Chapter Text
Everybody's waiting up to hear if I dare speak your name
Put it deep beneath the track, like the hole you left in me
And everybody wants to know 'bout how it felt to hear you scream
They know you walk like you're a God, they can't believe I made you weak
-Strange Love by Halsey
⊱·𖹭·⊰
In the span of a month Jisung’s life had decided to change in many ways, and most of them had been for the worst.
There was a persistent leak in his apartment that maintenance refused to fix properly, his car had something wrong with it where it kept making an awful noise every time he took a left turn, his roommate wasn’t going to be around to pitch in for rent anymore, and to add the beautiful shiny cherry on top of it all, Jisung had just lost what he considered to be his dream job.
In Felix’s defense, he had decided to move in with his long term boyfriend weeks before Jisung had opened the termination email.
Well, at least there’s a bright side to it all, he supposes. If he can’t afford the apartment then he’ll have to move out and then he doesn’t have to argue for the leak to be fixed anymore. Small wins.
Jisung groans long and low, already knowing that he won’t be able to afford this place on his own with no job. Goodbye beautiful balcony and spacious kitchen that he never used. Felix is lucky, he’s moving into a place with double the space and double the bathrooms.
Losing a source of income is practically debilitating, he knows this, but what hurts more is that this was meant to be Jisung’s permanent career. It’s exactly what he was building his life towards, what all of those late nights of studying and last minute essays and stressing over exams were meant to culminate to.
It was meant to be a place where he grew and flourished, but it’s only been a year and the company is already cutting costs.
They claim that it’s for the best, that they were always planning to downsize. Jisung knows the truth.
They replaced him with a fucking AI bot to write nonsense lyrics and slap together messy toplines simply because the higher ups want to pocket the paycheck they could have been giving Jisung.
Frustratingly there’s a very easy solution to all of this, he knows it in his heart, but it takes him until the end of the month to fully accept it. Felix is gone by then, all of his things moved out and a promise that if Jisung needs anything he can just call.
They both know Chan would let him live with them indefinitely, but Jisung doesn’t want to infringe when Felix has barely even unpacked. This is a big step for them and they should be able to enjoy it without Jisung leeching off of their kindness.
Finally, he bites the proverbial bullet and agrees to a nightmare of a situation: moving back home.
It’s not that his mom or step-dad were terrible people, on the contrary even, but there’s something so uniquely humiliating about subjecting yourself to the same dynamics as when you were a teenager. His parents love him, he knows they do, but sometimes they still look at him like that little eighteen year old who needed rescuing.
Packing all of his things into his tiny green VW Beetle makes it all feel more real.
Without having to be asked, his step-dad had sent over money to get the weird noises in the car fixed and even made Jisung promise to get an oil change and new tires. Just in case, he had said on the phone with an unending amount of warmth.
Jisung loves his parents, he really truly does. The three of them are at their best when they’re offering up favors and they don’t have to live in each other’s space.
He almost gets lost on his way home, the GPS telling him to go in circles for far too long before sorting itself out.
Once he parks, no one comes out to greet him but he kind of expected that. Was hoping for it, really. The house looms in front of him and his heart begins trying to beat out of his chest.
Maybe if he’s lucky he can go the entire day without anyone witnessing little Jisung running back home with his tail between his legs and his pockets so empty that a little cartoon moth might as well fly out.
He sits in the driveway for almost ten minutes telling himself that everything will work out fine, that he will survive his family.
His fingers tighten on the steering wheel. He will survive his step-brother.
Jisung looks over at the little temporary moving tank for the gecko he bought as a graduation gift to himself. She blinks unevenly at him, silent but reassuring.
“You always know the right thing to say.”
With a deep, grounding breath he gets out.
He balances the tank in his arms as best as he can as he makes his way in, wanting to place her down somewhere safe and stationary before unloading the rest of the car. It’s a bit of a juggling act as he frees one hand to open the front door, glad his mom sent him the code before he arrived.
He gets it wrong on the first try, and the loud buzz it makes travels straight through his teeth. Ew.
