he wasn't worth the effort of conversation. 

Minho was used to people looking at him. He was hot, he knew it, and people generally noticed. But Jisung had just... not cared.

"That's vague," Minho said.

Jisung's eyes flicked up to him for a second. "Is it?"

"Yeah. It's like saying 'I do stuff.' Wow, so interesting."

"Didn't realize I needed to provide my full resume." Jisung went back to his phone. "But thanks for the feedback."

Minho felt his jaw tighten. This guy was actively being a dick and somehow making it seem like Minho was the problem.

Felix and Chan were already deep in conversation, sitting close on the couch. Jeongin had pulled Hyunjin into some discussion about a mutual friend. Changbin was showing Jisung something on his phone, both of them laughing at whatever it was.

Minho felt suddenly, weirdly out of place. He didn't know these people. He wasn't part of their little circle. This was exactly why he didn't do parties.

"I'm gonna get another drink," he announced to no one in particular.

No one seemed to notice him leave.

Back in the kitchen, he took his time making a new drink. Vodka, cranberry juice, and a splash of lime. He could feel eyes on him—there was always someone watching at parties—but he ignored it. Let them look. At least someone here appreciated him.

"You're Felix's friend, right?"

Minho turned to find a girl standing next to him—pretty, with long blond hair and a friendly smile.

"Yeah," he confirmed.

"I'm Yuqi. I go to dance class with Felix sometimes." She grabbed a beer from the cooler. 

They chatted for a bit about classes, the party, mutual acquaintances. Yuqi was easy to talk to, not pushy or trying too hard.

He was grateful for the distraction.

When someone called her name from the other room, she excused herself with a smile and a promise to find him later.

Minho was sure he would never see her again; he didn't plan to stay long anyway. He still nodded.

He was taking a sip of his fresh drink when someone stumbled backward into him, hard.

The impact sent his cup flying. Cold liquid splashed everywhere—down his chest, soaking into his shirt, all over his jacket and jeans.

"What the fuck-"

He looked up to see the blue-haired asshole from earlier also dripping wet, looking down at his own ruined shirt with obvious annoyance. Behind him, two guys were rough-housing, completely oblivious to the scene they'd caused.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Minho said, his voice sharp.

Jisung looked up at him. "I didn't—someone pushed me-"

"Oh, someone pushed you," Minho repeated, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, that makes it so much better. I'm so glad you clarified that it was an accident while I'm standing here, soaked in vodka."

"What do you want me to do about it?" Jisung shot back, wiping at his own shirt with clear irritation. "Rewind time? Turn back the clock? I didn't do it on purpose."

"You could try apologizing like a normal person."

"I could," Jisung said, his tone maddeningly calm, "but you seem pretty set on being pissed off regardless, so what's the point?"

Minho stared at him in disbelief. "Are you serious right now? You just-" He gestured at his completely ruined outfit. "This jacket cost five hundred dollars!"

"Then maybe don't wear expensive shit to a house party," Jisung said with a shrug. "Kind of seems like poor planning on your part."

"Poor planning-" Minho could feel his face getting hot. "You're actually blaming me for this?"

"I'm saying maybe have some spatial awareness about where you're standing in a crowded kitchen where people are drinking." Jisung's expression was infuriatingly neutral. "But sure, yeah, this is entirely my fault for existing in the same space as you."

"It literally is your fault! You backed into me!"

"Because someone shoved me. Which I already said. Are you having trouble with your hearing, or-"

"Oh my god," Minho interrupted, voice going dangerously quiet. "You're actually the most obnoxious person I've ever met."

"Sick. Can I get that in writing?" Jisung pulled his phone out of his pocket—somehow still dry—and held it up. "I'd love to remember this moment."

They glared at each other. 

Up close, Minho could see that Jisung's eyes were dark and sharp, with a hint of eyeliner smudged around them. His dark blue hair was falling into his face, slightly wavy and messy. Silver ring on his bottom lip and in multiple fingers, chipped black nail polish, a chain disappearing under his collar.

He looked like every pretentious art school dropout who thought being rude was a personality trait.

Minho hated him.

"Here." Chan appeared with a roll of paper towels, looking between them. "Jesus, what happened?"

"Accident," Jisung said shortly, grabbing some towels and dabbing uselessly at his shirt.

"Your friend has zero awareness and apparently zero manners," Minho added, snatching his own paper towels.

"I have plenty of awareness," Jisung said. "What I don't have is control over drunk idiots pushing people around."

"Maybe stand somewhere else then."

"Maybe you should-"

"Okay!" Chan interrupted. "Jisung, you have clothes here, right? Go change. Minho, I think I have something that might fit you."

"I'm fine," Minho said automatically, even though his shirt was sticking to his skin uncomfortably.

"You're soaked," Chan pointed out.

"I'll dry."

"Minho, just-" Chan sighed. "Come on, I'll get you a shirt at least. Jisung, go change."

"Yeah, yeah." Jisung was already heading toward what Minho assumed was a bedroom, not looking back.

Good. Minho didn't want to look at him anyway.

He followed Chan upstairs to a bedroom that was clearly his—neat, organized, band posters on the walls. Chan dug through a dresser and pulled out a black t-shirt and a jacket.

"Here. It might be a little big, but it's clean."

"Thanks," Minho muttered, peeling off his ruined jacket and shirt. The jacket was definitely going to need dry cleaning. Fantastic.

He pulled on Chan's shirt and the jacket after. It was slightly big but not terrible. At least it was dry.

"Sorry about that," Chan said. "Jisung's not usually that prickly, like, at all," Chan let out a chuckle. "He's really not a bad guy; he's really sweet once you get to know him."

"I have zero interest in getting to know him," Minho said flatly.

Chan's lips twitched. "Yeah, I got that impression."

They headed back downstairs. The party had gotten more crowded while they were gone; people packed into every available space. The music was louder now; someone had turned up the speakers.

Minho found Hyunjin talking to a guy with long hair near the windows.

"What happened to you?" Hyunjin asked, eyeing the new shirt.

"Some asshole spilled a drink on me."

"Tragic," Hyunjin said. "You okay?"

"Fine. Just annoyed."

More people kept arriving. The house was getting properly crowded now, that tipping point where a party went from "gathering" to "actual party." The energy shifted, got louder, messier. Someone had started a drinking game in the corner. A group of girls was dancing near the speakers.

Minho spotted Felix across the room, still with Chan's group. He seemed happy, laughing at something Changbin was saying. Good. That's why they were here.

"When's the band playing?" Hyunjin asked Chan, who had rejoined them.

"Soon, probably. They usually start around midnight." Chan checked his phone. "Yeah, Jisung just texted that they're almost ready."

Minho told himself he didn't care. Some emo kid with an attitude problem playing guitar wasn't exactly must-see entertainment.

"You guys want to head down?" Chan asked. "Best view is from the basement stairs."

They followed him through the crowd toward a door that led to a basement. Music equipment was set up down there—a full drum kit, amps, microphones. The band was already there, doing a sound check. 

Jisung was front and center with a guitar, adjusting something on an amp. He'd changed into a hoodie, still black, and his dark blue hair was pushed back from his face.

He looked up as people started filing down the stairs, and his eyes caught Minho's for a second. Something flickered in his expression before he looked away and went back to his guitar.

Cool. So they were just going to pretend that whole thing didn't happen. Minho could do that.

The basement filled up quickly. People sat on the stairs, stood along the walls, crowded near the band.

"Hey everyone," Jisung said into the mic, and the crowd quieted. His voice through the speakers had that same raspy quality. "We're gonna play some shit for you. Hope you enjoy."

The drummer counted off, and they launched into their first song.

And... okay, fine. They were good.

Not just decent-for-a-college-band good, but actually, legitimately good. The music was loud and energetic, some mix of rock and hip-hop that shouldn't have worked but did. Jisung's guitar playing was clean, his fingers moving over the frets smoothly.  When he leaned into the mic to sing backup vocals, his voice was surprisingly melodic.

Minho found himself watching. Not because Jisung was attractive—which he was, objectively, especially with that confidence he wore while performing—but because the music was genuinely interesting.

That's what he told himself, anyway.

He could admit when someone was talented, even if that someone was an asshole who'd ruined his jacket.

Jisung's eyes swept across the crowd between songs, and for a moment—just a moment—they landed on Minho again. This time, he didn't look away immediately. 

There was something almost challenging in his gaze, like he was daring Minho to have an opinion.

Minho kept his expression neutral and took a sip of his drink.

Two could play that game.

The crowd was into it, heads bobbing, some people dancing. Felix was pressed against Chan's side, both of them moving to the music. 

The set lasted about half an hour—seven or six songs, each one as energetic as the last. By the time they finished, the crowd was cheering. Jisung looked satisfied, a smile on his face as he set down his guitar and immediately got swarmed by people congratulating him.

"They're really good," Felix said, starry-eyed. "Chan said they're working on an EP."

"Yeah, they're alright," Minho said, because he wasn't about to give Jisung any more credit than necessary.

The party kicked into higher gear after the performance. The basement became a dance floor, bodies pressed close, the air getting warm and sticky. Minho fled back upstairs, where there was more room to breathe.

He was working on his third drink—or was it his fourth?—and feeling pleasantly buzzed. Not drunk, just... loose. Relaxed.

He was leaning against the wall, watching the party unfold, when Hyunjin appeared next to him.

"Felix and Chan disappeared," Hyunjin announced.

"One hour, called it."

"You did. I owe you five bucks." Hyunjin paused. "So what are we doing now?"

"Standing here, apparently."

They stood in comfortable silence for a bit, observing. A drinking game had started up in the dining room—flip cup or beer pong, or something equally stupid. The muscular guy—Changbin—was absolutely destroying his opponents.

"You could try talking to people," Hyunjin suggested.

"I could also not do that."

"Fair."

But then someone from the drinking game crowd yelled out, "We need more players! Anyone?"

And Changbin's eyes landed on Minho. "Hey! Felix's friend! You play beer pong?"

"Not really," Minho called back.

"Perfect, you can learn. Come on!"

Minho was about to decline when he saw who was on the other side of the table.

Jisung, leaning against it with his arms crossed.

Their eyes met across the room.

"Come on," Changbin insisted. "Unless you're scared?"

He was not scared. "Fine," he said.

He walked over to the table, very deliberately not looking at Jisung.

This was fine. This was just a stupid drinking game. Nothing to get worked up about.

Except then Jisung spoke.

"This should be quick," he said. "No offense, but you look like the type who loses at everything."

Minho's head snapped toward him. "Excuse me?"

"I said what I said." Jisung's expression was infuriatingly neutral. "Pretty boys usually can't back it up."

The room went "ooooh" like they were in middle school.

Minho felt something hot flash through him—anger, indignation, and something else he didn't want to examine. "You don't know anything about me."

"Don't need to. I can tell."

"Yeah? What else can you tell?"

Jisung's lips curved into a smirk. "That you're going to lose. Badly."

Minho made a split-second decision that his sober self would definitely regret.

"Actually, no," Minho said, walking toward the table. "Beer pong is boring."

"Oh?" Changbin looked amused. "What do you have in mind?"

Minho kept his eyes on Jisung, whose expression had shifted to something curious and vaguely interested for the first time all night.

"Strip poker," Minho said clearly.

People were shouting, laughing. Someone whistled. Changbin looked absolutely delighted.

Jisung's eyebrow raised. He pushed off from the table and walked closer, stopping a few feet away from Minho.

"You sure about that?" His voice was low and raspy, and it sent a shiver down Minho's spine. "That's a bold choice."

"Why?" Minho smiled, sharp and mean. "You scared?"

"Of playing poker with someone who probably learned from watching James Bond movies?" Jisung's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Not really."

"Big talk for someone who looks like they get their personality from My Chemical Romance lyrics."

Jisung's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes—amusement, maybe challenge. "At least I have a personality. Better than looking like a bitch who thinks being pretty is a substitute for having an actual identity."

Minho felt heat flash through him—anger, indignation, and maybe a twitch in his pants. His breath quickened, and his heart beat faster. "Accept the game or don't. But stop wasting my time."

Jisung stared at him for a long moment. Then he smiled.

"Deal," he said quietly. "But when you lose, don't cry about it."

"Same to you."

They stared at each other, and Minho realized that he might have just made either the best or worst decision of his night.

"Someone get cards!" Changbin yelled. 

Someone produced a deck of cards from seemingly nowhere.

"You guys are really doing this?" Chan asked, looking both amused and slightly concerned. 

"Absolutely," Minho said, not breaking eye contact with Jisung.

The dining table got cleared in record time. Red solo cups, half-eaten snacks, someone's phone—everything got shoved to the side. Jisung slid into the chair across from where Minho would sit, looking infuriatingly comfortable. Like he did this shit every weekend.

Maybe he did. Minho didn't know his life.

"Ground rules," Changbin announced, appointed as referee by virtue of being the loudest person in the room. "Standard five-card draw. Lose a hand, lose an item of clothing. Loser of each hand removes one item of clothing. Jewelry counts as items if you want it to. Shoes and socks count separately because I'm not a monster."

"Very thorough," Hyunjin commented from his spot against the wall, phone already out and recording. 

"I'm not about to have anyone arguing technicalities when shit gets serious," Changbin said. "This is strip poker. We're going all the way, baby."

"Gross, don't say it like that," Jeongin muttered.

"And most importantly," Changbin continued, grinning like this was the best night of his life, "no backing out once we start. You commit, you see it through."

"Fine with me," Jisung said, already taking off his rings and setting them on the table. One, two, three, four—he had a lot of them. "What about you, baby? Still confident?"

Minho's jaw tightened at the nickname, but he started removing his own rings, setting them down. "More confident than you should be."

"Big words."

"I can back them up."

"We'll see."

They sat down across from each other. The table was small enough that Minho could see every detail of Jisung's face in the overhead light—the smudged eyeliner, the way his hair fell into his eyes, and the way he poked his tongue to wet his lips, playing with his piercing. 

He looked annoyingly good, and Minho hated how much it worked for him.

Chan shuffled the cards. "You guys are insane," he said, but he was smiling.

"Insanely hot," someone called from the crowd.

"Insanely stupid," Seungmin's voice added. Minho looked up to see his friend standing near the back, arms crossed. When had he gotten here?

"The fuck are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming," Minho said.

"I wasn't. Then Felix texted me that you challenged someone to strip poker and I had to see this in person."

"I'm touched."

"You're going to lose," Seungmin said flatly.

"Thank you."

Felix pushed through the crowd, eyes wide. "Minho, what the freaking freak are you doing?"

"Winning," Minho said simply.

"He's having a mental breakdown," Hyunjin corrected, appearing next to Felix. "This is how it manifests."

"I'm fine."

"You're playing strip poker with a stranger."

"He's an asshole who ruined my jacket. This is justified."

Felix looked between Minho and Jisung, then at Chan, who just shrugged. "Should we... stop them?"

"Absolutely not," Changbin said. "This is the best thing that's happened all month."

Chan handed the cards to Jisung, who shuffled them again. Of course he knew how to shuffle like that, all smooth and show-offy. He probably thought it made him look cool.

It kind of did, which pissed Minho off.

"You can still back out," Jisung said, not looking up from the cards. "No shame in admitting you bit off more than you can chew."

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Just saying. Last chance."

"Chan, deal the fucking cards."

Jisung's lips twitched and handed them back.

Chan started dealing. Five cards each. Minho picked up his hand, keeping his face neutral. He had a pair of sevens. Not great, not terrible.

Across from him, Jisung's expression was unreadable. He looked at his cards with the same bored disinterest he'd had all night.

"Dealer exchanges first," Chan said.

Minho discarded three cards, got three new ones. Still just a pair of sevens. Jisung exchanged two cards, his face giving away absolutely nothing.

They revealed their hands.

Jisung had a pair of tens.

"First blood," Jisung said, that infuriating smirk back on his face.

Minho kicked off one shoe. "Don't get cocky. It's one hand."

"Sure, baby. Keep telling yourself that."

The crowd was pressed in close now, everyone watching with attention. Minho could feel dozens of eyes on him, could hear the whispered commentary, the barely suppressed laughter.

He refused to let it get to him.

Second hand. Chan dealt again.

This time Minho got three of a kind—threes. Better. He kept his face carefully blank.

Jisung exchanged three cards. Minho kept his three threes and exchanged the other two.

They revealed.

Jisung had two pairs—jacks and fives.

Fuck.

"That's two," Jisung said, leaning back in his chair. "Other shoe, baby."

"Stop calling me that," Minho said, kicking off his other shoe.

"Why? Does it bother you?"

"No."

"Then why do you look bothered?"

"I don't."

"You kind of do," Changbin offered helpfully.

Minho shot him a glare. 

Third hand.

Minho's cards were shit—nothing, not even a pair. He exchanged four cards, kept the ace. Got nothing useful back.

Jisung looked at his hand, and something flickered in his expression—satisfaction, maybe. He exchanged one card.

Minho bit his tongue.

They revealed. Jisung had a straight.

The crowd lost their minds.

"Socks," Jisung said, and there was something almost predatory in the way he was looking at Minho now. "Your choice, which one first."

Minho peeled off one sock, then the other, taking his time with it. His feet were bare against the hardwood floor now. Three items down.

He still had plenty left. This was fine.

"You're really bad at this," Jisung observed.

"Fuck off."

"I'm just saying. Maybe you should've learned how to play before challenging someone."

"Maybe you should learn when to shut up."

"Where's the fun in that?"

Fourth hand.

Minho got a pair of aces. Finally, something decent. He kept them, exchanged three cards. Got another ace. Three of a kind.

He allowed himself a small smile.

Jisung exchanged two cards, his expression still maddeningly neutral.

They revealed.

Jisung had a full house—three kings and two fours.

"You're fucking kidding me," Minho said.

"I'm not." Jisung's smile was sharp. "Jacket."

Minho stood up and shrugged off Chan's borrowed jacket. He shrugged it off slowly, very aware of every eye on him, and tossed it onto the growing pile of his clothes.

He sat back down in just the borrowed t-shirt and jeans.

"Getting nervous yet?" Jisung asked.

"Not even close."

"Liar."

"You wish."

The crowd was eating this up. Minho could hear commentary from every direction:

"Oh my god, he's actually going to lose…"

"Jisung's too good at this…"

"How is he not losing anything…"

"This is insane…"

"I can't believe this is happening…"

Fifth hand.

Minho's cards were mediocre. A pair of sixes. He exchanged three cards, hoping for a miracle.

He got another six. Three of a kind again.

Across from him, Jisung looked at his cards, and his lips curved into a smile. Not a smirk this time—a real smile, genuine and delighted.

Oh no.

Jisung exchanged one card.

They revealed.

Four of a kind. Jacks.

"Shirt," Jisung said, and his voice had gone lower, rougher.

The room was dead silent now, everyone watching.

Minho grabbed the hem of Chan's t-shirt and pulled it over his head. The air was cool against his skin. He was wearing a thin silver chain around his neck, but that was it. Just him, bare-chested, sitting across from someone who was still fully clothed.

He could feel his face heating up, but he kept his expression neutral. Bored, even.

"Nice arms," someone called out.

"Shut up," Minho said without looking away from Jisung.

Jisung's eyes had darkened, his gaze trailing over Minho's exposed skin in a way that made something hot coil in Minho's stomach. Then he blinked, and that infuriating smirk was back.

"Should we keep going?" Jisung asked. "Or do you want to call it?"

"Deal the cards," Minho said through gritted teeth.

Sixth hand.

Pair of twos. Minho exchanged three cards. Got nothing.

Jisung kept three cards, exchanged two.

They revealed.

Three of a kind for Jisung. Nines.

"Belt," Jisung said, and there was something almost hungry in the way he said it.

Minho stood up and unbuckled his belt, sliding it free from the loops. He dropped it on the pile and sat back down.

He was running out of items. Jeans and underwear left. That was it.

"You could still give up," Jisung offered. "No shame in it."

"There's absolutely shame in it," Minho corrected. "Deal."

Seventh hand.

This time, Minho got lucky—a straight right off the deal. Seven through jack. He kept all five cards, trying not to let his relief show.

Jisung exchanged three cards.

They revealed.

Minho's straight.

Jisung's flush.

"No," Minho said. "No fucking way."

"Yes fucking way." Jisung was fully grinning now. "Pants, baby."

Minho stood up slowly. His hands went to the button of his jeans. He could back out now—he could call it, walk away, claim it was all a joke.

But that would mean Jisung won.

And Minho didn't lose.

He unbuttoned his jeans. Unzipped them. Slid them down his legs, standing there in just his black boxer briefs and that thin silver chain. His skin felt hot, hyperaware of every eye on him, but especially aware of Jisung's gaze burning into him.

He kicked the jeans aside and sat back down.

The table was between them, hiding most of him, but still. He was basically naked in a room full of strangers, and Jisung was sitting there fully clothed, looking like he was enjoying every second of this.

"One more hand," Jisung said, and his voice was rough. "You sure you want to keep going?"

Minho met his eyes. "Deal the fucking cards."

Chan dealt with shaking hands. The crowd was losing their minds, phones out, definitely recording this. Minho's social life was probably over after tonight, but he was too far gone to care.

He picked up his cards.

A pair of fours.

That was it. Just a pair of fours.

He looked up at Jisung, whose expression had gone carefully blank again. He was looking at his cards with that same unreadable intensity.

Minho exchanged three cards.

Jisung kept four, exchanged one.

This was it. 

The room was so quiet that Minho could hear his own heartbeat.

They reached for their cards at the same time, ready to reveal.

Minho had gotten another four in the exchange. Three of a kind.

Not great, but maybe enough.

He looked at Jisung, who was looking at his own cards with an expression that Minho couldn't quite read. 

"Well?" Changbin prompted. "What've you got?"

Jisung looked up at Minho. Their eyes locked, and for a long second, neither of them moved.

Then Jisung set his cards down face down on the table.

"I fold," he said clearly.

Minho stared at him in disbelief. "What?"

"I fold." Jisung stood up, pushing his chair back. "I'm bored. Game over."

"You can't just-" Minho started, but Jisung was already walking away, pushing through the crowd toward the back door.

Minho sat there, half-naked and confused, and suddenly, overwhelmingly furious.

"What the fuck?" He said to no one in particular.

"Did he just..." Felix started.

"Fold a winning hand?" Hyunjin finished. "Yeah. I think he did."

"But why would he…?" Changbin was staring after Jisung in confusion.

Minho didn't wait to hear the rest. He grabbed Chan's t-shirt and yanked it back on, not bothering with the rest of his clothes. His feet were still bare as he shoved through the crowd, ignoring everyone calling his name, and headed for the back door.

He found Jisung outside, leaning against a car covered in band stickers. He was scrolling through his phone like nothing had happened, cigarette dangling from his lips.

"What the fuck was that?" Minho demanded.

Jisung looked up, unsurprised. He took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke to the side. "What was what?"

"You folded."

"I did."

"Why?"

Jisung shrugged. "I got bored."

"Bullshit." Minho walked closer, bare feet cold against the concrete. "You were winning. You were about to-" He couldn't even finish the sentence.

"About to what?" Jisung's eyes were dark, unreadable in the dim light from the house. "Humiliate you completely? Strip you naked in front of everyone?"

"Yeah!"

"And you think I wanted to do that?" Jisung took another drag. "Jesus, you really do think I'm an asshole."

"You are an asshole! You spent the entire game being smug and condescending and-"

"And you think that means I want to actually humiliate you?" Jisung interrupted. He pushed off from the car, moving closer. "It was a game, baby. I made my point."

"What point?"

"That you're impulsive and competitive and way too proud for your own good." Jisung was right in front of him now, close enough that Minho could smell the cigarette smoke and that woody cologne. "You challenged me to strip poker at a party full of strangers because I spilled a drink on you. That's insane."

"You were being a dick."

"So were you."

They stared at each other, breathing hard. The music from inside was muffled out here, just a bass line thumping through the walls. Minho was suddenly very aware that he was standing outside in bare feet, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boxer briefs, arguing with someone he'd met two hours ago.

"You think you're so much better than me," Minho said, voice low and sharp.

"No," Jisung said. "I just don't need to strip you naked to prove a point."

"Then why did you-" Minho gestured helplessly. "Why would you do all that just to fold?"

"Because." Jisung dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his foot. "Maybe I just wanted to-" He stopped himself.

"What?"

Jisung looked at him. "Forget it."

"No. Say it."

"Why do you care?"

"Because you just-" Minho could feel frustration building in his chest, hot and overwhelming. "You can't just do that! You can't just play the whole game, win, and then walk away like none of it mattered!"

"It was strip poker, not a fucking marriage proposal."

"That's not-" Minho made a frustrated noise. "You're the most infuriating person I've ever met."

"Yeah?" Jisung stepped closer. "Well, you're the most uptight, bratty, self-centered person I've ever met, so I guess we're even."

"Fuck you."

"You'd probably like that, wouldn't you?"

Minho scoffed.

"Come on." Jisung's voice had gone lower, rougher. "You think I didn't notice? The way you were looking at me the entire game?"

"I was not-"

"You were. And you know what? I was looking back." Jisung's eyes were dark, intense. "The whole time you were sitting there, losing piece by piece, getting more pissed off and more desperate, I was thinking…"

He didn't finish the sentence.

Minho's heart was pounding. "About what?"

Jisung laughed, sharp and humorless. "About how much I wanted to kiss you just to make you shut up."

Everything stopped.

Minho stared at him, words dying in his throat.

"So yeah," Jisung continued, his voice rough. "I folded. Because if I'd kept going, if you'd actually…" He ran a hand through his dark blue hair. "I don't know what I would've done, but it wouldn't have been nothing."

