Archive of Our Own

Raindrops pattered against the window Jisung leaned on. Blurs of streetlights, people, and cars passed behind them as the taxi drove him to the address he’d provided when he climbed in. It had been a struggle flagging one down—he’d never done that before. He was sure he’d looked like a chicken flailing its wings with its head chopped off until the older man driving took pity and pulled over for him, despite the sign on top of his car being off.

Had he known it was going to be raining when he got out of Newark, Jisung would’ve worn or packed a jacket. Instead, he was stuck in his flimsy flannel that did little to combat the chill of autumn. Everything else was stuffed into his suitcase, unwashed and unfolded. The hazards of packing and buying a plane ticket on the same day as the flight.

New York was beautiful this time of year. Not that Jisung had ever been there to determine if it was just as breathtaking during other seasons, but he was sure it was. Such a large, vibrant city was bound to be picturesque to new eyes.

Traffic wasn’t terrible like he’d seen in movies. It moved slow, sure, but it was fast enough that he didn’t feel the itch of anxiety and impatience in his palms. The slow roll of the vehicle gave him the chance to peer out the window and gaze at his new home.

Because that’s what he supposed it was. Home. Sure, he didn’t have an apartment yet, or a job to keep himself afloat, but it was new. It was fresh, and it was where he needed to be.

He needed to be, because Minho was here.

Jisung hadn’t planned what he was going to say when he arrived, but he was a master at winging it. He was sure there would be no grand speech, no declaration of missing his friend, but he was confident he’d say something.

The towering buildings turned into greenery as they passed a large park, and Jisung leaned forward to ask the driver, “is that Central Park?”

Glancing at him momentarily, the greying man nodded. “The one and only. First time here?”

“Yeah, but hopefully here to stay.”

He watched the park pass in slow motion. The leaves were only just beginning to turn various shades of orange and yellow, barely starting to drop from the branches and blanket the ground. Even though it was nearly evening, people littered the paths that he could see, jogging or walking, some even biking. A group of young girls were bundled in coats and scarves, and he wished he’d brought his. Instead, it was hanging abandoned in a closet of an apartment he’d never return to. One that was never his to begin with.

Time seemed to stand still as the world passed by. People moved, cars honked, and the wind whistled, but Jisung felt like he was frozen. Change was scary, sometimes even debilitating, and he wasn’t ready for it.

But he had to be. He’d already come this far.

When the cab pulled up to the curb in front of a brownstone that looked way too nice for Jisung to step foot in, it became real. He was here, and hopefully, Minho was too. Jisung didn’t know his work schedule, didn’t know if he had plans or if he’d even be home. If he had to, Jisung would sit on his stoop in the rain until he got home. It wasn’t like he had much choice, anyway. He had nowhere else to go.

The driver helped him get his suitcase out of the trunk, huffing under the weight of it. Jisung tried to grab it from him, only to be told, “I may be old, but I’m not incapable, boy.”

He bowed politely and handed the man a wad of American dollars he’d gotten at the currency exchange in the airport. Even though he was aware of the exchange rate and generally knew how much each bill was worth, the look on the old man’s face made him think he was gravely incorrect in his estimate of how much to give. He was proven right when the man separated the bills, handing Jisung back a majority of them. Heat burned on his cheeks, and he bowed a flustered thank you.

“Take care of yourself,” the man spoke gruffly, patting Jisung on the shoulder. “This city is not kind to the innocent.”

Jisung sputtered. “Oh, uh— I will! Thank you again.”

The driver gave him a kind smile before he turned and climbed back into the cab, giving Jisung one more tiny wave before he peeled away from the curb, flicking the light on the roof of the taxi off once again.

Left standing on the side of the road, suitcase in hand and little more than a shirt to keep him dry, Jisung turned to face the townhouse. Four stories of weathered brick rose above him, trimmed with chipped stonework and crowned with a tangle of black fire escapes on the side in a narrow alleyway. It felt impossibly tall as he tilted his head to take it all in, fat raindrops splashing on his cheeks. Most of the front bay windows glowed a warm yellow, except for two, and he hoped that the one that was off on the second floor wasn’t Minho’s. If he weren’t home, Jisung would have to wait on the stoop for him. Worse, if he were sleeping, Jisung would be waking him by knocking on the door.

If that were the case, well… Jisung was just going to have to deal with the momentary guilt. There was no other choice.

Heaving a sigh, Jisung rolled his suitcase towards the shallow stoop, sloshing in the puddle that had formed at the base of it. He hauled it up one by one, then pushed open the heavy wooden door into the first floor hallway. The floor was tiled, cracked and worn from years of wear. There was one door to his right labelled 1, and a staircase in front of him. He knew Minho lived in unit 2, so he lugged his suitcase up the stairs slowly, setting it down on the narrow steps halfway up to take a breather.

“Fucking hell,” he mumbled to himself, out of breath. He may have packed a little too heavily. Even still, it was only clothes and necessities. All his other belongings—his music equipment, his collections—had to be left in Seoul. Seoul, where he would hopefully never be returning.

Up the rest of the stairs, the single light in the hall buzzed and flickered dimly. Jisung stared at the door to his left. Apartment 2.

If he was right, Minho was only feet away from him. No longer an entire world.

On the floor below, he could hear the faint, muffled sounds of a television playing, and above, the cries of a toddler. It wasn’t too late yet, so Jisung crossed his fingers and prayed to whoever might be listening that Minho was still awake.

Leaving his suitcase by the wall, Jisung ruffled himself, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his arms in an attempt to rid himself of the nerves that clung to his skin like his flannel. With one more deep breath, he raised his hand. Then he knocked.

The sound echoed through the hall, and on the other side of the door. For a moment after, it was silent. Blood surged into Jisung’s ears, pounding against his eardrums and making the world around him fall silent to the drumming of his heart. This was a mistake. Minho wasn’t here, and if he was he would—

“Jisung?”

He blinked at the space in front of him. The door was open, but he hadn’t noticed it do so. In its place was a man, hair and clothes ruffled as if he’d been sleeping, but his face didn’t look tired. He was alarmed, dark eyes widened as he stared at Jisung.

Jisung bit his lip. “Hi, hyung.”

A hand darted out, and that was all Jisung saw before he was pulled into an embrace. Arms wrapped tightly around his back, tugging him into a firm chest that had Jisung’s breath leaving his lungs. His face was buried in an equally firm shoulder, and he breathed in the scent of freshly washed laundry—clean linen, with just a hint of vanilla.

“What are you doing here?” Minho spoke into his hair, and Jisung realized he wasn’t hugging him back. He snaked his arms around Minho’s middle, grounding himself. He was here. He was really here. 

“Long story.”

Minho pulled back, looking at Jisung with something he couldn’t name. “Come on, let’s get you inside. You’ll get sick if you stay in those clothes.”

Jisung hadn’t even realized he was that wet. But now that Minho pointed it out, he felt the way his hair tickled his nape, how droplets dripped onto his shoulders, and the way his sleeves clung to his skin.

Opening the door wider, Minho grabbed Jisung’s suitcase before he could protest. He wheeled it inside, urging Jisung along behind him. Jisung stopped at the threshold to slide his worn sneakers off, tucking them neatly beside the door where Minho’s various pairs sat lining the wall. It was warmer inside, but it still didn’t stop the chill from seeping into his bones, and he shivered slightly.

The apartment was neatly kept, and it felt like home. A candle burned on the counter in the kitchen across the room, the glow emitting just enough light that he could see and navigate. The lights had been out, but Minho flicked a switch next to the door that flooded the room in a warm hue. It smelled of vanilla and spices, as if he’d been baking. Jisung knew he liked to do that on occasion.

In the front room near the window there was a television that still casted a dim glow onto the couch, the movie Minho had been watching paused on a scene that looked somewhat familiar to Jisung, although he couldn’t place it. His mind was too jumbled, too many thoughts and feelings running through it for him to fully comprehend anything in the moment.

“Do you have clothes to change into?” Minho asked, pushing his suitcase up to an open door next to the kitchen. “Who am I kidding, this thing is heavy. Of course you have clothes. You can go into my room and change.”

Jisung nodded, body on autopilot as he stepped through the narrow space. He tried to observe everything he could—the mug in the sink, a faint ring of brown still on the inside where Minho’s coffee had been that he had yet to wash out. The pile of folded laundry on the couch. On his left, a slightly ajar door that led to a dark bathroom.

Both of them were silent as Jisung rolled his suitcase into Minho’s room, flicking on the light beside the door and closing it behind him. It was cozy, large enough that Minho could fit a dresser and a desk in the room and still have enough space to walk and move freely. His bed was made, at no surprise to Jisung. The sheets were a light beige, tucked neatly under the pillows in a way that screamed magazine feature.

He stepped carefully, afraid to touch anything in the pristine space. Laying the suitcase on its side, Jisung unzipped it and cringed when he flipped it open. Wrinkled, balled up clothes stared back at him. He tugged out a pair of sweatpants and a shirt he was fairly certain were clean when he put them in there, then shut the suitcase so he could pretend it wasn’t a disaster.

Jisung changed quickly, peeling the damp clothing from his body and shrugging on the new clothes, sighing in relief when he no longer felt the cling of his flannel on his arms.

When he exited the room, Minho was leaning against the counter, a new mug in his hands. Another one sat beside him, steam rising from the liquid inside.

“So,” he began, drawing out the word. “Care to explain? Not that I mind the impromptu visit, I just— why are you here, bug?”

The nickname hit harder in person than Jisung expected. It was different to read it over texts, or even hear it in their rare phone calls. Being able to hear it out loud, standing less than three feet from Minho, struck a chord in Jisung’s heart that nearly made him burst into tears.

He didn’t want to relive the events that led up to him packing, buying a plane ticket and sitting in an uncomfortable economy seat for fourteen hours, but Minho deserved to know.

“I, uh—” he fiddled with the hem of his shirt, staring down at the frayed material as he thought over his words. “I caught Dohyun cheating.”

Minho blinked. “Caught?”

Jisung sighed, rounding the counter and gripping the waiting mug in his hands. The warmth, along with the aroma of chocolate wafting up to him, melted the chill from him immediately.

“I wasn’t supposed to be home.” He rolled his eyes, taking a sip of the warm drink. It slid down his throat easily. “It was kind of a shit show, to be honest. First I got let go, and then—”

“You got let go? Like, fired?”

“Hyung.”

Minho flushed, nodding. “Sorry.”

Jisung somehow migrated to sitting on the countertop, legs crossed with the mug securely in his hands. Minho joined him, letting his legs dangle over the edge.

“Let me backtrack. So this morning— or yesterday? I don’t know anymore. I went to work like normal, Dohyun knew my schedule and was aware that I’d be home late because we were working on a big project for a new group.” He paused to take another sip, not wanting to think about the last twenty-four hours. “I was working like normal, finishing up a demo for the group to use for recording, and then I got called into my boss’ office. And then, yeah, I was ‘let go’.”

“Out of nowhere?” Minho asked, licking chocolate from his lips.

Jisung nodded. “They said numbers had been way lower than projected for the quarter and they couldn’t have such high staffing costs, or something like that. So I left early.”

He thought back to that moment, his heart aching as he pictured the events.

The two bodies on the bed froze, both heads whipping to turn in his direction. It felt like the world stopped, like time paused, when Jisung recognized both faces. One, the love of his life. The other, his boyfriend’s coworker.

Blood pumped in his ears, too loud. His face burned, his fingers tingled. He felt too much and not enough all at once.

“Ji, it’s not what it looks like—”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Jisung mumbled, shoulders sagging. He turned in on himself, hugging the mug close to his chest to numb the aching of his heart.

An arm snaked around his waist and he squeaked as he was tugged into Minho’s side.

“That’s fine, bug,” Minho soothed, smiling at him like it was easy. “You don’t have to tell me. I understand. Dohyun’s an ass, anyway.”

Snorting, Jisung leaned further into Minho’s warmth. It had been years since he’d last seen him, the last being more than a handful ago when Minho visited his grandparents in Gimpo for their 50th anniversary. Even then, they’d only been able to spend a few hours together before Minho had to fly back home. Before that, the last time he’d seen Minho, been able to touch him, Jisung was twelve years old.

But it didn’t feel like the majority of their adult life had been spent learning about each other’s lives through phone screens. Next to him, wrapped in his secure arms—which were much larger than Jisung recalled—it felt like no time had passed at all. He was twelve again, sitting on the rickety old swing in his backyard that fourteen year old Minho helped him repair more than a handful of times whenever the rope frayed and snapped. If he looked up, he’d see the sun shining through the leaves, the autumn breeze rustling them as he was pushed by Minho from behind.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Minho spoke, breaking him from his memory. “You can take the bed. I assume you’re staying?”

Jisung nodded, then pouted. “I can’t make you sleep on the couch. It’s your house.”

Minho’s fingers flexed, squeezing Jisung’s arm in a manner that was more comforting than Jisung wanted to admit. Then he slid his arm away, hopping off the counter and collecting both of their mugs. He had to pry Jisung’s away from him, his fingers still wrapped tightly around it despite the contents being gone.

“It’s fine, bug.” He stepped over to the sink, using his elbow to push the handle until the water came out. “I don’t mind, really. I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”

He had, but that wasn’t the point.

“We can share the bed, can’t we?”

Minho blinked at him, slow cat eyes staring back at him. The water continued to run, the soft thrum of it hitting the metal basin filling the room. Jisung hadn’t seen Minho in half a decade, hadn’t spent quality time with him in twice as long. To suggest sharing a bed, even innocently, was insane. But, Jisung was never really sane. He was exhausted and broken above all.

“You sure?”

It was so simple, such a typical Minho way of being casual when he turned back to the sink, drying off the mugs with an old rag and setting them aside. He leaned over and blew the candle out.

Jisung slid off the counter. “Yeah, why not? We used to share a bed all the time.”

“We were also half the size we are now and didn’t know the concept of personal space.”

“I still don’t know that concept.”

Minho rolled his eyes, but it was so full of a familiar fondness Jisung had been waiting for that he knew he’d won.

“Come on. You’re taking the left side.”