It’s a new house, bigger than the last one that he remembers spending only a year in before going off to college. He feels like a stranger that stumbled in from the street, staring at a foyer he’s never seen before.
Oh, this is going to take some getting used to.
He turns in a full circle as he tries to find the main staircase that will lead him to his room, but the house is just big and expensive enough that it seems to be hidden away somewhere so guests can’t know that there’s a second floor to this building.
Jisung just wants to put his things away after hours of driving, why is this becoming stupidly difficult?
“Are you lost?” A voice asks from behind him and Jisung flinches at the sound.
The sort of flinch that makes his eyes squeeze shut and his shoulders jump towards his ears.
“Relax,” the voice says, and Jisung whips around to see his step-brother leaning against one of the doorways. Hand in his pocket, head tilted. Minho looks the same as he always has, otherworldly and picturesque.
The last time Jisung saw him, Minho’s hair was dark and long. Now the sun catches in the almost platinum blonde, casting a halo around his head. It makes him look a little like a snow leopard or something divine, eyes half lidded as it hunts.
Suddenly Jisung feels like some sort of prey animal, shoulders tensing and heart fluttering. Every sense in his body is telling him to leave, to run. Drop everything and don’t look back, not when he’s staring at Jisung like that.
Jisung takes a deep breath, fingers tightening on his gecko’s tank.
“Just wondering where my room is so I can put her down.”
Minho detaches from the doorway and slowly steps closer to Jisung, lazy as ever. Once he’s close enough he bends almost in half, eyes opening wide to look into the tank. From this angle, Jisung can just barely make out the way Minho’s mouth forms a tiny O once he spots the occupant.
“Better keep it away from the cats,” he says, “wouldn’t want it to become a late night snack.”
“Her.” Jisung corrects.
“Hm?”
"Her, it's a girl.” Jisung tries not to fidget. “Her name is Richard."
Minho blinks up at him, and the sight nearly undoes Jisung. “Richard?”
Jisung flushes, shoulders crawling up towards his ears even further. "Changbin named her. He thought it was funny because it’s meant to be Richard the Lizard but I told him that they barely rhyme and, I don't know, it just stuck."
Another hum, this one thoughtful. Minho straightens himself up as he looks right at Jisung. Mouth curling into a small little smile. "Cute."
Right before Jisung thinks he's going to spontaneously combust from Minho's stare, his mom walks through the front door, sunglasses atop her hand and purse hanging from her elbow. She exclaims over the both of them once she catches sight of them, clapping her hands together.
Immediately she’s asking them questions about how they’re feeling and if they’ve eaten. Did Jisung enjoy the drive? She knows it was long, she hopes he was comfortable. Oh, she didn’t know Minho would be here, how wonderful!
"I got in late last night, didn't want to wake anyone." Minho explains, which makes Jisung's mom coo and pinch at his cheek.
“Always so considerate. Both of my boys are finally together again, oh I’m so happy.” She says, and Jisung tries not to flinch again. “Let’s put your things away, and then we’ll have dinner! Come on.”
After finally setting Richard down and listening as his mother asks Minho for help with everything else left in the car, Jisung tries his best to make a clean getaway. Unfortunately Minho knows him too well, practically cornering him in the threshold of the front door.
It’s just the two of them, the house quiet as his mom lingers somewhere upstairs.
“Why are you so nervous, Jisungie?” Minho asks so quietly, leaning in close enough that Jisung can feel Minho’s breath on his ear. “You’re acting like I’m going to eat you.” He makes sure to put extra emphasis on the last two words, and it makes everything inside of Jisung light up.
The body remembers. The body keeps score.
"I'm not,” Jisung tries, the words stumbling out of him. “I’m not nervous, it's just jet lag."
Minho’s smile grows sharp, leaning away so that he can properly look at Jisung.
The silence stretches just long enough to make Jisung’s skin itch.
"You drove here, bug." Minho reminds him with a mean little laugh.
Jisung brushes past him, refusing to look back even as Minho giggles to himself.
⊱·𖹭·⊰
Dinner was fine, all things considered, but Jisung didn't eat much. It was hard when his stomach was in a knot and Minho kept staring at him from across the table.