"You're insane," Minho said finally.

"Yeah, well. You challenged me to strip poker. So."

"You spilled a drink on me."

"You were standing in a stupid place."

"You're the one who-"

Minho didn't finish the sentence because Jisung kissed him.

Or maybe Minho kissed Jisung. He wasn't able to say who moved first. 

All he knew was that suddenly there was no space between them, Jisung's hands were gripping his hips, and Minho's fingers were tangled in dark blue hair, and they were kissing like they were trying to win an argument through sheer force of will.

It was messy and desperate and kind of angry, teeth clashing, Jisung's lip ring cold against Minho's mouth. Jisung backed him up against the car, and Minho went willingly, pulling him closer by his hoodie.

"Fuck," Jisung breathed against his mouth.

"Shut up," Minho said, and kissed him again.

Jisung made a noise low in his throat and kissed back harder, one hand sliding up under the borrowed t-shirt to touch bare skin. 

His hands were warm, rough with calluses from guitar strings, and Minho shivered at the contact.

They broke apart for air, both breathing hard. The music from inside was still thumping, muffled and distant. Out here, it was just them, the cool night air, the sound of their breathing.

"This is stupid," Minho said.

"Yeah," Jisung agreed, but he was already kissing Minho's jaw, his neck, sucking on sensitive spots that made Minho's breath catch.

"You're still an asshole."

"Mm." Jisung's mouth was hot against his throat. "You're still uptight."

"I'm not-" Minho's words cut off when Jisung bit down gently on his pulse point. "Fuck."

"That's better." Jisung pulled back just enough to look at him, pupils blown wide. "Less talking." 

Jisung kissed him again, slower this time, deeper. His hands mapped the skin under Minho's shirt, thumbs brushing over his ribs, his chest.

Minho arched into the touch, his own hands finding their way under Jisung's shirt. He could feel lean muscle, the heat of his skin, the way Jisung's breath hitched when Minho's fingers trailed lower.

They were fully making out against the car now, bodies pressed together, and Minho could feel… well…

He could feel exactly how into this Jisung was.

"Jesus," Minho breathed.

"Problem?" Jisung's voice was rough, wrecked.

"No. Just-" Minho rolled his hips, and Jisung groaned. "Didn't think you'd be this affected."

"Didn't think you'd be so hot half-naked," His hands slid down to grip Minho's ass, pulling him closer.

Minho made a noise he'd be embarrassed about later and kissed him again, messy and desperate. 

They were grinding against each other, all pretense of control gone. It was frantic and heated and probably visible to anyone who happened to walk outside.

Minho didn't care.

Jisung's mouth moved to his neck again, sucking marks into the sensitive skin there, his teeth scraping just enough to make Minho whine. His hands were everywhere—Minho's hips, his thighs, sliding up under the borrowed t-shirt to touch his skin.

"Jisung," Minho said, and it came out way more desperate than he intended.

"Yeah?" Jisung pulled back just enough to look at him. His lips were swollen, his blue hair a mess from Minho's hands, his eyes dark and hungry.

"I-" Minho didn't know how to finish that sentence.

Jisung seemed to understand anyway. He reached behind Minho and opened the car door. "Get in."

"What?"

"The back. Get in."

Minho's brain was too scrambled to argue. He climbed into the backseat, and Jisung followed, pulling the door shut behind them. The space was cramped, guitars and equipment shoved into the front seat. It smelled like cigarettes and cologne and something uniquely Jisung.

Their lips crashed together again immediately, Jisung pulling Minho into his lap. 

The new angle was better—or worse, depending on perspective. Minho could feel everything now, the hard line of Jisung's cock against him, the way Jisung's hands gripped his hips, guiding him into a rhythm.

"Fuck," Minho gasped against Jisung's mouth.

Jisung's hands slid up under his shirt, pushing it up. "Can I-"

"Yes," Minho said before Jisung could finish asking.

Jisung pulled the t-shirt up and over Minho's head, leaving him bare-chested in the dim light. For a second, Jisung just looked at him, eyes tracing over exposed skin, the silver chain around Minho's neck, the marks he'd already left on Minho's throat.

"You're really fucking pretty," Jisung said, voice rough and almost awed.

Minho felt his face heat. "Shut up."

"No, like-" Jisung's hands traced up Minho's sides, his ribs, his chest. "It's actually annoying how hot you are."

"You're one to talk." Minho pulled at Jisung's hoodie. "Take this off."

Jisung complied, pulling his hoodie and shirt over his head and tossing it into the front seat. He was lean and toned, a few tattoos visible on his ribs, his collarbones. Minho traced them with his fingers, then his mouth, kissing down Jisung's neck, his chest.

Jisung's breath hitched. His hands tangled in Minho's hair.

They continued grinding against each other, the friction almost too much through the layers still between them. Minho was making noises he couldn't control, and Jisung wasn't much better, breathing hard against Minho's shoulder.

"Wait," Jisung said suddenly. "Wait, I-"

Minho pulled back, trying to catch his breath. "What?"

Jisung's eyes were dark, intense. "Can I-" He slid his hands down Minho's sides to the waistband of his boxer briefs. "Can I taste you?"

Minho's brain short-circuited. "What?"

"I want-" Jisung bit his lip, and for the first time all night, he looked almost uncertain. "I want to suck you off. If you're okay with that."

Oh.

Oh fuck.

"Yeah," Minho said, voice cracking slightly. "Yeah, that's—yes."

Jisung's smile was sharp and pleased. He maneuvered them in the cramped space until Minho was leaning back against the door, legs spread, and Jisung was settling between them.

His hands traced up Minho's thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin there. "You good?"

"I'm about to be, I think," Minho said, and Jisung laughed.

"Still a brat."

"Are you complaining?"

"No." Jisung hooked his fingers in the waistband of Minho's boxers. "Definitely not complaining."

Minho was completely naked in the back of Jisung's car, and Jisung was looking at him like he wanted to devour him. 

"So petty," Jisung breathed. His hand wrapped around Minho's cock, warm and slightly rough, stroking slowly. 

Minho gasped, head falling back against the window.

"Fuck, look at you," Jisung murmured, voice wrecked. "All confident and mean until someone actually touches you."

"I can still be mean," Minho managed.

"Yeah?" Jisung's thumb traced along sensitive skin, and Minho bit back a moan. "Doesn't sound mean."

Before Minho could respond, Jisung leaned in, wrapping his pretty lips around him.

"Oh fuck," Minho gasped, hands immediately flying to Jisung's hair.

Jisung hummed around him, which made everything worse—or better. His hands gripped Minho's thighs, placing them over his shoulders. 

He was good at this, infuriatingly good, using his tongue and his lips and that fucking lip ring in ways that made Minho see stars.

Minho couldn't form words. His hips jerked up into the touch, chasing more friction.

"Needy," Jisung observed, separating from his cock for a second. Then he leaned down and licked a stripe up the underside.

Minho's entire body jolted. "Shit-"

Jisung did it again, swirling his tongue around the tip before taking him into his mouth. The heat and wetness was almost too much. Minho's hand flew to Jisung's hair again, fingers tangling in the blue strands.

Jisung pulled off for a second, lips swollen and wet. "You can pull," he said, voice rough. "I like it."

Then he went back to it, taking Minho deeper and deeper, and Minho did pull, unable to stop himself. 

Jisung hollowed his cheeks and sucked, taking him deeper, and Minho had to bite his lip to keep from making embarrassing noises. He tried to stay quiet, aware that they were in a car in someone's driveway, but it was impossible.

Jisung pulled off with an obscene pop.

"Don't hold back," he said, voice rough. "I want to hear you."

Then he dove back down, taking Minho even deeper this time, and Minho couldn't have stayed quiet even if he tried. A moan tore from his throat, his hips bucking up involuntarily.

Gasps and moans kept escaping, his fingers tightening in Jisung's hair. Jisung moaned, the vibration making Minho's hips jerk.

"You can fuck my throat, baby, I don't mind."

Minho moaned, moving his hips upwards, feeling the warmth wrap around him completely. He couldn't think straight. All he could focus on was the wet heat of Jisung's mouth, the obscene sounds he was making, the way he looked with his lips stretched around Minho's cock.

Jisung pulled back, catching his breath. His lips were swollen and slick, and the sight alone almost made Minho come. "You taste good," he said, then went back down.

Minho was close, embarrassingly close. The coil of heat in his lower belly was tightening, his thighs starting to shake.

"Jisung," Minho gasped. "I'm—fuck, I'm gonna-"

Jisung just hummed again and doubled down. His hand joined his mouth, stroking what he couldn't fit, and that was it. Minho came with a moan, thighs shaking, Jisung's name falling from his lips.

Jisung worked him through it until Minho was oversensitive and squirming, then finally pulled off. He looked obscenely pleased with himself, wiping the dripping white liquid from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Holy shit," Minho breathed, boneless against the car door.

"Good?" Jisung asked, voice rough.

"You know it was."

Jisung smiled, sharp and satisfied. He started to move back to his side of the car, but Minho caught his arm.

"Wait. What about you?"

"I'm good."

"You're-" Minho looked down pointedly. Jisung was very obviously still hard. "That's not good."

"I'll survive." But Jisung's voice was strained.

Minho pulled him closer by his belt. "Let me-"

"You don't have to," Jisung said quickly. "Like, I didn't do that expecting-"

"I know." Minho's hands went to Jisung's belt buckle. "But I want to. Unless you don't want me to?"

Jisung stared at him for a second. "Fuck. Yeah. Yes. Please."

Minho smirked and got to work on the belt. "That's better."

They shifted positions again in the cramped space, but before Minho could do much more than get Jisung's jeans open, Jisung stopped him.

"Wait. Just-" Jisung's hand covered Minho's. "Can you just—your hand is fine. I'm already close."

"Yeah?"

"You naked in my car making those noises?" Jisung laughed roughly. "Yeah, I'm not gonna last long."

Minho felt something warm bloom in his chest at that—something he absolutely was not going to examine right now. He spit in his hand and wrapped it around Jisung's length, and Jisung's head fell back against the seat, a moan escaping his lips.

It didn't take long at all. Minho worked him with steady strokes, watching the way Jisung fell apart—his breath coming in gasps, his hands clutching at the seat, his hips jerking up into Minho's touch.

"Fuck, Min—hyung, hyung," Jisung gasped, and then he was coming, spilling over Minho's hand with a whine.

They stayed like that for a minute, both breathing hard, the windows completely fogged up.

"Well," Minho said finally. 

Jisung laughed, breathless. "Yeah."

He found some napkins in the console—thank god—and they cleaned up as best they could in the cramped space. Minho found his boxer briefs and pulled them back on, then the t-shirt. Jisung handed him his hoodie.

"Keep it," Jisung said when Minho tried to give it back. "You need something to wear back inside."

"Right. Inside." Minho had kind of forgotten about the party still happening. "Fuck."

"We could just... stay here," Jisung suggested. "For a bit."

They climbed back into the front seats, giving themselves more room. Minho pulled the hoodie on, drowning in the oversized fabric. It still smelled like Jisung.

They sat in silence for a moment. The music from the party was still audible, muffled through the car windows.

"So," Jisung said finally.

"So," Minho echoed.

"That was..."

"Insane?"

"I was going to say hot, but sure, insane works too."

Minho laughed despite himself. "We just hooked up in your car."

"Not really but kind of, a little? We had a sexual encounter in my car."

"What is wrong with you?"

"Um, we…got each other off in my car?" He tried again.

"Exactly… After you folded a winning hand at strip poker."

"I did."

"Why did you do that?" Minho asked, turning to look at him. "Really."

Jisung was quiet for a second. "Because humiliating you in front of all those people felt wrong. Like, yeah, we were giving each other shit, but I didn't actually want to make you feel bad. I just wanted-" He paused. "I don't know what I wanted."

"To piss me off?"

"Maybe." Jisung's lips curved. "You're hot when you're pissed off."

"You're annoying."

"You keep saying that, but you just let me go down on you, so."

Minho felt his face heat. "Shut up."

They sat there for another minute, and Minho realized he should probably go back inside. Face his friends. Deal with the aftermath of whatever the fuck just happened.

But he didn't move.

"I should get my clothes," he said eventually.

"Probably."

"And go home."

"Makes sense."

Neither of them moved.

"This was just..." Minho started.

"A one-time thing?" Jisung finished. "Yeah. Obviously."

"Right. Obviously."

"Because I still think you're uptight."

"And I still think you're an obnoxious asshole and a weirdo emo freak."

"What the hell? I didn't go that far."

Minho gave a small smile and they just looked at each other.

"I should go," Minho said again.

"Yeah."

Minho opened the car door, then paused. "This was…"

"I know," Jisung said quietly.

Minho nodded and got out. The cold air hit him immediately, making him grateful for the hoodie. He could still feel Jisung's hands on him, his mouth, the weight of him.

He walked back toward the house, very aware of Jisung watching him go.

This was fine. This was just a stupid thing at a party. It didn't mean anything.

Minho told himself that all the way inside.

He told himself that while he collected his scattered clothes from the dining room, ignoring the looks and whispered comments from people who'd witnessed the game.

He told himself that while Felix cornered him near the stairs, eyes wide and concerned.

"Are you okay?" Felix asked. "What happened with-"

"I'm fine," Minho interrupted. "Can we just go?"

Felix studied his face for a long moment. "Yeah. Yeah, let me find Hyunjin."

They left ten minutes later, Seungmin driving because he was the only one who hadn't been drinking. Minho sat in the back, staring out the window, Jisung's hoodie still wrapped around him.

Unknown number 

you forgot your belt

Minho stared at the message.

Minho 

how did you get my number

Unknown number

chan gave it to me. i can drop it off sometime

Minho 

keep it. i have others

Unknown number

sure you don't want it back? it's designer

Minho 

are you trying to have an excuse to see me again

Unknown number

no

Minho saved the number and put his phone away.

This was fine. This didn't mean anything.

He was absolutely not thinking about the way Jisung had looked at him, or the way his hands had felt, or the way he'd smiled after.

Not at all.

That he was good with his mouth didn't mean he wasn't an asshole and a loser.

.⋆♱

Minho woke up to his phone buzzing incessantly. And immediate, crushing regret.

Not regret about what happened—okay, maybe a little regret about what happened—but mostly regret about the tequila shots Hyunjin had convinced him to take after they'd gotten back to his apartment. 

His head was pounding, his mouth tasted like something had died in it, and he was wearing a black hoodie that definitely wasn't his.

Right

What the fuck.

It all came flooding back. The party. Jisung's car. Jisung's mouth. 

His phone buzzed again. He grabbed it, squinting at the screen.

Felix 

BEEDO BEEDO
EMERGENCY
LEE MINHO
you haven't explained urself
we let it go last night but we still need something 

Hyunjin 

I have so many questions

Seungmin 

I have one question
what the fuck

Minho groaned and opened the group chat properly.

Felix

SO
you disappear with the hot emo guitarist
come back wearing HIS HOODIE
with hickeys all over your neck
and you thought we WOULDN'T have questions???

Hyunjin 

the hickeys are really obvious btw

like REALLY obvious

Seungmin

I took a picture for evidence
[image attached]

Minho opened the image and immediately wanted to die. His neck looked like he'd been attacked by a vampire. Multiple dark marks littered his throat, his collarbone, disappearing under the collar of the borrowed hoodie.

Jesus Christ, Jisung.

Minho 

can we not do this right now
im sick and dying

Felix 

ABSOLUTELY NOT
we're coming over

Minho 

please dont

Felix

too late hyunjin's already getting dressed

Hyunjin

i'm bringing coffee

Seungmin

I have to see ur face while u explain lwk

Minho

i hate all of you

Minho dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom. His reflection was even worse than he'd imagined. His blond hair was sticking up in every direction, his eyes were bloodshot, and the hickeys were somehow even more visible in the harsh bathroom lighting.

He looked like he'd been thoroughly wrecked.

Which, to be fair, he had been a little.

By an emo loser with blue hair and an attitude problem, no less.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

He splashed cold water on his face, brushed his teeth twice, and tried to make himself look like a functioning human being. It was a losing battle. He gave up and went to make coffee, because if he had to deal with his friends' interrogation, he at least needed caffeine.

He was on his second cup when the doorbell rang.

Felix burst in first, still in pajamas with a coat thrown over them, looking like he'd run the whole way. Hyunjin followed with coffee and what looked like breakfast sandwiches. Seungmin walked in with his puppy slippers.

"Sit," Felix commanded, pointing at the couch. "Talk. Now."

"Good morning to you too," Minho muttered, but he sat.

His friends arranged themselves around him—Felix perched on the coffee table, Hyunjin in the chair, Seungmin leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Start from the beginning," Felix said. "What happened after you left the poker game?"

Minho took a long sip of coffee. "Do I have to?"

"Yes," all three of them said in unison.

"Fine. Oh my god." Minho pulled the hoodie sleeves over his hands. "I followed him outside. We argued. And then we... didn't argue."

"Didn't argue," Hyunjin repeated. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"We made out against his car. Then we made out in his car. Then-" Minho paused. "Other stuff happened in his car."

"Other stuff," Seungmin said flatly. "Be specific."

"Do I really need to-"

"Yes."

Minho's face heated. "He went down on me. Then I got him off. Then I came back inside and we left. That's it. End of story."

Felix screamed.

"What the fuck!"

"What?"

"You hooked up with him in his car?!"

"You were there for the strip poker," Minho said defensively. "How is this more surprising than that?"

"Because the strip poker was public humiliation as foreplay!" Felix waved his hands around frantically. "The car thing is—that's actual—you guys actually-"

"Had sex," Hyunjin finished. "Well. Sexual activity."

"We did not have sex," Minho corrected. "It was just-"

"Just what?" Seungmin asked. "A casual hookup with someone you claimed to hate two hours earlier?"

"You said he was a loser and an obnoxious asshole."

"He is a loser and an obnoxious asshole."

"So why did you-"

"Because I was drunk and he was there and he's hot, okay?" Minho snapped. "It doesn't mean anything. It was just a stupid hookup."

"A stupid hookup with someone you can't stand," Seungmin pointed out.

"Exactly. Which is why it's not happening again." Minho said it firmly, like saying it out loud would make it true. "It was a mistake."

"Did it feel like a mistake?" Hyunjin asked carefully.

"No, but-" Minho stopped himself. "That's not the point. The point is that he's not my type. At all. He's some emo guitarist who thinks wearing band t-shirts and having blue hair is cool. He's rude and condescending and acts like he's too cool for everything."

"But you hooked up with him," Felix said.

"Because I wasn't thinking clearly! I was pissed off and competitive and he was-" Minho made a frustrated noise. "It doesn't matter. It was just physical. Heat of the moment. That's it."

"You're still wearing his hoodie," Hyunjin observed.

Minho looked down at the black fabric. "Because I haven't had time to change yet."

"Right," Felix said, clearly not believing him. "Minho," he said gently. "You have like fifty hoodies. You don't need to wear his."

"I know that."

"So why are you?"

"I'm serious," Minho insisted. "There is no universe where I would actually be into someone like him. He's the complete opposite of everything I'd want in a person. He's a loser."

"A hot loser who made you come so hard you couldn't walk straight," Seungmin said dryly.

"Shut the fuck up." Minho's face burned.

"I need details," Hyunjin said, leaning forward. "Was it good? It looked good. The hickeys suggest it was good."

"I'm not giving you details."

"You absolutely are. That's the price of us bringing you coffee and food."

Minho grabbed one of the breakfast sandwiches and took a bite, buying himself time. His friends watched him with varying expressions of anticipation and judgment.

"Fine," he said finally. "It was good. He was-" Minho paused, trying to find words that wouldn't make him sound completely stupid. "He was into it. Like, really into it. And he wasn't an asshole during, which was surprising. He was actually kind of…"

"Kind of what?" Felix prompted.

"Sweet?" Minho said, and immediately regretted it when all three of his friends' eyes widened. "No, not sweet. That's the wrong word. He was just—I don't know, attentive? He asked if things were okay and he seemed like he actually cared about-"

"About you having a good time," Hyunjin finished, smiling.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like this means something. It doesn't. It was just fooling around."

His phone buzzed.

emo freak 

how's your morning

Minho stared at the message. 

"Who is it?" Felix asked.

"No one," Minho said automatically, but Felix was already leaning over to look.

"Oh my god, is that him?!"

"Maybe."

"What did he say?"

Minho showed them the message. 

"He's texting you," Hyunjin said. "The morning after."

"So?"

"So he's interested," Felix said.

"Or he's just being annoying," Minho countered. "That's kind of his thing."

He stared at the message for a long time. He should ignore it. He should delete the number and pretend last night never happened.

But his fingers were already typing.

Minho

terrible. hungover

emo freak 

same
worth it tho

Minho felt something hot flash through him. Annoyance. Definitely annoyance.

Minho

was it

emo freak 

yeah. you're a good kisser
among other things

"He's flirting with you," Felix said, reading over his shoulder.

"He's being obnoxious," Minho corrected. "There's a difference."

Minho

youre kinda not bad 

emo freak 

not bad? im hurt
i was at least pretty good

Minho

dont fish for compliments

emo freak

im not fishing
im stating facts
i made you come so hard you couldn't speak

Minho almost threw his phone across the room.

​​"Oh my," Felix said, eyes wide. 

"He's an asshole," Minho said through gritted teeth.

But his face was hot and his heart was racing and he hated that Jisung was right.

Minho

whats your problem
you are so fucking annoying

emo freak 

what? its true
and you like it​​

Minho

i really dont

emo freak 

sure baby
thats why you were moaning my name last night

Minho

fuck off

emo freak

you already did

"Why are you still arguing?" Hyunjin asked.

"Because he's infuriating!" Minho snapped. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. He's cocky and annoying and thinks he's so much better than everyone."

"So why are you still texting him?" Seungmin asked.

"Because-" Minho faltered. "Because I'm telling him to fuck off."

"By engaging in banter with him?"

"It's not banter, it's me being polite by responding to his messages instead of blocking him immediately."

emo freak 

you still have my hoodie right

Minho 

do you want it back

emo freak

no
looks better on you anyway
you should wear it next time when i fuck you

His phone slipped from his fingers.

"Okay, what the freak," Felix shrieked.

"There's not going to be a next time," Minho said, picking his phone up and typing furiously.

Minho

???
there is no next time
last night was a one time thing

emo freak 

thats what they all say

Minho

im serious

emo freak

so am i
we both know youre thinking about it

Minho 

thinking about what an insufferable asshole you are?
yeah definitely

emo freak

thinking about my mouth on you 
thinking about how good it felt 
thinking about doing it again
i bet i could make you touch yourself merely at the thought

Minho

you have an ego problem

emo freak

and you have a bratty attitude problem
but i didnt complain last night

Minho

because you were too busy being annoying

emo freak

weird way to say you liked it but okay

"Minho," Felix said gently. "Are you sure you don't like him?"

"Obviously," Minho said immediately. "I can't stand him. This is exactly what I'm talking about—look at these messages! He's horrible!"

"You're also still texting him," Hyunjin pointed out.

"Because he won't leave me alone!"

emo freak

so when are you gonna stop pretending you dont want to see me again

Minho

never because i dont

emo freak 

liar

Minho

you are genuinely the most
annoying person ive ever met

emo freak

and yet you let me go down on you
funny how that works

Minho

i was drunk

emo freak

you had like three drinks
you were sober enough to know exactly what you were doing

Minho 

it was a mistake

emo freak

didnt seem like a mistake when you were pulling my hair

Minho

wtf

emo freak

or when you were begging me not to stop

Minho 

i hate you

emo freak

no you dont
but keep telling yourself that

Minho put his phone down and looked at his friends. "See? He's impossible."

"He's definitely something," Felix agreed.

"He's a cocky loser who thinks he's hot shit because he can play guitar and give decent head," Minho said. "I wouldn't touch him again with a ten-foot pole."

"But you did touch him," Seungmin said. "Last night. Extensively."

"That was a lapse in judgment."

"A lapse in judgment that gave you hickeys all over your neck."

"I was caught up in the moment!" Minho insisted. "It doesn't mean anything. I don't like him. I don't even respect him. He's everything I usually avoid—pretentious, cocky, acts like he's too cool to care about anything. I would never seriously be interested in someone like that."

"Okay," Felix said, but he sounded doubtful.

"I'm serious," Minho said. "This whole thing was a stupid mistake and I'm not making it again. He can text me all he wants, but I'm done."

emo freak

youre thinking about it right now arent you
thinking about last night
bet youre getting hard just reading these messages

Minho was absolutely not getting hard.

Okay, maybe a little.

Jisung didn't need to know that.

Minho

you wish

emo freak

i dont have to wish
i know
see you around baby

And then nothing. Radio silence.

Minho stared at his phone, waiting for another message. Nothing came.

"What happened?" Felix asked.

"He just... stopped texting."

"That's good?" Hyunjin suggested. "If you don't want to talk to him anyway."

"I don't," Minho said quickly. "I don't care that he stopped."

"You're staring at your phone."

"I'm not." Minho put his phone face-down on the table. "I'm just making sure he's actually done being annoying."

His friends exchanged looks.

"What?" Minho demanded.

"Nothing," Felix said innocently. "Just that for someone who hates him, you seem pretty invested in his messages."

"I'm not invested. I'm just-" Minho stopped. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. I'm not seeing him again."

"What if you run into him?" Hyunjin asked. "Chan and Felix are definitely going to keep hanging out."

"Then I'll be civil. From a distance. While avoiding eye contact."

"That sounds healthy," Seungmin said dryly.