Jisung whooped, following Minho into the bedroom with a hop in his step. It didn’t feel like he’d just spent fourteen hours on a cramped flight. He wanted to bounce off the walls, an energy returning to him that he hadn’t experienced since he was twelve in Minho’s grandparents’ backyard. It was like his life force had left with Minho, and now that he was back beside him, it had returned in full force.

“Bug?”

Jisung blinked. He didn’t realize he’d stopped in the doorway as Minho moved to change into pajamas. His hands were paused on the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Oh!” Jisung felt his cheeks heat. “Right. Yeah, I’ll just…”

He moved to turn away and walk out of the room, but Minho’s voice stopped him.

“Where are you going? Get ready for bed, you dork.”

Right. It was odd for him to leave the room. It was just two men changing, that’s all. Not that Jisung needed to change. He usually slept without a shirt, sometimes even less, but he couldn’t do that with Minho in the same bed as him.

He was proven wrong when Minho tugged his sweatshirt off and didn’t replace it with another shirt.

Jisung’s movements were robotic as he moved further into the room and tugged his own shirt off, leaving both of them in just sweatpants. Minho passed him wordlessly, heading into the bathroom and flicking the light on. The bulb hummed softly like the one in the hallway outside, filling the silence. Jisung partly wished it hadn’t—the sound was grating.

Trailing after him, he paused at the door and watched Minho wetting his toothbrush. “I didn’t bring my toothbrush.” I didn’t have time to grab it, is what he didn’t need to say.

Minho blinked at him, slow and cat-like. “Right. Yeah. I have a spare somewhere.”

He left his brush on the edge of the sink, crouching down to check in the cabinet beneath. It took a moment of rummaging, but he located the package and tore it open, handing Jisung a brand new green toothbrush. Jisung took it with a grateful nod.

They brushed their teeth in silence, both facing the mirror and avoiding eye contact through it. It wasn’t awkward, per se, but Jisung felt an unresolved tension that he knew he was the cause of. He showed up on Minho’s doorstep with no warning. He could’ve at least called, texted, anything. But Jisung’s head had been filled with nothing but a flight response. He didn’t think about the consequences of any of his actions until he was stepping off the plane at the airport with a nearly dead cellphone and a mostly drained bank account.

He followed Minho back into the bedroom like a lost puppy, his toes pointing inward as he paused in the doorway.

“Hyung,” he called out, feeling much smaller than he was. “Are you sure this is okay? I can—”

“Bug, just come to bed. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Jisung let himself crawl onto the bed, and there was little fight left in him when Minho drew him into his arms. The warmth of his chest was comforting, and it didn’t feel as if they’d spent the last decade on opposite sides of the planet.

𖥸

“So, first order of business.” A plate slid across the counter toward Jisung. “You need a job.”

Jisung grabbed the plate, sticking his fork into the food presented to him with little hesitation. “Easier said than done, hyung.”

“You could find something in retail for now. A shop or something, just to get some money flowing.”

They hadn’t discussed it, but Jisung’s bank account was looking rather empty after his last minute plane ticket. And he couldn’t live off of Minho’s generosity—he would never let himself, especially with such a surprise visit. Minho hadn’t asked for this.

Jisung had woken up wrapped in Minho’s arms, and it was a harsh reminder that he was no longer in Seoul, no longer in South Korea at all. He loved it, loved the feeling of his best friend’s arms around him, but it didn’t dull the sharp pain of heartbreak that he suffered less than 48 hours ago.

“How about the record store down the street?” Minho suggested when Jisung didn’t reply. “I’ve been there a few times. Seems like a chill place to work.”

“Are they even hiring?”

“Guess you better go find out.”

Jisung did, as soon as Minho headed off to work. With the name of the store plugged into his map app, courtesy of Minho, Jisung tugged on a coat—also Minho’s—and headed down the street. It was a windy day, colorful leaves kicking up in a swirl around him as he walked. He jumped a little each time a car honked on the street and had to double-take when strangers passed by while talking, thinking they were speaking to him only to realize they were on their phones. New York was noisy, and Jisung wasn’t sure he enjoyed that. Seoul had been loud, of course, but Jisung had gotten used to the shouting in the streets during campaign season, and the day to day road noise from cars and motorcycles. This was a whole new level of noise.

The shop Minho had directed him to was below another building, down a half flight of rain-soaked, leaf-covered stairs into what looked like a neon-lit basement. He cautiously descended the concrete steps, each footfall feeling heavier than the last. If he were to be murdered down there, at least Minho would know where he’d been last.

Neon-lit actually meant an abundance of neon signs in the front window, but barely any lighting in the rest of the store. It was dimly lit, the overhead tungsten bathing row after row of bins of vinyl in a yellow light that felt decidedly 80s.

“Welcome in,” a monotone voice called from somewhere in the vast darkness that was the back of the shop. There were a few other patrons lurking around the rows of bins, all of them looking like they’d stepped directly out of The Breakfast Club. Jisung tugged at his own shirt, suddenly feeling like he shouldn’t have worn something so… normal.

He stepped to the back of the store, his eyes slowly adjusting to the light. There, he could see a lone cashier sitting behind the counter, playing a game on his phone. He couldn’t have been older than twenty.

“Uh, hi,” Jisung started, clearing his throat when his voice came out crackly. “I was wondering if you guys were hiring?”

His English wasn’t terrible, but he could hear the accent tinging the ends of some of his words.

The cashier looked up. “Got a resume?”

Jisung nodded, stiffly handing over the piece of paper Minho had helped him print out. It was sparse, just one job under his belt, and it was in a completely different country, but it was something.

Uninterested eyes looked over it for a moment, then they sparkled with something Jisung could only call mischief.

“Korean?” The cashier asked. Jisung nodded. Relief flooded his veins when the cashier switched to the familiar language. “I’m the manager. Name’s Jeongin. Can you start tomorrow? Noon.”

This was the manager? There was no way this kid was older than Jisung, let alone the manager of an entire store. Jisung spluttered, mouth opening to retort. “T-tomorrow? Are you sure? Is there anyone else I need to—”

“Tomorrow,” Jeongin affirmed, setting the piece of paper down. “I’m down an employee, dude quit yesterday, so I have shifts to fill. Do you want it or not?”

Jisung jerked his head quickly enough he was sure he gave himself whiplash. He bowed slightly, eyes locked on the counter between them.

Jeongin laughed. “Oh, you’re new new, huh? Word of advice? No one does that here.”

The red on Jisung’s cheeks when he left the shop could have been from his embarrassment or the wind whipping at him—or maybe both.

Jisung took his time getting back to Minho’s apartment. He’d never gotten around to visiting New York, let alone any of the states. He’d always meant to, of course, but life got in the way any time he had the money or time set aside to do so. An emergency appliance repair, or a sudden overtime request from his bosses. Now that he was here, Jisung had to take every opportunity to explore while he could.

2nd Avenue was much less crowded than the streets the taxi had driven down the day before. While still busy and bustling, there was much more space to walk and pause if he felt like he needed to take a photo of something. He didn’t have to worry about people bumping into him as he walked, able to leave enough space between himself and other pedestrians.

It was midday, the sun high in the sky but clouded by a sheet of white above Jisung’s head. The autumn chill was in full swing. The coat Minho borrowed him was barely enough to fight it off, no matter how tightly he tugged it around himself.

With Minho being at work, there was no rush for Jisung to get back to the apartment. He’d been given Minho’s spare key. He had all day, if he wanted.

He wandered the streets, stopping into a few shops that looked interesting but not too populated. With the little bit of pocket money he’d exchanged at the airport, he bought himself an overpriced americano that tasted like the espresso had been pulled hours ago, and a little keychain of an alien he found at a tiny stall in an artisan shop. He hung it on Minho’s keychain—it added much needed character.

The clouds began to darken just as he reached Minho’s stoop and he was grateful for the cover of the lobby when the sky opened up and a downpour was released.

Walking up one flight of stairs wasn’t that bad. He hoped that wherever he managed to find a place—he couldn't stay with Minho forever—was no higher than the third floor. Or had a working elevator. Jisung would settle for either. Just as long as he didn’t have to walk up tens of flights of stairs. Stairs were his enemy.

The apartment was empty when he swung the door open. Minho told him he didn’t always get home at the same time every day, but he’d still been hopeful. Jisung kicked his shoes off, placing them beside Minho’s as neatly as he could be bothered to, and shrugged the jacket from his shoulders, hanging it on the coat rack beside the door.

He took the opportunity to really observe the space while he was alone. Everything was so… Minho. Or at least, the Minho that Jisung had known as a kid. Neat, clean, organized. There was a place for everything—a basket on top of the kitchen cabinets for extra tupperware, a perfect gap left in the books on the shelf against the far wall for the novel that sat on the coffee table.

Jisung padded across the living room and threw himself down on the couch. Just as he did so, he heard the door creak open. He shot up, wide eyed, as Minho scrambled inside with his arms full.

“Hey, bug,” he said when he noticed Jisung. “Brought food.”

That was enough to have Jisung up and over to the door in seconds. He took the bag of takeout from Minho’s hands as Minho struggled to shrug off his jacket with his hands full. Jisung set the bag on the counter, the smell of fried rice already filling his senses.

They moved around each other like it was second nature. Minho slid around Jisung, grabbing drinks from the fridge while Jisung unpacked everything on the counter. There was no bumping, no apologies when they were in each other’s way because that just didn’t happen.

White cartons in hand, they settled themselves on Minho’s couch, the grey fabric worn from use and probably secondhand. Minho flicked the television on and put on a show Jisung didn’t recognize, but he was too busy diving into his food to really care. The voices on the screen became background noise as he ate, shimmying in place as he happily shoveled food into his mouth.

“It’s not going anywhere, bug,” Minho mused, taking much smaller, normal bites.

“I know that.”

Minho rolled his eyes, refocusing on the television, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that had Jisung grinning too.

He did focus on the show, eventually. The cartons of rice and chicken were empty by the time he laid back and rested his arms behind his head, but he did focus on it. He didn’t recognize it, though, and he had to really concentrate to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

“What is this?” He asked Minho during a lull in a scene.

Minho turned to him, wide eyes blinking. “You’ve never seen this?”

Jisung shook his head.

“We need to start from the beginning, then!”

Minho grabbed the remote, exiting out of the episode and pulling up the full list from whatever streaming service he was on. He scrolled up to the first episode, and Jisung realized they’d been watching the fifth season.

“House… M.D?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Minho huffed, starting the pilot. “It’s a great show.”

Jisung had to agree—even if it took him six episodes to really come to that conclusion. He was too occupied watching Minho’s reactions to everything, even though it was clear he knew the show very well, if the way he mouthed along to some lines was anything to go by.

It was late by the time Jisung’s bones ached with the desire to lay down and pass out. Much later than he’d realized. Minho didn’t seem to care, too immersed in the show to notice the dark blanket of night outside the window.

Only once the episode ended did Minho seem to understand the time. He clicked the television off and stood, stretching his arms high above his head. Jisung averted his gaze at the sight of pale, milky skin as Minho’s sweater slid up.

“Time to hit the hay,” Minho said.

Jisung blinked. “Hit the— what?”

“It’s just an expression, bug,” Minho assured with a smile. “Let’s go to bed.”

As they climbed into Minho’s bed, Jisung remembered the entire point of his outing.

“Oh,” he spoke in the darkness, “I got the job, by the way.”

With the light off, Jisung could barely make out Minho’s figure, but he felt the way he turned to him. “Bug, that’s great! When do you start?”

“Tomorrow at noon.”

Pain flickered on Jisung’s temple as Minho reached out and flicked him.

“Why didn’t you say something? It’s after midnight!”

Jisung shrugged. “I was enjoying the show.”

He was also enjoying the company of his best friend after not having it for a decade.

If Jisung had the choice, he would’ve locked them both in Minho’s apartment for the next week until they were completely caught up on all the nuances of each other’s lives and re-learned all of their quirks. But they were adults now, not two kids who had nothing better to do than hide under the covers when their parents came to check on them long after bedtime had passed and the moon was high in the sky. They could no longer have long nights spent giggling under the harsh light of Minho’s camping flashlight that he stored in his bedside table.

“Well,” Minho sighed, snapping him out of his reverie. “If you’re tired tomorrow, don’t blame me.”

Jisung would, but he didn’t say anything.

𖥸

Minho offered to walk Jisung to work the next day, though Jisung had been more than capable of finding the record store on his own before. He said it over a cup of coffee, his black and steaming and Jisung’s iced and watered down.

“You have to work, though,” Jisung argued, sipping on his americano with furrowed brows.

“I could take the day off. I have plenty of paid time saved up.”

Jisung rolled his eyes. “Hyung, I’m not a kid. I can manage getting to work on my own, you don’t need to take the day off and walk me like it’s my first day of school.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” Jisung pointed a finger at him. “If you’re that worried, you can pick me up at the end of my shift. I’ll text you what time once I ask Jeongin.”

“Jeongin?” Minho asked.

“The manager.”

Humming, Minho turned and rinsed his mug out and set it aside. “Fine. But if I don’t hear from you, I’m coming down there.”

He left a little while after that, swinging a work bag over his shoulder and pointedly reminding Jisung to text him when his shift ended. Jisung waved him off, but a bud of infatuation bloomed in his chest anyway. It was nice to have someone care about him, especially when the only person he’d really been around for the last few years was the complete opposite. Dohyun had been kind—at first—but he wasn’t caring. He never made sure Jisung was okay, or asked how his day was, or checked to see if he was safe.

Minho had, though, even from the other side of the planet. He always found ways. A text saying goodnight even if Jisung was just starting his day. Stupid memes or pictures of the bodega cat down the street from his apartment. They were long distance best friends, but it never felt like there was any distance at all.

Jisung had always been the type to cling to things a little longer than he should. Not the bad memories; he’d rather forget those. But the good ones, Minho happened to be in nearly every one. He couldn’t help holding onto those memories. The feelings that came with them.

He took his time getting ready. Minho had given him a rundown of the bathroom—how to use the shower, the way the handle had to be at a very specific angle to avoid the pipes squealing the entire time, which shampoo to use, where his spare towels were. Jisung followed everything perfectly, even wiping the mirror off after to avoid water spotting when the steam dried.