Apparently he was staying the weekend before going back to his apartment, which Jisung’s mom is absolutely thrilled about.
Jisung feels differently.
He sees the irony of getting a late night snack, especially after Minho’s pointed comment from earlier, but he's hungry and nothing can beat a sandwich after midnight. Especially now that he can eat in peace, alone.
Minho’s presence has always unnerved Jisung, now more than ever.
The last time he had ever properly saw Minho was about five years ago. After he had left for college, packed away and settled into his dorm. It had been weeks since the last time they spoke to each other, and Minho had been there at his door, sunglasses pushed atop his head and car keys dangling from his fingers.
Jisung wanted more than anything to slam the door in his face, to lock it and never open it again, not as long as Minho was out there waiting for him in his hall. Everything inside of Jisung was buzzing and humming and flinching. Anticipation mixed with pain and guilt, and he hated the taste of his own want.
Minho hadn’t said anything to Jisung, not with his mouth at least. There were a hundred swirling emotions in his eyes as he handed over a simple corded bracelet, one that had a match sitting at the bottom of Jisung’s suitcase.
Since then they’ve been in the same room a handful of times, never of their own choice but always because their parents required it. Birthday parties and holidays that they could no longer find excuses to avoid, carefully orbiting each other but never getting close.
Hopefully this weekend will follow along the same lines of impersonal greetings and fleeting glances.
Jisung can survive this, it's just two more days. That's practically nothing in the grand scheme of things.
The refrigerator door closes with a loud thud, causing Jisung to startle and drop the knife he had been using on his sandwich.
Minho raises a silent eyebrow, a bottle of water in his hand as he stares at where the knife slid across the floor to bump into his slipper.
Before Jisung can scramble forward to pick it up, Minho bends to grab it and the sight of the mustard smear it leaves behind has Jisung flushing with embarrassment. Minho inspects the utensil with a quiet hum, turning the blade into the low light.
“You should be more careful, Jisungie.” The sweet nickname crawls under Jisung’s skin and grows roots. “Making a mess so late at night.” He clicks his tongue in heavy disapproval. They both glance down at the floor and Jisung sees that a bit of mustard got onto the toe of Minho’s slipper.
Some sick sense of deja vu tries to grab ahold of Jisung but he shakes it away, refusing to fall into any warm memories when he knows they all contain thorns just past the surface.
“You could have really hurt yourself.” Minho continues, moving closer to Jisung’s side of the large kitchen island.
“With a butter knife?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you.”
Well that’s just fucking rude. Minho isn’t wrong but he doesn’t have to admit it.
Jisung holds his hand out, palm up, waiting for Minho to return the knife so that he can get back to the very important task of finishing making himself food. When Minho just stares at him, intense and assessing, Jisung tries not to fidget, wiggling his fingers to speed up this entire exchange.
Sighing, Minho clicks his tongue once more, gently hip checking him out of the way as he settles in front of Jisung’s plate.
“I can do it myself.”
“Mm.” Minho hums but doesn't move, taking over the task of layering all of the sandwich ingredients in the specific way that Jisung has always liked it.
They're so close, pressed together from hip to shoulder and Jisung is almost dizzy at the warmth that Minho is giving off.
Jisung can't help but watch his hands work, distracted by the sight of how competently he works in the kitchen. He remembers nights like this where Minho would turn the stove on and quietly make Jisung real food because he had been so busy studying that he forgot to eat.
He's proud of himself for not having a bigger, more physical reaction to the Minho of it all.
Jisung is holding himself together, literally as he crosses his arms tight to his chest and stares at the way Minho cuts his sandwich diagonally instead of looking at whatever expression Minho wears on his face.
All of the warmth shrivels and fades away once Jisung really focuses on what he's seeing.
He chews at the inside of his cheek, ignoring the way Minho slides the plate over.
“Bug?”
If Jisung wasn't so laser focused he'd definitely get on Minho's ass about still calling him that even after all of these years.
“Are you still fighting?” He stops himself from reaching out and touching a split in Minho’s knuckles.