"I don't need it to be healthy, I need it to be effective," Minho shot back. "Look, last night was a momentary lapse in sanity. I let some asshole with blue hair and an ego problem get in my head because I was competitive and pissed off. That's it. It's not happening again."

"Even if he wants it to?" Felix asked.

"I don't care what he wants. I know what I want, and it's not some loser guitarist who thinks wearing black and being rude is attractive."

"But it was attractive," Hyunjin said. "Last night."

"Last night I had questionable judgment," Minho insisted. "Today, in the cold light of day, I can see clearly that he's completely wrong for me in every possible way."

His friends didn't argue, but Minho could see the skepticism on their faces.

They spent the rest of the morning talking about the party, but Minho kept insisting it meant nothing. Just a stupid moment of weakness. Just physical. Nothing more.

He almost believed it.

Meanwhile, across campus, Jisung was having a similar conversation.

"So you're really not going to see him again?" Chan asked.

"Why would I?" Jisung was sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone. "He made it pretty clear it was a one-time thing."

"Did he actually say that?" Changbin asked.

"Yeah, plus, I could tell." Jisung paused. "He's not my type anyway."

"Not your type?" Jeongin laughed. "Hyung, you couldn't take your eyes off him last night."

"Because he was practically naked in front of me. That doesn't mean I like him as a person."

"But you hooked up with him."

"Because he's hot. Doesn't change the fact that he's a spoiled brat who probably thinks he's better than everyone."

"You don't know that," Chan said.

"I know enough," Jisung countered. "He showed up to the party looking like he was doing everyone a favor by being there. He's one of those people who cares way too much about appearances and brand names and all that superficial shit."

"And yet you went down on him in your car," Changbin pointed out.

"That was just-" Jisung stopped. "Look, he pissed me off and then the tension was there and we acted on it. That's all."

"So you don't want to see him again?" Chan pressed.

"What would be the point? We have nothing in common. He's probably already back to judging people like me from his high horse."

His phone buzzed. Jisung looked at it, then put it away quickly.

"Was that him?" Chan asked.

"No."

"You're lying."

Jisung sighed. "He texted back."

"What did he say?"

Jisung showed them his phone.

Minho

you wish

"That's it?" Changbin asked. "You had this whole sexual conversation and that's all he said?"

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know, more? He's clearly still thinking about it."

"Or he's just responding to be polite," Jisung said. "Either way, I'm done. I said my piece."

"Are you though?" Chan asked. "Done?"

Jisung was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. I am. He's not…" He paused. "He's not someone I'd actually want to date or whatever. He's hot but that's about it. And I'm not interested in just hooking up with someone who probably thinks I'm beneath him."

"You don't know that he thinks that."

"Come on," Jisung said. "You saw how he looked at me at the party. Before everything went down. He couldn't stand me."

"But then he hooked up with you."

"Because I was there and it was convenient. That doesn't mean anything changed."

Chan and Changbin exchanged looks but didn't push further.

Jisung told himself he was fine with it. Told himself he didn't care if Minho thought he was just some loser.

He told himself a lot of things.

.⋆♱

Two weeks passed without Minho seeing Jisung once, Minho convinced himself he was grateful for it.

He threw himself into his regular routine—classes, dance practice, hanging out with his friends. Everything was normal. Everything was fine. He definitely wasn't thinking about dark blue hair tangled through his fingers or the feeling of someone's mouth on him.

However, the normalcy didn't last much.

"So Chan's having people over tonight," Felix said casually over lunch one Tuesday. They were at their usual spot in the dining hall, picking at mediocre pasta. "Just a small thing. Want to come?"

Minho looked up from his food. "Is he gonna be there?"

"Is who going to be there?"

"You know who."

Felix tried and failed to look innocent. "Jisung? I mean, maybe? He's one of Chan's best friends, so..."

"Then no."

"Minho-"

"I'm not interested in awkward run-ins," Minho said firmly. "That's a hard pass."

"It won't be awkward! It'll be casual. Just hanging out."

"With someone who's seen me naked."

"Ugh, so what?"

"Felix."

"Okay, okay." Felix held up his hands. "But you can't avoid him forever. Chan and I are... you know. We're kind of a thing now. Which means our friend groups are going to overlap."

Minho stabbed at his pasta. "You're really dating him?"

"Yeah." Felix's face went soft and stupid. "He's really sweet, hyung. Like, genuinely sweet. And he makes me laugh, and he's talented, and-"

"Okay, I get it, he's perfect," Minho interrupted. "I'm happy for you. Really. But that doesn't mean I need to socialize with his asshole friend."

"Jisung's not that bad."

"He's exactly that bad."

"You seemed to think differently when you were making out with him."

"I was temporarily insane. It's passed."

Felix sighed. "Fine. But you know this is going to keep happening, right? We're going to be at the same places. You can't avoid him forever."

"Watch me," Minho muttered.

He lasted three more days.

Friday afternoon, Minho was in the library working on an essay that was due Monday. He'd claimed his favorite spot—corner table on the third floor, away from most of the noise—and had his headphones in, completely focused on his laptop.

Which is why he didn't notice someone sitting down across from him until his phone buzzed with a text.

He looked up.

Jisung was sitting there, dark blue hair falling into his eyes, wearing a black band t-shirt and ripped jeans. He had his own laptop out and was typing something, apparently not even acknowledging Minho's presence.

Minho stared at him for a second, then looked back at his phone.

Felix 

did u know jisung was going to be at the library

Minho

no
did YOU know

Felix

...maybe
he mentioned he had a project to work on
i thought it would be good for you guys
to see each other in a neutral setting

Minho

why tf would you think that 
whats wrong w u

Felix

love u too

Minho put his phone down and tried to go back to his essay. He was fine. This was fine. They were in a public library. They didn't have to interact.

Five minutes passed in silence.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen.

It was starting to get unbearable. Minho could feel Jisung's presence across from him. He kept not-looking at him, hyper-aware of every small movement, every shift.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Are you seriously not going to say anything?" Minho asked, pulling out his headphones.

Jisung looked up, expression neutral. "You said you didn't want to see me again. I'm respecting that."

"By sitting at my table?"

"It's not your table. It's a public library." Jisung went back to his laptop. "But if you want me to move, just say so."

Minho opened his mouth, then closed it. Because asking Jisung to move would mean admitting that his presence was affecting him. Which it wasn't. Obviously.

"Whatever," Minho muttered. "Stay. I don't care."

"Cool."

They worked in silence for another twenty minutes. Minho tried to focus on his essay, he really did, but his eyes kept drifting up to Jisung. The way he chewed on his lip ring when he was concentrating. The way his fingers moved over his keyboard. The small furrow between his eyebrows when he was thinking.

Stop it, Minho told himself. Stop looking at him.

emo freak 

you keep staring at me

Minho's eyes snapped up. Jisung was looking at him now, a hint of a smirk on his face.

Minho

i am not staring

emo freak 

youve looked at me like 10 times in the past 5 minutes

Minho 

i was looking past you

emo freak 

sure baby

Minho

stop calling me that

emo freak

why?
you liked it well enough in my car

Minho felt his face flush. He looked around quickly to make sure no one was watching them.

Minho

we are in PUBLIC

emo freak

so?
not like anyones reading over your shoulder 
unless youre scared someone will find out you let the emo loser go down on you

Minho

youre insufferable

emo freak

and yet youre still here
couldve left the second you saw me
but you didnt

Minho

because i was here first

emo freak

keep telling yourself that

Minho put his phone down harder than necessary and went back to his essay. He managed to write maybe two sentences before his phone buzzed again.

emo freak

that hoodie ever get uncomfortable?

Minho

what

emo freak

my hoodie
the one you kept
does it ever get uncomfortable
knowing it smells like me

Minho's jaw clenched.

Minho

i washed it

emo freak

bet you didnt
bet you kept it exactly how it was

He had. 

Minho

you are so fucking full of yourself

emo freak

am i wrong though

When Minho didn't respond, Jisung's smirk widened.

emo freak

thats what i thought

Minho

i genuinely cannot stand you

emo freak

funny
your body seems to like me just fine
the problem in your pants says a lot

Minho stood up abruptly, shoving his laptop and papers into his bag. "I'm leaving."

"Running away?" Jisung asked out loud, his voice low and amused.

"No, I'm going somewhere where I don't have to deal with your obnoxious ass."

"Sure you are." Jisung leaned back in his chair, that infuriating smirk still on his face. "See you around, baby."

"Don't count on it," Minho snapped and walked away.

He could feel Jisung watching him the entire way to the stairs.

His heart was racing, his face was hot, his pants were tight and he hated—absolutely hated—that part of him had wanted to stay.

.⋆♱

The thing about having your best friend date someone was that you inevitably ended up in their orbit. And when that someone happened to be best friends with the person who'd gone down on you in a car, well. Life got a little complicated.

Minho discovered this exactly one week after the library incident.

"It's just dinner," Felix said over the phone, using that wheedling tone that meant he was about to ask for something Minho wouldn't like. "Chan's cooking. Very casual. Just us and a few people."

"Define 'a few people.'"

"Me, you, Hyunjin, Seungmin, Chan, Changbin, Jeongin..." Felix paused. "And maybe Jisung."

"Absolutely fucking not."

"Minho, come on. You can't avoid him forever."

"Watch me."

"Chan's making his special pasta. The one with the cream sauce you liked that time."

Minho wavered. That pasta had been really good.

"And I'll owe you," Felix continued. "Big time. I'll do whatever you want for a week. I'll even help you with that choreo you've been struggling with."

"You're a terrible person for using that against me."

"Is that a yes?"

Minho sighed. "Fine. But if he says anything, I'm leaving."

"Deal!"

Which is how Minho found himself standing outside Chan house Friday night, holding a bottle of wine he'd stress-bought at the corner store, seriously reconsidering all his life choices.

Hyunjin appeared beside him, looking put together in a cream sweater. "You look like you're about to face a firing squad."

"I feel like it."

"It's just dinner."

"With him."

"With Jisung, yes. Who you kissed once and have been actively avoiding like he has the plague." Hyunjin adjusted his hair. "Very mature, by the way."

"I don't want to hear it."

"You're going to have to talk to him eventually. Might as well get it over with."

Before Minho could respond, the door opened. Chan stood there, dimples and a bright smile, wearing an apron that said "Kiss the Cook."

"You made it!" He stepped aside to let them in. "Come in, come in. Dinner's almost ready."

The house looked different than it had during the party—cleaner, more organized, warm lighting making everything feel cozy. The music equipment was still in the corner of the living room, but now there were actual places to sit that weren't covered in people.

Felix was already there, perched on the kitchen counter talking to Chan while he cooked. Changbin was setting the table, and Jeongin was arranging drinks. And Jisung...

Jisung was leaning against the doorframe between the kitchen and dining room, blue hair messy as he scrolled through his phone. He looked up when they walked in, his gaze landing on Minho for a brief second before going back to his screen.

Whatever. 

"Wine!" Chan took the bottle from Minho. "You didn't have to bring anything, but thank you. Make yourself comfortable."

Minho ended up perched on the arm of the couch, as far from Jisung as possible while still being in the same room. Hyunjin settled next to him, scrolling through his phone.

Seungmin arrived a few minutes later, looking annoyed about something on his phone. "Traffic was shit," he announced, then noticed the spread. "This actually looks good though."

"Have some faith," Chan said. "I can cook, thank you very much."

"We'll be the judge of that."

Minho ended up hovering near the dining table, trying to figure out where to sit that would be farthest from Jisung. Hyunjin seemed to notice and deliberately took the seat that would've created maximum distance. Asshole.

"Minho, you can sit here," Felix said brightly, patting the chair next to him.

Which just happened to be directly across from where Jisung was standing.

"Or I could sit literally anywhere else."

"Don't be difficult. Come on."

Minho sat, carefully not looking at Jisung, who had finally put his phone away and was watching this entire exchange with what looked like amusement.

"Foods ready!" Chan announced. "Everyone grab a plate."

They served themselves family-style, passing around bowls of pasta, salad, garlic bread. It was actually really good—creamy and rich, perfectly seasoned.

Minho ended up between Felix and Seungmin, which was fine. Jisung was directly across from him between Chan and Changbin, which was less fine.

"So Seungmin," Chan said, "Felix mentioned you're a music major too?"

"Vocal performance," Seungmin confirmed. "Though I'm reconsidering daily."

"Aren't we all," Jisung muttered.

"What's making you reconsider?" Changbin asked.

"Just the usual existential dread about career prospects," Seungmin said dryly. "Plus my vocal professor is a nightmare."

"Professor Kim?" Jisung asked.

"The one and only."

"Fuck, I had her for theory. She's horrible."

"That's putting it mildly." Seungmin took a sip of wine. "But I'm stuck with her for another semester, so."

"If you ever need to talk about it, I'm available," Changbin said. "I had my share of nightmare professors last year."

Seungmin smiled a little. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. We could grab coffee sometime. Compare horror stories."

"Sure."

Huh. 

Interesting.

"So Jisung," Felix said, because apparently he couldn't help himself, "how's the EP coming?"

"Pretty good. We've got like five tracks done now. Should be finished by end of semester."

"That's amazing! What's the vibe?"

"Mix of stuff. Some rock, some hip-hop influence. Chan's been helping with production."

"It's been fun," Chan added. "Jisung's good at the creative stuff, I'm better at the technical side. Works out."

"Minho does music stuff too," Felix continued, and Minho was going to murder him. "Well, not produce exactly, but he DJs sometimes. Right, hyung?"

Every eye at the table turned to him.

Minho felt Jisung's gaze like needles pricking his skin.

"I've messed around with it," Minho said carefully, stabbing at his pasta. "Nothing serious."

"He's being modest," Hyunjin added. "He did that mix for the showcase last semester. It was really good."

"Oh yeah?" Jisung's voice was neutral, but when Minho glanced up, his eyes were sharp, intense. "What kind of stuff do you mix?"

"House, mostly. Some techno." Minho took a sip of wine. "Electronic dance music."

"I wouldn't have pegged you for EDM," Jisung said.

"Why not?"

"Just seems..." Jisung paused, his eyes trailing over Minho. "Unexpected."

The way he said it made Minho's skin feel hot. Like he wasn't talking about music at all.

"I'm full of surprises," Minho said flatly.

"I'm starting to realize that." Jisung's lips curved slightly. Not quite a smirk, but close. "I'd be interested in hearing it sometime."

"Would you."

"Yeah. I'm curious what kind of music you make when you're... in control."

Felix's eyes widened. Hyunjin choked on his wine.

"It's just mixing," Minho said, voice tight. "Nothing that interesting."

"I doubt that." Jisung leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving Minho's face. "I bet you're very particular about what you make. Perfectionist, probably. Every detail exactly how you want it."

"That's called having standards."

"Never said it wasn't." Jisung took a slow sip of his drink. "I like people with standards. Makes things more interesting when they finally let loose."

Minho's grip tightened on his fork. "You have a lot of opinions about people you barely know."

"I know more than you think."

"Do you."

"Yeah." Jisung's gaze was steady, dark. "For example, I know you say one thing but mean another. I know you have control issues. I know you like to act like you're above everything, but really you're just scared of not being perfect."

The table had gone quiet.

"That's a lot of assumptions," Minho said, voice tight.

"Am I wrong?"

"Completely."

"Liar."

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know enough." Jisung's expression was unreadable. "I know you kept my hoodie. I know you think about that night more than you want to admit."

Minho's face burned. "You're delusional."

"And you're a brat."

"Okay!" Chan said loudly. "Who wants more pasta?"

"I'll take some," Changbin said quickly, shooting Jisung a look.

The conversation shifted, other people jumping in to fill the awkward silence. But Minho could still feel Jisung watching him, that knowing look in his eyes.

He focused on his food, on nodding along to whatever Hyunjin was saying, on literally anything except the way his heart was racing.

Under the table, his phone buzzed.

He pulled it out carefully.

emo freak

you're blushing

Minho glanced up. Jisung was talking to Chan about something, not even looking at him.

Minho

fuck off

emo freak

love it when you talk dirty to me

Minho

we're at dinner
stop texting me

emo freak

why?
afraid you'll get caught?

Minho

no
it's rude

emo freak

so is lying
you want me to stop?

Minho didn't respond.

emo freak

that's what i thought

Minho

you're insufferable

emo freak

you're predictable
you say you hate me
but your foot keeps tapping under the table
nervous habit?

Minho immediately stilled his foot.

emo freak

cute

Minho

i will leave

emo freak

no you won't
you're too polite
too worried about making a scene
that's your problem baby
you care too much what people think

Minho

stop calling me that

emo freak

make me

Minho looked up. Jisung was watching him now, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips.

"Minho?" Felix's voice cut through. "You okay?"

"Fine," Minho said quickly, putting his phone away. "Just checking something."

"You look flushed. You feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," Minho repeated. "Just warm in here."

"I can open a window," Chan offered.

"No, it's—I'm good."

But he could feel Jisung's eyes on him, could practically feel his amusement.

After dinner, people naturally dispersed. Chan and Felix disappeared into the kitchen to handle dishes, with Hyunjin following to help. Jeongin claimed the couch to check something on his phone.

Which left Minho awkwardly standing in the living room when Changbin turned to Seungmin.

"Want to check out Chan's studio setup?" Changbin asked. "It's in the basement. Pretty impressive equipment."

"Sure," Seungmin said, which was surprising. Seungmin usually avoided one-on-one time with people he just met.

They headed downstairs, and Minho found himself alone in the living room with Jisung, who was leaning against the wall looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"That was subtle," Jisung said.

"What was?"

"Changbin and your friend. He's been staring at him all night."

"I noticed."

"You going to say anything?"

"Why would I? It's none of my business." Minho crossed his arms. "What do you want?"

"Want?" Jisung pushed off the wall. "Who says I want anything?"

"You're standing here instead of helping clean up."

"So are you."

"I was about to."

"Bullshit." Jisung moved closer. "You're standing here because you knew I would be."

"That's not-"

"You've been thinking about it, haven't you?" Jisung's voice dropped lower. "That night in my car. The way you couldn't stay quiet."

Minho's breath caught. "Stop mentioning that."

"Why? Because it's true?" Jisung was right in front of him now. "Because you don't want to admit that you want it to happen again?"

"I don't."

"Liar." Jisung's eyes were dark, intense. "Your pupils are dilated. You're breathing faster. You keep looking at my mouth."

Minho hadn't realized he was doing that. "You're full of yourself."

"Maybe. But I'm not wrong." Jisung tilted his head. "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you haven't thought about it."

Minho opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

"That's what I thought." Jisung's lips curved into that infuriating smirk. "You want me to touch you again. Want my hands on you. Want to see if it was as good as you remember."

"This is—we're in Chan's house. People are right there-"

"So?" Jisung stepped even closer, backing Minho up against the wall. "That didn't stop us before."

"That was different."

"How?"

"It just was."

"Not an answer, baby."

The nickname made heat flash through Minho's body. "Don't call me that."

"Why? Does it make you think about the car? About how you looked spread out for me? About the noises you made?"

"Fuck you," Minho breathed.

"You want to." Jisung's hand came up to rest on the wall next to Minho's head, caging him in. "That's the problem. You want to so badly it's driving you crazy."

"You don't know what I want."

"Don't I?" Jisung's free hand traced down Minho's arm, feather-light. "I think you want me to kiss you right now. Want me to touch you where anyone could walk in and see. Want to see if I'll actually do it."

Minho's heart was pounding. "You're insane."

"And you're into it."

They stared at each other, the air thick with tension. Minho could hear voices from the kitchen, laughter, the clinking of dishes. They were so close to getting caught, and that just made everything better.

"Tell me to stop," Jisung said quietly. "Tell me you don't want this and I'll walk away."

Minho opened his mouth. The word "stop" was right there.

He didn't say it.

Jisung's eyes darkened. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

He kissed him.

It was rough and demanding, Jisung's hand fisting in Minho's hair, his body pressing him against the wall. Minho kissed back just as hard, grabbing Jisung's shirt to pull him closer, all his resolve crumbling.

"You're so-" Jisung breathed against his mouth. 

"Don't speak," Minho said, and kissed him again.

Jisung's hands were on Minho's hips, sliding up under his shirt to touch his skin, down to grab his ass. Minho made noises he shouldn't be doing, his hips rolling forward involuntarily.

"Bedroom," Jisung muttered. "Now."

"We can't-"

"There's one upstairs. Chan won't care."

"People will notice-"

"I don't give a fuck." Jisung bit Minho's bottom lip. "I need to get my hands on you properly. Right now."

Before Minho could argue, Jisung grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the stairs. They moved quickly and quietly, Minho's heart racing as they climbed to the second floor.

Jisung pulled him into what looked like a guest room—simple, clean, a bed with white sheets. He locked the door behind them.

"This is insane," Minho said.

"Probably." Jisung was already pulling off his hoodie. "You want to stop?"

Minho looked at him—the blue hair messy from his hands, lips swollen from kissing, the hungry look in his eyes.

"No," Minho heard himself say.

"Good."

Jisung was on him immediately, walking him backward toward the bed. They fell onto it together, Jisung's weight pressing him into the mattress. 

His mouth was everywhere—Minho's lips, his jaw, his neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin there.

"You're going to leave marks again," Minho gasped.

"Good. Want everyone to see." Jisung's hands were working at Minho's belt, his legs bracketing his thighs, almost sitting on his lap. "Want them to know someone's had their mouth on you."

"Possessive much?"

"You have no idea." Jisung bit down on his collarbone, making Minho arch up. "Seeing you at dinner, looking like that, being a brat—drove me fucking crazy."

"I wasn't-" Minho's words cut off when Jisung's hand slid into his jeans, palming his painfully hard cock.

"Fuck, you're already-" Jisung's voice was rough. "How long have you been like this?"

"Since you started texting me at dinner."

"Yeah?" Jisung's hand moved, slow and deliberate. "Since I called you a brat?"

Minho couldn't form words, could only nod.

"Knew it." Jisung's smile was sharp. "You like it when I talk to you like that. Like it when I put you in your place."

"Shut up and-" Minho gasped as Jisung's thumb pressed against his wet tip. "Fuck."

"What do you want, baby? Tell me."

"Your mouth," Minho managed. "Like last time."

"Say please."

"Are you serious right now?"

"Very." Jisung's hand stilled. "Ask nicely."

Minho stared at him in disbelief. "You're such an asshole."

"And you're a brat. Which is why you're going to ask nicely." Jisung's eyes were dark, challenging. "Come on. Be good for me."

The words sent heat straight through Minho's body. "Please," he finally said.

"Please what?"

"Please put your mouth on me."

"Better." Jisung kissed him once, quick and filthy. "Good boy."

He worked Minho's jeans and underwear down, tossing them aside. Minho was already hard and leaking, flushed, breathing fast. Jisung took a moment to just look at him, eyes roaming over exposed skin.

"Stop staring," Minho muttered.

"Can't help it. You look good like this." Jisung's hands ran up Minho's thighs. "All spread out. Desperate."

"I'm not desperate."

"No?" Jisung's mouth pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh. "Then I guess I should take my time."

"Don't you fucking dare-"

But Jisung was already moving slowly, deliberately, kissing up his thigh, then switching to the other side. Getting close but never quite where Minho wanted him.

"Jisung," Minho said, voice tight with frustration.

"What?"

"Stop being a dick."

"Thought you liked when I was a dick?" Jisung bit down gently on his inner thigh, making Minho jolt. "Or was that just for show?"

"I swear to god-"

Finally, finally, Jisung's lips were around him.

Minho's back arched off the bed, his hand flying to Jisung's hair. "Fuck."

Jisung hummed around him. His hands gripped Minho's thighs, holding him down as he worked him over with his tongue and lips and that fucking lip ring.

"Shit, shit-" Minho bit his lip, trying to stay quiet. They were in Chan's house. People were downstairs. Anyone could come looking for them.

The risk just made it hotter.

Jisung pulled off for a second. "Don't hold back. I want to hear you."

"Are you insane? They'll hear-"

"So?" Jisung's eyes were dark, intense. "Let them hear. Let them know what I'm doing to you."

Before Minho could respond, Jisung took him deeper, and Minho couldn't hold back the moan that escaped.

"That's better," Jisung muttered, then went back to work.

It was overwhelming. The heat of Jisung's mouth, the way he knew exactly what he was doing, the obscene wet sounds filling the quiet room. 

Minho's fingers tightened in Jisung's hair, hips trying to move despite Jisung holding him down.

"Close," Minho gasped. "I'm—fuck, I'm close."

Jisung just hummed and doubled down, one hand joining his mouth, working Minho faster. 

Minho came with a whine, thighs shaking, moaning Jisung's name.

Jisung worked him through it until Minho couldn't really feel his legs, then pulled off with a satisfied look.

"Holy shit," Minho breathed, boneless against the bed.

"Good?" Jisung wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You already know."

"I like hearing it anyway." Jisung moved up to kiss him, and Minho could taste himself on Jisung's tongue.

"Your turn," Minho said when they broke apart.

"You don't have to-"

"I want to." Minho pushed at Jisung's shoulder until he was on his back. "Fair's fair."

He worked at Jisung's belt, getting his jeans open. Jisung was hard, straining against his underwear, a small damp spot on the fabric, and Minho felt a thrill of satisfaction at having this effect on him.

"Minho," Jisung said, voice rough. "You really don't have to-"

"Shut up." Minho pulled Jisung's cock free, wrapping his hand around it. "Just let me."

He leaned down, taking Jisung into his mouth, and the noise Jisung made was worth everything. His hands immediately flew to Minho's head—not pushing, just holding, like he needed something to ground himself.

Minho worked him over the way Jisung had done to him, using his tongue, taking him deeper, paying attention to what made Jisung's breath hitch. He was good at this, and he knew it. He liked the feeling of control, of reducing someone cocky like Jisung into a gasping mess.