With time to kill before he needed to leave, Jisung did what any other guest in a new place would do: he snooped. He eyed every picture frame on the walls, faces staring back at him that he didn’t recognize.

In one, a man with bleached hair cropped short had his arm slung around Minho’s shoulders, his eyes crescented as a warm smile lit up his entire face. Another showed three cats on a couch. Jisung recognized those—Minho’s parents’ cats. Minho had fought with them to take at least one with him when he moved to his own place, but they’d told him it would be too difficult to find an apartment that allowed pets. Jisung knew he visited them upstate often.

The frame beside it was a group photo, and only one of the four was a face Jisung was familiar with. Minho stood to the side of the group, pulled in by the elbow by a dark haired man that was much taller than him. They looked happy. Drunk, given their reddened cheeks, but happy.

Minho had an entire life here. He’d been here longer than he’d lived in South Korea. Was there room in his life for an old friend? Or was Jisung just imposing?

He left the apartment in a daze. Being surrounded by Minho’s new life, his new friends, his new everything was sending Jisung down a path he didn’t want to be on. He came here to escape, not to run head-first into even more problems.

Having time to kill before his shift, Jisung stopped at the same cafe as the day before. He ordered another iced americano—just as burnt tasting as the last—and wandered down the street. The late morning bustle felt distinctly different than the early afternoon rush that he’d experienced the day before. People moved with more purpose, brushing past him with swishes of trenchcoats like Jisung had missed the memo on the year’s latest fall fashion trend.

The neon lights in the window of the record shop lit the metal rails of the stairway. Jisung was early, but he headed down anyway, his worn boots thudding against the concrete.

Jeongin looked up when the door opened. “Wel— oh, hey. You’re early.”

“Yeah, sorry.” The words were barely comprehensible. “I can just—”

“Come help me with this. You can throw your coat in the back.”

He gestured to a doorway behind the counter, covered by a black curtain. Jisung nodded, hurrying across the room and nearly bumping into a cart piled high with boxes. Apologies fumbled from his lips as he sidestepped the cart.

The back room was large but jumbled. Boxes and random assortments of merchandise were strewn across the room, so much so that it took Jisung the better half of a minute to locate somewhere to put his jacket. A coat rack tucked behind the door held another, and Jisung carefully hung his up beside it. He straightened his tee, brushing non-existent lint from his chest before he stepped back out to the shop floor.

“Right,” Jeongin said, clapping his hands. “I’ve got a list of new releases and prices. I need you to label them and put them in the right bins.”

“Oh, but I don’t—”

Jeongin shrugged him off. “It’s super simple. I’ll walk you through it. Then while you’re doing that, I’ll get your employee info all set up.”

It was simple, but that didn’t ease Jisung’s nerves in the slightest. He didn’t want to mess anything up. He couldn’t afford to mess anything up.

While he worked, Jeongin fiddled around with paperwork Jisung didn’t understand. It was all his information, his new employment agreement, pay, everything that proved Jisung really worked there. Jeongin scanned it into the computer and printed copies for Jisung, but Jisung was too concentrated on placing a price sticker just right to do anything more than nod in thanks.

Customers floated in and out, asking Jeongin questions about new releases and when they’d get their next shipments in of specific albums. Jisung assumed most were regulars, given the way they were all so comfortable with Jeongin, the majority of them calling him by his name and striking up casual conversation with him.

No one said more to Jisung than a hello.

He didn’t mind it, really. It allowed him to focus on the task at hand. He hated this task. His fingertips were really sticky.

After a customer mentioned dinner, Jisung’s ears perked up.

“Oh, hey, uh,” Jisung stammered. “What time does my shift end?”

“Shop closes at eight, so eight. That okay?”

Jeongin really seemed like a no-nonsense guy when he talked to Jisung, but when he interacted with customers, Jisung could see a bright smile and even dimples on the manager.

Jisung nodded, turning back to the dwindling stack of releases. “Yeah, I just gotta let my friend know.”

He slid his phone out of his pocket and texted Minho a simple 8pm, earning a thumbs up in response. Just as he was about to lock his phone and put it away, three dots appeared.

Minho [1:15pm]
You’re lucky. I was about to leave and sprint two miles to make sure you weren’t murdered

Jisung scoffed, wiping his thumb against his shirt to try and rid himself of the sticker residue before he responded.

Jisung [1:15pm]
It’s only been an hour

Minho [1:16pm]
That’s all it takes, bug

“Those releases done?”

Jisung jolted, his phone screen black and face down on the table beside him in rapid succession as he whirled to face his boss.

“Almost—”

“Relax.” Jeongin laughed, grinning. “I’m just fucking with you. You’re doing really well. I don’t mind if you’re on your phone. I mean, you saw me yesterday, no?”

He had, but Jisung assumed that was a perk of being a manager. Any job he ever worked, the manager had always been lazy.

They seemed to loosen up around each other after that, making conversation as Jisung’s pile of releases got smaller and smaller. Customers continued to stream in, poking around the rows of vinyl until they found what they needed. Jeongin would leave the counter and help when asked to, but for the most part they both were able to take it easy.

Jisung learned a lot about Jeongin in that short time. He was younger than Jisung, but only by a few months. So, not the twenty-year-old frat boy Jisung assumed he was.

“You dropped out? Why?” Jisung asked as he stuck one of the last price stickers onto a brand new Laufey album he would definitely be buying with his first paycheck.

Jeongin shrugged, focused on the game on his phone. “Wasn’t for me. I didn’t wanna go to college in the first place, but both of my parents went to NYU so I was supposed to be a legacy or some shit.”

“How close were you to finishing?”

“A year. Not like I paid for it anyway.”

Jisung raised a brow. “And now you… manage a record store.”

“And you work in one,” Jeongin retorted.

“At least I went to college.”

“Oh yeah?” Jeongin’s phone pinged with the distinct sound of winning. “And how’d that work out for you?”

“It—”

It had worked out… for a while. Until Jisung was let go from what he thought was his dream job, caught the love of his life in bed with someone else, and watched his life fall apart in less than an hour.

“It was going well. But I needed a change.”

Jeongin didn’t comment. Jisung’s tone had been anything but convincing, but he appreciated the lack of pushing.

“What’d you study, anyway?”

“Music production. I had a job at a label back in Seoul.”

“Then why New York?” Jeongin asked, pushing himself to sit up from where he’d had his feet resting on the counter. “Isn’t LA the music hub?”

“My best friend lives here.” Jisung figured that was enough explanation, but clearly it wasn’t as Jeongin’s mouth set into a thin line. “He’s… it’s hard to explain, okay? It was an impulse decision, and I’d rather move somewhere that I feel comfortable than the middle of one of the biggest cities in the states without anyone to help me. Even if I am sleeping on his couch.”

Or, in Minho’s bed, but Jisung’s new boss didn’t need to know those details.

“You don’t have somewhere to stay?”

Jisung shook his head.

“My friend is looking for a roommate.” Jeongin began typing away on his phone, then flipped the screen around to show Jisung. A listing displayed photos of an apartment. “His current one is moving out at the end of the month and he can’t afford to keep it on his own.”

“I don’t know—”

“Do you want to sleep on a couch forever?”

“Well, no—”

“Then I’ll talk to him about viewing it and text you a time.”

Jisung sighed as Jeongin typed frantically. That was an argument he couldn’t win, nor did he want to have to begin with.

When he was done with the price stickers, Jeongin showed him how to stock the bins. Alphabetical was easy, but learning which albums belonged in which area based on genre was more difficult. It took a few errors, Jeongin correcting each one with a helpful—but sarcastic—hand until Jisung stopped mixing up indie and folk.

He liked the shop, for the most part. If he dared, Jisung would say he liked it more than the record label. At least here he didn’t have to sit up straight and talk politely with his superiors. Instead, by the last half hour of his shift, they were throwing insults at each other like they’d always been friends.

Jisung supposed he could call Jeongin that—eventually. Maybe not on their first full day together, but he liked the guy. He could see himself going out to get drinks, maybe. Or hanging out on Minho’s couch with some beers.

He couldn’t get too far ahead of himself, though.

Jeongin flicked off the ‘Open’ sign, then maneuvered around the front windows, clicking each neon sign off until their lights no longer reflected against the glass.

“Well,” he said, turning to Jisung. “You did well for your first day.”

Heat rushed to Jisung’s cheeks. “T-thank you.”

He caught the tail end of Jeongin’s eyeroll. “Don’t act like that’s such a huge compliment. The bar’s pretty low.”

“Hey—”

“Kidding!”

Just as Jisung opened his mouth to retort, the bell above the door chimed.

“We’re closed.” Jeongin’s voice turned monotone and he didn’t even bother to turn toward the customer.

Jisung’s eyes raised to watch the door, to make sure the person left, but widened at the sight.

“Hyung!”

Minho grinned at him. “Hey, bug.”

Bounding over to him, Jisung moved to hug him before he remembered where he was. He settled for a slap on the shoulder instead. “You didn’t have to actually come pick me up.”

Jeongin cleared his throat behind the counter.

“Oh!” Jisung’s cheeks burned. “This is my boss, Jeongin. Jeongin, this is my friend, Minho.”

“Couch guy?”

Jisung’s eyes widened. Minho’s head tilted. “What—”

“Not important,” Jisung interrupted, glaring at Jeongin. His eyes were full of amusement. Like he was in on a joke even Jisung didn’t know the origin of. “I’ll just grab my coat, and then we can go, if that’s okay with you?”

Jeongin nodded, tidying the papers on the counter. “I told you eight, I won’t make you stay. I’ll text you your schedule later.”

Jisung hurried to grab his coat and shrugged it on before he met Minho by the door. They waved their goodbyes to Jeongin, who looked like he had nowhere better to be, before they slid out the door and into the brisk chill of the evening.

Just as the door shut behind Jisung, he heard Jeongin call out, “Nice meeting you, couch guy!”

Minho didn’t seem to notice, much to Jisung’s relief. He really needed to learn to stop lying.

“So,” Minho started as they ascended the stairs. They were damp with rain Jisung hadn’t even noticed had happened. The air was chillier on ground level. “Wanna head to the park?”

“The park? It’s eight o’clock.”

“Yeah, and I know this great cart for an after work burrito. I’m about to change your life.”

“Then by all means, lead the way.”

𖥸

When Minho said ‘the park,’ Jisung hadn’t expected that to mean Central Park.

“I can’t even see the park, hyung,” Jisung whined as they approached the greenery. “I wanted to see it in the daytime!”

Minho snorted. “You live here, now. It’s not like we can’t come back another day.”

Right. Jisung was living here. Central Park was only a few blocks from Minho’s apartment. He could walk there whenever he wanted. This was his life now. He wasn’t just a tourist on a strict timeline to see all of the best spots in the city—he had all the time in the world to do that.

“This weekend, maybe?”

“If that’s what you wanna do, bug.”

Minho led him up 79th and into the park. Cars still rumbled by, not deterred by the blackened sky and the latening hour. Jisung clutched his jacket closer to him as the wind picked up, stirring the trees and dropping more leaves onto the pavement around them.

They made their way down a path lit by yellowed street lamps. Minho seemed to know exactly where to go, guiding Jisung around winding paths and forks in the road until they reached an open area with a fountain. People loitered around it, sitting on the stone circle or mingling about the paved plaza behind it. On the far end of the plaza, Jisung could see a raised platform with pathways beneath it, bathed in golden light from old bulbs. Couples hung around above, some leaning over the railing and some simply  making out as if they weren’t in the middle of Central Park and no one was nearby.

“So, burrito?” Minho asked, pointing to a cart on the opposite side of the fountain. A short line  congregated in front of it.

Jisung nodded, and his stomach grumbled in response.

Minho raised a brow with a short laugh. “Did you eat today?”

“Besides breakfast? Nope.”

“Well that just won’t do, now will it?”

The line moved quickly, and when it was their turn, Minho conversed easily with the vendor, ordering for both of them in a smooth voice that Jisung barely recognized. His voice was slightly higher when he spoke English, not quite noticeable to anyone who didn’t know him, but Jisung did.

Two aluminum-wrapped burritos in hand, they made their way over to an empty spot around the fountain. Minho plopped himself down and ripped into the foil like a starved man. He groaned when the first bite hit his tongue, and Jisung’s eyes widened. He averted his gaze, focusing too hard on his own burrito.

When he bit into it, he understood Minho’s reaction.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered. “I think this is the best burrito I’ve ever had. No, I know it is.”

“I told you. Life changing.”

“I never doubted you, hyung.”

Minho’s hand patted his shoulder. “And you never should, little bug.”

𖥸

Jisung fiddled with his shirt, his new jacket (not new, just Minho’s), anything he could to try and calm the rapid beating in his chest. The air whipped up leaves around them as they walked down a street in the Upper East Side, stirring little tornados of orange and yellow on the pavement. Despite the hour, it was still busy, hordes of people walking up and down either side of the street. Jisung had to try his best to follow along, going so far as to grip Minho’s elbow when they forced their way through a group of rowdy teenagers that thought they owned the expanse of the sidewalk outside of a cafe.

It was a far cry from Seoul, and Jisung wasn’t sure he’d prepared himself enough for this. Minho, on the other hand, seemed used to it. Moved swiftly, dodging people as if it were a normal occurrence for him. It probably was. He’d been in the city since he was fourteen. Knew the ins and outs of how to navigate anywhere he was going. Jisung was glad to have him.

Jisung only had Minho. Minho, however, had a life here. He had a place to call his own, a job that sounded way too complicated for Jisung to understand—something about digital marketing strategies that Jisung only vaguely grasped. He had friends. Friends that Jisung was about to meet, and the entire reason his heart felt like it was pumping past max capacity.

“You’ll like them, I promise,” Minho had told him, pulling him along by the elbow. “Chan’s even in the music industry. Maybe you could find an in.”

Jisung hadn’t been sure he’d even be able to form a complete sentence, let alone market himself.

Minho stopped outside of a bar with glowing signs in the windows, tugging Jisung along as he pushed open the door. They were instantly hit with a wave of humid air, clinking glasses and sports on the television. A bartender greeted them with a vague wave of a hand before continuing what they were doing.