Immediately Minho moves his hand, shoving it into his pocket and out of Jisung’s sight as if that will change anything. It doesn't, the evidence of the bruising is still there, and Minho hides his other hand when Jisung tries to catch sight of it.
“Leave it alone." Minho says not unkindly. Soft and careful, just like Jisung remembers him.
“You promised that you'd stop.” Jisung does not leave it alone, he’s incapable of leaving it alone. Especially when he remembers Minho’s words, promising that he would no longer put himself in harm’s way.
"Jisung."
Jisung bites his tongue, not at all happy with Minho's tone or the fact that he's fighting again. Or maybe he never really stopped. Maybe, a little voice supplies, he's boxing the right way, the safe way. In a gym with a trainer, with the proper protection.
But Jisung knows him too well for the voice to make any logical sense.
With a scoff, Jisung snatches up his completed sandwich. “You really are a piece of work, you know that? Constantly making promises that you never keep.”
He doesn’t wait around for Minho to come up with brand new excuses, instead taking his plate back to his room to eat in peace and quiet. Minho watches him the whole time, quiet and trying to apologize with just his eyes.
It makes Jisung nauseous.
⊱·𖹭·⊰
The weekend comes and goes, and at the end of it Minho is still here, lounging on the couch as if he doesn’t have anywhere important to be.
Jisung is sure that’s a lie, since he works at Mr. Lee’s big tech company as a lead engineer, yet he’s treating Monday night like it’s a long vacation. Maybe it is, Jisung doesn’t know how SDD Enterprises works.
Maybe they do long weekends or maybe Minho works from home most days. What do tech companies even do? What’s their work load look like? Jisung wonders if he can do some minor research into the topic of what exactly goes into a company that prides itself on leading innovations and men in three piece suits.
It's late enough that their parents have gone to bed, but Jisung isn't tired.
He stands at the back of the family room, watching Minho watch a movie, his feet stuck to the floorboards and refusing to move forward.
Jisung had also wanted to watch something on the big screen. He didn’t know what he wanted to see but he knew it would be on one of the multiple streaming services his step-dad pays for. Definitely something new that hadn’t yet made it onto his favorite third party website.
“Can you see the movie from all the way back there?” Minho asks, voice soft and airy. He barely glances at Jisung as he says it, gaze fixed to the television.
“I wasn’t watching.” Jisung tries to weakly defend, knowing full well he absolutely was.
The movie playing is a recent horror film that he’s been looking forward to but Felix had refused to sit and watch with him. Claiming that he’s almost as bad as Chan when it comes to horror, which Jisung had to agree with.
Unfortunately Jisung hates watching anything scary by his lonesome.
It used to be something they did together, their own little tradition of picking out a movie and getting comfortable with snacks. Minho would spend the entire time pointing out inconsistencies or mentioning how unrealistic something could be, or telling Jisung a jumpscare was about to happen before it did just to make Jisung feel better.
It worked every time.
He fidgets with the sleeve of his shirt, warring with himself. He should go back to his room and just find something to watch on his laptop, because getting close would mean sharing space with Minho and he doesn’t want that.
He doesn’t.
Wordlessly, Minho pats at the cushions next to himself and Jisung definitely does not hesitate long enough before sitting down.
There’s a good two feet between them, they aren’t sitting next to each other to be fair. There’s plenty of room.
Jisung realizes Minho was more than twenty minutes into the movie as he restarts it from the beginning.
“You didn’t have to.” He says, feeling only a little guilty.
Minho just hums again, a short little noise that Jisung can read perfectly. It’s a reassuring hum that means everything is fine and Jisung shouldn’t worry so much.
“I wanted to.” Minho says as the movie begins for the second time.
Jisung curls his hands into his sleeves.
Unfortunately for Jisung and all of his built up and drawn out anticipation for this movie, he can’t focus on a single minute of it. Well, that’s a lie, he got through the first half an hour perfectly fine, if a little tense. The story was progressing slowly but it was good, it hooked Jisung’s interest. If he ignored how close Minho was, then he could enjoy this movie to it’s fullest.
The problem arose in the form of Minho getting even closer to point at the screen and say, “He’s definitely going to die.”