"Fuck, hyung." Jisung's hips jerked up. "I'm not gonna last long."

Minho just hummed and kept going.

"Seriously, I'm—shit-" Jisung's fingers tightened in his hair. "Gonna come, you need to-"

Minho didn't pull off.

Jisung came with a moan, hips stuttering, and Minho swallowed before pulling off and wiping his mouth.

He moved to place his thighs between Jisung's legs, pulling him into a filthy open-mouthed kiss. Jisung's hands flew to his hips, holding him in place.

Minho's hand moved lower, stroking Jisung's sensitive cock again. He could feel his legs shaking, and he felt heat pool low on his stomach from satisfaction.

Jisung's lips were soft against Minho's, even at the rough pace they were moving, and he could feel him hardening again under him.

"You're going to kill me." Jisung breathed against his mouth. 

"Good," Minho said, letting go of his cock, rolling his hips instead.

Jisung's grip tightened, his breathing already getting ragged again. "Jesus, how are you…"

"What? Surprised I can keep up?"

"Surprised you're real," Jisung muttered, then seemed to realize what he said. "I mean-"

"Shut up," Minho said, kissing him again before he could overthink it.

They shifted positions, Jisung pulling Minho more fully on top of him, their bodies pressed together. The friction was maddening, both of them still sensitive but already wanting more.

"We should…" Jisung's voice was rough. "Do you want to-"

"Yes," Minho said before he could finish. "Yes, just—do you have anything?"

"Wallet. Back pocket. And there should be lube on the bedside drawer."

Minho stood and reached for Jisung's discarded jeans, fumbling through the pockets until he found what they needed, then opened the drawer and pulled out a small bottle. His hands were shaking slightly—from arousal, from anticipation, from the sheer insanity of what they were doing in Chan's guest room.

Minho settled back over him, and Jisung's hands immediately went to his hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles. "We don't have to," Jisung said, voice surprisingly gentle. "If you don't want to."

"I want to." Minho leaned down to kiss him.

"Okay. Just—tell me if anything doesn't feel good. Or if you want to stop."

"Since when are you this considerate?"

"Since I'm about to be inside you and I'd prefer you actually enjoy it," Jisung said.

"Okay. Yeah. Good point."

Jisung smiled and kissed him again, one hand sliding up to cup the back of Minho's neck while the other reached for the items Minho had retrieved. "Let me take care of you," he murmured against Minho's lips.

What followed was a study in patience that Minho didn't know Jisung possessed. His hands were careful, working Minho open slowly. One finger first, then two, the stretch satisfyingly stinging. Jisung watched Minho's face the entire time, gauging every reaction.

"Okay?" Jisung asked, voice strained with the effort of holding back.

"Yeah. More."

"Greedy," Jisung said, but he complied, adding another finger. The stretch was more intense now, bordering on too much, but Jisung's other hand was tracing soothing patterns on Minho's thigh, his lips pressing kisses to Minho's jaw, his neck.

"Relax," Jisung murmured. "Just breathe."

Minho tried to, focusing on the sensation, on the way Jisung's fingers moved inside him, searching for the perfect spot.

"Fuck!" Minho's whole body jolted when Jisung found what he was looking for.

"There?" Jisung's voice was smug.

"Again. Please."

Jisung did it again, and again, until Minho was gasping, hips moving involuntarily, hands clutching at Jisung's shoulders.

"Please," Minho finally said. "I'm ready. Just—please."

"Yeah, okay." Jisung's voice was wrecked now, too. He withdrew his fingers slowly, and Minho made a noise at the loss. "Shh, I've got you."

Jisung took his time getting ready, his hands shaking slightly as he rolled a condom on and stroked himself a few times. Minho watched, transfixed by the care Jisung was taking, the way his breathing was ragged, the way he kept looking at Minho like he couldn't quite believe this was happening.

"Come here," Jisung said again, hands returning to Minho's hips to guide him.

His tip made contact with the flushed skin of Minho's hole, biting his bottom lip to prevent a moan from escaping.

The sensation made them both gasp. Minho's fingers dug into Jisung's shoulders as he slowly, slowly sank down. The stretch was intense, more than the fingers, and he had to pause halfway, breathing hard.

"Take your time," Jisung said, though his voice was strained. His hands were gentle on Minho's hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles. "No rush. We've got time."

"The guys are still downstairs," Minho managed.

"Fuck downstairs. This is more important."

Minho laughed breathlessly and continued sinking down until he was fully seated, both of them breathing hard. He needed a moment to adjust to the fullness, the stretch, the overwhelming sensation of having Jisung inside him.

"Okay?" Jisung asked, forehead resting against Minho's chest.

"Yeah. Just—give me a second."

"Take all the time you need." Jisung's arms wrapped around him, holding him close, and the tenderness of the gesture made something in Minho's chest feel tight.

They stayed like that for a second, just breathing together. Then Minho shifted, and they both groaned.

"Okay," Minho said. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Thank fuck," Jisung muttered, and guided Minho into movement.

It was slow at first, finding a rhythm. Then it was the complete opposite.

Minho's body moved up and down, his ass slapping against Jisung's thigh as he fully sank down.

His thighs were already burning from the position, but he didn't care. Every movement sent sparks through his body, especially when he found the right angle.

"There," he gasped. "Right there."

"Here?" Jisung shifted his hips, hitting that spot again, and Minho nearly sobbed.

"Yes, fuck, yes."

Jisung's hands tightened on his hips, helping him move, guiding the rhythm. They moved together like that, Minho rising and falling, his body bouncing, and Jisung meeting him with shallow thrusts. 

The room filled with the sounds of their breathing, the slap of skin on skin, and the broken noises Minho couldn't hold back.

"You're so-" Jisung's words cut off into a groan. "So good, so fucking good."

Minho couldn't form words anymore, could only move, chasing the feeling building in his lower belly. His thighs were definitely going to be sore tomorrow, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered except this, except Jisung fucking him, the way he fit inside of him, the heat building between them.

"Touch yourself," Jisung said roughly. "Want to see you come like this."

Minho wrapped a hand around himself, and the added sensation made him whine. He was already close, had been close since Jisung's fingers found that spot inside him.

"That's it," Jisung encouraged, voice wrecked. "Come on, baby. Let me see you."

The nickname, combined with a particularly deep thrust, was Minho's undoing. He came with a choked-off moan, biting down on Jisung's shoulder to muffle the sound, his whole body shaking with the force of it.

The feeling of Minho clenching around him pushed Jisung over the edge. His hips stuttered, hands gripping Minho's hips tight enough to bruise, and he came with Minho's name on his lips, muffled against Minho's neck.

They stayed like that for a long time, tangled together, both shaking and breathing hard. Minho's face was buried in Jisung's neck, and he could feel Jisung's racing heartbeat against his chest. Slowly, carefully, Minho lifted himself up and off, both of them wincing at the sensitivity.

Jisung's hair was a complete mess, his lips swollen, his lip ring crooked, his neck marked up from Minho's mouth. He looked thoroughly fucked, and something about that made satisfaction curl in Minho's chest.

Jisung turned his head to look at him. "You okay? I didn't hurt you?"

"No. I'm good. Great, actually." Minho's body felt like jelly, pleasantly sore in all the right places. "You?"

"I think you broke me. In the best way possible."

They lay there for another minute, just breathing, coming down from the high. Then reality started creeping back in—they'd just had sex in Chan's guest room during a dinner party while their friends were downstairs.

"We should clean up," Minho said, even though he didn't want to move.

"Yeah." But Jisung didn't let go of his hand. "Bathroom's through there."

Minho forced himself up, legs a little shaky, and grabbed his underwear. He caught sight of himself in the mirror above the dresser and winced. His hair was destroyed, his lips were swollen, and the hickeys on his neck had multiplied significantly. He looked fucked.

Which he had been.

"Stop looking so pleased with yourself," he told Jisung's reflection. Jisung was still sprawled on the bed, watching him with a satisfied smirk.

"Can't help it. You look good like that."

"Like what

"Like you've been fucked properly." Jisung sat up, stretching. "All messy and marked up. It's a good look on you."

Minho's face heated. "You're impossible."

"And you love it."

In the bathroom, he cleaned up quickly, splashing cold water on his face, trying to make himself look less obviously post-sex. It was a losing battle. The marks on his neck were dark and numerous, his hair refused to cooperate, and his lips were kiss-swollen. There was also a slight ache when he moved that was definitely going to be noticeable.

When he came back out, Jisung was already dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when Minho emerged.

"Hey," Jisung said softly, and something about his tone made Minho's stomach flip.

"Hey."

"Are you—do you regret it?"

"No," Minho said honestly. "Do you?"

"No. Definitely not." Jisung stood up, moving closer. "But we should probably talk about-"

"Don't," Minho interrupted, reaching for his jeans. "Let's just—can we not analyze this right now?"

Jisung's expression shifted. "Okay. Yeah. We don't have to talk about it."

"We really should get back," Minho said, pulling his shirt on. "People are probably wondering where we are."

"Right. Yeah." Jisung watched him get dressed, and Minho could feel his eyes tracking every movement. "Your friends are probably looking for you."

"Probably." Minho ran his hands through his hair, trying to tame it. It was hopeless. "What?"

"Nothing. You just-" Jisung paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "You look good. Even all messed up."

"Stop," Minho said, but he couldn't help the small smile.

"Can't help it. It's true." Jisung came up behind him, hands landing on his hips. "And those marks look really good on you."

"You're obsessed with marking me up."

"Maybe I like people knowing you're-" Jisung stopped himself abruptly.

"Knowing I'm what?"

"Nothing. Never mind." 

But Minho had heard the pause, the almost-claim. Knowing you're mine, Jisung had almost said.

Which was ridiculous because they weren't anything. This was casual. Just physical.

"Come on," Jisung said, stepping back. "Before someone comes looking."

They slipped back downstairs separately—Jisung first, then Minho a minute later. The living room was more crowded now; Changbin and Seungmin had come back up from the basement, both looking slightly flushed and suspiciously rumpled.

Felix spotted Minho immediately, and his eyes went wide.

"Where were you?" He hissed when Minho got close.

"Bathroom."

"For an hour?"

"I wasn't feeling well."

"Your neck tells a different story." Felix's eyes were huge. "Oh my god, did you-"

"Don't."

"You did! You guys-"

"Felix, I swear to god-"

"I'm not judging! I'm just—wow, okay. That's-" Felix seemed to be struggling for words. "Are you guys like, together now?"

"No."

"But you're-"

"I don't know what we're doing, okay?" Minho ran a hand through his hair. "We're just... It's physical."

"Physical," Felix repeated. "Right. Because that always works out great."

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Fine, but you're explaining those later," Felix pointed at his neck. "In detail."

Minho stayed another hour before claiming he had early morning plans and needed to leave. Hyunjin and Seungmin were ready to go too—Seungmin had been glancing at Changbin all night and seemed eager to escape.

At the door, Jisung was leaning against the wall.

"Leaving already?" He asked.

"Yeah. Early day tomorrow."

"Right." Jisung's eyes flicked to his neck, to the visible marks. "Text me when you get home."

"Why?"

"Because I want to know you got there safe."

It was such a normal, boyfriend thing to say that Minho didn't know how to respond.

"Okay," he finally said.

In the car, Seungmin was the one driving. Hyunjin was in the passenger seat, which left Minho in the back, staring out the window.

"So," Hyunjin said. "You and Jisung disappeared."

"Don't start."

"I'm just saying. You were both gone for a while. And now you have fresh hickeys."

"Can everyone stop staring at my neck?"

"Kind of hard not to," Seungmin said dryly. "They're very obvious."

"I hate all of you."

"Are you guys dating?" Hyunjin pressed.

"No."

"Hooking up?"

"I guess."

"That's going to end well," Seungmin muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you catch feelings for everyone you sleep with, and he seems like the type who doesn't do relationships."

"I don't catch feelings for everyone-"

"You dated your last hookup for six months."

"That was different."

"How?"

"It just was."

Seungmin met his eyes in the rearview mirror. "Be careful, okay? I don't want to see you get hurt."

"I'm not going to get hurt. It's just physical."

But even as he said it, Minho wasn't sure he believed it.

emo freak

home safe?

Minho

not home yet
still in the car

emo freak

text me when you get there?

Minho

why do you care

emo freak

just do it

Minho

fine

Twenty minutes later, safe in his apartment, Minho texted him.

Minho

home

emo freak

good

Minho

happy?

emo freak

yeah
also thinking about earlier

Minho

what about it

emo freak

how you looked
how you tasted
how good you were for me

Minho's face heated.

Minho

stop

emo freak

why?
you liked it

Minho

that doesn't mean we should talk about it

emo freak

scared you'll get turned on again?

Minho

no

emo freak

liar
bet you're already thinking about next time

Minho

there might not be a next time

emo freak

yeah there will be
you want it as much as i do

Minho

you're so full of yourself

emo freak

and yet you keep responding
keep thinking about me
keep wanting more

Minho

goodnight jisung

emo freak

dream about me baby

Minho threw his phone onto his bed and went to shower, trying not to think about blue hair and dark eyes and the way Jisung had looked at him like he wanted to devour him.

This was just physical. Just two people who were attracted to each other acting on it.

That's all it was.

That's all it could be.

Right?

.⋆♱

This was getting out of control.

And the worst part? He didn't entirely hate it.

The tutoring thing started as a desperate measure.

Minho was failing his music theory elective—not spectacularly, but enough that his GPA was taking a hit. And Lee Minho did not get B's, let alone risk a C.

"You need a tutor," Felix had said over coffee, scrolling through his phone.

"I don't need a tutor. I need the professor to explain things like a normal human being instead of speaking in tongues."

"Or," Felix looked up, "you could ask Jisung. He's literally a music production major. This stuff is like breathing for him."

"Absolutely not."

"Why not? You guys are already…" Felix made a vague gesture. "You know."

"We're not anything."

"You've fucked him twice."

"Three times," Minho corrected, then immediately regretted it when Felix's eyes went huge. "That's not the point. The point is I'm not asking him for help."

"Why? Pride?"

"Yes. Obviously."

But then Minho got his midterm grade back—a 72—and pride became a luxury he couldn't afford.

Which is how he found himself sitting in the library on a Wednesday afternoon, waiting for Jisung to show up for their first tutoring session.

He'd texted him two days ago. Short and to the point:

Minho

need help with music theory
felix said you're good at it

emo freak

i am
when

Minho

wednesday 3pm library

emo freak

its a date

Minho

its tutoring

emo freak

sure baby

Minho had stared at that message for a full minute before putting his phone away.

Now he was sitting at their usual third-floor table—with his textbook and notes spread out, trying not to look like he was watching the stairs.

Jisung arrived at 3:06, carrying his backpack and two coffee cups.

"You're late," Minho said.

"Six minutes." Jisung set one of the cups in front of him. "Iced americano, extra ice, no sweetener. You're welcome."

Minho stared at the cup. "How did you…?"

"You get the same thing every time." Jisung dropped into the chair across from him. "I pay attention."

Something warm curled in Minho's chest. He ignored it. "Thanks."

"So." Jisung pulled out a notebook. "What are we working on?"

"Intervals. I don't get them."

"Okay. Show me."

Minho slid his notes over. They were neat, color-coded, organized—and completely wrong in several places.

Jisung looked them over, his expression carefully neutral. "Okay. I see the problem."

"Which is?"

"You're thinking about it like math. It's not math."

"Everything is math."

"Not music." Jisung grabbed a pencil. "Music is like..." He paused, seeming to search for the right words. "Okay, you know how sometimes you meet someone and they're annoying as fuck but also kind of interesting?"

"Are you using us as a metaphor for music theory?"

"Is it working?"

"Disturbingly, yes."

Jisung smiled and started explaining. And the weird thing was, it actually made sense. He broke everything down into concepts Minho could visualize, used examples that clicked, and didn't make Minho feel stupid for not getting it immediately.

"Try this one," Jisung said, sliding a practice problem over.

Minho worked through it, very aware of Jisung watching him. Not in a judgmental way—more like he was genuinely interested in seeing Minho figure it out.

"That's right," Jisung said when Minho finished. "See? You've got it."

"Don't sound so surprised."

"I'm not surprised. You're smart." Jisung leaned back in his chair. "You just needed someone to explain it in a way that made sense to you."

Minho felt his face heat slightly. "Whatever. Next problem."

They worked for another hour. Minho found himself actually understanding the material, actually enjoying it even. And maybe it had something to do with the way Jisung explained things.

Or maybe it had something to do with the way Jisung kept unconsciously playing with his lip ring while he thought, or the way his eyes lit up when Minho got something right, or the way he'd lean in close to point something out, close enough that Minho could smell his cologne.

"You're staring," Jisung said without looking up from the problem he was writing.

"I'm thinking."

"About intervals?"

"Sure."

Jisung looked up, eyes dark and amused. "Liar."

"Prove it."

"Don't need to." Jisung set his pencil down. "You've been staring at my mouth for the past ten minutes."

"Have not."

"Have too." Jisung leaned forward, elbows on the table. "It's distracting."

"Then maybe you should stop doing that thing with your lip ring."

"What thing?"

"That-" Minho gestured vaguely. "The thing where you play with it."

"You mean this?" Jisung ran his tongue over the ring, and Minho's brain glitched.

"You're doing this on purpose."

"Doing what?" Jisung's voice had dropped lower, rougher. "Teaching you music theory?"

"Being distracting."

"Am I distracting you, baby?"

The library was quiet around them. Third floor, late afternoon—there were maybe three other people up here, all buried in their own work. The table they'd chosen was in a corner, partially hidden by bookshelves.

"We're in public," Minho said, but his voice came out breathier than intended.

"So?" Jisung's foot found Minho's leg under the table. "We're just studying."

"Right. Studying."

"Unless..." Jisung's eyes were challenging now. "You want to do something else?"

Minho should say no. They were in a library. There were people around. 

"The bathroom on this floor is usually empty," he heard himself say.

Jisung's pupils dilated. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They packed up quickly. Minho led the way to the bathroom at the end of the hall, the single-occupancy one that nobody used because it was out of the way.

The door had barely closed before Jisung was on him.

The kiss was rough, desperate, all tongue and teeth. Jisung backed Minho up against the sink, hands already working at his belt.

"We have to be quiet," Minho gasped between kisses.

"Then you better keep your mouth shut," Jisung muttered, dropping to his knees.

"Shit."

Jisung's hands made quick work of Minho's jeans, pushing them down along with his underwear just enough. 

The first touch of his mouth made Minho's hips jerk forward involuntarily, one hand flying to grip the edge of the sink, the other tangling in blue hair.

Jisung worked him, his tongue doing things that made Minho almost whimper. The lip ring added an extra sensation, cool metal contrasting with the heat of his mouth. 

Minho bit down on his free hand, desperately trying to stay quiet as Jisung took him deeper.

The sounds were obscene in the quiet bathroom—wet and desperate. Minho's fingers tightened in Jisung's hair, his hips starting to move despite himself. Jisung hummed in approval, the vibration sending sparks up Minho's spine.

"Ji-" Minho's voice broke. "I'm gonna-"

But instead of pulling back, Minho's grip on Jisung's hair tightened, and he pulled him up roughly by those blue strands. Jisung made a surprised noise that turned into something else entirely as Minho spun them around, backing Jisung up against the sink instead.

"My turn," Minho said, voice rough and low, pressing his cock against Jisung's ass.

Jisung's eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and slick. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Minho's hands went to Jisung's jeans, making quick work of the button and zipper. "Say you want it."

"I want," Jisung said immediately. "Fuck, yes, I want."

Minho kissed him hard, tasting himself on Jisung's tongue. His hands pushed Jisung's jeans down, turning him to face the mirror. 

Jisung braced himself against the sink, watching Minho in the reflection with heavy-lidded eyes.

"You look good like this," Minho murmured against his ear, hands running up Jisung's sides, pushing his shirt up. "All desperate."

"Who's desperate?" Jisung shot back, but his voice was wrecked.

"You are." Minho's hand wrapped around Jisung's cock, stroking slowly, watching his face in the mirror. "Look at you."

Jisung's head dropped forward, breathing hard. Minho worked him with his hand, but it wasn't enough. He needed more.

He spit into his palm—not ideal, but they were in a bathroom with limited resources—and took his time preparing Jisung as best he could with what they had. 

Jisung pushed back against his fingers, making needy noises he was clearly trying to suppress.

"Ready?" Minho asked, voice strained.

"Yeah. Please. Come on."

Minho positioned himself, taking his time despite how much he wanted to just fuck the life out of him. He pushed forward slowly, watching Jisung's face in the mirror, seeing the way his mouth fell open, the way his eyes squeezed shut.

"Okay?" Minho managed, hands gripping Jisung's hips.

"Move," Jisung gasped. "Please just-"

Minho did.

He started slow but quickly lost any semblance of control. The bathroom filled with the sound of skin against skin, harsh breathing, barely suppressed moans. 

Jisung braced himself against the sink, pushing back to meet each thrust, and Minho had to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood to keep from making too much noise.

"Fuck," Jisung breathed, one hand coming up to brace against the mirror. "Right there, don't—don't stop-"

Minho adjusted his angle, hitting that spot that made Jisung's whole body jolt. He wrapped a hand around Jisung's cock again, stroking in time with his thrusts, and felt Jisung trembling, the strength from his legs almost leaving him completely. 

Minho's hands were on his waist, holding it tight enough to bruise, helping guide the movements at a faster pace, his hips meeting every thrust.

"Who knew you could be such a good boy?"

Jisung scoffed breathlessly and arched his back more. "I can do many things."

Minho's cock twitched inside him, "You feel so good," he breathed, his hand still stroking Jisung's length.

"H-hyung, I'm gonna-" Jisung moaned.

"Come on," Minho urged against his ear. "Let me see you."

Jisung came with a bitten-off whine, Minho's name falling from his lips in a broken whisper. 

The feeling of his hole clenching pushed Minho over the edge, and he buried his face in Jisung's shoulder to muffle the sound as he came.

They stayed like that for a second, both shaking and breathing hard. Minho pulled out carefully, and they both winced at the loss of sensation.

"Shit," Jisung managed.

"Yeah."

They cleaned up as best they could with paper towels and hand soap—not ideal, but it would have to do. Minho's body felt like jelly, and Jisung looked thoroughly wrecked in the best way possible.

"We just…" Jisung started.

"Don't," Minho interrupted, pulling his jeans back up. "Don't make it weird."

"I was going to say that was hot as fuck, but sure, let's not make it weird."

Minho felt his face heat. "Shut up."

"You shut up. You're the one who-" Jisung gestured vaguely.

"You started it."

"And you finished it. Literally."

They stared at each other, and then both started laughing—quiet, slightly hysterical laughter that they had to muffle with their hands.

"We're idiots," Minho said.

"Yeah." Jisung was grinning now. "But that was worth it."

"Definitely worth it."

They checked their appearances in the mirror. Jisung looked thoroughly fucked—messy hair, swollen lips, the hickeys on his neck that Minho had refreshed. Minho wasn't much better.

"No one's going to believe we were just studying," Jisung observed.

"Then I guess we'll have to actually study next time."

"Next time?" Jisung's eyebrows rose. "So there's going to be a next time?"

"For the tutoring," Minho said quickly. "I still need help with music theory."

"Right. Just the tutoring." But Jisung was smiling, and when he took Minho's hand to check if the coast was clear before they left, he didn't let go immediately.

They slipped back out into the library separately, but Minho could feel Jisung's eyes on him the entire walk back to their table.

emo freak

same time next week?

Minho

for tutoring

emo freak

obviously
what else would i mean

Minho

dumbass

emo freak

you like it

And the problem was, Minho really did.

The next week, Jisung suggested they study in a practice room instead.

"Better acoustics for explaining music theory," he'd said with a completely straight face.

"Uh-huh," Minho had replied. "And it has nothing to do with the soundproofing?"

"I have no idea what you're implying."

Which is how Minho found himself in Practice Room 3B on a Thursday afternoon, pretending to care about chord progressions while Jisung sat way too close to him on the piano bench.

"Pay attention," Jisung said, pressing a series of keys. "This is a major seventh chord."

"Sounds the same as the other one."

"It's completely different. Listen." Jisung played it again, then played a different chord. "Hear the difference?"

"Not really."

Jisung sighed dramatically. "You're not even trying."

"I am trying. My brain just doesn't work like yours."

"Your brain works fine. You're just distracted." Jisung turned to look at him, and they were suddenly very close. "What's distracting you?"

"Nothing."

"Liar." Jisung's eyes dropped to Minho's mouth. "You keep looking at me."

"You're sitting right next to me. Where else would I look?"

"You could look at the piano. Or your notes. Or literally anywhere that isn't my mouth."

"Maybe I like looking at your mouth."

"Yeah?" Jisung's voice had gone lower. "Why's that?"

"You know why."

They stared at each other for a second. Then Jisung said, "We should probably actually study."

"Probably."

"Your next test is in a week."

"I know."

"And you need to pass."

"I'm aware."

"So we should focus."

"Definitely."

Neither of them moved.

Then Jisung leaned in and kissed him, and studying became the last thing on either of their minds.

Jisung pulled Minho into his lap, the piano bench creaking under their weight. Minho's hands found their way into his hair—it was getting long enough to properly grip now—and Jisung's hands slid up under his shirt, feeling the now familiar territory.

"We really should be studying," Minho gasped when Jisung's mouth moved to his neck.

"We are studying." Jisung bit down gently on his pulse point. "I'm studying what makes you make those noises."