The bar wasn’t overly busy, but only a few high top tables sat empty as they passed by them. As Jisung looked around, he noticed mostly middle-aged or older men occupying the tables. Definitely no one his own age—until they approached a booth in the far back corner, bathed in orange by a low-hanging overhead light. Four men sat bunched together in the midst of conversations, but paused when the two walked up.

“Minho!” One of them shouted, his voice shrill.

Minho sighed beside him. “Changbin, you don’t need to shout.”

The one who’d spoken grinned, shuffling out of the booth to gather Minho into a hug that made Minho look like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“It’s good to see you, man,” the man, Changbin, said as he released Minho. He patted him on the shoulder, his thick arm dealing enough force to push Minho’s body with the movement. Minho huffed, but nodded. Changbin’s eye caught Jisung’s. “And who’s this?”

The weight of four gazes on Jisung’s body made him squirm. His palms were sweaty, hot and cold at the same time. He tried to wipe them on his jeans, but the clammy sensation persisted.

Everything around him was too loud, too bright, too chaotic. But Minho slid closer, putting his hand on the small of Jisung’s back, and it all calmed.

“This is Jisung,” Minho said, pushing him forward with light fingertips. “My friend from back home.”

Home. He still thought of Seoul as his home, a world away and a decade later.

Jisung did his best to raise a hand and wave, all too aware of how it was shaking. “Hi.”

He took a moment to glance at each of Minho’s friends. They all wore different expressions. Open and smiling, brows furrowed with a head tilt, and most curiously, widened eyes.

“Jisung?” A deep voice came from one of them—blond, tucked into the corner of the booth. “Like, the Jisung?”

He didn’t know what that meant, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Felix.” Minho’s tone was sharp, berating, like an older sibling that was on the verge of snapping. Jisung hadn’t heard him ever sound like that. “Yes, this is Jisung.”

The one who’d hugged Minho stuck out a hand. Short fingers, thick and calloused. Jisung assumed he worked with his hands a lot. “I’m Changbin. It’s nice to meet you, Jisung.”

“You too.” Jisung tried not to cringe when he shook Changbin’s hand. He was sure the moisture was noticeable.

Another slid out from the booth. 

Jisung’s vision was obscured by a curtain of black, and he was suddenly unable to move.

“It’s so great to meet you,” an accented voice spoke directly into his ear. Jisung registered the hug far too belatedly, barely wrapping his arms around the man before he was pulling away. A dimpled grin stared back at him. “I’m Chan. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Jisung’s neck prickled with heat. “Really?”

“Oh yeah, dude never shuts up—”

“That’ll be enough, hyung.” Minho’s hand clasped Chan’s shoulder. So Chan was older.

Jisung spared a moment to observe Chan. He looked familiar, but in a way Jisung couldn’t place. Black hair, dimples, bright smile. It took Jisung too long to place it—Chan was the one in the photo on Minho’s wall, only his hair was no longer short and bleached. Now, it skimmed his neck in an almost-mullet, and was jet black.

Something sour tinged Jisung’s tongue. Obviously Minho was close with his friends, and of course they were close enough to have photos together hanging on Minho’s walls.

There weren’t any photos of Jisung on Minho’s walls.

He didn’t get to dwell on those feelings for too long as Minho ushered him forward. “That’s Felix,” he said, pointing to the blond who’d spoken before. “And that’s Hyunjin.” He’d also been in one of Minho’s photos.

The sour taste returned.

“Hi!” Felix smiled. The light above the booth made his hair glow golden.

Jisung forced a smile back. “Hi.”

He was pushed into the booth, somewhat forcefully, until he was thigh to thigh with a grinning Felix, Minho on his other side. Chan disappeared into the crowd, calling something over his shoulder about getting them more drinks. Beer bottles and glasses littered the table despite Minho insisting they weren’t late.

“So,” Hyunjin finally spoke. “Jisung. You’re from Korea, right? What brings you to our wonderful country?”

“I, uh—” Jisung swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I decided I wanted to move here.”

“It’s been less than five minutes, can we not interrogate him, please?” Minho grumbled.

“I’m just being friendly, hyung.”

“Go be friendly somewhere else.”

“You’re the one—”

Chan returned to their booth, his arms full of brown bottles and cans. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want, Jisung, so I just got you what Minho likes. If not, I can go back.”

He slid the drinks across the table, a beer Jisung had never heard of before ending up in front of him. Jisung picked it up, examining the label.

“It’s not bad,” Minho leaned over to whisper in Jisung’s ear. “But if you don’t like it I’ll get you something else.”

“This is fine.” Jisung took a tentative sip. He wasn’t the biggest drinker—he’d always been a lightweight, and whenever he and Dohyun went out, one of them needed to stay sober enough to get them home, and that was never Dohyun’s job. So Jisung had the occasional drink at work outings or after a long day, but he didn’t love the taste of beer. This, however, ranked higher than some others he’d tried.

Conversations struck up between the five as Chan took his seat, and Jisung did his best to pay attention. It proved to be difficult when the conversations were entirely in English. His mind struggled to catch up, and combined with the noises of the bar, it was enough for him to shut down and stare into his beer.

Minho jostled him a few times, whether intentional or not, and each time Jisung glanced up it made the pit in his stomach grow larger. Minho was comfortable here, smiling and joking as he caught up with his friends. It was as if Jisung wasn’t even there.

A hand on his arm jolted him. He looked to his left, meeting warm eyes.

“You alright?” Felix asked, his deep voice lowered. No one paid them any mind.

Jisung nodded. “Yeah, just listening.”

“I said your name three times.”

Red coated Jisung’s cheeks. “Sorry.”

Warmth spread across Jisung’s back. Minho’s breath ghosted his ear. “All good?”

Jisung opened his mouth to respond, but Felix beat him to it. “All good, hyung.”

Relief washed over him at the sound of his native tongue.

“I never hear you use Korean,” Minho commented.

“I figured it’s a good time to practice. Right, Jisungie?”

The nickname was glossed right over as Jisung nodded, and the conversations continued. He didn’t participate much, but when the others heard Felix’s change in language, they slowly switched as well. Soon he could understand everything they were saying without having to focus too hard. His chest clenched at the sentiment.

They didn’t know him, but they were all willing to switch to a language they didn’t use regularly just for his sake.

Jisung’s phone buzzed in his pocket as he finished off his beer. Sliding it out, he read the name on the screen.

Jeongin [8:53pm]
Seungmin said his roommate will be out this weekend. You can view it next Wednesday

He attached a location, and Jisung saved it to his notes after sending Jeongin a thank you.

“You okay?” Minho asked quietly beside him. He’d been asking that a lot.

Jisung glanced up. Somewhere in their conversations, Minho had shifted closer. Their shoulders pressed together now, warm through layer of fabric.

Nodding automatically, Jisung hoped it would placate his friend. But Minho’s eyes narrowed like he didn’t believe him.

“What?” Jisung asked defensively.

“You’ve got a look on your face.”

“What look?”

“Like you’re thinking too hard. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Jisung huffed, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. The bitter taste of his beer lingered on his tongue.

Across the table, Changbin and Hyunjin were deep in the throes of an argument about a sports team Jisung had never heard of while Chan attempted to mediate with the clear patience of someone who’d done so hundreds of times before. Felix was laughing at them so hard his shoulders shook.

Minho nudged his knee beneath the table. “Seriously. You alright, bug?”

Felix’s eyes flashed to him for a moment, his lips twitching.

Jisung glanced around the booth again. At Felix, who’d switched languages without prompting. At Chan, who’d been thoughtful enough to offer to get him something else if he didn’t like the beer. At Changbin and Hyunjin, who were both loud enough to be drawing looks from other tables without a care in the world.

Then he looked at Minho again.

Two weeks ago, Jisung had been sitting in an apartment in Seoul that was no longer his home. Now he was tucked into a terribly lit booth in a bar in Manhattan surrounded by strangers who were trying—genuinely trying—to make space for him beside them.

“I’m okay,” Jisung said finally, and he meant it.

Minho studied him for a long moment before he patted his knee again. His hand didn’t move away. “Good.”

Felix’s attention turned back to them. “So, you never answered my question. He’s the Jisung?”

“Felix,” Minho warned.

“What?” Felix grinned shamelessly. “You talk about him enough that I could practically picture his exact appearance before ever seeing him.”

Jisung choked on his spit.

He turned to Minho before he could stop himself. “You talk about me?”

“Of course I do.”

The response landed somewhere deep in Jisung’s gut.

Even though he wasn’t hanging on Minho’s walls, he was still in his life. He’d been there through texts, telling him mindlessly about his day, sending him pictures of squirrels he’d seen on his walks to work. Asking how Minho’s day had been.

And Minho had relayed that to his friends. He’d made space for him before Jisung was ever there.

When they spilled out onto the street later that night, Jisung felt lighter. It could’ve been the beer, or maybe the second one Chan insisted on getting for him. Or perhaps just the feeling of being welcomed was enough to induce the weightlessness he felt.

Autumn wind rushed down the street, gripping their jackets at the edges and whipping them around as Minho bumped his shoulder into Jisung’s.

“See?” He said, like it was simple. “They like you.”

Jisung looked up at the group, and for the first time since he’d arrived, he started to feel like coming here was the right choice.

𖥸

Jisung panted, hands on his knees as he tried to force air back into his lungs. Jeongin hadn’t mentioned his friend lived five stories up in a building with no elevator.

Once he felt like he could actually breathe again without collapsing, Jisung straightened, brushing a stray damp leaf from his sleeve. It twirled to the ground, sticking to the tile.

The apartment number Jeongin had texted him stared back at him, bold and unmistakable. Jisung could leave. He could pretend he was never here, despite the evidence of nature’s vandalism on the floor beneath his feet. One little leaf wouldn’t prove anything—

The door swung open.

A young man with dark hair cut straight across his forehead stared at him, eyes blank. He almost resembled a puppy.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi, uh— I’m Jisung.”

“Seungmin. You’re late.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jisung stumbled over his words, scrambling for the correct vocabulary on the fly. “I walked here, and it took longer than I thought.”

The man sighed. “Come in.”

Jisung glanced around the space, trying to compare it with what he’d pictured when Jeongin said his friend was a lawyer. There was furniture—a couch, worn but taken care of, a television big enough to be enjoyable, a tidy but miniature kitchen. He hadn’t been thinking it would be luxurious, but maybe more than this. But Jisung would take what he could get.

“This space is shared. There’s only one bathroom, pretty small, but it works. Bedrooms are down the hall.” Seungmin led Jisung down the short, narrow hall. He reached around an open doorway, flicking a light on. “It’s fully furnished, so you don’t have to worry about moving stuff up.”

Jisung peeked into the room, eyeing the small space. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. A bed was pushed against the far wall, the frame low enough for the mattress to sit just under the window. He stepped further in, cracking open the closet door. He knew that was rare to have, just from the little research he’d done.

There was a desk, too, tucked into the opposite corner, leaving just a small walkway between the chair and bed. But it was plenty of room—for now. Jisung didn’t have any of his music equipment, or most of his belongings in general. Just a single suitcase to his name.

“Ground rules,” Seungmin continued as Jisung looked around. “No loud music after eight. Clean up after yourself. Don’t take my stuff, I won’t take yours. If you’re gonna have someone over, I ask that you just let me know so I’m not blindsided by a stranger in my apartment. I’ll do the same for you. Questions?”

Jisung blinked. “Uh— how much is rent?”

“Eleven hundred.”

The record store wasn’t the highest paying job, but he could cover that and still have enough to eat.

“I’ll take it.”

Seungmin stuck a hand out, his face not giving anything away. Jisung eyed it for a moment before he took it, shaking firmly. A smile formed on Seungmin’s lips.

“You can move in whenever. I’ll have you sign a copy of the lease for the landlord.”

Jisung nodded, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket when they separated. “Is this weekend fine?”

He wanted to get out of Minho’s hair, but he didn’t want it to be so abrupt that it disturbed his new roommate’s plans. If he had any.

Seungmin shrugged. “Sure. Just text me when you’re planning on coming.”

He gave Jisung his number, and then Jisung was on his way.

Luckily, Seungmin’s building—and now his, he supposed—wasn’t too far from the record store. It was further to Minho’s now, and to Central Park, but it was something that was his. Something he didn’t have to rely on Minho for.

Sure, he’d gotten this far by knowing the right people, and being in the right place at the right time, but he hadn’t relied on just Minho for it. Jisung considered that progress.

One flight of stairs felt like nothing after the five flights up to his new apartment. He really wished Seungmin lived somewhere with an elevator.

Minho was home when Jisung opened the door. The scent of food permeated the air, and humming carried through the room to the door. Toeing off his shoes, Jisung glanced over at his best friend. Warmth coated his cheeks at the sight.

Taut muscles, shirt sleeves stretched tight over pale skin. Arms that flexed with each movement of Minho’s hand as he chopped vegetables.

Jisung blinked. He knew Minho was attractive, especially now that he was grown up.

He’d always thought Minho was attractive—in a conventional sort of way, of course. Jisung wasn’t blind, he could see Minho had the face of a model and the body of a well-trained dancer. But he was Minho. Minho was his everything, his other half.

Sure, he had the muscles of Jisung’s dreams, and a face Jisung’s mother could love—she did love Minho’s face—but this was his best friend he was looking at. The one he’d run to when things got bad. When he’d scraped his knee on the playground at eight years old, Minho had been there. The time his family dog ran away and Jisung spent hours searching for him, Minho was right beside him.

He was more like a brother than a friend. Just a stupidly attractive, non-biological brother that sent Jisung’s mind reeling the longer he spent in Minho’s apartment.

”Hey, bug.”

Jisung blinked the haze from his eyes. Minho was gazing softly at him, a polite smile on his lips. That’s all he ever was—polite. He let Jisung stay with him, free of charge, without warning. He allowed Jisung to borrow his clothes, to eat his food and to use his shower.

Jisung didn’t deserve him.

”Hi, hyung,” Jisung managed, hanging his coat on the hook before he padded across the room and hoisted himself up onto the counter.

”Where’ve you been? You didn’t say.” Minho’s attention turned back to his cutting board.