All thoughts of Minho being too close disappear at his words. That was the character that Jisung has been rooting for since the start, how dare Minho put that out into the universe. “You don’t know that.”
“Oh c’mon.” He’s still leaning in, hand next to Jisung’s thigh to balance. “It’s a tragedy, bug. No one survives something like this.”
Jisung scoffs, shoving at Minho’s shoulder to tip him back towards his side of the couch. “There’s still an hour and a half left, anything could happen.”
A hum. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
The rest of the movie blurs a little as Jisung thinks about Minho’s words. It’s a tragedy, bug. It becomes almost impossible to focus on the dimly lit scenes and the quiet dialog.
He said it with such confidence, like of course Jisung should understand that this genre that they’ve watched countless times is nothing but it’s worst features.
Jisung chews at his top lip, barely paying attention to what’s in front of him.
“Do you really think that?” He asks in a lull between scenes, where everything is quiet save for the suspenseful music.
“Mm?”
He tries not to fidget. “That this is a tragedy? That they won’t survive each other?”
Minho blinks at him. “It seems pretty obvious.”
Oh, he’s so frustrating. Huffing, Jisung turns to him, pushing the movie to his periphery. “What is wrong with you? Why are you being so pessimistic?”
“It’s a horror movie, Jisungie. It breeds pessimism.” Minho says, one of his shoulder hitching in a shrug. He glances at Jisung, lingers, turns back to the television.
“There are horror movies with optimistic endings!” Jisung defends.
Minho rolls his eyes. “Oh, I didn’t know the horror genre was big on happy endings.” He’s being an asshole on purpose, just to get a rise out of Jisung and unfortunately it’s working.
“The Fear Street trilogy had an amazing ending, ok? Gay love saves the world and fuck cops. You’re going to tell me that was a tragedy?”
Minho is quiet, bright eyes boring into Jisung.
“It’s about hope, Minho.” Jisung scrambles up to sit on his knees, lurching forward with the force of his passion about this. “It’s about having hope that you can experience the worst thing of your life but it’s not the end. It’s tragic but you can survive.”
The movie continues in the background and Jisung really should be watching it, but he needs Minho to understand how important this is.
It’s not a tragedy, it can’t be.
There are a plethora of different horror movies out there, some have incredibly straight forward plots and others are layered and complicated. Minho isn’t wrong, there are so many that only contain death and gore and terror, no one surviving because nothing can survive. But there are just as many with hopeful endings, where the protagonists are bloody and tired but they limp away into the rolling credits.
Some people get out. They crawl their way out of the worst night of their life and they get to have something good after.
“Do you get it?” Jisung asks, verging on desperate. He needs Minho to understand, to see the bigger, brighter picture of it all.
Minho swallows, Jisung can see the way his throat moves. “You might have to repeat it, I wasn’t listening.”
“You weren’t listening-”
“I was staring at your mouth.” Minho admits, reaching out to hook his fingers into the chain of Jisung's necklace. He doesn't pull hard, but he tugs just enough to unbalance Jisung, reeling him in closer.
It causes him to tip forward, and at the last moment Jisung has to throw his hands out to catch himself on the couch cushions behind Minho. Bringing them impossibly close, centimeters away from each other.
Jisung exhales a shaky breath, going cross eyed as he tries to keep his focus on Minho.
“Go on,” Minho breathes, his own gaze going heavy and half lidded. “Tell me all about hope.”
The sound of his voice, low and intimate and just for Jisung, makes something hot and liquid settle low in Jisung’s stomach. His fingers dig into the back of the couch, knees sliding forward to bump against Minho’s leg where the cushion dips.
Minho’s other hand is a hot weight on his thigh, moving higher, making Jisung gasp softly.
Their lips are so close to touching, Jisung can feel the ghost of Minho’s top lip against his bottom. It’s a tenuous promise, their breath mingling.
Jisung can't stop the small, desperate whine that tumbles from his mouth at their proximity, at the feeling of Minho touching him. It makes him flush hot.
It's not the same couch, it's not even the same living room but Jisung is hit with such an intense case of deja vu that he can't help but pull away with an unsteady sigh.