"That's not—ah-"

"What? Can't hear you."

Minho pulled back just enough to glare at him. "You're so annoying."

"And yet you keep coming back." Jisung's hands slid lower, teasing. "Why is that?"

"Insanity."

"Uh-huh. Is that what we're calling it?"

Before Minho could respond, Jisung kissed him again, deeper this time. They shifted positions, Minho straddling Jisung's lap properly now, both of them already breathing hard.

The piano bench wasn't ideal for this, but they made it work. Minho rocked against him, chasing friction, while Jisung's hands guided his hips. The room was soundproof, which meant Minho didn't have to worry about being quiet for once.

"Fuck," Jisung breathed against his mouth. "You're really gonna kill me."

"Good."

"So mean." But Jisung was smiling, his hands sliding into Minho's jeans. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"I have some ideas."

"I bet you do."

They moved to the floor. Jisung hovered over him, kissing down his neck, his chest, taking his time. Every touch felt like Jisung was memorizing him.

"Stop being so-" Minho's words cut off when Jisung pulled his underwear down and kitten licked his tip.

"So what?"

"So good at this."

Jisung laughed, the sound warm. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't—just—shut up and-"

"Bossy." But Jisung complied, doing everything Minho asked until he was gasping, fingers digging into Jisung's shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

"Stop, I don't—I don't wanna come yet." Minho let out, moving to push Jisung's chest until his back was now resting against the floor.

He pushed Jisung's pants off, and then his underwear, feeling Jisung watch his every move. He took off his own clothes, swinging them somewhere in the practice room, placing himself on Jisung's lap. 

Minho jerked his hips forward, his cock grinding against Jisung's. 

Jisung's hands were on his thighs, his fingers holding tight enough to bruise, driving his hips against Minhos.

Minho pressed his fingers against Jisung's lip, "Open," he ordered.

Jisung's eyes widened, but he obeyed anyway, opening his mouth and sucking Minho's fingers. 

"You do listen, huh?" He said, his eyes drinking in the sight of Jisung's lips wrapped around his fingers, coating them in saliva, his eyes never leaving his own.

Minho withdrew his fingers with a "pop", wiping the dripping saliva from Jisung's lips. He lifted himself slightly from his lap, pressing the wet fingers against his rim. 

Minho threw his head back, feeling the stretch of his own fingers fucking him open. He took his time preparing himself, making Jisung watch as he got ready. Every movement was unhurried, even though he wanted to rush. 

Jisung watched, transfixed, his breathing harsh. "Let me help-"

"No. You only get to watch."

When Minho finally deemed himself ready, he positioned himself over Jisung, hands braced on either side of his head. Their eyes locked as Minho began to sink down, taking him in slowly, inch by inch.

Jisung's hands squeezed Minho's thighs, gripping hard enough to leave marks. "Fuck-"

"Too much?" Minho asked, even though he knew it wasn't.

"No—no, perfect, you're-" Jisung's words dissolved into a moan as Minho settled fully in his lap.

Minho gave himself a moment to adjust, to breathe through the stretch and fullness. Then he started to move.

He set the pace slow at first, rising up until Jisung cock almost slipped out, then sinking back down in one smooth motion. 

"Faster," Jisung pleaded, his grip on Minho's hips tightening. "Please, faster."

"No." Minho kept the torturous pace. "You don't get to tell me what to do right now."

"But-"

Minho clenched around him, and Jisung's protests turned into a strangled moan. His head fell back against the floor, blue hair spread out in a messy halo, his face flushed and desperate.

"That's better," Minho said, finally picking up the pace. "No more big talk. Just this."

He shifted the angle, finding the spot that made stars burst behind his eyes, and Jisung's hips jerked up involuntarily to meet him. 

Minho's thighs burned from carrying his weight, his muscles shaking, but he didn't stop. He chased the pleasure building, one hand moving to brace against Jisung's chest while the other reached between his own legs.

He bounced and stroked his own cock as he looked at Jisung staring at him through half-lidded eyes. "Look at you," Minho gasped, voice rough. "All desperate. You like this? Watching me jump on your cock?"

"Yes—hyung, yes—I love it." Jisung's hands slid from Minho's thighs to his hips, gripping and helping support his weight. "God, you're so-"

His words cut off as Minho increased the pace even more, moving faster now, harder, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room along with their harsh breathing.

Jisung's hands moved back to his thighs, thumbs pressing into the sensitive inner muscles, making Minho's rhythm falter. Jisung took advantage, finally getting some control back as he lifted his hips to meet Minho's downward movements.

"There-" Minho gasped, head falling forward. "Right there, don't stop-"

Jisung didn't. He kept the angle perfect, one hand leaving Minho's thigh to wrap around him, stroking in time with their movements. 

"Come on," Jisung urged, his voice wrecked but determined. "Let me see you, baby. Want to watch you make a mess."

The words made Minho come embarrassingly quickly, Jisung's name falling in moans, his whole body shaking with it, thighs trembling from the effort of holding himself up.

The sight of Minho spilling all over his stomach, his hole clenching around Jisung's cock, made him come moments later. His hands gripped Minho's thighs hard enough to definitely leave fingerprint bruises, his hips stuttering through the aftershocks.

Minho collapsed forward onto Jisung's chest, both of them breathing hard, sweaty, sticky, and completely spent. They stayed like that for a long moment, Jisung's hands running soothing patterns up and down Minho's back while their heartbeats slowly returned to normal.

Minho's shirt was somewhere across the room. Jisung's hair was completely destroyed. They probably looked like they'd been through a hurricane.

"We really should study," Jisung said eventually.

"Yeah."

"You have that test coming up."

"I know."

"If you fail, it's my fault."

"Technically, it's my fault for being unable to keep my hands off you."

Jisung turned his head to look at him. "Yeah?"

"Don't sound so smug about it."

"Can't help it." Jisung pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "You like me."

"I tolerate you."

"You like me," Jisung repeated. "Admit it."

"I will do no such thing."

"Coward."

"Asshole."

They lay there in comfortable silence for another minute. Then Minho's phone buzzed.

Felix

where are you
we were supposed to meet for lunch

Minho

shit
studying
lost track of time

Felix

sure you were
tell jisung i said hi

Minho

shut tf up

Felix

love you too
dont forget to actually study
your test is next week

Minho showed Jisung the messages. Jisung laughed.

"He's not wrong. We should probably do some actual studying."

"Fine." Minho sat up, looking for his shirt. "But you're explaining the chord progressions again. I wasn't paying attention."

"I know you weren't. You were too busy staring at me."

"Shut up and teach me music theory, music boy."

"So bossy." But Jisung was smiling as he helped Minho up, pulling him back to the piano bench. After an attempt at cleaning, he began explaining again. "Okay, from the top..."

This time, Minho actually paid attention. Mostly. When he wasn't sneaking glances at Jisung's profile, or the way his fingers moved over the keys, or the little concentrated furrow between his eyebrows.

Fine. Maybe Felix was right.

Maybe he liked Jisung.

Just a little.

He'd never admit it, though.

.⋆♱

After that, things shifted slightly.

They still did the study sessions every week. Minho's grades actually improved—turned out having a tutor who could explain things in ways that made sense helped. 

Plus, the incentive of making out after productive study time was very motivating.

However, they started seeing each other outside of "tutoring" too.

Like when Minho "happened" to walk past the music building when Jisung had band practice. Or when Jisung "accidentally" showed up at the dance studio when Minho was teaching a class. Or when they both ended up at the same coffee shop at the same time three days in a row.

"This is getting ridiculous," Seungmin observed. They were having lunch, his friends gathered at their regular table. "Hyung, just admit you're dating."

"We're not dating," Minho said automatically.

"You're wearing his hoodie right now."

Minho looked down at the oversized black fabric with band logo on it. "He... left it at my place."

"Three weeks ago?"

"It's comfortable."

"Minho hyung," Felix leaned in, grinning. "It's okay to admit you like him. We all know. You're just refusing to put a label on it."

"There's nothing to label. We're just-"

"Hooking up," Hyunjin finished. "Yeah, we know. You keep saying that. But you're also going to all his gigs, and he brings you coffee before class, and you're both being weird and gross about it."

"We're not being weird."

"You smile at your phone now," Seungmin said flatly. "You never smile at your phone. It's disturbing."

"I do not."

emo freak

[image attached: angry cat]
this reminded me of you

Minho snorted, a smile tugging at his lips before he could stop it.

"See?" Seungmin pointed. "Weird and gross."

"Shut up."

Minho

i look nothing like that

emo freak

its literally you
looks like it wants to murder everyone
but probably just wants attention

Minho

i dont want attention

emo freak

you want MY attention

Minho

debatable

emo freak

speaking of which
you coming to practice today?

Minho

maybe
why

emo freak

working on new stuff
want your opinion

Minho

since when do you care about my opinion

emo freak

since always
youre actually pretty smart about music
when youre not being a brat

Minho

im not a brat

emo freak

uh huh yeah
so youre coming?

Minho

fine
but only because i have nothing better to do

emo freak

sure baby

Minho put his phone away to find all his friends staring at him.

"What?"

"You're blushing," Hyunjin said, delighted.

"I am not."

"You absolutely are," Felix confirmed. "Oh my god, you're in love with him."

"I am not in love with him. I barely like him."

"You're wearing his hoodie and blushing at his texts," Seungmin said. "That's pretty much the definition of being into someone."

"Can we change the subject?"

"No," all three said in unison.

"I hate all of you."

"So when's the wedding?"

"I'm leaving."

"Wait, wait!" Felix grabbed his arm. "I'm kidding. But seriously, hyung—would it be so bad to just... see where this goes? You clearly like him. He clearly likes you. Why fight it?"

"Because it's complicated."

"How?"

"Because we're-" Minho gestured vaguely. "We're different. He's this... emo guitarist weirdo who probably doesn't even do relationships, and I'm-"

"A stuck-up bitch who's terrified of actually letting someone in?" Hyunjin supplied helpfully.

"I was going to say someone who has their shit together, but sure, your version works too."

"Minho," Felix said gently. "You're allowed to like him. You're allowed to want this to be something. That doesn't make you weak or whatever you're worried about."

"I'm not worried about anything."

"Liar."

Minho sighed. "Can we please just drop it?"

"Fine," Felix relented. "But for the record, Jisung seems really into you. Chan says he talks about you all the time. Might be worth thinking about what you actually want here."

What Minho wanted was complicated.

He wanted Jisung's hands on him and his stupid jokes and the way he explained music theory with infinite patience. He wanted more late-night texts and stolen moments and the feeling of being seen by someone who actually got him.

But he also didn't want to be vulnerable. Didn't want to admit that maybe this was more than just physical. Didn't want to risk getting hurt or being judged or having people see him as anything other than perfectly in control.

So he did what he always did—pushed the thoughts away and focused on the present.

Which, currently, meant going to Jisung's band practice.

The practice space was in a basement off-campus, rented by the month. It smelled like stale beer and cigarettes, and the acoustics were actually pretty decent despite the grimy surroundings.

Minho arrived to find Jisung already set up, tuning his guitar. Chan was on his computer, and there were two other guys Minho vaguely recognized from the gigs.

"You came," Jisung said, looking up with his heart-shaped smile that did stupid things to Minho's heart.

"I said I would."

"Yeah, but you also say a lot of things." Jisung set his guitar down and walked over. "Thanks. For real."

"Whatever. What are you working on?"

"New song. Still rough, but-" Jisung paused. "Actually, it's kind of about you. Is that weird?"

Minho's heart did that stupid flutter thing again. "What kind of about me?"

"The annoying kind where I can't stop thinking about you even though you're a pain in my ass."

"Romantic."

"I try." Jisung was standing close now, close enough that Minho had to tilt his head up slightly to meet his eyes. "Want to hear it?"

"Obviously."

They ran through the song twice. It was good—really good. The lyrics were vague enough that they could be about anyone, but Minho caught the references. The bit about "sharp words that cut but never enough to make me leave." The bridge about "falling despite myself."

When they finished, Jisung looked at him expectantly.

"Well?"

"It's good," Minho admitted. "Really good. But the tempo's weird in the second verse. Slows down too much."

"See?" Jisung turned to Chan. "I told you it was weird."

"Fine, you were right," Chan said. "We'll work on it."

They spent the next hour refining the song. Minho sat on an amp, watching them work, occasionally offering input when asked. It was... nice. Seeing Jisung completely focused on creating something. The way he'd argue passionately about a chord change, or how his face would light up when they finally nailed a difficult part.

During a break, Jisung came over with water bottles.

"Thanks for coming," he said, handing Minho one. "Your input actually helps."

"I know."

"So humble."

"One of my best qualities."

Jisung laughed, settling next to him on the amp. Their shoulders pressed together, and neither of them moved away.

"So," Jisung said casually. "Felix and Chan are official now."

"Yeah, I heard."

"Seungmin and Changbin too, apparently."

"Your point?"

"No point. Just making conversation." But there was something weighted in Jisung's tone.

Minho knew what he was really asking. What they were. Where this was going. If it was going anywhere at all.

"We should probably head out soon," Minho said instead of answering the unspoken question. "I have early class tomorrow."

"Right. Yeah." Jisung stood up. "Let me pack up."

Minho watched him gather his equipment, that familiar restless feeling settling in his chest. 

Outside, the night air was cool. Jisung walked him to his car.

"Text me when you get home?" Jisung asked.

"Why do you always ask that?"

"Because I want to know you got there safe."

"I've been getting places safe for years without you."

"Humor me."

Minho rolled his eyes but nodded. "Fine."

"Good." Jisung leaned in, and for a second Minho thought he was going to kiss him right there in the parking lot. But he just tucked a strand of Minho's blond hair behind his ear. "See you tomorrow?"

"Maybe."

"Definitely," Jisung corrected with a smile. "You can't stay away from me."

"You wish."

"I don't have to wish. I know."

Minho wanted to argue, but Jisung was right. He couldn't stay away. Didn't want to stay away. It was becoming a problem.

"Goodnight, Jisung."

"Night, baby."

The drive home was quiet, just Minho and his thoughts and the growing realization that he was in way deeper than he'd planned to be.

emo freak

home safe?

Minho

not home yet
why are you so worried

emo freak

because i care about you
is that so hard to believe

Minho stared at the message for too long. The car behind him honked, and he realized the light had turned green.

Minho

home now
happy?

emo freak

very
sweet dreams

Minho

you too

He sat in his parked car for another five minutes, staring at those three words: "I care about you."

"Fuck," Minho said to his empty car. "I'm so fucked."

.⋆♱

That Minho thought Jisung had a severe case of pretty face and found him kind of sweet sometimes, didn't mean he found him any less insufferable.

They were at Minho's apartment—Jisung had come over after practice, and they'd ordered takeout. Normal stuff. Except Jisung was in one of his moods where he thought he was god's gift to earth.

"I'm just saying," Jisung said, sprawled on Minho's couch like he owned it, "I'm objectively good at most things I try."

"You're objectively full of yourself," Minho corrected from the kitchen, getting them drinks.

"Is it being full of myself if it's true? I'm a great musician. I'm good at poker, as you found out. I'm an excellent kisser-"

"Debatable."

"You weren't saying that last week when you were moaning my name in the practice room."

Minho nearly dropped the glass he was holding. "Can you not?"

"Not what? Tell the truth?" Jisung grinned, that insufferable smirk on his face. "Face it, baby. I'm good at what I do."

"You're good at being annoying."

"That too." Jisung patted the couch next to him. "Come here."

"Why?"

"Because I want you to."

"That's not a reason."

"Sure it is. Come here and I'll make it worth your while."

Minho rolled his eyes but walked over, drinks in hand. He set them on the coffee table and was about to sit when Jisung pulled him down into his lap instead.

"Subtle," Minho said dryly, even as his hands automatically went to Jisung's shoulders for balance.

"I don't do subtle." Jisung's hands settled on Minho's hips. "You know what else I'm good at?"

"If you say sex, I'm leaving."

"I was going to say 'reading people,' but now that you mention it…"

"Oh my god, you're impossible."

"Impossibly good at-"

Minho kissed him to shut him up. It was supposed to be brief, just to stop the words coming out of his mouth, but Jisung made this satisfied noise and pulled him closer, and suddenly it was deeper, hungrier.

When they broke apart, Jisung was smirking again.

"See? You can't resist me."

"I can absolutely resist you."

"Then why are you still in my lap?"

"Because-" Minho didn't have a good answer for that. "Because you pulled me here."

"And you stayed." Jisung's thumbs rubbed circles on his hips. "Admit it. You think I'm irresistible."

"I think you're insufferable."

"Same thing, basically."

"It's really not."

"Tell me I'm wrong then." Jisung's voice dropped lower, that raspy quality coming through. "Tell me you don't want me right now."

Minho could feel exactly how much Jisung wanted him. "You're so cocky."

"Is that a complaint?"

"Yes."

"Funny, because your body's saying something different." Jisung rolled his hips up slightly, making Minho gasp. "See?"

"Shut up."

"Make me."

That was it. Minho had reached his limit.

"Fine," Minho said, voice sharp. "Bedroom. Now."

Jisung's eyebrows rose. "Oh? Bossy."

"You have no idea."

They made it to the bedroom in a tangle of limbs and kisses. Minho pushed Jisung onto the bed, climbing on top of him.

"So what's the plan here?" Jisung asked, still with that insufferable smirk. "You gonna-"

"I'm going to fuck that cocky attitude right out of you," Minho said bluntly.

Jisung's pupils dilated. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." Minho's hands went to Jisung's shirt, pulling it over his head. "You talk such a big game. Let's see how long you can keep it up."

"I can keep it up just fine-"

Minho cut him off with a kiss, rough and demanding. His hands made quick work of Jisung's jeans while Jisung tried to undress him in return, but Minho pinned his wrists above his head.

"No," Minho said. "You just lie there and take it."

"Fuck," Jisung breathed, and the smirk was finally starting to fade into something more desperate.

Minho kept Jisung's wrists pinned with one hand while the other traced down his chest, his stomach, taking his time. 

"Hyung," Jisung said, voice already whiny. "Come on-"

"Come on what?" Minho's fingers traced along the waistband of Jisung's underwear, not quite touching where he wanted. "Use your words."

"You know what I want."

"Say it."

"I-" Jisung's hips lifted, seeking friction. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please touch me."

"Good boy." Minho finally released his wrists, sitting back to remove the rest of Jisung's clothes. Then his own. 

He used his mouth and hands everywhere, mapping Jisung's body, finding every spot that made him moan or arch up seeking more.

His inner thighs—Minho pressed open-mouthed kisses there, feeling the muscles tremble under his lips. 

The sharp jut of his hip bones—he traced them with his tongue, leaving marks with his teeth. 

That sensitive spot just below his ear—he sucked a bruise there while his hands stroked his cock.

"God, hyung, please-" Jisung's hands fisted in the sheets, his earlier confidence completely shattered.

"Still feeling cocky?" Minho asked, his hand around Jisung's cock, stroking slowly.

"No—fuck—no, just please-"

"Just what?"

"I need-" Jisung's voice broke. "I need you."

Minho smirked. He moved to the bedside drawer, pulling out a condom and a bottle of lube that was becoming concerningly empty. They'd been doing this a lot lately.

He wrapped a hand around himself, giving his cock a few strokes before he turned his attention to Jisung. "Roll over."

"What-"

"You heard me. On your stomach."

Jisung complied, and Minho could see the way his breath hitched in anticipation. Minho spread his knees open and settled between his legs, hands running up the back of Jisung's thighs appreciatively.

"You good?" Minho asked, his hands kneading the muscle there.

"Yeah. Yes. Please just-"

Minho took his time, using generous amounts of lube as he fucked Jisung open with his fingers. One, then two, watching the way Jisung's shoulders tensed and relaxed, the way his fingers gripped the pillow.

"Relax," Minho murmured, his free hand rubbing soothing circles on the small of Jisung's back. "I've got you."

"I know," Jisung gasped. "I know you do."

When Minho added a third finger, searching for that spot, Jisung's whole body jolted forward.

"There—fuck—there-"

"Here?" Minho did it again, and Jisung made a noise that was almost a sob.

"Yes—please—I'm ready, I'm ready."

"You sure?"

"Yes, god, please just-"

Minho withdrew his fingers carefully, and Jisung made a noise of protest at the loss. "Shh," Minho said, positioning himself. "Tell me if it's too much."

He grabbed his cock, placing the tip right against Jisung's hole, trying not to moan at the sights. He pushed forward slowly, watching Jisung's face in profile, seeing the way his mouth fell open, the way his eyes squeezed shut. Minho went slowly, carefully, giving Jisung time to adjust to the stretch.

"Okay?" Minho asked when he was fully inside, his hands gripping Jisung's hips.

"Yeah—yeah, just—give me a second-"

Minho waited, running his hands up and down Jisung's sides, pressing kisses to his shoulder blades. After a moment, Jisung pushed back slightly.

"Okay. I'm good. You can move."

Minho started slow, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, setting a steady rhythm. Each thrust was angled to hit his prostate and make Jisung whine.

"Fuck," Jisung breathed into the pillow. "You feel so…"

"So what?"

"So good—so fucking good."

Minho picked up the pace slightly, his grip on Jisung's hips tightening. The angle was perfect like this, deep and intense. He could feel Jisung trembling beneath him, could hear the broken noises he was making.

"Look at you. A whiny little mess. Who would dare assume you act like such a big shot when you look like a nice well behaved slut right now? You're my obedient little slut, aren't you?" Minho asked, voice rough.

"Yes—god, yes." Jisung whimpered, his body shaking and bouncing with each thrust.

"Good." Minho shifted the angle slightly, and Jisung's back arched. "That's what I wanted to hear."

He leaned forward, changing the angle again, one arm wrapping around Jisung's chest to pull him up slightly. The new position had Jisung on his hands and knees, and Minho's next thrust hit even deeper.

"Oh fuck." Jisung's arms nearly gave out.

"Stay up," Minho commanded, one hand sliding up to grip Jisung's shoulder while the other stayed on his hip. "I want to hear you."

And Jisung did—all the cocky bravado completely gone, replaced with desperate pleas and broken moans. Minho set a punishing pace now, each thrust driving Jisung forward before pulling him back.

"Please-" Jisung gasped. "Please, I need-"

Minho's hand slid from Jisung's shoulder down to wrap around his cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. "This what you need?"

"Yes—yes—hyung—hyung,"

The dual sensation had Jisung shaking, his arms trembling with the effort of holding himself up. Minho could feel him getting close, feel the tension building.

He grabbed his waist and leg, flipping him on his back, not pulling out once. Jisung's head fell back against the pillow, blue hair spread out, his face flushed.

Minho placed a hand under his right leg and pushed it up, continuing to thrust at a punishing pace.

"Come on," Minho urged, his own voice strained now. "Come for hyung, baby."

It only took a few more strokes before Jisung came with a broken cry, his whole body shuddering. Minho came a second after just at the sight.

Minho pulled out carefully and they both collapsed onto the bed, breathing hard. Jisung's arm was on his eyes, his blue hair a complete mess, his body covered in a light sheen of sweat.

"Holy shit," Jisung managed after a moment. He turned his head to look at Minho, his expression completely wrecked. "I can't feel my legs."

"Good."

"You're mean."

"You like it."

"I really do," Jisung admitted, a slow smile spreading across his face. "That was—god, that was incredible."

Minho felt something warm bloom in his chest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're…" Jisung seemed to be searching for words. "I've never felt like that before."

"Like what?"

"Like I was completely yours."

The words hung between them, heavier than they should be for what was supposed to be just casual. Minho's heart did that stupid flutter thing, and he had to look away.

"We should clean up," he said, sitting up carefully. "Can you move?"

"Give me a minute. You destroyed me."

"Drama queen."

"You literally just fucked me into next week. I'm allowed to be dramatic."

Despite himself, Minho smiled. He got up and headed to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. Jisung watched him with soft eyes as Minho carefully cleaned him up, gentle with the places that would definitely be sore tomorrow.

"Come on," Minho said when he was done. "Shower."

"Carry me."

"Absolutely not."

"Please?" Jisung looked up at him with those wide bug eyes, and fuck, when did Minho become such a pushover?

"Fine. But you're walking back."

"Deal."

Minho carried him bridal-style as they made their way to the bathroom. Under the warm spray, with Jisung leaning against him, Minho felt that dangerous warmth in his chest again.

"You okay?" Minho asked, shampooing Jisung's hair for him.

"Mm. Better than okay." Jisung tilted his head back into the touch. "That feels nice."

"Your hair's getting long."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

"Do you like it long?"

Minho's fingers worked through the blue strands. "Yeah. I do."

"Then I'll keep it." Jisung turned in his arms, wrapping his own around Minho's waist. "For you."

"You don't have to."

"I want to." Jisung rested his forehead against Minho's shoulder. "I like making you happy."

Minho's chest felt too tight. "You're being weird."

"I'm being honest." Jisung pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah," Minho said quietly. "It's okay."

They finished showering and went back to bed, both clean and exhausted. Jisung immediately curled into Minho's side.

"You're like a koala," Minho observed.

"You like it."

"Maybe."

"Definitely." Jisung pressed his face into Minho's neck. "You always hold me back."

That was true. Minho's arm had come around Jisung's waist automatically, pulling him closer. When had that become instinct?

"You should keep it this length," Minho said quietly, still playing with Jisung's damp hair.

"The hair?"

"Yeah. It's..." Cute, he almost said. "It suits you."

Minho swallowed hard.

Cute. Jisung was cute.

He bit his tongue.

"I'll keep it then." Jisung's voice was already getting heavy with sleep. "If you like it."

"I didn't say I liked it."