”Oh,” Jisung squeaked, “I was, uh— Jeongin’s friend is looking for a roommate. I was over there checking the place out.”

Minho’s hand stilled, the knife frozen where it had just sliced a tomato in two. The juices pooled on the board, transparent red slowly inching out around it.

”You’re leaving?”

Jisung hummed, swinging his legs. His heels thudded against the cabinet beneath him in a rhythm. “Yeah, the place was good. Small, but furnished already. And I can afford it.”

He hadn’t meant to keep Minho out of the loop. When Jeongin told him about it, he’d fully planned on telling Minho. But the park, the burrito, Minho’s friends, had consumed his mind and he’d forgotten.

The chopping resumed. Jisung observed in silence, waiting for Minho to say something. Anything. Jisung moving out was a good thing, surely. His staying was never meant to be a long-term plan, and it had already been more than two weeks since he’d forced his presence into Minho’s daily life.

Finally, Minho said, “That’s nice. When are you moving in?”

”This weekend.”

The knife hit the cutting board with a heavier thud this time. Minho swept the tomatoes into a bowl a little too quickly, missing one slice that slid onto the counter. He stared at it for a long moment before he plucked it up and tossed it into the bowl.

Jisung’s stomach twisted.

”You don’t have to look so excited, hyung,” he joked weakly.

Minho exhaled a laugh through his nose, but his face was blank. “I’m happy for you, bug.”

The added for you lodged itself somewhere in Jisung’s throat. So not just happy.

Minho turned away and flicked on the faucet to wash his hands. The rushing water filled the silence between them.

”It’s good though. Really. You should have your own space.”

The words echoed strangely in Jisung’s head.

He’d had his own space, back in Seoul. A multi-bedroom apartment with a room just for his music equipment. An apartment in general. A job he loved, and a partner he’d thought he’d be spending the rest of his life with. Every piece of it had collapsed so quickly that Jisung had started to forget what standing up on his own really felt like.

Since he’d landed on Minho’s doorstep, he’d been living through Minho’s eyes. Learning his routine, his life, his world that Jisung had missed out on since he’d waved Minho’s dad’s car goodbye over a decade ago. But this wasn’t his life. Not his own.

Jisung needed to re-learn what it meant to have his own life. An apartment on the fifth floor that he’d have to force himself to walk up to every day. A job in a dingy basement record shop that smelled like old people and weed. Mapping these new streets in his head until he no longer needed his phone to navigate.

He loved Minho, and he loved his hospitality, but he needed to grow on his own. He’d always relied on someone before himself. Minho, when they were children, and then Dohyun and his lies when Minho was no longer in reach. He couldn’t do that for the rest of his life.

“I think it’ll be good for me,” Jisung admitted quietly.

Minho glanced over his shoulder.

Jisung shrugged, tugging at the hem of his sweater. “The apartment. The job. All of it, you know?” He avoided Minho’s eyes. “I can’t rely on my hyung forever.”

Footsteps crossed the space then, and Minho’s hands were warm on Jisung’s cheeks as he pulled his head up to look at him. His gaze was soft. Full of pride, if Jisung dared to say.

”You can rely on me for as long as you want, Sung. But you’re doing really well.”

The sincerity in his voice made Jisung want to tear up. Minho said things like that so easily.

Heat licked up Jisung’s spine, and he turned his head before Minho could call him out on it.

He slid off the counter. “So,” he said quickly, “what’re we making?”

Minho snorted softly, mercifully letting him redirect. “You are dicing onions.”

Jisung gasped. “You trust me with a knife?”

“No,” Minho said immediately, but handed one over anyway. “But I like living dangerously.”

𖥸

Jisung decided to make the most out of his last few days in Minho’s apartment. He’d only be a few blocks away and could stop by whenever he wanted, but it was different than living there. He went to his shifts during the day, stopping at a cafe or diner on his way home to bring Minho a sweet treat, and walked into the apartment with a bright smile on his face each time. They’d sit and eat, Jisung having to stop himself from moaning every time he was graced with Minho’s cooking. Afterward, they’d sit and continue watching House, getting as far as they could before the weekend.

”You know you can just stay here,” Minho’s voice cut in over the outro song for the episode. “I really don’t mind it.”

Jisung tilted his head back, staring up at him. His head rested on Minho’s shoulder. It had fallen there, naturally, of course. Platonic cuddles had always been part of their friendship—when they were kids, at least. Jisung wasn’t sure of the ethical constraints of carrying that into adulthood, but he didn’t care to think too hard on it.

”What, and share a bed forever?”

That didn’t actually sound all too bad.

”Why not?” Minho shrugged, jostling Jisung’s head. “It could be a short term thing. We could save up a little bit and find a two bedroom somewhere else.”

Jisung sat up, turning his body to face Minho completely. “Hyung, you’re not serious? I already told Seungmin I’d take it. I can’t—“

”I know. I just…”

Minho’s eyes darted around, and Jisung watched scarlet creep up his neck and onto the tips of his ears.

”You just what?”

”I really like having you around again. It’s like when we were kids.”

Jisung’s chest tightened. “I’ll still be around. I’ll come over every day if you want.”

“If you don’t, I’ll call for a wellness check.”

The thought of Minho calling the police on Jisung’s behalf made him want to laugh.

”It’s weird, you know.” Minho clicked onto the next episode. “You’ve only been here a few weeks but I’m so used to having you around.”

Jisung’s cheeks warmed. “I’m not a burden?”

”Why would you ever think that?”

A million reasons. Moving halfway across the world without notice. Taking up space in Minho’s already too small apartment with his things, and sleeping in his bed. Needing to steal his clothes because he didn’t come prepared. Having to rely on Minho to get him anywhere far from the apartment. Making him buy extra groceries to feed the extra mouth he didn’t ask to have staying with him.

”I don’t know,” Jisung settled on. “I just showed up out of nowhere, with no plan, and expected you to help me figure it all out. I would find that pretty burdensome.”

The movement on the television paused. Minho sat up straighter, forcing Jisung’s head to roll off his shoulder.

”Bug, do you really think I think you’re a burden?”

”I would if I were you.”

Tears pricked in his eyes. He didn’t have any right to be crying over this. Minho was so kind, and so generous, and here Jisung was burdening him even further with his feelings.

Hands gripped Jisung’s shoulders, pulling him into a sturdy chest.

”Han Jisung.” Minho’s voice was warm in his ears. “You are anything but a burden, okay? When you showed up, I was confused, yes. But I was also excited. Not once in my life did I think you’d come here, let alone to stay. It was like a dream come true.”

Jisung sniffled. “A dream?”

Minho’s chest shook with a light laugh. “Yeah. When I first moved here, I thought about you all the time. ‘Oh, Jisung would love this’, ‘I have to show Jisung this’. Everything I did, I pictured you along for the ride.”

There’d been times Jisung had those same thoughts about Minho. His first job, when a new cafe opened down the street from their school right on the route home. His first apartment. There had been a stone lodged deep in Jisung’s chest that dug itself a little further every time one of those thoughts cropped up, and he’d learned to numb the feeling by texting Minho as much as he could. It hadn’t been a perfect cure, but it was a crutch Jisung had some to rely on.

”In fact,” Minho continued when Jisung didn’t speak, “get up. Let’s go. No time to be sad here. We have a decade of sightseeing to make up for!”

Minho ushered Jisung to stand, and he did so in a confused daze, wiping his dampened cheeks with the back of his hand.

”Where are we going?”

”You’ll see.”

Jisung checked the time on his phone. “Hyung, it’s already eight.”

”This is an anytime-viewing kind of situation. Trust me. It’s actually kind of better at night.”

And, well, Jisung couldn’t argue with that.

They shrugged coats on, slipped on their shoes, and headed out the door. Minho led the way, telling Jisung all about the best spots for different things in the city while mindlessly navigating around corners like second nature.

Jisung noticed all too late that Minho was headed directly for a glass-roofed staircase on the sidewalk.

“The subway? Are you sure we have to take the subway?” Jisung asked with a whine.

Minho gave him a knowing look. “Yes, bug. Unless you’d rather take a cab and sit in traffic for an hour just to move half a mile.”

Jisung took a deep breath. He could do this. He’d taken the subway in Seoul more than a handful of times, plenty enough to be familiar with how the system worked. But Seoul and New York were two distinctly different places, and Jisung had seen the New York subway in enough shows and movies to know that it was nothing like Seoul.

The entrance down to the station was newer than Jisung had pictured. In his head, he’d thought of the dingy, rat infested underground that was depicted in the media, but this looked nicer, cleaner than anything he’d seen in shows before. People hustled about, moving with a swiftness Jisung thought he’d eventually obtain the longer he spent in the city.

Minho guided him to the turnstiles. He pulled out his phone and tapped it on the console twice, and the clear gates swung open. It looked natural for him, like he did this every day. Jisung knew he did, that Minho took the subway to work, but it still baffled Jisung. He felt like a fawn on wobbly legs trying to stand for the first time as he hurried to follow Minho.

The platform wasn’t that different from the ones in Seoul. There were still white, tiled covered walls and advertisements everywhere. Benches were scattered along the platform, mostly unoccupied as people waited for their train. A yellow line marked the edge of the platform, familiar and faded from too many shoes.

All that was missing were the platform screens. Jisung wasn’t used to being able to see the tracks. He fidgeted with the hem of his jacket. There was something unnerving about the idea of being able to see the tracks, to be able to step out onto them if someone really wanted to, instead of being stopped by the doors that he was so used to.

”You okay?” Minho asked, nudging him with his shoulder.

Jisung nodded mechanically. “Yeah.”

A hand found its way to the small of his back, beginning to rub soothing circles. Jisung leaned into the feeling, stepping just a little closer until he was tucked entirely into Minho’s side.

He leaned his temple against Minho’s. He’d always been an affectionate person, even when they were children. Minho didn’t pull away.

Jisung concentrated on the sound of safety announcements being played overhead. The voice was familiar, a celebrity or someone he just couldn’t place in the moment.

”You guys are so cute.”

He blinked, his head whipping around to the sound of the voice. A young girl stood beside them at a respectable distance, a leather coat way too big for her frame draped around her. Red hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail. She wore sunglasses, despite both the late hour and the fact of being technically indoors.

”Oh,” Jisung blurted. “Thank you?”

Minho giggled lightly at his side.

A rumbling sounded in the distance, and a moment later the train pulled into the station.

”I wish you both a long, happy relationship!” She called over her shoulder as she stepped off the platform and onto the train car the moment the doors slid open.

”Did she—“ Jisung began.

Minho softly pushed him forward with the hand on his back. “She did.”

Jisung felt his cheeks warm. He was sure he was scarlet. As they stepped onto the train, he tucked his chin down into the collar of his coat.

The train was relatively empty. Only a handful of people were spread around as they found a seat in a far corner. People trickled in behind them, but it didn’t fill up the way Jisung had somehow expected it to despite the lack of people waiting on the platform.

”So,” he drawled, “are you gonna tell me where we’re going?”

Minho grinned. “Nope.”

Jisung huffed, leaning back in his seat. 

The train ride only took fifteen minutes, stopping a few times at other platforms along the way. People came and went, and by the time they were standing to get off at their stop, Jisung had counted four dogs in bags, three men without shoes, and at least five different wannabe musicians with guitar cases slung over their shoulders.

This station was much busier. He had to grab the back of Minho’s coat in order to keep up with him. Minho weaved around people and through the fare gates like it was no big deal, while Jisung was in full panic mode on the inside.

He could hear busy traffic and countless sounds from ground level before they even made it up the exit. As soon as his eyes locked on the glowing billboards above their heads, Jisung understood.

”Is this—“

”Times Square,” Minho said with a grin. “One of the first places my parents took me when we moved.”

Times Square swallowed Jisung whole.

Screens stretched endlessly above them, massive and blinding and alive. Advertisements rolled across entire buildings, taller than anything Jisung had ever stood beneath. They washed the streets in electric blues and reds and pinks that reflected off the windows of every taxi and puddle below. Music bled from storefronts, harmonizing with car horns that layered over distant sirens. Hundreds—or maybe even thousands—of people surged through the square without any hint of slowing.

Jisung stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk.

”Oh my god.”

Minho laughed beside him, tugging his sleeve before someone could slam into him. “Keep moving unless you wanna be trampled.”

”But—“ he spun in a slow circle as Minho guided him along. “This is insane!”

”It’s just a tourist trap, bug.”

”I’m literally a tourist.”

Minho shook his head. “You live here now.”

The words hit Jisung harder than he expected. He hadn’t really thought about it that way before now. Sure, he’d gotten a job and found an apartment with a roommate, but he hadn’t thought about living. About making a life for himself in the city. He never imagined it would be a possibility. Just a few weeks ago he’d been happy in his life in Seoul, thinking about his next big project. About his life with Dohyun.

He looked around again, slower this time.

A woman in heels rushed past, talking loudly on a Bluetooth headset. A group of teenagers took selfies beneath the glowing signs, giggling and squealing. Street performers garnered crowds across the street, their music drifting through the traffic and into Jisung’s ears.

Everything moved so quickly. The world continued to spin, lights continued to flash, and Jisung knew that would be the case whether he kept up or not.

A few weeks ago, the thought would’ve terrified him.

Now, standing in the middle of Times Square with Minho’s hand occasionally grazing his to keep him nearby, it felt a little less scary.

Minho watched him intently. “Overwhelmed?”

”A little,” Jisung admitted.

”Good or bad?”

Jisung considered it for a moment.

”A bit of both.”

Minho hummed. “That’s basically New York as a whole.”

They wandered around after that. Minho pointed out ridiculous tourist attractions and old theaters and stores he claimed were overpriced scams. Jisung stopped every few feet to stare at something new while Minho laughed at him. Costumed characters harassed pedestrians for photos. Billboards glowed vividly overhead. Steam billowed up from subway grates like something out of a movie.

At one point, Jisung was so entranced by a billboard that he nearly stepped into traffic.

Minho tugged him back with a rough grip on his jacket. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

”I was looking at a billboard!”

”Well then do that from the sidewalk like a normal person!”