“I,” he starts, clears his throat as he falls back. “I should really head to bed. It's getting late.”
The ornate clock above the television shows that it's not even midnight yet. The movie hasn’t finished.
“Right.” Minho whispers, eyes glued to Jisung's mouth. His hand doesn’t move.
If Jisung doesn’t leave now, he’s about to make a very bad decision. The sort that he won’t ever be able to take back and will haunt him for years to come.
With a rattling sort of breath, trying to steel himself and failing miserably, Jisung stumbles off of the couch. Movie be damned, he can always watch it another night with someone who is decidedly not Minho. Maybe both Felix and Chan, that way they have someone to cling to during the eerie parts.
“Goodnight, bug.” Minho calls softly, his voice barely carrying.
Jisung makes the fatal mistake of looking back before escaping.
Minho’s stare is dark, hungry. Almost calling Jisung back like a haunting melody. Following him all the way to his room.
⊱·𖹭·⊰
That weekend is his parents five year anniversary party and Jisung tries his best to ignore Minho and avoid all contact with him in the days leading up to it.
He just can’t handle seeing him right now, possibly not ever. All of his emotions are twisted up and fraying at the edges, leaving him confused and a little dizzy.
It’s meant to be a brunch event, taking place on a beautiful late spring day with catering and an open bar held in their own dining room, the back doors open wide to the backyard and pool.
It’s going to be perfect, nothing will go wrong today.
Unfortunately he doesn’t think Minho got the memo, since he’s been sending Jisung these loaded looks all throughout the day. Every time their eyes meet across the room, he tilts his head just the faintest bit and smiles at Jisung.
It’s unnerving.
Jisung grabs for a new flute of champagne every time it happens, playing a mini drinking game just for himself. He’s lost count of how many he’s drank, it’s becoming a problem.
Whenever Minho gets close, Jisung finds an excuse to be anywhere else. If Minho is on the patio, Jisung is inside. If Minho is in the kitchen, Jisung has suddenly gained an interest in the pool. On and on it goes for the better half of the party.
By late afternoon this game that Jisung us playing starts to wear on him. Too much champagne mixed with constantly being on the move like a desperate shark weighs him down. He knows Minho is getting frustrated by it, he’s sighed in that extremely specific way of his when he’s annoyed but won’t say anything.
Jisung isn’t sure how much longer he can keep avoiding him.
His step-father calls attention to himself at the front of the living room, raising his own flute in the air until everyone is quiet and turned towards him. Jisung takes the opportunity to slip away to a part of the room out of Minho’s sight.
“I want to thank everyone for coming to this wonderful party.” He starts, smiling wide.
Jisung joins in with the polite clapping from the audience.
He proceeds to talk about how lucky he's been these last few years, to spend every day with the love of his life. It's sweet, and it has Jisung smiling.
“As some of you know, there was once a very real chance that I would never have made it to this day. Almost five years ago I was involved in a nearly fatal car accident.”
Everyone sobers at his words, as he continues to talk about that night years ago. He grabs Jisung’s mom’s hand, giving her a warm smile as he explains that it meant the world to him that his beautiful wife and their new little family had stayed by his side the entire time he recovered. He’s not sure if he would have made it out the other side if it wasn’t for them.
Jisung immediately feels like everything has tilted onto it’s side. The reminder of the accident brings with it a flood of memories that Jisung had been trying his best to never revisit.
The aftermath of the car crash is what festers deep in Jisung’s bones like an infection. It never goes away no matter how much he tries to flush it out.
Jisung places down his half drunk champagne on the nearest surface, and excuses himself to the farthest bathroom.
He doesn't want to be seen right now, he can't be perceived. Not while his step-father is still talking about how hard it was for him but he was lucky to have such a great support system.
The last thing Jisung hears are the words my sons before his hearing cuts out into a dissociative blur.
The door shuts behind him, cutting off all sounds from the party and Jisung is left in the near silence of the guest room en suite.
Learning that his step-dad was in the ICU was scary, it was terrifying really. Jisung was sick to his stomach at the news once he got the call from his mom. But it’s what happened afterward that still aches even all of these years later.