"Yes, you did." Jisung chuckled.

They fell quiet again. Minho could feel Jisung's breathing evening out, feel the weight of him getting heavier as sleep started to pull him under. In the dim light, with Jisung soft and unguarded against his side, Minho allowed himself to smile.

"Hey," Jisung mumbled, already half-asleep.

"Yeah?"

"Tell me something, baby."

"What?"

Jisung propped himself up slightly, his eyes heavy-lidded but earnest in a way that made Minho's breath catch.

"You're the happiest when you're with me, right?"

Minho stared at him. 

He could deflect. Could make a joke. Could reply with sarcasm.

But looking at Jisung's open face, the tiny smile on his lips, he couldn't.

"Yeah," Minho said softly. "I am."

"Yeah?" Jisung's entire expression brightened.

"Yeah. You're annoying and you drive me crazy, but..." Minho traced his fingers along Jisung's jaw. "I'm happy when I'm with you."

"Good." Jisung's smile was brilliant, genuine, all soft edges. "Because same. Like, really same."

He settled back down, tucking himself against Minho's side like he belonged there, and within minutes his breathing had evened out completely.

Minho lay awake longer, staring at the ceiling, one hand absently playing with blue hair while the other rested on Jisung's back.

When had this happened? When had casual hookups turned into this—into soft morning goodbyes and coffee deliveries and caring about whether someone was happy?

When had he started falling?

Because that's what this was, wasn't it? Falling. Maybe already fallen.

Probably the second he started thinking Jisung was cute instead of a loser.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, but Minho ignored it. Whatever it was could wait. Right now, he just wanted to stay here, with Jisung warm and soft against him, and pretend that this could last.

.⋆♱

Minho woke up to Jisung trying to sneak out of bed without waking him.

"Where are you going?" Minho mumbled, still half-asleep.

"Shit, sorry. I have class at nine." Jisung was hunting for his clothes in the dim morning light filtering through the curtains. "Go back to sleep."

"What time is it?"

"Eight fifteen."

Minho groaned and buried his face in the pillow. "Too early."

"I know. I'm sorry." Jisung found his jeans—they'd been thrown halfway across the room last night—and pulled them on carefully, wincing slightly. "I'll text you later?"

"Are you okay?" Minho asked, noticing the wince.

"Yeah, just sore." Jisung's smile was soft. "In a good way."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. That was-" Jisung shook his head. "That was exactly what I needed."

"To have the cockiness fucked out of you?"

"Exactly that." Jisung found his shirt and pulled it on. "You're very good at it, by the way."

"I know."

"Who's the cocky one now?" But Jisung was smiling as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Hey."

Minho turned his head to look at him. Jisung's hair was sticking up in every direction, and he had pillow creases on his face. His eyes were still slightly heavy with sleep. He looked ridiculous.

He looked adorable.

"Last night was..." Jisung seemed to be searching for words. "Really good. Like, really really good."

"I know."

"So full of yourself." But Jisung was smiling, that soft, genuine smile that made Minho's chest feel too full. "Okay. I'll see you later."

He leaned down and kissed Minho, soft and sweet. It was gentle, almost reverent, and when he pulled back, Minho found himself chasing his lips without meaning to, wanting more.

"Sleep," Jisung said, clearly pleased by the reaction. He kissed Minho's forehead, then his nose, then his lips again quickly. "I'll bring you coffee later."

"You don't have to."

"I want to." Another quick kiss. "Text me when you wake up properly?"

"Okay."

"Okay." But Jisung didn't move, just kept looking at Minho with that soft expression.

"You're going to be late," Minho pointed out.

"Worth it." Jisung finally stood, grabbing his jacket from the floor. "See you later, baby."

"Bye."

Minho watched him finish gathering his things—Jisung kept glancing back at him, like he couldn't quite bring himself to leave. Finally, with one last look and a small wave, he slipped out of the bedroom. Minho heard the apartment door open and close a moment later.

He lay there in the early morning quiet, touching his lips where Jisung had kissed him, feeling the ghost of his hands on his skin. The bed still smelled like him.

His phone buzzed from the nightstand. Minho reached for it, squinting at the screen.

freaky emo

forgot to say
you looked really cute half asleep
all soft and grumpy

Minho felt a smile tug at his lips despite himself.

Minho

im not cute

freaky emo 

you really are
its annoying how cute you are
like genuinely annoying
no one should look that good in the morning

Minho

go to class

freaky emo

so bossy
also i can barely walk
people are staring

Minho

thats your problem

freaky emo

worth it though
last night was incredible
you're incredible

Minho

stop

freaky emo

never
ill see you later baby
cant wait

Minho wanted to argue, but the problem was... he couldn't wait either. He wanted to see Jisung later, wanted that promised coffee, wanted more soft kisses and gentle touches.

He put his phone down and stared at the ceiling, that stupid smile still on his face that he was glad no one could see.

Yeah. He was definitely in trouble.

He pushed himself off the bed with a loud sigh, a small smile still painted on his lips. Today was a good day. He had class at eleven, lunch with Felix, and Jisung time after.

Jisung time made the day worth it.

His classes passed in a blur and he was incredibly thankful he only had two. 

He'd arrived early to the campus café for lunch with Felix, waiting by the pickup counter for his order, scrolling through his phone and definitely not smiling at Jisung's last text.

He stood as he waited, scrolling through the stupid memes Jisung sent him, not really paying attention to his surroundings, until he heard it.

Two girls were sitting at the table behind him, voices loud enough to carry.

"I still can't believe Jisung is hooking up with that guy," one of them said.

Minho's thumb froze on his screen.

"The blonde one? Lee Minho?" the other girl responded. "Yeah, I saw them at Chan's party last week. They were all over each other."

"He's so fucking hot though. Like, objectively."

"Oh, absolutely. But he's also a total mean bitch. Like, I had a class with him last semester and he made this girl cry during a presentation."

"No way."

"I'm serious. She was struggling with her part and he just... eviscerated her. In front of everyone. The TA had to step in."

Minho remembered that. The girl had been part of his group project and hadn't done any of the work, then tried to wing the presentation. He'd called her out on it. Had he been harsh? Maybe. But he'd been right.

"That's so mean," the first girl said. "What does Jisung see in him?"

"Probably just a quick thing, you know? Jisung doesn't really do relationships anyway. He's probably just having fun with a hot guy until he gets bored."

"Makes sense. I mean, can you imagine them actually dating? Jisung's so chill and nice, and that Minho guy is just... ugh."

"Right? He thinks he's so much better than everyone else. Always looking down at people."

"Exactly. Jisung can do way better."

Minho's hands had clenched around his phone hard enough that his knuckles were white. His order was called, but he couldn't move. Couldn't breathe properly.

Mean bitch. Thinks he's better than everyone. Jisung can do better.

"Minho? You okay?"

He turned to find Felix standing next to him, concerned.

"Fine," Minho said, his voice coming out sharp. "I'm fine."

He wasn't fine. 

He barely made it through lunch with Felix. His food didn't taste like anything and he only gave one-word answers until Felix stopped trying to make conversation. 

The words kept replaying in his head, burrowing deeper with each repetition.

"Okay, what's wrong?" Felix finally asked. "And don't say nothing because you've been weird since I got here."

"I'm not weird."

"You are. Did something happen?"

Minho pushed his half-eaten food around his plate, those voices still echoing. "I'm just tired."

"Bullshit, but fine. Don't talk to me." Felix's phone buzzed, and he smiled at the screen—probably Chan. "Oh, Jisung's band is playing at The Underground on Friday. You're coming, right?"

He pictured it in his mind. Being in public with Jisung, of people watching them together, of more whispered comments about how he didn't deserve Jisung…

"I don't think so."

"What? You've been to every show."

"I'm busy Friday."

Felix's eyes narrowed. "Minho, seriously, what's going on?"

"Nothing. I just have a lot going on." The lie tasted bitter, but Minho couldn't explain. 

Couldn't articulate the growing certainty that this whole thing with Jisung was a mistake he needed to correct before it got worse.

After lunch, Minho walked across campus in a daze. 

He thought about his parents, about their friends, about the world he came from, where appearances mattered and reputation was everything.

He thought about Jisung with his blue hair and ripped jeans and piercings. Thought about what his parents would say if he brought home an emo guitarist who worked at a music store. 

Thought about more conversations like the one he'd overheard, more judgment, more proof that they didn't belong together.

The stone of certainty in his chest grew heavier.

freaky emo

study session today?
i found this coffee place that makes those weird fancy drinks you pretend not to like

The casualness of it made something twist in Minho's chest. Like they were just... what? Boyfriends? Friends? Something undefined that would inevitably fall apart?

Minho

cant
have plans

Jisung

tomorrow?

Minho

busy

There was a longer pause this time.

Jisung

okay...
you good?

Minho

fine
just busy

Jisung

you sure?
you seem off

Minho

im fine
just have a lot going on

Another pause.

Jisung

okay
text me later?

Minho stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He should say yes. Should stop this spiral before it consumed him. Should talk to Jisung about what he'd heard, about what he was feeling.

Instead, he locked his phone and kept walking

He spent the rest of the day in his apartment, ignoring his homework, ignoring his phone, replaying those girls' words over and over in his head. 

By the time evening rolled around, he'd convincing himself that it was only a matter of time before Jisung realized what everyone else already knew—that they didn't make sense, that Minho wasn't worth the effort, that this whole thing was doomed from the start.

His phone rang. Jisung calling.

Minho stared at it for three rings before answering.

"Hey," Jisung said, and his voice was soft, concerned. "You weren't answering my texts. I got worried."

The care in his voice made Minho's chest hurt. "I'm fine."

"You keep saying that, but you don't sound fine."

"Well, I am. You don't need to check on me."

There was a pause. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No."

"Then what's going on? You're being weird."

"I'm not being weird. I'm just busy. Is that allowed?"

"Hyung," The confusion in Jisung's voice was clear. "What's happening right now?"

"Nothing. I just-" Minho stopped, the words catching in his throat. Say it. Just say it. "Look, I have to go. I'll talk to you later."

"Wait-"

Minho hung up. His hands were shaking. The phone immediately started ringing again—Jisung calling back. Then again. Minho let both calls go to voicemail, his heart pounding with each ring.

Jisung

okay seriously what the fuck
did i do something?
can we please just talk
minho
come on

Five minutes passed.

Jisung

fine
text me when youre ready to actually communicate like an adult

Minho threw his phone face-down on his nightstand and tried to sleep. He couldn't. He lay there in the dark, wearing Jisung's hoodie, hating himself and unable to stop.

.⋆♱

Wednesday morning came too soon. 

Minho avoided the music building, took a different route to his classes, walked with his head down to avoid seeing anyone. The texts kept coming.

Jisung

at least tell me youre alive
chan said felix is worried
im worried
please just talk to me
okay this is getting ridiculous
im coming over after class

Panic flared in Minho's chest. He couldn't see Jisung. 

Not when he was still hearing those girls' voices, still feeling the weight of certainty that this needed to end but not having the strenght to do it.

Minho

dont
im not home

Jisung

then where are you
ill meet you

Minho

im busy

Jisung

doing what

Minho

why do you care

Jisung

are you seriously asking me that

Minho

maybe i am

Jisung

what the fuck is going on with you

His fingers typed before his brain could stop them.

Minho

nothing
i just think we should cool it for a bit

Jisung

cool it?
what does that mean

Minho

it means this is getting too complicated
we should take a step back

Jisung

why

Minho

because i want to

Jisung

thats not a reason
something happened
just tell me what it is and we can figure it out

But they couldn't figure it out. That was the problem. You couldn't logic your way out of being fundamentally wrong for each other.

Minho

theres nothing to figure out
this was always just casual anyway

The three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Minho could feel his heart pounding, could feel the moment stretching out.

Jisung

casual
right
thats why you told me you were happiest with me
thats why we see each other every day
thats why you keep my hoodies
because its casual

Minho

youre reading too much into it

Jisung

am i?
or are you just scared

Minho

im not scared
i just dont want this anymore

He typed it fast, before he could take it back. Hit send before he could think about what he was saying. The words felt like glass in his throat.

The three dots appeared again, stayed for a long time. 

Jisung

fine
if thats what you want

Minho

it is

Jisung

cool
hope it was fun while it lasted

And then nothing. Minho stared at his phone for ten minutes, waiting for something else. Another text, a call, anything. Nothing came.

He told himself this was good. This was what he wanted. Clean break before things got messier, before people like those girls at the café had more ammunition, before his parents found out he'd been wasting time with someone so obviously wrong for him.

So why did his chest feel hollow?

Thursday passed in a blur of classes he barely paid attention to and meals he couldn't taste. 

Felix cornered him at lunch, seeming both concerned and furious.

"Okay, what the hell did you do?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Jisung." Felix sat down across from him without waiting for an invitation. "Chan said he's been a mess since yesterday. Won't talk about it, just locked himself in his room. What happened?"

"Nothing happened. We just decided to stop... whatever we were doing."

"You decided, you mean."

"It was mutual."

"Bullshit." Felix leaned forward. "Minho, I've known you for three years. I know when you're running. What scared you?"

"Nothing scared me. I just realized this wasn't going anywhere." The lie came easier now.

"That's a lie, and you know it."

"Can we please not do this?"

"No, we can't not do this. You were happy. Like, genuinely happy for the first time in forever. And now you're just... giving up?"

"I'm not giving up. I'm being realistic."

"About what?"

"About the fact that this doesn't make sense!" Minho's voice rose before he could stop it. Several people at nearby tables looked over. He lowered his voice. "He's this nice, talented guy who everyone likes, and I'm-" He stopped himself, but Felix's expression had already shifted to understanding.

"You're what?" Felix asked quietly.

"Nothing. Forget it."

"Minho…"

"I said forget it." Minho stood up, grabbing his bag. "I have class."

"You don't have class for another hour."

"Well, now I have to go sit somewhere that isn't here." He left before Felix could argue, ignoring the concerned look his friend threw after him.

The rest of Thursday dragged. Minho went through the motions—class, library, home—all while that hollow feeling in his chest grew. He kept his phone on silent, kept ignoring the group chat that was clearly discussing him, kept pretending everything was fine.

That night, lying in bed wearing Jisung's hoodie for the third night in a row, Minho tried to convince himself he'd made the right choice. 

They were too different. It would never have worked. Better to end it now before…

His phone lit up with a notification. Not a text. An Instagram post.

It was from one of those campus gossip accounts. A photo of Jisung performing at some bar, the caption something corny like "local hottie breaking hearts." The comments were full of people agreeing, saying how talented he was, how hot he looked on stage.

And there, in the comments: "Shame that blonde guy he's seeing is such a bitch. He can do so much better."

Minho's stomach twisted. So other people had noticed. Other people thought Jisung deserved better.

They were right.

Friday morning, Minho saw Jisung across the quad. 

Their eyes met for a brief second—long enough for Minho to see the hurt flash across Jisung's face before he quickly looked away and changed direction, walking the other way with Chan and Changbin following.

The message was clear: Stay away.

Hyunjin

real mature

Minho

what

Hyunjin

walking away from him like that
we saw you
he saw you

Minho

???

i didnt walk away
he did

Hyunjin

because you broke his heart over text
what did you expect

Minho

i didnt break his heart
we werent even together

Hyunjin

wow
okay so we're just being a complete asshole now
got it

Minho

if you have something to say just say it

Hyunjin

i will
youre being a coward
and youre hurting someone who actually cares about you
for what? because youre scared?

Minho

you dont know what youre talking about

Hyunjin

i know youve been miserable all week
i know you keep staring at your phone like youre waiting for him to text
i know you wore his hoodie to class yesterday

Minho

i did not

Hyunjin

yes you did
seungmin and i both saw it

He had. He'd put it on without thinking that morning, and by the time he realized, he was already on campus and running late.

Minho

whatever
doesnt mean anything

Hyunjin

if you say so
but for the record youre making a huge mistake

Minho didn't respond. He spent the rest of Friday in a haze. That night was Jisung's show. Minho had gone to every single one of his shows for the past month. But not tonight.

Tonight, Minho sat in his apartment, staring at his phone, watching people's Instagram stories from the venue. The place was packed. Jisung looked good on stage—bright and confident. Happy, maybe.

Better off without him.

Around 10 PM, still sitting in the dark scrolling through social media like a masochist, Minho saw her. Miyeon. She'd posted a selfie from some party with the caption "single and loving it 💕"

Miyeon was objectively perfect. Beautiful, popular, from a good family. The kind of girl his parents would approve of. The kind of girl who made sense for someone like him. She was in his world—designer clothes, the right social circle. She was exactly the type of person he should be with.

Not some emo guitarist with blue hair who worked retail.

Before he could overthink it, Minho found himself opening Instagram and sending her a message.

Minho

hey
havent seen you in a while
want to grab coffee sometime?

Miyeon

omg yes! ive been meaning to reach out
tomorrow?

Minho

sounds good

Miyeon

perfect! its a date 😊

It wasn't a date. It was... coffee. With someone appropriate. Someone who fit. Someone who wouldn't make people whisper about how they didn't belong together.

That's what Minho told himself, anyway.

Saturday afternoon, Minho met Miyeon at an upscale café near campus. She looked perfect as always—designer everything, hair and makeup flawless, the kind of put-together that took hours but looked effortless.

"Minho! You look great!" She hugged him, and her perfume was expensive and cloying.

"Thanks. You too."

They sat, ordered overpriced lattes, and fell into easy conversation. Miyeon talked about her sorority, about fashion week, about her family's vacation home in the Hamptons. All things Minho understood, things from his world.

It should have felt comfortable. It should have felt right.

Instead, he found himself comparing everything to Jisung. Miyeon's laugh was pretty but sounded fake. Jisung's laugh was real, unguarded, usually at Minho's expense. Miyeon talked about surface-level things. Jisung talked about music and dreams and asked Minho questions that made him actually think.

"So," Miyeon said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile. "I heard you were seeing that musician guy. The one with the blue hair?"

Minho's stomach dropped. "Where did you hear that?"

"Oh, you know. People talk." She waved a hand dismissively. "But I also heard that's over now. Which is good, right? I mean, no offense, but you two seemed like a weird match."

"Why?" The word came out sharper than intended.

"Well, you know. You're... you. And he's..." She made a vague gesture. "Different. Not in a bad way! Just, like, you move in different circles. It's better to be with someone who gets your lifestyle, you know? Someone on your level."

Someone on your level. 

The phrase settled in Minho's chest like validation and poison mixed together. 

This was what he'd been thinking all week, wasn't it? That he and Jisung didn't make sense, that they were too different, that they belonged in different worlds.

"Yeah," Minho heard himself say. "You're probably right."

"Of course I am!" Miyeon's smile was bright. "So, are you seeing anyone now? Because if not..." She bit her lip in what was probably supposed to be a cute way. "I've always thought you were hot."

And there it was. The easy option. The safe option. Someone appropriate who wouldn't make people whisper, who his parents would approve of, who fit into his life without any awkward explanations.

Someone who wasn't Jisung.

"Actually," Minho said, "I was wondering if you'd want to have dinner sometime. Like, a real date."

Miyeon's face lit up. "Really? Yes! Oh my god, yes. I'd love that."

They spent another hour at the café, Miyeon talking about where they should go, what she'd wear, how excited she was. She insisted on taking a selfie before they left, posting it immediately with the caption "coffee dates with this cutie ☕💕"

Minho's phone started buzzing almost immediately.

Felix

WHAT THE FUCK

Hyunjin

are you KIDDING me right now

Seungmin

youre a fucking idiot

And then, the one that made his stomach drop

Chan

jisung saw miyeons post
he's not doing great
i hope whatever youre trying to prove is worth it

Minho stared at that message for a long time while Miyeon chattered beside him about dinner plans. What was he trying to prove? That he was fine? That he'd moved on? That he belonged with someone like Miyeon instead of someone like Jisung?

That he was capable of making the "right" choice?

He typed back to Chan.

Minho

its better this way

Chan didn't respond.

.⋆♱

Sunday morning, Minho woke up to someone pounding on his door. He checked his phone—8:47 AM. What the fuck.

He opened the door to find Seungmin standing there with coffees and a grim expression.

"We need to talk."

"It's not even nine."

"I don't care. Let me in."

Minho stepped aside, and Seungmin walked in like he owned the place. He set the coffees on the table and turned to face Minho with his arms crossed.

"Sit."

"Seungmin-"

"Sit. Down."

Minho sat. Seungmin remained standing, looking at him with a frustrated expression.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb. Miyeon? Really? A week after you ended things with Jisung, you're already dating someone else?"

"I'm not—it's not-" Minho ran a hand through his hair. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it like? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're running. Again."

"I'm not running. I'm moving on."

"To someone you don't even like."

"I like Miyeon just fine."

"Bullshit. You told me last month—and I quote—that she was 'aggressively vapid and probably hasn't had an original thought in her life.'"

Minho winced. "I was in a bad mood."

"HYUNG, YOU'RE GAY, and you're always in a bad mood! Except..." Seungmin paused. "Except you weren't. Not for the past few months. With Jisung, you were different. You actually seemed happy."

"Well, that's over now."

"Why?" Seungmin sat down across from him. "And don't give me some bullshit about it being complicated or not working out. What actually happened?"

Minho was quiet for a long time. Then, slowly, he told Seungmin about what he'd heard. About how it had burrowed into his head and confirmed every fear he'd been trying to ignore.

"So you heard two random girls call you mean, and you decided to blow up your entire relationship?" Seungmin's tone was flat.

"It wasn't just that. They were right, Seungmin. I am mean. I do think I'm better than people. And Jisung-" Minho's voice caught. "Jisung's good. He's genuinely good. He deserves someone who's not..."

"Not what? Not you?"

"Yes."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"It's not."

"It is. Minho, yeah, you can be mean. You have high standards and you don't suffer fools. But you're also loyal and smart and you care about people even when you pretend you don't." Seungmin leaned forward. "And Jisung saw that. He liked you—all of you, not some sanitized version. He knew exactly who you were and he still wanted you."

"Until he didn't."

"He didn't stop wanting you. You pushed him away. There's a difference."

Minho looked down at his hands. "What if those girls were right? What if we don't make sense together?"

"Who the fuck cares if you make sense?" Seungmin's voice rose. "You were happy. Both of you. That's what matters. Not what some random people think, not whether you 'fit' together by someone else's standards."

"My parents would hate him."

"So?"

"So that matters."

"Does it? Or is that just another excuse?" Seungmin's expression softened slightly. "Look, I get it. Being vulnerable is scary. Being with someone who matters is scary. But cutting and running every time something gets real isn't protecting you. It's just making you miserable."

"I'm not miserable."

"You're wearing his hoodie right now."

Minho looked down. The black hoodie with the band logo, the one that still smelled like Jisung even though he'd worn it every day for a week.

"Fuck," he said quietly.

"Yeah. Fuck." Seungmin stood up. "I'm not going to tell you what to do. You're an adult, you can make your own mistakes. But Minho... this thing with Miyeon? It's not going to fix whatever's broken inside you. And it's definitely not going to make you happy."

"What if it's too late with Jisung?"

"Then you deal with that. But at least you'll know you were brave enough to be honest about what you want." Seungmin moved toward the door, then paused. "Changbin told me Jisung deleted your number. That he's done."

Minho felt like he'd been stabbed.

"But," Seungmin continued, "he also said Jisung's been completely fucked up since you ended things. So maybe he's not as done as he wants everyone to think." He opened the door. "Your call, hyung. But make it soon. Before this actually does become unfixable."

After Seungmin left, Minho sat in the quiet apartment, staring at nothing. His phone buzzed—Miyeon, texting about their dinner date tonight.

Miyeon

cant wait for tonight!
that italian place is supposed to be amazing
what time are you picking me up? 💕

He was supposed to pick her up at seven. Was supposed to take her to some fancy restaurant. Was supposed to prove to himself and everyone else that he'd made the right choice.

But all he could think about was Jisung. Blue hair falling into dark eyes. That cocky smirk that Minho used to kiss away. The way he'd ask, "You're the happiest when you're with me, right?" like he genuinely needed to know.

The way Minho's answer had been yes. Immediate and honest, and terrifying.

Minho looked around his apartment. Everything was exactly as it should be—clean, organized. Empty. The only thing out of place was him, sitting on his pristine couch in Jisung's worn hoodie, feeling like a hollow shell of a person.

This was what he'd wanted, right? To go back to before. Before Jisung had crashed into his life and made everything complicated. Before soft morning kisses and terrible jokes and someone who actually saw him—really saw him—and didn't run.

Except Minho was the one who ran.

And now he was sitting here, about to go on a date with someone he didn't care about, someone who was "appropriate" and "made sense," while the person he actually wanted was out there somewhere, probably hating him.

Probably better off without him.

Minho's chest felt tight. He'd felt it all week—this constant pressure, this emptiness that nothing could fill. Not his classes, not his friends, not the prospect of dating Miyeon. Nothing made it better. Nothing made him feel even remotely okay.

Because the only time he'd felt truly okay in months was when he was with Jisung.

Miyeon

oppa? you there?

He stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He should respond. Should confirm the time, should go through with this, should commit to the choice he'd made.

But the thought of sitting across from Miyeon for hours, pretending to be interested, pretending he wasn't thinking about someone else the entire time, pretending he was anything other than completely miserable…

He couldn't do it.

Minho

i cant do dinner tonight
im sorry

Miyeon

what? why?
is everything okay?

Minho

no
i need to fix something
im really sorry

Miyeon
this is about that musician guy isnt it
jisung?

Minho stared at the message. There was no point in lying.