A cackle ripped from Jisung’s throat, drawing a few stares. The sound startled him a little. He hadn’t laughed like that in a while. Minho seemed to notice too. His expression softened, warmed.

It eventually became too much, as everything began to blur together in Jisung’s vision. The sights were overwhelming, and the sounds didn’t help.

A small cafe glowed on a corner, warm light spilling through fogged windows onto the sidewalk of a side street.

”Come on,” Minho said with a nod.

A bell chimed overhead as they stepped inside.

Warmth wrapped around Jisung, carrying the scent of espresso and baked bread. Low jazz played on a speaker somewhere. A few people occupied tables scattered around, murmuring quietly amongst themselves beneath lights that hung low and glowed golden.

Jisung exhaled until his lungs ached.

Outside, New York continued moving at impossible speeds, headlights streaking through rain streaked windows. Crowds drifted by in thick hordes. But inside the cafe, everything felt still enough to breathe.

They found a table in the corner and Minho went up to order drinks. Minutes later he returned with two steaming mugs.

Jisung wrapped both hands around his cup, savoring the warmth radiating from it.

”When you moved here,” he asked quietly, “were you scared?”

Minho glanced out the window for a moment before responding. “Every day.”

”I never would’ve guessed,” Jisung said honestly before taking a sip. “You make it look so easy.”

”I was fourteen, bug. Everything was big and loud, and yeah it was great to be in ‘The Greatest City in the World’, but it was a lot to handle. I just got used to it after a while.”

Jisung stared down at his drink. Maybe that’s all he needed. Time.

He knew he wasn’t suddenly going to be suited for a new city without a worry in the world. He’d packed up his entire life and flew halfway across the world without a plan, and he was winging every step. He didn’t want to rely on Minho for everything, and a job and a place of his own were both good starts for that. The rest he’d have to figure out along the way.

Even though it’d only been a few weeks, Jisung felt as though he’d grown a lot. He was more outspoken, he was willing to put himself out there. Hell, he’d gone and met four people that Minho held dearly in his heart and hadn’t had a panic attack. He’d walked into a store and asked for a job and gotten it. That job had given him the chance to find a place to stay, and maybe make a friend along the way.

He wasn’t sure Seungmin wanted to be friends, but he’d sure try.

”What’re you thinking about?”

Jisung felt a poke on his forehead and he swatted Minho’s finger away with feigned annoyance.

”I’m being introspective.”

”Do you even know what that word means?”

Jisung gaped. “Hey! I’ll have you know my vocabulary is very advanced.”

They continued to bicker, and Jisung couldn’t help but smile. He hid it behind the rim of his mug.

He’d needed this.

𖥸

The wheels of Jisung’s suitcase rattled obnoxiously against each crack in the sidewalk.

Jisung winced every few seconds as they caught on uneven ground, but Minho didn’t complain once. He walked beside him, one hand gripping a steaming to-go cup and the other shoved into the pocket of his coat. He occasionally steered Jisung away from people before collisions could happen, as Jisung was too focused on managing his suitcase.

”You know,” Minho said, “for someone with barely anything belongings, you somehow packed the heaviest suitcase in existence.”

Jisung didn’t have to tell him he’d paid an overweight fee at the airport. “You try fitting your entire life into one bag.”

The words slipped out before Jisung could think about them, let alone stop them.

Minho’s expression shifted for a fraction of a second. It softened, and he passed Jisung the cup in his hand. Jisung took it with a grateful smile.

”That sounded pathetic,” Jisung mumbled.

”You’re allowed to be pathetic,” Minho said. “Your life kind of exploded.”

“Gee, thanks.”

”You’re welcome.”

Jisung huffed out a laugh and adjusted his grip on his suitcase handle.

The walk to Seungmin’s felt shorter, and somehow familiar. He recognized the deli on the corner, and the smoke shop that had LED lights lining the windows that glowed an obnoxious blue even in the daytime.

His phone was in his pocket, too.

A few weeks ago, he was relying on it for practically everything, and now, he could get around the area with relative ease.

The realization felt strange, in a way.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it as he nearly collapsed four flights into the trek up the stairs in his new building.

”Oh my god,” he wheezed, hands on his knees. “I’m gonna die.”

”It’s just stairs, bug.”

”You live on the second floor! You can’t possibly know my pain.”

By the time they reached Seungmin—and now Jisung’s—door, Jisung’s lungs burned. He placed his hands on his hips and forced air deep into his lungs while Minho knocked twice.

A lock clicked a moment before the door swung open.

”You’re late.”

Jisung frowned. “I texted you saying I was on my way.”

”Half an hour ago. Jeongin said you were staying near the shop. Which is a fifteen minute walk. Therefore, late.”

Despite Seungmin’s words, he stepped aside and opened the door wider for them.

Minho let Jisung tug the suitcase inside first before following behind. Though he’d viewed it at a similar time, Jisung thought the apartment somehow looked warmer. More homey, if anything. Now that it was his, it felt more like an actual place to live and not a listing. A blanket was thrown over the edge of the couch, a mug on a coaster sat idly on the coffee table. Dishes dried on a rack in the tiny kitchen, and music softly played from a speaker somewhere.

”This is Minho,” Jisung said awkwardly, gesturing. “The friend I was staying with.”

Seungmin nodded once. “Couch guy.”

Jisung pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m gonna kill Jeongin.”

”Couch guy?” Minho asked.

”It’s not important.”

”It sounds important.”

”It’s literally not.”

Seungmin looked mildly pleased with himself, walking toward the kitchen, and Jisung set a mental note to rip Jeongin a new one when he went to work next.

Jisung groaned as Minho poked his cheek. “I’m going back to Seoul.”

“Can’t break the lease,” Seungmin called from the sink.

Jisung cursed under his breath.

They discussed the basics—when rent was due, which parts of the cabinets in the kitchen and bathroom were for Jisung’s use, where to get their mail. As they did so, they drifted toward Jisung’s room.

His room. 

The thought still didn’t feel quite real.

It was the same as when he’d viewed it. Bare bed shoved into the corner under the window, closet slightly ajar, desk tucked as far opposite the bed as it could go. Empty walls waiting for posters to be collected and plastered on them.

Jisung rolled his suitcase inside and let go of the handle slowly.

This was it.

Everything he owned fit into one suitcase in a tiny room in a new building, in a new city in an entirely new country.

His chest felt tight, and he balled his hand into a fist at his side.

Minho appeared in the doorway, a smile from a conversation with Seungmin disappearing from his lips.

”You okay?”

Jisung was hearing Minho ask him that far too often now.

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

There was a pause. “Liar.”

With a sigh, Jisung sat down on the edge of the mattress. The springs creaked beneath his weight. He breathed through his nose.

”It just feels weird.”

Minho hummed.

”I wanted this.” Jisung picked at a loose thread on his sweater. “But now that I’m here, it just feels…”

”Real?”

Jisung nodded.

It was a harsh reality that his old life really was gone. Back in Seoul he’d had an apartment with a bedroom nearly as big as this entire place. A stable career—until it wasn’t. A partner he’d been planning to spend the rest of his life with, and a future he thought was guaranteed.

Now he had a basement record store job, a fifth floor walk-up, and exactly seven shirts to his name.

The mattress dipped beside him.

”I think it’s normal to feel that way,” Minho said softly. “Change is scary.”

”Did you feel this way when you moved here?”

”Well, I told you I was scared. But I was also excited. It was something new. Fourteen year old me was terrified of the change, and of course I missed my friends and my old life, but I can’t imagine my life being any other way.”

That struck a bit of a chord. “Even if it meant we could’ve stayed together?”

”Hey.” Minho’s hands slipped into Jisung’s. Slightly calloused, but warm and soft around the edges. They squeezed lightly. “I hated leaving my best friend. You know that. But we didn’t lose each other. I’m still here, and you’re still here, and now you’re here.”

The distinction in the words made Jisung want to cry.

He was here. With Minho. That’s all he’d wanted from the beginning.

A knock on the door pulled their attention.

”Hey, I almost forgot— oh. Sorry.”

Jisung slid his hands from Minho’s, immediately mourning the loss of warmth. “All good. What’s up?”

Seungmin held out a small brass object on a hoop.

”You’ll need this.”

A key dangled from the hoop.

A key.

Jisung’s key.

He stuck his hand out, hoping no one noticed that his fingers shook slightly. Seungmin dropped it into his palm and Jisung’s fingers curled around the cool metal.

Seungmin turned and left the room again, but not before his eyes darted between the two of them.

Minho’s hand found its way to the back of Jisung’s neck, squeezing softly. “Proud of you, bug.”

Heat pulsed up Jisung’s body. “Don’t say things like that.”

”Why, you’ll cry?”

”Maybe.”

When Minho finally left, promising to stop by and bring Jisung some food once he was settled in, Seungmin swung back into the doorway.

”You didn’t tell me you were dating Couch Guy.”

Jisung sputtered. “I-I’m not!”

”That didn’t look like not dating to me.” Seungmin held a hand up, examining his cuticles as if he weren’t standing in Jisung’s doorway and poking at his personal life. “I don’t mind, you know. Just let me know if you need the apartment before you need it.”

Heat seared Jisung’s cheeks. He was sure he was crimson, and the smirk on Seungmin’s face told him he was right.

But Seungmin’s words didn’t sound as jarring as he thought they would—if he’d ever thought about them in the first place. Because of course he didn’t.

”That’s not— we’re not dating. He’s my best friend.”

”Most people call their partners their best friends.”

And yeah, Jisung would be lying if he said he didn’t take a moment to picture how Minho looked shirtless, or how his arms felt wrapped around him at night.

But Seungmin didn’t need to know that.

𖥸

The record store was unusually quiet.

Not physically. Crackling music played through the speakers overhead while rain tapped steadily against the front windows. Jeongin sat behind the counter with his feet kicked up, aggressively tapping away at his phone screen while it blared sound effects from his game of the week.

”You know,” Jisung said, sleeving another record, “I’m starting to think you don’t actually work here.”

”I stocked inventory this morning.”

”You made me stock inventory this morning.”

Jeongin shrugged. “Delegation.”

”I’m not sure you know what that means.”

The bell above the door chimed.

”Welcome in,” Jeongin called automatically, returning his attention to his game.

Jisung looked up automatically, ready to assist, and nearly dropped the vinyl in his hands.

”Jisungie!”

Jeongin’s scoff sounded to Jisung’s left. “Jisungie?”

Jisung ignored him. “Felix?”

Felix hurried across the room, looking around excitedly. “Minho gave me the address! I was nearby after work and thought I’d stop and see what you guys have. I’m quite the vinyl collector.”

”Oh.” Heat crept up Jisung’s neck for no reason. “Well, this is it. Feel free to browse.”

Felix glanced around, his eyes wide and sparkling. A beanie was pulled low over his forehead, hiding the majority of his bleached hair. His coat was darkened by rain, some patches a darker grey than others.

”You know blondie?” Jeongin asked with a thumb jerked in Felix’s direction.

”He has a name. It’s Felix.”

”Okay… you know him?”

”He’s Minho’s friend,” Jisung said, then rolled his eyes when Jeongin raised a brow. “Couch guy.”

Jeongin clicked his tongue. “Oh! Why didn’t you say so?”

Jisung very intentionally did not react to that.

Felix wandered around the store, walking the aisles repeatedly and apparently finding something new each time he did. He occasionally popped up beside Jisung, a new record in hand, with a very strong opinion on it.

”This one changed my life. Have you heard it?”

”No, but it’s like a week old. How life changing could it be?”

”It just was. Listen to it!”

Jeongin peered over his phone to see the cover. “Blondie, that’s Charli XCX.”

”Okay, and?”

Jisung rolled his eyes. “I’ll give it a listen, Felix.”

Somehow, despite only having met the guy once, Felix was easy to be around.

There was no awkwardness that needed pushing through. It was just like with Jeongin—within an hour, they were bantering like old friends. Felix simply liked to talk. About music, about New York, about the terrible customers at the restaurant he worked at, but insisted Jisung needed to come try it immediately regardless.

Jisung found himself talking back. It was just as easy as chatting with Minho, if not easier.

At one point, Felix ended up sitting crossed-legged on the counter while Jisung and Jeongin reorganized receipts and Jeongin complained about distributors.

”Wait, you moved here alone?” Felix asked softly during a lull in their conversation.

Jisung shrugged. “Sort of.”

”That’s really brave.” Felix tugged his beanie off, running a hand through his mussed hair. His dark roots were growing in considerably. “My family moved here all together. I couldn’t imagine moving alone.”

The instinct to deny Felix’s words rose in Jisung’s throat. To say it was brave implied confidence, or fearlessness. Both of which Jisung did not possess when he ran from his apartment in Seoul and booked the first ticket out of the country without thinking. There’d been no grand plan, no plan in general, when he packed his bags and escaped from Dohyun’s shouts of protest.

”I think it was kind of stupid,” he admitted.

”Most brave things are.”

Something in Jisung’s chest loosened.

Jeongin suddenly slapped the stack of papers he’d been holding down on the counter, making both of them jump.

”Alright, you two are coming to get drinks with me.”

Felix blinked. “Huh?”

”I’ve decided I’m sick of hearing sob stories while sober, and you two are tolerable enough to be in my company while I’m drunk.”

”That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Felix said with a grin.

Jeongin ignored him. “There’s a bar down the street that just opened up. We can go after we lock up. You good to stay, blondie?”

Felix nodded.

That’s how Jisung found himself standing outside of a bar in Brooklyn three weeks later, drunk off his ass and standing in the rain.

He, Felix, and Jeongin had become fast friends. Add in Seungmin and the four were almost too annoying for anyone to be around. Felix had come up with the great idea that they try every bar within a six block radius from the record shop, and they nearly had. But tonight, they were in Brooklyn. Jisung didn’t know where they were—Felix had navigated them through the subway without telling them a thing.

Jisung was cold, and tired, and annoyed, and he just wanted to go home and sleep on his uncomfortable mattress.

No, what he really wanted was to go sleep in Minho’s bed. It was way comfier. Plus, it had the added benefit of cuddling with Minho.

He didn’t hesitate as he pulled his phone out and called his best friend.

Minho picked up on the fourth ring.