Minho had stood across from him in a quiet stairwell of the hospital, wearing a hoodie that was once Jisung’s and said, “This needs to stop, we can’t-,” He choked on the words, sucked in an unsteady breath. “We can’t do this anymore Jisung, none of it. We have to be done.”
Even then he couldn’t make himself say what was really happening between them out loud. Admitting to it would make it real.
“Stop?” Jisung’s heart has seized. “Wait, no. Hold on- what are you talking about?”
In hindsight, with years between him and that moment, whenever he was brave enough to reflect on everything that was said, he likes to think that he understands that all of it was coming from a place of pain and panic.
Minho’s dad had almost died that night, and the following few days were fragile at best. He didn’t get the news until hours later through Jisung because they had been spending the night together. It wasn’t guilt per se, not really. More so a reminder that the two of them are considered family and are connected in more ways then they’d like.
He had made up his mind all those years ago without ever consulting Jisung. Pulling away because it was easier, because family came first.
Just before the incident they had been in bed together, naked and laughing as Jisung worked very hard to give Minho the biggest hickey he could manage.
The skin of his neck had been shiny with spit when Jisung pilled away, admiring his sloppy work with a thumb pressing into the blossoming bruise.
“So that everyone will know that you’re mine.” He said with a possessive little twist to his words, and it made Minho smile even wider.
“Marking your territory, mm? Why not just scribble all over me, brand me like a prized horse?”
It was said as a joke, Minho’s eyes sparkling, but Jisung liked the sound of it. It was the perfect idea, and so Jisung scrambled around the hotel room until he had found himself a sharpie. Brandishing it, he made a show of writing on Minho’s chest, making the letters big and readable so that it could never be questioned.
MINE, with a little heart as punctuation.
“My turn.” Minho declared, batting away the sharpie when Jisung tried to hand it over. “Mm, no. I have a better idea.”
For a long moment he had looked over Jisung’s body with consideration, squinting and moving Jisung around. Finally, he pressed Jisung into the mattress, duvet pooling around their ankles as he laid Jisung’s arm out flat.
Minho smeared a kiss along the curve of Jisung’s bicep before opening his mouth as wide as it could go and biting down as if he had just found the juiciest orange imaginable. It had hurt just enough to make Jisung gasp, muscles tensing and brain going a little fuzzy.
“What happens when they fade?” Jisung asked, staring at the red indents on his skin with a hot, zipping pleasure. They wouldn’t last, they weren’t deep enough, and that made Jisung so sad.
Minho hummed once more, pulling Jisung close. “Then I guess we’ll just have to do this all over again until they stick.”
Jisung liked the sound of that.
Only a few hours later he was being dumped in a corner of the hospital with a pathetic flickering light, his heart breaking and spilling out all over his beat up sneakers. Minho tried to reach out when Jisung turned for the door, palm pressing into his bicep and it made Jisung flinch.
Jisung stares at himself in the mirror of his parents bathroom. His cheeks are red and his eyes are already going glassy. He's never been able to hold his liquor, and he can already feel all that champagne catching up with him.
The faucet rushes and he tries to be careful of the eyeliner he applied this morning while splashing himself with cool water. When he reaches up to push his hair out of his face, he can just catch the flash of permanent ink hiding under his shirt sleeve in the shape of Minho's teeth.
He’s a fucking fool.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Jisung turns to leave. Time to go out there and pretend everything is fine, just like he’s been doing for five years.
When he opens the door, Minho is there, pushing his way inside and locking the door once it’s closed.
“What the fuck?” Jisung blurts, caught off guard.
Minho’s gaze bounces around his body, never settling in one spot for too long. “Are you ok? I saw the way you left.”
“I’m fine, I had to pee. Can’t I do that in peace or should I tell you every time I need to use the bathroom?”
“Jisung,” Minho says his name like a warning and it prickles at the back of Jisung’s neck. “Don’t lie to me.”
The water did nothing to cool him off, the dizzy, untethered feeling lingering whenever he moves too quickly, and now Minho is standing in front of his only way out and speaking to Jisung as if nothing has changed between them. As if Jisung is willing to spill all of his secrets and woes just because Minho asked.