Minho

yeah
it is

Miyeon

figured
you had that look all through coffee yesterday
like you were somewhere else
for what its worth
i hope you fix it
he made you smile in those pictures
ive never seen you actually smile before

Minho felt something crack in his chest.

Minho

thank you
im sorry for wasting your time

Miyeon

you didnt
but next time maybe dont ask someone out when youre clearly in love with someone else
just saying 😊

Minho

noted

He set his phone down and put his head in his hands. 

In love. 

Was that what this was? This constant ache, this feeling like something essential was missing, this certainty that he'd made the worst mistake of his life?

Yeah. Probably.

Minho had been in relationships before. Had dated people, hooked up with people, even thought he cared about some of them. But it had never felt like this. This consuming, terrifying thing that made him want to simultaneously run away and never let go.

He'd never felt like he couldn't breathe without someone before. Never woken up reaching for someone who wasn't there. Never worn someone's clothes because it was the only thing that made him feel even slightly less empty.

"Fuck," Minho said to his empty apartment. "I'm in love with him."

And he'd thrown it away because he was scared. Because some random girls had confirmed his worst fears about himself. Because it was easier to run than to risk being vulnerable.

God, he was such an idiot.

Felix

jisungs band is playing tonight
the underground
doors at 7 show at 8
just thought you should know

Minho looked at the time. 6:43 PM. He could make it if he left now. Could show up and... what? Apologize? Beg for forgiveness? Make a complete fool of himself in front of Jisung's entire audience?

Probably all of the above.

But sitting here in this empty apartment, wearing Jisung's hoodie, feeling like he was slowly disappearing—that wasn't an option anymore. He couldn't live like this. Couldn't keep pretending he was fine when he was falling apart.

He needed to fix this. Or at least try.

Even if Jisung told him to fuck off. Even if it was too late. Even if he'd completely destroyed whatever they had.

Minho stood up, grabbed his keys, and headed for the door.

.⋆♱

The place was packed by the time Minho arrived at 7:52. He'd parked three blocks away and practically ran, his heart pounding not just from the run but from the weight of what he was about to do.

The bouncer checked his ID and waved him through. Inside, the venue was dark, crowded, the air thick with the smell of beer and sweat. The stage was lit but empty, equipment set up and waiting. 

Minho pushed through the crowd toward the front, ignoring the annoyed looks people threw his way.

He spotted Felix and Chan near the stage, along with Hyunjin and Seungmin. They all looked surprised to see him.

"You came," Felix said, having to shout over the noise.

"I came."

"Does he know you're here?"

"No."

Chan studied him for a moment. "Are you going to hurt him again?"

"No. I'm going to-" Minho stopped. "I don't know what I'm going to do. But I needed to be here."

"Fair enough." Chan's expression softened slightly. "He's been a mess all week, by the way. In case you were wondering."

"I know. I have been too."

Hyunjin appeared at his elbow. "You're still wearing his hoodie."

"I know."

"Good. Maybe he'll notice."

The lights dimmed further, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Minho's heart rate spiked as figures emerged from the wings. The drummer first, then the bassist, then…

Jisung.

Even from a distance, even in the dim lighting, Minho could see him clearly. Blue hair falling into his eyes, leather jacket over a ripped band t-shirt, his guitar slung across his chest, lip ring glimmering in the light. He looked exactly the same as always—confident, a little cocky.

But there was something different, too. Something in the set of his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes. He looked tired. Sad, maybe.

Minho had done that. Had put that expression on his face.

The thought alone made him feel sick.

Jisung stepped up to the mic, and the crowd quieted. "Hey, everyone. Hope you're having a good day." His voice was rough, raspy in that way that always made Minho shiver. "Try to keep up."

The drummer counted off, and they launched into their first song. It was loud and energetic, the kind of rock-hip-hop fusion they were known for. The crowd loved it, bodies moving, voices singing along to the chorus.

But Minho couldn't look away from Jisung. The way his fingers moved over the guitar strings. The way he leaned into the microphone for backup vocals. The way he moved across the stage.

He was beautiful. Talented in a way that made Minho's chest ache.

And Minho had walked away from him.

The set continued. Song after song, each one as good as the last. Jisung was performing like his life depended on it, pouring everything into the music. At one point, he did a guitar solo that had the entire crowd cheering, and even in his misery, Minho felt proud.

'That's my…'

Except Jisung wasn't his. Not anymore. Minho had given up that right when he'd ended things over text like a coward.

Halfway through the set, Jisung introduced a new song. "This one's called 'Better Off,'" he said into the mic, and something in his voice made Minho's stomach drop. "It's about being too scared to admit you want something. About fucking it up when you finally get it. About wishing you could go back and do everything different."

The song was devastating. Slower than their usual stuff. Jisung's voice was raw. The lyrics were vague enough that they could be about anything, but Minho knew. Knew they were about him. About them.

"I told myself I didn't care. That you were better off without me there. But every night I wear your shirt. And wake up wondering who I'm trying to hurt"

Minho's eyes burned. Several people in the crowd had their lighters up, swaying to the music.

"That's about you," Felix said quietly.

"I know."

"He's not over you."

"I'm not over him either."

"Then what are you going to do about it?"

Minho didn't have an answer. He just watched as Jisung poured his heart out on stage, watched him bear his soul in front of hundreds of strangers.

Jisung had always been brave in ways Minho couldn't understand. He put himself out there, risked rejection and judgment and failure. He was honest about what he wanted, what he felt.

Everything Minho was too scared to be.

The song ended to thunderous applause. Jisung looked exhausted, emotionally wrung out. He stepped back from the mic, and the lead singer took over, introducing the next song.

They had maybe three songs left in the set. Then Jisung would disappear backstage, and Minho would lose his chance. Would go back to his empty apartment and his hollow chest and the constant ache of knowing he'd let the best thing in his life slip away.

No.

No, he couldn't do that. Couldn't live with the regret. Couldn't spend the rest of his life wondering "what if."

He'd come here to fix this. And yeah, maybe showing up at Jisung's gig wasn't enough. Maybe apologizing wouldn't be enough. Maybe nothing would be enough to undo the damage he'd done.

But he had to try.

The set was ending. The final song—fast, energetic, the crowd going wild. Jisung was grinning now, feeding off the energy. He looked happy. Or at least, he looked like he was pretending to be happy.

The song built to a crescendo, guitars wailing, drums pounding. The final chord rang out, and the crowd erupted. The band took their bows, soaking in the applause. Jisung's smile was wide, genuine, the happiest Minho had seen him look all night.

They started walking off stage, and Minho's window was closing. In seconds, Jisung would be backstage, surrounded by people, impossible to reach.

Minho didn't think. He just moved.

He pushed through the crowd, ignoring the protests, fighting his way toward the stage. Someone tried to stop him—security, probably—but Felix was suddenly there, saying something to them. Minho didn't stop to think about it. He climbed onto the stage, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst.

Jisung had his back turned, talking to the drummer. The rest of the band was filing off stage, but Jisung lingered, probably planning to grab his guitar case.

"Jisung," Minho called out.

Jisung turned, and for a second, his face was open, surprised. Then he saw who it was, and his expression shuttered.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was cold, guarded.

Minho opened his mouth to answer—to apologize, to explain, to say any of the thousand things he'd rehearsed on the drive over. But his brain went blank. All he could see was Jisung standing there under the stage lights, blue hair glowing, his eyes dark and wary and hurt.

All he could think about was how beautiful he looked. How much he'd missed him. How empty everything had been without him.

So Minho did the only thing that made sense.

He kissed him.

For a second, Jisung was frozen, completely still. Then he was kissing back, his hands coming up to grip Minho's shirt, pulling him closer. 

It was desperate and messy, all the longing and misery of the past week pouring into it. Minho's hands found Jisung's hair, fisted in the blue strands he'd missed so much, and Jisung made this small noise against his mouth that Minho felt in his soul.

Minho could hear the screaming, the cheering, could see camera flashes in his peripheral vision. They were in front of hundreds of people, making out on stage, and Minho couldn't bring himself to care.

Then Jisung pulled away abruptly, as if suddenly realizing what he was doing.

He stared at Minho for a long second, his expression unreadable. His lips were swollen, his hair messed up from Minho's hands, and he looked completely stunned.

"Come on," Jisung said roughly, grabbing Minho's hand.

He dragged Minho off stage, past gaping band members and security guards, down a hallway toward the back of the venue. He tried several doors before finding one that was unlocked—some kind of storage room, dimly lit, full of equipment cases and old speakers.

Jisung pulled Minho inside and slammed the door shut.

Then he exploded.

"What the fuck was that?!" Jisung's voice was loud in the small space, his hands gesturing wildly. "You—you just—in front of everyone—what the fuck?!"

"I-"

"No! No, you don't get to talk yet!" Jisung was pacing now, running his hands through his hair. "You ended things! Over text! You didn't talk to me for a week! You started dating someone else! And now you just show up here and kiss me in front of hundreds of people? What the actual fuck?!"

"Jisung-"

"And you're wearing my hoodie! You're wearing my fucking hoodie while you're supposed to be dating that Miyeon girl!" Jisung spun to face him, and his eyes were shining with angry tears. "What are you doing here? Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I fucked up!" Minho's voice rose to match his. "Because I've been miserable all week! Because I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't think about anything except you!"

"Oh, really? Is that why you were having coffee dates with a pretty girl two days ago?"

"That was a mistake!"

"No shit it was a mistake! The whole thing was a mistake! Us, whatever we were doing—clearly it was all just a mistake to you!"

"That's not-" Minho took a breath, trying to calm down. "That's not true. It wasn't a mistake. You weren't a mistake."

"Then what the hell was it?" Jisung's voice cracked. "Because you said it was just casual. You said you didn't want it anymore. So what changed? Did Miyeon turn you down? Did you get bored again?"

"No! God, no." Minho stepped closer, but Jisung backed away. "I was scared, okay? I was fucking terrified."

"Of what?"

"Of this! Of us! Of-" Minho's hands clenched at his sides. "I heard these girls talking. At the café. They were saying how I'm a bitch, how I think I'm better than everyone, how you could do so much better than me. And they were right."

"What?"

"They were right, Jisung! I am mean. I am judgmental. I do think I'm better than most people. And you…" His voice softened. "You're good. You're genuinely good. You're nice and talented, and everyone likes you. You deserve someone who's not—who's not me."

Jisung stared at him. "So you ended things because some random people said you weren't good enough for me?"

"Yes."

"That's the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard."

"I know."

"Do you?" Jisung's voice was sharp. "Because you didn't just end things, Minho. You told me I meant nothing. You cut me off completely. You wouldn't talk to me. And then you started dating someone else a week later. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"

"I know. I know I hurt you. I'm so sorry-"

"Sorry doesn't fix it!" Jisung's voice broke. "Sorry doesn't undo the past week. Sorry doesn't make me feel less like an idiot for thinking this actually meant something to you!"

"It did mean something! It meant everything!"

"Then why?!" Jisung was crying now, tears streaming down his face. "If it meant so much, why did you throw it away?"

"Because I was scared!" Minho's voice cracked. "Because I've never felt like this before! Because every time I was with you, I felt too much, and it terrified me! Because I knew if I let myself really fall for you, it would destroy me when you inevitably realized I wasn't worth it!"

"That's not your decision to make!" Jisung wiped at his eyes angrily. "You don't get to decide what I think you're worth! You don't get to push me away 'for my own good' without even asking what I want!"

"I know. You're right. I fucked up." Minho took another step closer. "I fucked up so badly, and I don't know how to fix it. But I'm here. I'm here because I can't do this anymore. Can't pretend I'm fine without you. Can't go on dates with people who aren't you. Can't sleep in my empty apartment wearing your clothes and pretending I don't miss you so much I can't breathe."

Jisung's breath stuttered. "Hyung-"

"I'm in love with you." The words came out rushed, desperate. "I'm in love with you, and I'm terrified, and I have no idea what I'm doing. But I know I can't keep living like this. Can't keep being without you."

The room went silent except for their harsh breathing and the muffled sound of the crowd outside. Jisung was staring at him, tears still streaming down his face, his expression a complicated mix of anger and hurt and something like hope.

"You're in love with me," Jisung repeated slowly.

"Yes."

"And you realized this... when?"

"About two hours ago. Officially. But probably-" Minho laughed, the sound slightly hysterical. "Probably a while before that. I was just too scared to admit it."

"So you ended things, started dating someone else, and then decided you were in love with me. In the span of a week."

"I never stopped-" Minho stopped, took a breath. "I didn't start dating Miyeon. We went for coffee once. I couldn't go through with the actual date because all I could think about was you. And I didn't just decide I was in love with you. I just finally admitted it to myself."

Jisung was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was small. "You really hurt me."

"I know. I'm so sorry."

"I told you I wanted something real. I asked if you were happy with me. And you said yes. You looked me in the eye and said yes." More tears spilled over. "And then you ended it over text. Do you know how that felt?"

"I can't imagine-"

"It felt like I was dying." Jisung's voice was raw. "It felt like everything I was scared of was true. That I wasn't enough. That I was just a convenient hookup until you found someone better. Someone more appropriate."

"You were never that. You were never just anything." Minho desperately wanted to reach for him but didn't dare. "You were—you are—everything. You're the person who makes me laugh. Who sees through all my bullshit and still somehow wants to be around me. You're the only person who's ever made me feel like maybe I don't have to be perfect all the time."

"Then why wasn't that enough?" Jisung's voice broke. "Why wasn't I enough?"

"You were. You are. It was me—I wasn't enough. I couldn't handle how much I felt for you. Couldn't handle the idea that someone like you would want someone like me." Minho's own eyes were burning now. "I've spent my whole life being the mean one, the one everyone respects but nobody really likes. And then you came along and you didn't pretend once, you never pretended you liked me, you just did. Like, actually liked me. And I couldn't process it. Couldn't believe it was real."

"So you sabotaged it."

"Yeah. I sabotaged it." Minho wiped at his eyes. "I heard those girls, and it confirmed everything I was already afraid of. That we don't make sense. That I'm not good enough. That you'd figure it out eventually, so I might as well end it first."

"That's so stupid," Jisung said, but his voice was softer now.

"I know."

"You don't get to decide you're not good enough for me. That's my decision."

"I know."

"And for the record…" Jisung took a shaky breath. "You are enough. You were always enough. Yeah, you're mean sometimes. You're judgmental, and you have impossibly high standards. But you're also loyal and smart and secretly caring even when you pretend not to be. You pushed me to be better at music. You actually listened when I talked about my dreams. You remembered how I take my coffee and what my favorite songs are, and-" His voice cracked. "And you made me happy. Like, genuinely happy for the first time in forever."

Minho felt like he couldn't breathe. "Jisung-"

"But that doesn't mean I'm just going to forgive you." Jisung straightened, wiping at his face. "You really hurt me. And I don't know if I can trust you not to do it again."

"I won't. I promise I won't."

"You can't promise that. You can't promise you won't get scared again and leave."

"Then I'll promise to talk to you about it. To not run. To-" Minho took a step closer. "To actually try."

Jisung searched his face. "What if those girls were right? What if we don't make sense?"

"Then fuck making sense. I don't care if we make sense. I care that I'm happy with you. That you make me want to be better. That when I'm with you, I actually like who I am." Minho's voice dropped. "I care that I love you."

"Say it again."

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you, Jisung. I'm in love with you. I'm sorry I was too scared to say it before."

Jisung let out a breath. "I-" He stopped, started again. "I love you too. I've been in love with you for months. And I hate that I still love you after you hurt me. I hate that seeing you tonight made me want to kiss you before I wanted to yell at you. I hate that I'm already considering forgiving you when I should tell you to fuck off."

"You should tell me to fuck off. You should hate me. I deserve that."

"Yeah, you do." Jisung crossed his arms. "But I don't want to hate you. I want-" He took a shaky breath. "I want to trust you again. But I don't know how to get there from here."

"Then let me prove it to you." Minho finally closed the remaining distance between them. "Let me prove that I'm serious. That I'm not going anywhere. That I want this—want us—for real."

"How?"

"However, you need me to. I'll…" Minho's mind raced. "I'll tell everyone. Post it on social media. Introduce you to my parents. Whatever you need to feel secure that I'm not going to bail again."

"I don't need grand gestures." Jisung's voice was quiet. "I just need honesty. I need you to actually talk to me when you're scared instead of making decisions for both of us."

"I can do that."

"Can you? Because it's going to happen again. You're going to get scared, or hear something that gets in your head, or worry about what people think. And when that happens, I need you to come to me. To talk to me about it instead of just... ending everything."

"I will. I promise. I'll talk to you." Minho hesitated. "But I need something too."

"What?"

"I need you to believe me when I say you're enough. When I say I want you. Because I can't spend our entire relationship trying to convince you that I'm not going to leave." Minho's voice softened. "I made a mistake. A huge, terrible mistake. But I'm here now. I'm choosing you. I need you to let me."

Jisung was quiet for a long moment, studying Minho's face. "You're still wearing my hoodie."

"I haven't taken it off all week."

"That's kind of gross."

"I know."

"And really pathetic."

"Also true."

A small smile tugged at Jisung's lips. "You kissed me in front of hundreds of people."

"Yeah."

"That video's definitely going to be all over social media by tomorrow."

"Probably."

"Your parents are going to see it."

"Let them."

Jisung's eyes widened slightly. "Really?"

"Really. I don't care what they think. I don't care what anyone thinks." Minho reached up slowly, giving Jisung time to pull away. When he didn't, Minho cupped his face gently. "I just care about you."

"You're going to have to do better than that," Jisung said, but his voice was soft, less guarded.

"I know. And I will. Every day. For as long as you'll let me."

"This doesn't fix everything."

"I know."

"I'm still mad at you."

"You should be."

"And it's going to take time. For me to trust you again."

"I'll wait. However long it takes."

Jisung leaned into the touch, his eyes closing briefly. When he opened them again, they were still wet, but some of the hurt had faded. "If you do this again—if you run or bail or decide I'm not worth it—I'm done. For real this time. No second chances."

"I won't. I promise I won't."

"Okay." Jisung took a shaky breath. "Okay. Then... we can try. We can see if this works."

Relief flooded through Minho so intensely that it almost hurt. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. But we're doing this right this time. No more casual bullshit. No more pretending we don't care. We're together, or we're nothing."

"Together," Minho said immediately. "I want together. I want to be your boyfriend. I want everyone to know. I want—I want everything."

"Everything's a lot."

"I know. I'm greedy and I want it anyway."

Jisung studied him for another long moment. Then, slowly, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Minho's. 

It was different from the kiss on stage—softer, like they were both learning each other again. Minho kissed back carefully, trying to pour everything he felt into it—all the apology and love and desperate hope that they could fix this.

When they broke apart, Jisung rested his forehead against Minho's. "I missed you," he said quietly.

"I missed you too. So fucking much."

"The past week was hell."

"For me too."

"Good. You deserved it."

"I know." Minho's hands slid into Jisung's hair, gripping gently. "I'm sorry. For all of it. For ending things, for not talking to you, for being a coward. I'm so sorry."

"I know." Jisung's hands found Minho's waist. "And I forgive you. Or I will. Eventually. Right now, I'm still processing the fact that you kissed me in front of everyone."

"Was that okay? I probably should have asked."

"It was okay." Jisung's smile was small but genuine. "It was actually kind of hot."

"I panicked. You looked so beautiful up there, and my brain just... stopped working."

"I looked beautiful?" Jisung's eyebrows rose.

"You always look beautiful. But especially on stage." Minho traced his thumb along Jisung's cheekbone. "I'm so proud of you, by the way. The new song was amazing."

"The one about you?"

"Was it about me?"

"Obviously." Jisung looked away. "I wrote it after you ended things. Chan said I should keep it private, but I needed to perform it."

"It made me want to die. In the best way."

"Good."

They stood there for a moment, holding each other in the dim storage room, the sound of the crowd outside slowly dispersing. Minho never wanted to let go. Never wanted to risk losing this again.

"We should probably go back out there," Jisung said eventually. "Chan's probably freaking out."

"Probably."

"But first," Jisung pulled back slightly to look at him. "Tell me again."

"Tell you what?"

"That you love me."

Minho smiled, real and genuine, and so full of love he thought he might burst. "I love you. So so much. I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner."

"I love you too." Jisung kissed him again, deeper this time. "You absolute idiot."

"Yeah," Minho agreed against his lips. "But at least I'm yours now."

"Officially?"

"Officially. If you'll have me."

"I will. On a trial basis. With the understanding that if you fuck this up again, I'm keeping the hoodie and blocking your number."

"Fair." Minho pulled him closer. "Can I kiss you again?"

"You have to ask?"

"After everything? Yes. I'm asking."

Jisung's expression softened. "Yeah. You can kiss me."

So Minho did. And this time, when they broke apart, both of them were smiling.

They stayed in that storage room for another few minutes, just kissing and holding each other like they were making up for lost time. 

Eventually, a knock on the door interrupted them.

"Jisung? You alive in there?" Chan's voice came through the door. "The crowd's mostly gone, and your guitar is still on stage."

Jisung pulled back with a sigh. "Yeah, I'm good. Be out in a second."

"Take your time. But maybe not too much time. This is still technically a public venue."

They heard footsteps retreating, and Jisung laughed softly. "We should really go."

"Yeah." But Minho didn't let go immediately. "Come home with me?"

"Home?"

"My apartment. We should—we need to talk. Properly. And I don't want to do that here." Minho paused. "Unless you're not ready. I can wait. However long you need."

Jisung searched his face. "No. I want to come with you. I want-" He took a breath. "I want to be with you."

They finally emerged from the storage room to find Chan, Changbin, and Jeongin waiting in the hallway. Felix and Hyunjin were there too, probably having come backstage to check on them.

"So," Changbin said, crossing his arms. "You two good?"

"We're working on it," Jisung said.

"Working on it, how?"

"Working on it, as in we're together now," Minho said clearly. "Actually, together. If that's—is that okay to say?"

"Yes," Jisung said, reaching for Minho's hand. "That's okay to say."

Chan's face broke into a smile. "Thank fuck. The past week has been hell."

"Tell me about it," Felix muttered. "Minho was insufferable."

"I was not."

"You wore the same hoodie for seven days straight and barely spoke to anyone. You were absolutely insufferable."

"About time," Hyunjin said. "We were starting to plan an intervention."

"You already had an intervention. Seungmin showed up at my apartment this morning."

"That was Seungmin's intervention. We were planning a group one." Felix grinned. "But I guess we don't need it now."

Changbin was still studying them, his expression serious. "If you hurt him again-"

"I won't," Minho said. "I know I don't deserve another chance, but I'm not going to waste it. I promise."

"Good." Changbin's expression softened slightly. "Because he's been miserable. And I don't want to have to kick your ass."

"You could probably take me," Minho admitted.

"Definitely could."

Jisung rolled his eyes. "Okay, stop. I appreciate it, but I can handle my own relationships." He turned to Minho. "We're going to head out. I'll text you later?"

"Yeah." Chan looked at Jisung. "You good?"

"I'm good. Really."

They said their goodbyes, Jisung grabbed his guitar case from the stage, and then they were walking out into the cool night air. Minho's car was parked a few blocks away, and they walked in comfortable silence, hands linked between them.

"That went better than expected," Jisung said eventually.

"Did you think they'd try to stop me from leaving with you?"

"Maybe. Changbin was pretty protective all week." Jisung glanced at him. "They all were. After what happened."

Guilt twisted in Minho's chest. "I'm sorry. For putting you through that. For making your friends worry."

"I know. And we'll work through it." Jisung squeezed his hand. "But right now, I just want to be with you."

They reached Minho's car, and the drive to his apartment was quiet but not uncomfortable. Minho kept glancing over at Jisung in the passenger seat—blue hair illuminated by passing streetlights, his fingers tapping absently on his thigh to some rhythm.

"What?" Jisung asked, catching him looking.

"Nothing. Just... making sure you're real. That this is real."

Jisung reached over and laced their fingers together on the center console. 

At Minho's apartment, there was a moment of awkwardness as they stood in the entryway. 

This was different from before. Before, they would've been on each other immediately, all hands and desperate kisses. But now there was weight to it—the weight of everything that had happened, everything they'd said, everything they were trying to build.

"Do you want something to drink?" Minho asked. "I have-"

Jisung kissed him, cutting off whatever Minho was about to say. It was soft at first, almost tentative, like Jisung was asking a question. Minho answered by pulling him closer, one hand coming up to tangle in blue hair, the other gripping his waist.

The kiss deepened, became more urgent. Jisung's back hit the door, one hand fisting Minho's hoodie—his hoodie—and Minho pressed against him, feeling the solid warmth of him, the reality of having him here again after a week of nothing but memories and regret.

"I should probably give this back," Minho said when they broke apart for air, gesturing to the hoodie he was wearing. "It's kind of gross at this point. I haven't washed it."

"Keep it," Jisung said, his voice rough. "Looks better on you anyway." His hands slid under the hoodie, fingers tracing patterns on Minho's skin. "Besides, I like knowing you wore it all week. Knowing you missed me."

"I did. So much." Minho kissed him again, slower this time, trying to pour everything he felt into it. "Missed this. Missed you."

Jisung's mouth moved to his neck, finding the spot below his ear that always made Minho whine. "Missed you too. So much."

They made it to the bedroom in a tangle of limbs and kisses, leaving a trail of Jisung's jacket and shoes in the hallway. Once inside, with the door closed behind them, Jisung pulled back slightly.

"We should talk first," he said, though his hands were already working at the hem of Minho's hoodie.

"We can talk after."

"Minho-"

"I know. I know we need to talk. And we will. I promise we will." Minho cupped Jisung's face. "But right now, I need you. Need to be with you. Need to show you-" He stopped, searching for the right words. "I need to show you that I'm here. That I'm not going anywhere."