”Minho,” Jisung drawled, not waiting for Minho to speak. “I miss you.”

There was shuffling on the other line. “Jisung? It’s like, midnight. Why are you calling?”

”Was having fun with Lix and Innie. But now I’m lost?” The ending came out as more of a question as he pouted at unfamiliar street signs. The city that never sleeps lived up to its name as countless cars sped up and down the street, the twinkling of their headlights in the rain making Jisung see stars.

”Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

Jisung glanced around, trying to decipher the increasingly blurry street sign on the corner. ”Uh, I think… Smith and Fulton? Yeah, there.”

He heard Minho swear on the other end, followed by more rustling. It sounded like a plastic bag, and it made Jisung crave convenience store food.

”Shit, Sung. Why are you guys in Brooklyn? There’s plenty of bars in Manhattan!”

Jisung giggled. Minho was so silly, he just didn’t get it. “Was a new bar Lix wanted to try. ‘Sides, we’ve been to like, every bar by home, silly.”

Minho groaned in the background and something in Jisung twitched. “There is nothing wrong with going to the same bar twice, Jisung.” He spoke softly, his voice holding no mirth. “I’ll be there in a bit. Hold tight, okay? Don’t go anywhere and stay on the line. Do you hear me? Don’t hang up.”

Jisung nodded.

“Bug?”

Right, he couldn’t see Jisung.

“Yes, dad.”

Minho scoffed and Jisung heard the dull thud of a door closing. Probably his apartment door. For a while it was silent save for the sound of passing cars on Jisung’s end and the occasional breathing from Minho.

The rain was coming down slowly, just drizzles small enough to dampen Jisung’s skin and dust his thin shirt.

“Sung? You still with me?” Minho’s voice called, now with the sounds of traffic picking up in the background.

Jisung hummed. “Mhmm. Stayin’ where ya told me to.” His speech was slurring and his tongue felt funny in his mouth, but he didn't have a care in the world.

“Are you still outside?” Minho asked.

“Yep.”

A groan. “Sung, it’s raining! Are you just standing in the rain?”

“Yep.” This time Jisung giggled.

Minho sighed, the sound heavy and static through the speaker. “Jisung. Please go stand under an awning or something, at least. Find a bus stop, anything.”

“But the rain feels nice.”

“I don’t want you getting sick.” There was a pause. “Do it for me, please?”

“Fine.”

He turned on his heel, eyeing the bus stop that was down less than a block. This was one of the luckier ones with a clear awning to sit under while you waited. It was surprisingly empty; usually you’d find a homeless soul or another drunkard occupying every empty bench at night, regardless of what area of the city you were in.

Jisung hobbled over, his legs scarily close to buckling under him. He threw himself down on the bench, staring at the water trickling off the roof of the awning.  It drip, drip, dripped down into a small puddle in front of him, the ripples reflecting the stoplights and various window lights that were on in the building across the street.

“Minhoo,” he whined into his phone, “it’s getting cold.”

“I’m less than twenty minutes away, Sung. Just sit tight, okay?”

Jisung pouted, wrapping his free arm around himself, but hummed into his phone.

He wondered why he’d even left the bar. It had been warm in there, overwhelmingly so. Felix had been having a much better time than both he and Jeongin—neither of whom were in the mood for being social with strangers. Jisung remembered being in the shadows, pressed against a wall as far as the structure would physically allow him to, nursing a drink in his hands. He’d watched Felix flirting with countless men, all of whom were very interested. The guy didn’t even want a relationship, yet he was a magnet. It was unfair.

Oh right, that was why. He didn’t want to go home with Felix and a stranger who’d probably fuck in Felix’s room, which shared a very thin wall with the living room where Jisung would’ve crashed. Seungmin had an extremely important case and had begged Jisung not to come home loud and drunk so he could sleep well before it.

“Min,” Jisung mumbled into his phone, “can I come home with you?”

There was a soft chuckle before Minho responded. “I wasn’t planning on paying the cab fare to take you home, Sung. Of course you’re coming home with me.”

A smile tugged at Jisung’s lips and he felt his body warm infinitesimally. “How far?”

“Only a few minutes, baby. Just stay put.”

This time the change in warmth was much more noticeable as he felt it creep up his neck.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” Minho hummed.

Jisung laughed out of his nose. “No, you said baby.”

“Oh. I guess I did.” Then a pause. “Is that a problem?”

“No, I like it.”

Minho chuckled under his breath. “Well, I’ll be there in just a minute, baby.”

Jisung grinned as he continued to stare down at the puddle near his feet. The rain was getting a little heavier, coming down in thick droplets that thunked against the roof above his head.

Just as Minho said, only a minute later a yellow cab pulled up and stopped right in front of the bus stop. Minho hurried out and ran the distance to Jisung. He had an extra coat in his hands, which he wordlessly wrapped around Jisung’s now shivering frame.

“Come on, let’s get you home, baby.”

Minho herded him into the back of the cab, which was driven by a man that appeared much too old and kind to be operating a taxi at this time of night. He should be at home, asleep. He was probably tired—Jisung was tired too.

The drive back to Minho’s apartment was a much welcome blur to Jisung, fueled by both his intoxication and exhaustion. He barely registered the soft classical music playing from the stereo system in the car.

It felt like only seconds before they pulled up to Minho’s building. The brownstone was a dark splotch in the streaky night, dotted only by the occasional light on in a window.

Minho assisted Jisung in climbing out of the back seat, steadying him as he planted his feet on the ground. Minho quickly paid the cab driver, giving him a wad of cash that Jisung thought was much too large to be the amount for the fare, but was too far gone to question it.

“Let’s go.” Minho placed a hand on the small of Jisung’s back, the heat radiating through the jacket and his shirt and warming his skin.

Minho guided him up the stoop first, one hand firm on the small of Jisung’s back as rainwater glistened across the steps. Jisung nearly missed the first one entirely, his boot catching the edge hard enough to jolt through his ankle.

“Jesus,” Minho muttered, his fingers digging into Jisung’s back. “How much did you drink?”

“Not that much,” Jisung lied.

The door groaned as Minho pushed it open. Warm air spilled out, carrying the faint scent of old wood and laundry detergent. The entryway was dim, lit only by a single bulb over the staircase.

Jisung leaned more of his weight on Minho as they ascended the stairs.  The old wooden steps creaked beneath them. Minho kept a grounding hand on Jisung’s back the entire way, pressing him onward. Their shadows stretched over the wall like poorly drawn animations.

“Did I wake you up?” Jisung mumbled, his words still slightly incoherent. He stumbled on a step, Minho’s hand catching him before he could tip backwards.

Minho looked up at Jisung. “No, I was just getting ready for bed. But don’t worry about that, okay? You can call me anytime, for anything. Doesn’t matter what time it is.”

On the second floor landing, Minho dug his keys from his pocket one-handed, keeping hold of Jisung with the other. It took him two tries to get the key into the lock, mostly because Jisung kept swaying into his side each time he laughed at nothing.

He really was laughing at their silly shadows on the wall.

“You’re impossible,” Minho muttered, though there was no real annoyance behind it.

Warmth wrapped around Jisung immediately when they stepped inside. It was dark save for a single light on over the stove in the kitchen. Across the living room Jisung could see the twinkling lights of the city in the distance. He was always jealous of Minho’s view out his windows—the park across the street was much more appealing than the run-down shops across from his own.

Minho shed his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack beside the door before pulling Jisung’s off his shoulder; he had never put his arms through the sleeves, leaving it to drape around his body.

Once Jisung was free of his coat, Minho moved to help him slide his boots off. It was uncoordinated, Minho trying to hold Jisung steady while he lifted his foot and Jisung trying to hold onto the wall but stumbling every second in his drunken stupor.

Eventually he got them both off, chuckling them off to the side by the coat rack.

“Why do you wear these ridiculous things anyway?” Minho grumbled, moving to stand at his full height.

“Cause ‘m short.” Jisung mumbled, taking a few steps further into the apartment. Minho came up behind him, placing a hand on his waist and halting him. When Jisung turned, he held up a finger in a ‘one second’ type motion before turning to grab a glass from one of his cabinets. Jisung watched him move about the kitchen to fill the glass with purified water from his fridge.

“Drink, you need hydration.” He shoved the glass into Jisung’s hand.

Jisung stared at the ripples that formed when he shook the glass. It reminded him of the ocean. He wanted to go to the beach, wanted to go swimming with Felix. He’d have to ask him.

“Drink, bug.”

He obliged, bringing the glass to his lips and tipping it ever so slightly until the water passed through them and into his mouth. The coldness hit his tongue and he nearly shuddered at the feeling.

Jisung hadn’t realized how thirsty he’d been until he chugged the entire glass.

Minho chuckled, taking the glass from his grip. “Easy, tiger. You’ll make yourself sick.”

Now that Minho mentioned it, Jisung wasn’t feeling very well at all. His stomach churned, probably from lack of hydration and food, and he grimaced at the feeling. Minho took notice immediately, setting the glass down on the counter and taking Jisung’s wrist, tugging him towards the bathroom.

“Come on. You’re not about to get sick in my bed. You stay here until you feel a little better.” Minho guided him to kneel beside the toilet, letting Jisung lean against the rim for support. “I’ll get you some clothes to sleep in.”

Jisung didn’t even have the opportunity to respond before he felt bile rise in his throat and he turned his head, aiming into the bowl.

He felt Minho stroke his hair a few times before he heard light footsteps fading.

It could’ve been an eternity that he sat there, but Jisung had no concept of time. He vomited up the entirety of his stomach and then some, leaving himself dry heaving into the toilet bowl.

When Minho returned, he had another glass of water and a change of clothes.

“Do you wanna shower first, or just sleep?” He asked, setting the items down and crouching beside Jisung.

“Sleep. ‘M tired.”

Minho brushed the hair from Jisung’s forehead. “Alright, baby. Up you go.”

The world went fuzzy as Minho helped Jisung to his feet. He stumbled slightly, but strong arms were there to keep him steady. Minho began to help Jisung out of his clothes, ridding him of the ridiculously, and rather offensively, tight jeans Jeongin had forced him into. As Minho reached for the hem of the equally tight tee Jisung was wearing, Jisung broke the silence.

“You gonna sleep with me?”

Minho paused, his gaze rising to meet Jisung’s with furrowed brows.

“Like, in my bed? Of course I am. It’s my bed.” He turned his eyes back to his hands. “Besides, sharing a bed is nothing new for either of us.”

“Nooo,” Jisung whined, “I mean sex.”

Jisung watched as Minho blinked in rapid succession.

“What?”

“Sex.” Jisung repeated.

Minho’s eyes went wide. His lips were parted just enough to see the tips of his bunny teeth poking out.

“Jisung, why would I— did you think I was going to do something?”

Jisung rolled his eyes with a giggle, but the action made him a little dizzy. “You’re taking my clothes off.”

“To help you change! You’re drunk, we’re not sleeping together.”

“If you don’t wanna sleep with me, just say it.”

Minho shook his head, a sigh leaving him. “Sung, that’s not— you’re drunk. I’m not about to take advantage of you. You can barely fucking stand up on your own.”

“So you do wanna sleep with me.”

“Bug. We can talk about this later. Right now you need to sleep. Okay?”

Jisung tried his best to process the words, but there were so many he lost track. After a moment of thinking, he nodded shortly.

“Good. Now let’s finish getting you changed.”

They finished getting Jisung changed as a quiet settled around them. It was strained, making Jisung want to lash out at both it and Minho, but he used all the self restraint he had to stay silent. He just wanted to curl up under Minho’s blankets and sleep for a century.

The entire time, Jisung couldn’t stop staring at Minho’s hands. Milky, smooth skin over prominent veins and muscles, warm every time they brushed against Jisung’s waist.

It made his stomach flip, which, frankly, was unfair considering he’d just emptied it.

Minho’s bedroom was dim, lit only by the lamp on the far nightstand. Soft yellow light spilled across haphazardly thrown sheets.

Jisung had spent enough nights here over the last month that the room felt familiar, but it wasn’t his anymore. It never really was to begin with, though.

”C’mon.” Minho ushered him under pulled back covers.

He crawled in immediately with a muffled groan, planting himself face down on the comfortable mattress before rolling himself onto his back. It smelled like Minho. Like warmth and laundry detergent and orange-vanilla cologne.

The bed dipped a moment later as Minho climbed in beside him.

Without thinking, Jisung plastered himself to Minho’s side.

”You’re freezing,” Minho grumbled, but didn’t make any physical protest.

”You love me.”

Warm fingers brushed through Jisung’s hair, pushing the dampened stands off his forehead. The touch was soft, absentminded.

Minho didn’t respond.

”Hyung?”

He hummed.

”You smell nice.”

A quiet laugh vibrated Minho’s chest. “Go to bed, bug.”

Jisung continued, “and your bed is comfy.”

”Glad you approve.”

”And I liked when you called me baby.”

Minho went still. “Go to sleep.”

Jisung tilted his head up, glancing at Minho in the dim light. He squinted at him through blurry vision. “You never answered me.”

”Becuase you’re drunk.”

”But if I wasn’t?”

He watched the way Minho’s jaw clenched. Felt the way his stomach tensed and his hand stilled in Jisung’s hair.

”Sleep, Sung.”

The plea was clear in his voice, but Jisung ignored it.

Instead, he mumbled, “You’d tell me if you didn’t want me around, right?”

Minho’s lips downturned. “What kind of question is that?”

”I dunno.” Jisung traced lazy shapes into Minho’s chest, the thin material of his shirt annoying Jisung. He wished he wasn’t wearing one at all. “Sometimes I think maybe I cling too much.”

That wasn’t really true. He was making new friends, even if they were partially Minho’s too. He had a job and an apartment. He didn’t need to rely on Minho for everything, and he didn’t. But he still ended up here almost daily.

Movie marathons. Dinner after his shifts. Falling asleep on Minho’s shoulder on the couch because neither of them felt like moving.

Minho’s fingers curled around the back of Jisung’s neck, rubbing softly.

”I always want you around,” he murmured quietly.

Before Jisung could think too hard about it, Minho reached over and switched the lamp off, plunging the room into darkness.