They had something once, a long time ago before Jisung had gone off to college. It wasn’t anything official, it was messy and complicated and most importantly a fucking secret.
It still hurts, almost five years later, and Minho wants to what? Act like it never happened? Flirt and smile and worry and almost kiss Jisung when every one else is sleeping?
Why doesn’t Minho just go home? He has an apartment across town but he hasn’t been back in weeks, always making a new excuse for staying at their parents house for longer, and Jisung wishes he’d just leave.
He spits those last words out into the open, frustrated and wanting Minho to go away.
"Why?" Minho asks, standing too close, tone too calm for the storm raging in Jisung's chest.
"Because I can't think straight when I look at you!” It bursts from Jisung all at once, and he presses his knuckles into the cool marble of the counter top trying to ground himself. “I'm angry Minho, I want to stay angry. You broke my fucking heart."
A tick of his jaw, a rush of air from his nose. "Then be angry."
"I can't! I can't remember how to be when you look at me like that." Jisung heaves, the words tearing out of him and leaving him breathless. Minho blinks, and Jisung hates that he knows what he wants to say without having to hear it. "Like I'm the only thing worth looking at."
Jisung isn't sure who moves first but suddenly they're kissing, the sink counter digging into Jisung's spine. It's a bad decision, just like it was five years ago when they first kissed and couldn't stop.
It feels like coming home.
They grind into each other, kissing recklessly with hands raking through hair and smoothing over shoulders. Jisung wants to crawl inside of Minho’s skin, mouth at the line of his bones and live there. Tear him open and watch everything spill out in a sick sense of satisfaction.
Their wounds should match, scar for scar. A pile of aching insides left in the open for someone to trample on shared between them.
Eventually they have to come up for air, Jisung pulling away with a deep breath and Minho tries to follow his mouth. Jisung rests their foreheads together, hovering close but not touching, breathing in each other’s air.
“All of that staring,” He starts, lungs hitching and making his words tremble. “And you’re still ashamed of me.”
Minho shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut. “I’m not, I never was.”
The anger fades in a sudden rush, bottom dropping out and leaving behind a hollow emptiness. The echo of acceptance settling into all of the spaces anger once occupied the longer Jisung stares at the fan of Minho’s eyelashes.
He cradles Minho’s jaw, holds him so gently.
“Then go back out there right now, go back to the party and tell our parents everything.” Jisung whispers, and he watches Minho flinch. “Go tell them what we mean to each other, how important I’ve always been to you.”
He won’t and Jisung knows he won’t because he never would. No matter how many times Jisung would ask or beg or threaten, Minho always made excuses. At the time Jisung was secretly relieved, because at his core he was scared of the reactions.
But now? Jisung is just tired of being kept hidden away.
Jisung’s mom figured it out ages ago, but she pretends like she didn’t. Only ever telling Jisung once that he should think about his future with a disappointed shake of her head, but nothing else came of it beyond the purposeful ignorance of a parent who’s incredibly unhappy.
Minho’s dad doesn’t know, and will never know. Because he can take everything away from them both, and Minho is scared of what that means. With one word from a man with his sort of power in the corporate sphere, neither of them would ever work again if he wanted to be vindictive enough.
He’s a kind man, he really is, but he cares about the way things look and how everything is perceived more than the emotional logistics, and if it’s perceived negatively then he won’t be too happy.
Minho doesn’t want either of them to lose what they’ve been building.
Jisung strokes his thumb along Minho’s cheek, already knowing the answer. It was the same five years ago and it hasn’t changed.
“I know.” He kisses Minho once more, a light press of his their lips before he’s peeling himself away. He won’t say it’s ok, because it isn’t. It never will be, but he knows that he can’t change Minho’s mind about this.
Minho’s fingers spasm, like he doesn't want to let go, and Jisung reminds himself to be strong.
Be stronger than he was at eighteen when he was begging a boy to love him that had already made his decision. He won't beg this time, not again.
He leaves Minho hunched over the sink counter, door swinging shut behind him as he returns to the party.