Jisung's eyes darkened. "Okay. But this time, no regrets in the morning."

"No regrets. Just us."

"Just us," Jisung agreed, and kissed him again.

Minho pulled off the hoodie—Jisung's hoodie—and then his shirt, while Jisung did the same. They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other in the dim light filtering through the curtains. 

The city lights outside cast shadows across Jisung's skin, highlighting the lean muscles of his chest, the tattoos on his ribs that Minho had traced with his fingers and his tongue so many times before.

"I love you," Minho said quietly.

"I love you too." Jisung's hands traced up Minho's sides. "Now get on the bed."

"So demanding."

"You like it."

Minho did. 

He moved to the bed, and Jisung followed, settling over him, his already hard cock grinding against the muscle of Minho's thigh. 

The kissing continued, slower now, more deliberate. Jisung's mouth mapped a path down Minho's neck, across his collarbone, down his chest. He took his time with each touch, each kiss, like he was relearning Minho's body after a week apart.

"You're going too slow," Minho complained, his hands fisting in Jisung's hair.

"Good. You made me wait a week. Now it's your turn to wait." Jisung's teeth grazed over his collarbone, making Minho gasp. "Besides, I want to take my time with you. Want to remember every part of this. Every sound you make, every way you respond to me."

"You're killing me."

"That's the idea."

Jisung continued, his hands touching and his mouth sucking, finding all the spots that made Minho's breath catch, that made his hips lift seeking more attention. By the time Jisung removed the rest of their clothes, Minho was already breathing hard, desperate, and wanting.

"Tell me what you want," Jisung said, his voice low and rough as his hands ran up Minho's thighs.

"You. I want you."

"More specific than that, baby."

"I want-" Minho's face heated despite everything, despite all the times they'd done this before."I want you inside me. Want to feel you."

"Yeah?" Jisung's hands were gentle as they traced patterns on Minho's skin. "Want me to make love to you?"

"Don't call it that. That's so-"

"What? Corny?" Jisung kissed him softly. "I'm not just gonna fuck you. I love you and I'll show you just how much."

"Fine. Yes. That. Just—please."

"Since you asked so nicely."

Jisung reached for the bedside drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube. 

His movements were soft and careful as he fingered Minho open with patience that made Minho want to scream with frustration and melt with affection at the same time.

"Relax," Jisung murmured, his free hand rubbing soothing circles on Minho's hip. "I've got you. Just breathe."

Minho tried to relax, tried to breathe through the stretch as Jisung worked him open slowly. One finger, then two, then three, all while pressing kisses to his thighs, his stomach, anywhere he could reach. 

"Ji," Minho gasped when Jisung's fingers found his prostate. "Please. Please, I need-"

"I know what you need." Jisung's voice was strained now, too, his control clearly fraying. "You're ready?"

"Yes. God, yes. Please just-"

"Fuck, wait, I forgot the condom-" He was reaching towards the bedside table again when Minho stopped him.

"Don't. I want to feel you. I'm clean, just—please, Jisung."

Minho noticed the way Jisung paused, his breathing coming a little faster. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Hopefully fuck me—sorry, 'make love to me'"

Jisung snorted and slapped his leg slightly, "I will, don't worry." He spread his legs and settled between them, squeezing lube onto his hand and giving his cock a few strokes.

He pressed his tip against Minho's hole, their eyes meeting as he pushed forward slowly.

The stretch was almost overwhelming, but god, he loved it. Minho's hands gripped Jisung's shoulders as he pushed in inch by inch, giving Minho time to adjust, time to breathe.

"Okay?" Jisung asked when he was fully inside, his voice tight with the effort of holding still.

"Yeah. Better than okay. Move. Please move."

Jisung started slow, then found it impossible to keep that pace. His hands gripped Minho's hips, holding him steady, angling to find that perfect spot. When he did, Minho's back arched off the bed, a moan escaping before he could stop it.

"There," Minho gasped. "Right there. Don't stop."

"Wasn't planning on it." Jisung's pace increased gradually, thrusting in faster, watching his cock slip in and out of Minho. 

One of his hands slid up to tangle with Minho's, pinning it to the mattress above his head. 

Minho felt stripped bare, not just physically but emotionally. Jisung could see all of him—the fear and insecurity and the desperate love he usually kept hidden.

"I love you," Jisung said, his voice rough with exertion and emotion. "I love you so much. Every part of you."

"Love you too," Minho managed, his free hand clutching at Jisung's back, trying to pull him impossibly closer. "So much. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

"Not planning on it. Never stopping. Never leaving you."

Jisung's free hand moved between them, wrapping around Minho's cock and stroking in time with his thrusts. Minho moaned, his head falling against the pillow, blond strands a mess against the white fabric.

"Close," Minho warned, his voice breaking. "I'm so close."

Jisung let go of his cock, moving his hand to push his thigh up against his head. He kept thrusting, watching the bulge on Minho's stomach grow every time he slipped in.

"Look at that," He pressed a hand on Minho's lower stomach. "I can see myself, so cute."

Minho let out a breathless laugh, feeling his body trembling and bouncing with each thrust. Jisung freed Minho's hand from his grip, wrapping it around his cock and stroking it again, keeping his leg up.

"Let me see you. Want to watch you come for me. Want to see that you're really mine."

"Yours," Minho agreed. "Always yours."

It only took a few more strokes before Minho was coming, his whole body shaking and his hole clenching with the force of it. 

The tight feeling of Minho clenching around his cock and the sight of the pretty boy fucked silly under him made Jisung come, not even having time to slip out. He buried his face in Minho's neck as he came, breathing hard, Minho's name muffled against his skin.

They stayed like that for a moment, both breathing hard, Jisung's weight pressing Minho into the mattress in a way that felt grounding rather than crushing. Minho's hands moved slowly up and down Jisung's back, feeling the muscles shift under his touch, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.

"Don't fall asleep," Minho said eventually, though he made no move to push Jisung off.

"Not sleeping. Just... recovering." Jisung pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Better than okay." Minho ran his fingers through Jisung's hair, damp with sweat. "That was…"

"Yeah."

"But we're not done yet."

Jisung lifted his head to look at him, eyebrows raised. "No?"

"No. Because now it's my turn."

"Your turn?"

"My turn to show you how much I missed you. How much I love you." Minho pushed gently at Jisung's shoulder until he pulled out carefully and rolled onto his back. "Unless you don't want me to?"

"I-" Jisung's breath hitched as Minho's hand wrapped around his softening cock, testing. "I definitely want you to."

"Good."

Minho took his time, using his mouth and hands to make Jisung harden, coaxing his body to respond again. It didn't take as long as he'd expected—Jisung was responsive, his hips jerking up involuntarily, small noises escaping his throat that made Minho want to pull every single sound out of him.

"Hyung," Jisung gasped, his hands fisting in the sheets. 

Minho pressed a kiss to his hip bone. "Want to show you that I'm all in. That this matters to me. That you matter to me."

"It matters to me too. You matter to me."

"I know." Minho sat up. "Come on. Shower."

"What?"

"Shower. Come on." Minho stood, pulling Jisung up with him. "Trust me."

They made their way to the bathroom, turning on the shower and waiting for the water to heat up. The bathroom filled with steam, and they stepped under the spray together. The warm water felt good on Minho's skin, washing away the sweat and the sticky white liquid dripping from his hole, but he had other plans.

He pressed Jisung back against the tiled wall, kissing him deeply as the water cascaded over them. His hands roamed over Jisung's body, as if relearning every curve and angle.

"What are you doing?" Jisung asked breathlessly, feeling Minho squeeze his waist.

"Showing you what you mean to me." Minho dropped to his knees, looking up at Jisung through wet hair. "Is this okay?"

"More than okay—oh fuck-"

Minho wrapped his lips around his cock and sucked until Jisung was fully hard again, trembling, his hands tangling in Minho's wet blond hair. When Minho stood back up, Jisung was breathing hard, his eyes dark.

"Turn around," Minho said softly.

Jisung did, bracing his hands against the tile, pushing his ass back. Minho pressed a teasing finger against his rim before putting it in and curling it, making Jisung's back arch.

He took his time prepping him under the spray of water, making sure he was ready, drinking in every reaction, every sound, feeling himself get impossibly harder. 

When Jisung was ready, when he was begging for it, Minho pulled his fingers out, grabbed his cock, and rubbed it between Jisung's cheeks, then pressed it against his hole.

"Wait," Jisung said suddenly. "Different position."

"What do you want?"

"You. I want to see you." Jisung turned around. "Want to look at you. Want to be able to kiss you."

"Okay. Yeah. Of course." Minho's chest felt tight. 

Jisung wrapped his arms around Minho's neck, and Minho got the idea. He gripped Jisung's thighs, lifting him, pressing him back against the tile. Jisung wrapped his legs around Minho's waist, and the new position brought them face to face, chest to chest, as close as they could possibly be.

"Like this?" Minho asked, supporting Jisung's weight.

"Perfect. This is perfect."

Minho pressed his cock against Jisung's hole again and slowly pushed, watching Jisung groan at the sensation. Jisung's arms tightened around his neck, and their foreheads pressed together as Minho began to move.

He captured Jisung's lips as he thrusted in and out, feeling the weight of Jisung in his arms.

"I love you," Minho said between kisses. "I'm so sorry I almost lost this. Almost lost you."

"You didn't lose me. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise?"

"I promise. As long as you don't push me away again."

"I won't. Never again. I swear." Minho adjusted his grip, changing the angle slightly, and Jisung's head fell back against the tile, a moan escaping.

"There—right there-"

Minho maintained that angle, that rhythm, one hand braced against the wall for leverage, the other supporting Jisung's weight. The water continued to cascade over them, making everything slick and warm. 

Jisung's legs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper, his own cock rubbing against Minho's stomach, and Minho could feel how close he was getting from the way his body was tensing, from the increasingly desperate sounds he was making.

"Touch yourself," Minho said, his voice strained. "Want to feel you come while I'm inside you."

Jisung's hand moved between them, and Minho adjusted his grip to give him room. 

The sight of Jisung like this—wet hair plastered to his forehead, lips swollen from kissing, hand working himself while Minho thrusted inside him—was almost enough to make Minho come right then.

"Close," Jisung gasped. "I'm so close."

"Me too. Come for me. Want to feel it."

He thrusted faster, hearing the squelch of their movements, watching Jisung's hand move faster on his cock. 

It only took a few more strokes before Jisung was coming, his whole body tensing, a broken moan falling from his lips. It didn't take long before Minho came too, his legs shaking with the effort of holding them both up.

They stayed like that for a second, both trembling, the water still running over them. Finally, carefully, Minho lowered Jisung back down, both of them wincing at the sensitivity as they separated.

"That was—good," Jisung managed, his legs clearly unsteady.

"Yeah." Minho kept his arms around him, steadying them both.

They finished actually showering, washing each other. Jisung shampooed Minho's hair, his fingers gentle on his scalp. Minho returned the favor, carefully working through Jisung's blue strands, pressing kisses to his shoulders, his neck, anywhere he could reach.

"I really did miss you," Jisung said quietly, his face pressed against Minho's chest.

"I missed you too. Every second of this past week felt wrong without you."

"Don't do that again. Don't shut me out like that."

"I won't. I promise. If I get scared or worried or start spiraling, I'll talk to you about it."

"Okay. Good." Jisung pulled back to look at him. "And I promise to listen. To not assume the worst."

They finished showering and dried off, both of them moving slowly, exhausted in the best way. Minho grabbed two clean towels and wrapped one around Jisung before drying himself off.

Back in the bedroom, neither bothered with clothes. They just crawled into bed, and Jisung immediately curled into Minho's side, his head on Minho's chest, one leg thrown over Minho's legs, completely tangled together.

"So clingy," Minho observed, but his arm came around Jisung automatically, holding him close.

"You love it."

"Maybe."

"Definitely." Jisung pressed his face further into Minho's neck. "You always hold me back. You like having me close."

That was true. Minho's hand had already started running through Jisung's hair, the strands still damp from the shower. "Maybe I do," he admitted quietly.

"Good. Because I like being close to you."

They lay there in comfortable silence for a while, just breathing together, skin against skin, heartbeats syncing up. The room was dark except for the city lights filtering through the curtains, casting everything in shades of blue and purple.

"Now we talk," Jisung said eventually, though he made no move to pull away.

"Now we talk," Minho agreed, his fingers continuing their path through Jisung's hair. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Starting with what actually happened. The whole story, not just the summary you gave me at the venue."

So Minho told him. 

About the girls at the café, about their exact words, about the names he remembered.

About how it had burrowed into his head, confirming every insecurity he'd been carrying. About feeling like he wasn't good enough, like they didn't make sense, like it was only a matter of time before Jisung realized Minho wasn't worth the effort.

"So I left first," Minho finished, his voice small. "Before you could leave me."

"That's bullshit," Jisung said, but his voice was soft, not angry.

"I know. I mean, I know that now. But in the moment-"

"No, I mean it's bullshit that you thought I would leave you. That you thought I'd realize you weren't 'worth it.'" Jisung propped himself up on one elbow to look at Minho. "You were worth it from the beginning. From that stupid strip poker game where you were so determined to humiliate me and I was so determined to get under your skin."

"You did get under my skin."

"I know. That was the plan." Jisung's smile was soft. "But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about winning and started being about actually wanting you. Wanting to know you. Wanting to be the person you let your guard down around."

"You're the only person I've ever let my guard down around. Really let it down, I mean. Even with Felix and the others, I'm still... I'm still performing, in a way. Still being the mean one, the judgmental one." Minho's voice got quieter. "But with you, I could just... be. I could be mean and soft, could be vulnerable and strong, could be all the contradictory things I actually am instead of just the persona."

"That's all I ever wanted," Jisung said. "The real you."

"I didn't know how to give that to someone. Still learning, honestly."

"That's okay. We're both learning." Jisung settled back against Minho's chest. "What about Miyeon? That coffee date?"

"It was a mistake." Minho took a breath. "I was trying to prove something to myself. That I could move on, that I could go back to dating people who 'made sense,' people from my world who understood appearances and expectations and all that bullshit. But the entire time, all I could think about was you. How her laugh wasn't the same. How when she touched my arm, I felt nothing. How she talked about things that bored me to tears when you talk about music, and I could listen for hours."

"She posted that picture pretty quickly."

"Yeah. I think she knew it wasn't going anywhere. Actually," Minho pulled out his phone from the nightstand, showing Jisung the texts from that afternoon, "she told me to fix things with you. Said she'd never seen me actually smile before."

Jisung read the messages, his expression softening. "That was nice of her."

"It was. And it made me realize how obvious it must have been. How obvious my feelings were to everyone except me." Minho set the phone aside. "What about you? This past week. What was it like?"

Jisung was quiet for a long moment. "It was hell," he said finally. "The first day, when you ended things, I kept thinking there had to be more to it. That you'd call or text or explain. But you didn't. And then I saw that post with Miyeon, and I just... I thought that was it. That you'd moved on that fast, which meant I never mattered as much as I thought I did."

"You mattered. You matter. You're everything to me."

"I know that now. But in the moment..." Jisung's voice got thick. "In the moment, I felt like every fear I'd ever had was true. That I wasn't enough. That I was just a convenient hookup until something better came along. That someone like you could never actually want someone like me."

"Someone like me?"

"Yeah. Perfect Lee Minho with your designer everything and your perfect grades, and your perfect face. I'm just some guitarist who works retail."

"That's not-" Minho stopped, tilted Jisung's face up to look at him. "You're not 'just' anything. You're talented and kind and genuine in a way most people aren't. You're brave enough to put yourself out there, to create things and share them even when it's scary. You make me want to be better, want to be more than just some mean guy with high standards."

"You are more than that."

"I know. Because you see it. You see all the parts of me I usually hide." Minho traced his thumb along Jisung's cheekbone. "And for the record, I don't care about designer shit as much as people think. I don't care about appearances or what people think we should be. I care about you. About us. About being happy, which I am when I'm with you."

"Me too. Happy, I mean. When I'm with you." Jisung was quiet for a moment. "That song. The one I performed tonight."

"'Better Off.'"

"Yeah. Chan thought it was too personal. But I needed to do something with all the feelings."

"It shattered me," Minho said. "Hearing it. Seeing you sing it. Knowing I'd hurt you that much."

"Good. You should feel guilty." But Jisung's voice was soft, teasing. "For the record, I didn't delete your number because I was over you. I deleted it because seeing your name on my phone hurt too much. Every time I looked at it, I wanted to text you, to call you, to beg you to explain what I'd done wrong."

"You didn't do anything wrong. It was all me."

"I know that." Jisung kissed his chest, right over his heart. "But I'm glad you came tonight. Glad you were brave enough to try again. Glad you kissed me in front of everyone, even though it was completely crazy."

"My brain just... stopped working. I saw you on stage, looking so beautiful, all I could think was that I needed to kiss you. Needed everyone to know that I was sorry, that I wanted you, that I was choosing you."

"It worked. Though we're definitely going to be all over social media tomorrow."

"Let them post it. I don't care." And Minho realized he really didn't. "I want people to know. Want them to see that we're together. That I'm yours and you're mine and fuck what anyone thinks about it."

"That's character development," Jisung said, smiling.

"It's you. You make me not care about that stuff. Make me care about what actually matters."

They fell quiet again, just holding each other. Minho's hand had returned to Jisung's hair, playing with the strands absently. The blue was growing out slightly at the roots—Minho could see the natural dark brown starting to show through.

"Are you going to keep the blue?" Minho asked.

"I don't know. Do you like it?"

"I love it. But I'd love whatever color it is. You could dye it pink tomorrow and I'd still think you were the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

"Don't tempt me. I've been thinking about purple."

"Purple would look good on you."

"You just said you'd like any color."

"That's because any color would look good on you." Minho tugged gently on a strand of blue. "But I do like this. It was the first thing I noticed about you at that party. Well, second thing. First was the lip ring."

"You were staring at my mouth a lot that night."

"I was planning all the ways I was going to make you regret playing strip poker against me."

"And instead I made you regret it."

"You did. And then you folded."

"I did." Jisung tilted his head to look up at him. "I never really told you why. Why I folded when I was clearly winning."

"You said you didn't want to actually humiliate me."

"It was more than that." Jisung's fingers traced patterns on Minho's chest. "I looked at you, sitting there in just your underwear, looking furious and embarrassed and so fucking hot, and I realized I didn't want to win anymore. I wanted to know you. Wanted to figure out what was behind all that attitude. And I couldn't do that if I completely humiliated you in front of everyone."

"So you walked away."

"So I walked away. And then you followed me outside and we made out against my car, and I thought-" Jisung paused. "I thought maybe this could be something. Maybe this wasn't just attraction or chemistry or whatever. Maybe there was something real here."

"There was. There is."

"Yeah. There is." Jisung was quiet for a moment. "What do we do now? Like, practically. What does being together look like?"

"I don't know," Minho admitted. "I've never... this is different from anything I've had before. I've dated people, but it never felt like this. Never felt important enough to actually work at."

"Same. I've hooked up with people, had a couple short relationships, but nothing serious. Nothing that felt like it was worth the effort of actually committing." Jisung propped himself up to look at Minho properly. "But I want to put in the effort with you. Want to figure out how to make this work."

"Me too. So let's figure it out." Minho thought for a moment. "I want to tell people. Not just that we're together, but actually tell them. Post about it, introduce you to people as my boyfriend, all of it."

"You want to introduce me to your parents."

It wasn't a question, but Minho answered anyway. "Eventually. When you're ready. I know that's going to be... difficult. They're going to have opinions about you, about us, about whether this makes sense for my future or whatever bullshit they care about."

"And what are you going to tell them?"

"That I don't care what they think. That I'm happy with you and that's what matters." Minho's hand cupped Jisung's face. "I meant what I said earlier. I don't care about appearances anymore. I care about you."

"That's going to be hard. Your parents' approval matters to you."

"It does. But you matter more." Minho said it firmly, wanting Jisung to believe it. "And maybe they'll surprise me. Maybe once they actually meet you, once they see how happy you make me, they'll come around."

"And if they don't?"

"Then that's their loss. I'm not choosing them over you. Not choosing anyone over you."

Jisung's eyes were suspiciously bright. "You mean that."

"I do. I really do."

"Okay." Jisung kissed him softly. "Then yeah. I want to meet them. Eventually. When we're both ready." He paused for a second, his eyes lost in Minho's, then he remembered, "Chan texted me while we were in the shower. Apparently the video from tonight is trending on Twitter."

"What."

"Yeah. How do you feel about that?"

"Weirdly okay, actually? Like, a week ago, I would've freaked out. But now..." Minho shrugged. "Now I just don't care. Let people talk. Let them post videos and have opinions. We know what's real."

"We do." Jisung pulled out his phone from where he'd left it on the nightstand. "Want to see it?"

"The video?"

"Yeah."

They watched it together, Minho cringing at himself running onto the stage, at the way he'd just grabbed Jisung and kissed him without warning. But watching Jisung's reaction—the initial shock, then the way he'd melted into it, the way his hands had fisted in Minho's shirt and pulled him closer—made Minho's chest feel warm.

"That's a lot of views," Minho noted. The video had hundreds of thousands already.

"Yeah. And the comments are..." Jisung scrolled through them. "Actually, a lot of people think it's romantic."

"That's nice." Minho allowed himself to smile.

They settled back into comfortable silence, wrapped around each other in Minho's bed. The exhaustion was starting to hit. It had been a long night, a long week, and Minho could feel sleep pulling at him.

"Can I ask you something?" Jisung said, his voice getting drowsy.

"Anything."

"Why did you keep the hoodie? Like, I know you said you missed me, but... wearing the same hoodie for a week straight is kind of crazy."

Minho felt his face heat slightly. "It smelled like you. Like your cologne and just... you. And wearing it made me feel less empty. Made me feel like maybe I hadn't completely destroyed everything."

"That's really sweet. In a kind of really pathetic way."

"I know. I was pathetic all week. Ask anyone."

"I was pretty pathetic, too. I barely left my room except for classes and band practice."

"We're both idiots."

"Yeah. But we're idiots together now."

"Together," Minho repeated, testing the word again. "I really like that."

"Me too."

Jisung's breathing was starting to even out, his body getting heavier as sleep pulled him under. Minho stayed awake a bit longer, just holding him, marveling at the fact that this was real. That Jisung was here, in his bed, in his life. That they were together, actually together, with no more pretending or running or hiding.

Right now, all that mattered was this. Jisung warm and solid against him, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the weight of his arm across Minho's chest. The knowledge that tomorrow, they'd wake up together. That there would be more tomorrows after that. That this was real and lasting and worth every moment it took to get here.

"I love you," Minho whispered into the dark.

"Love you too," Jisung mumbled, half-asleep. "Even though you're dramatic as fuck."

"Says the guy who wrote a heartbreak song after a week."

"It was a good song, though."

"It was," Minho agreed, pressing a kiss to Jisung's hair. "It was perfect."

"You're perfect."

"No, I'm not."

"Perfect for me, then." Jisung's words were slurring now, sleep finally winning. "My perfect grumpy kitty."

"Mhm," Minho agreed softly. "Always yours."

Jisung didn't respond, already asleep. Minho lay there in the dark, one hand in Jisung's blue hair, the other resting on his back, feeling his heartbeat, steady and sure.

Tomorrow, Minho would probably spiral at least once about whether he was good enough, whether this could really last, whether he was capable of being what Jisung needed.

But tomorrow, he would also talk to Jisung about it. Would be honest instead of running. Would choose to be brave instead of safe.

Tomorrow could wait, though.

Tonight, he had this. Had Jisung sleeping peacefully in his arms, their legs tangled together, their breathing synchronized. Had the knowledge that even after everything—the fear and the running and the week of misery—they'd found their way back to each other.

Minho smiled into the dark and finally let sleep take him.

.⋆♱

The first thing Minho realized when he woke up was that every single thing was worth it for this—waking up next to Jisung, watching the early morning light paint shadows across his face, feeling completely at peace for the first time in forever.

"You're staring," Jisung mumbled without opening his eyes.

"You're in my bed."

"Your point?"

"Just making sure you're real."

"I'm real. Now come back here. You're too far away." Jisung's arm tightened around him.

"I'm literally touching you."

"Not close enough."

Minho laughed and shifted closer, letting Jisung pull him in.

"You know what I was thinking?" Jisung said, his voice still rough with sleep.

"What?"

"That strip poker game. Where this all started."

"What about it?"

"I'm really glad you're terrible at poker."

"I'm not terrible at poker. You're just suspiciously good at it."

"I told you, I'm good at most things."

"So humble."

"One of my best qualities." Jisung pressed a kiss to Minho's shoulder. "But seriously. If you'd been good at poker, if I'd lost that game, we might not be here right now."

"We would've found each other anyway."

"You think so?"

"I know so. Because even when I was being an idiot, even when I was running, I couldn't stay away from you. You're kind of unavoidable."

"Is that a compliment?"

"It's a fact." Minho tilted Jisung's face up to kiss him properly. "You're my favorite fact."

"That's so cheesy."

"You love it."

"I do," Jisung admitted. "I love it. I love you."

"I love you too."

They stayed in bed for another thirty minutes, just existing together, before reality forced them to get up. They had responsibilities, lives to live. But now they had each other too, and that made everything else feel manageable.

As they got ready for the day, Minho realized something else.

This was what he'd been missing his whole life. Not perfection, or someone who fit into neat categories or made sense on paper. But someone who saw him completely and loved him anyway. Someone who challenged him and supported him and made him want to be better.

Someone who felt like home.