”Now seriously,” Minho said, settling back into the pillows. “Go to bed before you say something else insane.”

Jisung snorted softly.

Then, after a beat, “you think I’m cute.”

”Oh my god.”

Jisung grinned sleepily against his shoulder.

Minho didn’t move him away.

𖥸

Jisung woke feeling like someone had poured concrete directly into his skull.

Light filtered weakly through thick curtains, eliminating the worst of his triggers. But every tiny sound felt like sandpaper on his brain.

He groaned into the pillow.

A snort sounded beside him.

”You alive?”

Jisung cracked an eye open.

Minho sat propped against the headboard, scrolling through his phone. One knee was bent beneath the blankets and a mug rested in one hand.

He looked disgustingly awake.

”No,” Jisung croaked, burying his face. “I died.”

”Tragic.”

Jisung squeezed his eyes shut.

The memories hit him like a freight train.

The phone call. The cab. The bathroom. Jisung’s questions.

He shot up.

”Oh my god.”

Minho laughed again, this time louder.

”I take it you remember?”

Jisung groaned. “Don’t look at me. Don’t perceive me. In fact, I never existed. I’m a figment of your imagination.”

”A figment of my imagination who asked if I wanted to have sex with him.”

Jisung let out a strangled noise.

”And then,” Minho continued, cruelly, “you got offended when I said no.”

”I hate you.”

”No you don’t.”

”I’m leaving.”

”You live ten blocks away.”

”I’ll move further. Fuck Seungmin.”

Minho laughed again, but it was softer.

Jisung slowly rolled his head to glare at him.

In the morning light, Minho looked unfairly pretty. The laughter had softened his face, eyes crinkling into crescents.

”You done bullying me?” Jisung muttered.

”Not even close.”

”So you hate me.”

Minho shook his head and all traces of laughter disappeared. Jisung’s heart clenched.

”No,” he clarified. “But I told you we could talk about it in the morning, if you remembered.”

”And I do remember.”

”And you do,” Minho nodded.

Jisung’s heart felt like it was about to burst from his chest. He rolled over completely, sitting up to look at Minho. Minho’s face was impassive. Unreadable. Jisung, on the other hand, felt like he looked like a deer in headlights.

”So…” he began.

”I never said I didn’t want to sleep with you.”

The world stopped spinning. Time stopped, too. The cars outside stilled, and the sounds of birds in the trees outside the window quieted. Somewhere in the universe, a celestial being grinned down at Jisung. Wicked or kind, he couldn’t tell.

”What does that mean?” He asked dumbly.

Minho sighed, setting his mug on the nightstand along with his phone. “There’s— it’s a lot, okay? Just… bear with me.”

Jisung nodded.

”When we were kids,” Minho began, avoiding eye contact. “I had the biggest crush on you, you know? This dorky kid with glasses, obsessed with animals and bugs and space, scraping his knee every other day because he couldn’t tie his own laces properly at the big age of eleven. I thought you were the best person I’d ever met, and I couldn’t imagine being interested in anyone else. Granted I was thirteen when those feelings started, and didn’t really understand what feelings even were yet.”

”Minho—“

”And then I moved, and my life turned upside down and I thought I’d never see you again. So every time I did, I tried my best to not think about those feelings and just chalk them up to a kid’s first crush.”

Jisung felt like he couldn’t breathe. There was a weight on his chest, big and scary and heavy and he didn’t know how to get rid of it. So he just continued to listen.

Minho ran a hand through his hair. “So imagine my surprise when my first crush, and best friend, shows up on my doorstep on a random Wednesday evening and tells me he’s left Seoul and his dumb fuck boyfriend and needs a place to stay.”

A giggle broke through Jisung’s lips. “He was a dumb fuck.”

Nodding, Minho grinned. “Yeah. But, bug, your whole life blew up and your first thought was me. You flew halfway across the world, no plan in mind, just because I was here.”

Jisung paused, a lump in his throat. He didn’t know where this was going.

”I didn’t come here for you,” he murmured, but it wasn’t rude. It was simply a fact.

Minho hummed. “I know that, bug.”

“But, I think I stayed for you.”

That, too, was a fact. He could’ve gone anywhere. He could’ve even just driven an hour away to his parents’ house, or flown to Busan, anywhere within the country he’d grown up in. Instead, he decided to uproot himself completely. Even then, he could’ve stayed for a few days until he figured out his next move, But he stayed. He stayed and planted new roots, just a few blocks from where Minho had steadily been watering his own tree for a decade.

It meant something, even if neither of them wanted to say it aloud.

”Can I—“ Minho cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “Can I kiss you?”

”Hyung, I’ve been fantasizing about your arms since I showed up on your doorstep. You can do more than kiss me.”

And he did. Minho leaned forward, his hand coming to rest comfortably on the side of Jisung’s neck, just below his ear. Their lips met hesitantly at first, but when it was clear this was real, that this was what they both so clearly wanted, all hesitance flew out the door.

Jisung shifted himself until he was sitting directly in front of Minho, then gave out on leaving any semblance of space and plopped himself down in Minho’s lap. Minho groaned softly, the sound swallowed between Jisung’s lips.

Minho’s lips were softer than Jisung had imagined. Not that he’d pictured it much—he was still processing the fact that his best friend looked like he was carved from stone by a Greek sculptor, and more recently the fact that his best friend wanted him.

It wasn’t all that shocking, if Jisung thought about it a little longer. The way Minho cared for him. How he walked him to and from work some days, how he brought food without being asked. How he checked in on him even from a world away.

Jisung bit down on Minho’s lower lip softly, pulling a gasp from Minho’s throat.

”Bug—“

Fingers wound their way through the hair at Minho’s nape, tugging softly. His words cut off immediately.

”Is it too much to say I want you right now?” Jisung whispered against his lips.

Minho let out a choked sound. “I’ve wanted you since last night. So no. Definitely not too much.”

Jisung grinned, his teeth clacking against Minho’s and then he was being lifted. Minho flipped them with the grace of a dancer, and Jisung could only widen his eyes as his back hit the sheets.

”You have no idea,” Minho said, voice soft. “How many times I wanted to do this while you were living here.”

”Why didn’t you?”

Minho sat back a moment, raising an eyebrow. “Bug, you fled an entire country because your boyfriend cheated on you. Do you really think me making a move would’ve been a good idea for either of us that quickly?”

“Well, no…”

Soft lips pressed against his. “Exactly. But if you’re okay with this, then I’m okay with this.”

”I’m more than okay with this,” Jisung clarified, as if he needed to.

”So am I.”

It was odd, having someone so close to him and gazing at him with so much emotion and have that someone not be Dohyun. Jisung didn’t want to think about him, didn’t want to remember how he made him feel in those last moments, so he pushed it away. He threw the asshole from his mind and tugged Minho down by his neck. Because Minho was here, and Minho wanted him, and Jisung was so happy he bought that plane ticket.

Fingers slid down Jisung’s side, caressing the skin beneath his shirt where it had ridden up. The touch was scalding.

”How do you wanna do this?” Minho asked against his lips.

“What do you mean?”

Minho pulled away slightly, ears red. “I mean, do you prefer—“

“Oh,” Jisung giggled. “You wanna know if I wanna fuck you or you fuck me.”

Dark eyes widened above him.

”I’m a bottom, hyung.”

“Thank god.”

Then they were kissing again, this time hot and messy and anything but coordinated but so wonderful. Jisung didn’t want to stop. Hands roamed everywhere, mapping every inch of both of their bodies, and Jisung couldn’t help but arch up into Minho, his hips bucking against his when Minho’s fingertips grazed his chest.

The friction was maddening. Jisung could feel Minho against him, hot and eager, and the realization that he was the cause of that, that Minho wanted him this badly, was enough to make his head spin.

”Hyung,” he gasped. “Please.”

Minho’s hands found the hem of Jisung’s shirt and pulled it up slowly, revealing red splotched skin. Jisung raised his arms to help get it off, feeling oddly shy now that he was half naked under Minho’s intense gaze. As if Minho hadn’t helped change him the night before.

”Beautiful,” Minho breathed, and before Jisung could say anything, he leaned down. His mouth pressed to Jisung’s collarbone, tracing the line of his shoulder and peppering kisses along his chest.

Jisung’s back arching off the bed was entirely involuntary, as was the moan that slipped past his lips when Minho found a nipple. His fingers tightened in Minho’s hair, tugging sharply, and Minho groaned against his flushed skin.

”You have to stop doing that,” Minho said, lifting his attention to Jisung’s eyes.

”Doing what?”

”Pulling my hair. It’s very distracting.”

Jisung grinned. “Make me.”

Minho’s eyes flashed, and then he was leaning back. Jisung whined at the loss of contact until he realized Minho was removing his own shirt. Black fabric was tossed to the side, lost to the void of the bedroom around them.

Reaching out, Jisung traced the contours of Minho’s abdomen, feeling the muscle beneath smooth skin and the faint scar along his pelvis that he’d gotten from a surgery before he’d ever left Jisung behind. It had been so long since Jisung had really seen it. Touched it.

“Come here,” Jisung said, pulling him back down.

They fit together like two halves of a whole. Like they were made for it. Skin against skin, chest against chest with their hearts thumping against one another. Their breaths mingled between their mouths as Jisung rolled his hips up, capturing the gasp that Minho let out.

”Still sure?” Minho asked, his voice strained.

”Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

That seemed to be all Minho needed. His hands slid down to Jisung’s thighs, adjusting his position with surprising efficiency, and Jisung let himself be moved. He trusted Minho. Minho knew him. Minho would take care of him.

His pants and boxers were gone before Jisung could really even move to help, and then a hand reached out and grabbed a bottle from Minho’s nightstand. A moment later, the cold sensation of lube pressed against Jisung’s hole and he gasped.

The first finger was strange rather than uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to being opened up by someone else—usually he did that part himself. Minho kissed him through it, murmuring soft reassurances that had Jisung relaxing in no time. By the time Minho had worked him up to three fingers, Jisung was rocking down into them, wanting more. Needing more.

”Hyung, please,” Jisung gasped. “I’m ready. Please.”

Minho’s control visibly cracked then. His jaw clenched, eyes flashing with something almost too deep to name. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

”it won’t be.”

His fingers slid out, leaving Jisung’s hole clenching around nothing, and he squirmed at the feeling. He wasn’t uncomfortable for long, only enough for Minho to tug his own boxers down and pump himself with the leftover lube on his fingers.

He lined himself up, pressing one more soft kiss to the tip of Jisung’s nose, and then he pressed inside.

Jisung’s nails dug into Minho’s back, and Minho ceased his movements, giving Jisung time to adjust. He bit his lip at the feeling of being full, of being so completely connected to Minho that it just felt right.

”Okay,” Jisung breathed a few moments later, wiggling his hips. “Move.”

The first thrust was gentle, just an experimental roll of Minho’s hips, but it was enough to send Jisung into orbit. He moaned, the sound pitiful and breathy, and Minho swallowed it up with his lips.

Each thrust grew more certain, and soon Minho was leaning back to hold Jisung’s legs wider. The feeling was more intense than any Jisung had ever experienced, and he took a moment to mourn the last decade of what he’d been missing. He could never go back to anything else now. All he knew was Minho. He wanted Minho to mold him into his own shape so that no one else could ever touch him again. Only Minho.

Minho’s hand found his, tangling their fingers together beside Jisung’s head as he leaned over him, his hips pistoning into him at a steady pace. The tenderness of the gesture in the midst of all of it made Jisung’s heart clench.

”I’m close,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

”Me too.” Minho pressed a tender kiss to his jaw. “Let go, bug. I’ve got you.”

That was all he needed. Jisung came apart beneath him, his back arching as his cock leaked all over his stomach, painting a thin layer of white over tanned skin. His world narrowed to nothing but Minho, his vision darkening around the edges until all he saw were dark, warm eyes peering down at him.

Minho followed soon after, his rhythm stuttering and his forehead dropping to Jisung’s as he let out a low groan, his cock twitching inside Jisung’s sensitive hole. He continued to thrust lazily until he collapsed, making sure not to crush Jisung beneath him.

They laid like that for a long moment, tangled together and panting, skin glistening with sweat. Jisung stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of all the big emotions he was feeling.

He was crying before he realized it.

Minho lifted his head at the sound of a gasp, alarm written all over his face. “Did I hurt you? Fuck, bug, I’m so sorry. Talk to me—“

”I’m fine,” Jisung laughed, wiping his tears. He felt Minho shift, then the loss of his softening cock inside him. Come trickled from his hole, but he didn’t care. “I’m not— I’m okay. Really. I just—“

How could he explain it? He’d felt like a little over a month ago his life had entirely fallen apart. But really, it had just been falling into place. Every decision he’d made until now had led him here. To Minho. To his everything.

”I love you,” he said instead. It was easier than explaining every thought that was racing through his head. And it was the most prominent, and likely most important, one that he could grasp on to.

Minho stilled beside him. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. It lit him from within, a sparkle in his eyes that Jisung could only stare at in awe.

”I know.” He said it like it was simple. “I’ve known for a while.”

”What? How?”

”You came to me. When everything fell apart, you came to me.” Minho’s thumb brushed the high point of Jisung’s cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “That’s what love looks like, I think. Even when you don’t know it.”

Jisung sniffled, coughing out a laugh. “You’re such a sap.”

“But you love me for it.”

”That I do.”

”And I love you,” Minho whispered, kissing the corner of Jisung’s mouth like it was no big deal.

It hung in the air between them. Jisung had known, deep down, that it was always going to end up like this. Maybe not now. Maybe in another decade. Or in another lifetime. But he was more than happy with this outcome.

”You know,” he said, unable to help himself. “Seungmin thinks we’re already dating.”

”Oh, well that’s probably because I told him if he dared to look at you in any non-platonic way, I’d make him lose his bar license.”

”Hyung!”

Minho shrugged, grinning wide. “Just protecting my territory.”

And yeah, Jisung couldn’t imagine being any happier with this outcome. Growth meant a lot of things, and Jisung thought that included losing everything and learning to find himself again, halfway across the world.

Sometimes, finding yourself meant finding the half of you that was lost a long time ago, in the form of another person. And that was okay too.